Читать книгу Fiona Gibson 3 Book Bundle - Fiona Gibson, Fiona Gibson - Страница 47

Now Kerry remembers why normal people go out, as in, venture beyond the boundaries of their own home when on a date (she is trying not to think of tonight as a date, but what else could it be, really?). That way, the state of your house doesn’t matter. You can turn up all freshly showered and blow-dried and no one will guess that your kitchen is strewn with sheet music, plus the numerous Christmas cards and home-made decorations which have yet to find a home. However, tonight, Kerry hasn’t had a choice. Asking Brigid to babysit would have meant her having to bring Joe along too, or dropping off Freddie and Mia at Brigid’s (not ideal on a school night although, intrigued by his surly attitude – a teenage boy in a four-year-old’s body – they would have enjoyed the arrangement hugely). With a hollow feeling in her stomach, Kerry realised she had no one else to ask.

Still, her anxieties turn into a kind of fizzling excitement as she does a speedy clear-up and answers her ringing phone.

‘All set?’ Anita asks.

‘Yep, I think so.’ Kerry grins. ‘The place still looks a bit shabby but that’s probably a good thing, makes it seem more relaxed.’

‘Shabby’s fine,’ Anita agrees. ‘You don’t want him to think you’ve spent all day cleaning for him.’

‘Well, no chance of that. Anyway, I’m thinking candles to make it cosier …’

‘Yes, go for candles.’

‘You don’t think it’ll look like I’m trying too hard? It’s just the kitchen light’s horribly bright and pore-illuminating …’

Anita laughs. ‘Candles are not trying too hard. They’re not a big deal. They don’t say, I want sex.’

‘Hmmm. I just don’t want him to think I’m this desperate dumped woman who’s planning to hurl myself at him.’

‘You are, though, aren’t you?’ she teases. ‘I mean, the hurling part.’

Spotting Buddy’s favourite chewed-up blanket lying by the fridge, Kerry grabs it and stuffs it into the walk-in cupboard. ‘Hmmm, maybe. The thing is, though, even if there’s a remote possibility that it might happen, the kids will be asleep upstairs.’

‘I know. He sounds nice, though.’

‘Yes, he is. He’s … the kind of man you wouldn’t expect to be single, you know? Like, he’d be the good-looking dad at the school gates with a little gaggle of flirty mums around him.’

‘But his son’s grown-up?’

‘Yes, they run a sandwich place together.’

Anita pauses and Kerry knows her friend’s smiling. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t say it, but I have a really good feeling about this guy.’

Kerry sniggers. ‘Um … maybe that’s why it took me all afternoon to dig out something even vaguely suitable to wear.’

‘Just be casual, don’t worry about it. What are you cooking, anyway?’

‘Um, casual seabass, a casual salad and I’ve got a couple of bottles of decent sauvignon …’

‘Perfect.’

Kerry grins, rounding up the odd stray plastic cup and placing it in the dishwasher. ‘I’ve actually got a good feeling too. The kids have been great – didn’t even notice I’d hauled their bedtime forward, although Freddie did complain that I’d raced through The Tiger Who Came to Tea in about ten seconds flat.’

Anita chuckles. ‘Well, good luck, and don’t forget to file me a full report tomorrow.’

An hour later, at 8.30 p.m., Kerry is wearing a simple blue shift dress and ballet pumps, with minimal make-up and a huge smile on her face as she welcomes in James. He has also, she notes, taken the casual route in dark jeans and pale linen shirt, and looks all the lovelier for it.

*

‘That was delicious, Kerry,’ James says, placing his cutlery on his plate. ‘I don’t want to sound pathetic but there’s something so nice about being cooked for.’

She laughs. ‘I know what you mean. Doesn’t Luke ever cook for you, after all the help you give him at the shop?’

‘You’ve got to be joking,’ he retorts. ‘Anyway, I’m starting to think it’s time he got his own place. We really need our own space.’

‘Driving you mad, is he?’

James smirks. ‘God. I don’t know if I should tell you this. He’s just got back with his girlfriend, Charlotte, and let’s just say they were a bit … vocal last night.’

‘Really?’ Kerry sniggers, refilling their glasses.

‘I’m actually surprised you didn’t hear them.’

‘No, well, I sleep like a log – out cold, like a dead person.’ She takes another sip of wine. ‘Did you mention it this morning?’

‘No chance. Charlotte was still there, wafting around in Luke’s T-shirt …’

‘Bet that was awkward …’

James nods. ‘And we’ve been busy all day so the moment’s kind of gone, you know?’

‘And I suppose he is a proper grown man,’ Kerry offers.

‘Yes, well, at his age I was married but our bedroom wasn’t about six feet from my mum and dad’s.’

She gets up to make coffee and unwrap posh chocolate brownies from the new bakery, a tip-off from Brigid. They are delicious, James agrees; almost as good as the ones he makes. How pleasing, Kerry thinks, to see a man tucking in and relishing food. Rob never seemed to care much about what he ate, perhaps due to being plied with delicious Italian cooking from birth and then spoiled with those endless account expense lunches. He never seemed to stop and appreciate anything he put in his mouth, so to speak.

‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ Kerry says hesitantly, ‘but when did you and your wife break up?’

‘Um … two years ago now.’

‘And there was no warning at all?’

‘Not any that I picked up on, no. That was probably the worst part – that there must have been signs, and I just didn’t see them.’

Kerry nods. ‘Well, you shouldn’t blame yourself. I didn’t see it coming either …’ Perhaps it’s the bottle of wine they’ve shared, or the fact that they’re not in a restaurant, on a date-date, but Kerry finds herself telling him about Rob and Nadine and the baby. He listens attentively as she describes the achingly miserable handovers of the children, and chuckles appreciatively at the thrown birthday cake incident.

‘God,’ he says, ‘you’ve had a lot on your plate. You seem to handle it so well, though …’

‘Well,’ she says with a shrug, ‘I guess I’m just about emerging from the fug. Um … shall we open another bottle?’

James smiles. ‘Why not? I walked here anyway. This is a really lovely evening, Kerry.’

She fetches the wine from the fridge and opens it. ‘It’s nice for me too. I was actually surprised when you asked to meet up. I’d thought you were a bit, well … distant and distracted until then.’

A small shrug. ‘Well, you did imply I’d run over my incontinent wife …’

‘James, I’m so sorry about that …’

‘No,’ he chuckles, ‘it’s fine. Anyway, by the time I saw you in the shop, drooling over my brownie, I’d figured out who you are. And it was such a coincidence, I thought, well, why not just ask?’

She frowns. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘Oh, you’re getting pretty well known around Shorling, you know. I hear customers talking about you …’

‘Really?’

‘It’s that kind of place, isn’t it? French tutors, piano lessons – kids around here aren’t allowed to be idle for a minute.’

‘Oh yes, the hot-housing. I’m sure I’m going to be reported for not signing up Freddie and Mia for at least three activities a day …’

‘Well, you probably couldn’t have picked a better place to teach piano. And you know what’s funny? I was going to call you about lessons a couple of months ago. I’d scribbled down the number from your ad, then Buddy went mad – one of his barking outbursts – and I must have dropped it …’

‘So you wanted to play?’ Kerry asks.

He grins. ‘Well, I do play, a bit. Then I thought, who am I kidding, with the shop and everything – when will I have the time? Anyway,’ he adds, ‘the piano’s Amy’s.’

Kerry nods. ‘So you’d feel strange playing it …’

‘I don’t know, maybe. I haven’t, not since she left.’

She studies his face, and as his kind, grey eyes meet hers she finds herself asking, ‘Why don’t you play mine?’

James shakes his head. ‘I haven’t played for two years, Kerry. I’m beyond rusty. More like completely seized up …’

‘I won’t judge you,’ she says firmly. ‘In fact, I promise I won’t comment at all. I’d just like to hear you play.’

He smiles then. ‘Okay, then you’ll play something for me?’

‘Agreed.’

They head through to the music room, and as James starts to play, missing notes and muttering apologies, Kerry wishes she hadn’t asked him. She’s on the verge of asking him to stop, as he’s clearly not enjoying this – but how can she do that without sounding like some mean-spirited judge on a talent show? Then something changes, and his shoulders relax, and she can almost see the tension leaving his arms, hands and fingers. And what he’s playing is … lovely. It’s not perfect, there’s still the odd slip-up, but it’s a sweet, pure melody, and all the more moving for being so simple.

He stops and gives her a sheepish look. For a moment, Kerry doesn’t know what to say. ‘That was lovely,’ she murmurs finally. ‘Sorry, I said I wouldn’t comment but …’

He blushes and smiles. ‘Thanks.’

‘Um, I don’t think I know it.’

‘No, well, I wrote it.’

‘Really? You wrote that? It’s beautiful, James. Would you play it again?’

He shrugs and starts to play. This time, Kerry can’t help sneaking a look at his handsome face with those soft grey eyes and full lips. And she wants – the realisation almost makes her tumble off her stool – to kiss him. Should she? Her lips haven’t been in close contact with anyone’s apart from Rob’s since last century and, God, they hadn’t exactly done much kissing before the split. She really wants to kiss James, though, and not just because he is undeniably easy on the eye. It’s seeing him play, a little uncertainly but so sweetly; it’s acting as a powerful aphrodisiac. Some women are turned on by watching a man cook, or emerging from the sea, James Bond style in snug swimming trunks. But for Kerry, watching a man play the piano is the thing … God, what would happen if he launched into Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2? She’d have to leap on him immediately …

She’s biting her lip now, her mind racing as the small, shabby room with its faded floral wallpaper fills with beautiful music. Possible outcomes if I kiss James: he likes it, it feels great, or he’s completely horrified and pushes me off and explains – politely, of course – that I’ve totally got the wrong idea. Oh, what the hell. Do it, when he stops playing …

James stops. Kerry senses her cheeks flushing as he turns to her. His eyes are so lovely and, crucially, he’s not giving the impression that he finds her repulsive. Do it, just do it …

‘Mummy!’ comes the voice from upstairs.

Kerry flinches, then exhales forcefully. ‘Oh. Sorry – hang on a minute …’ She springs up from the stool and goes out to the hallway. ‘Freddie?’ she calls upstairs. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m not well, Mummy,’ he wails.

‘Okay, I’m coming …’ She hurries upstairs, expecting to find him sitting up in bed, anticipating a cosy chat. But he’s pale and sweaty as she places a hand on his forehead. ‘Oh, honey, what’s wrong? D’you feel sick or something?’

He shakes his head. ‘Who’s in our house, Mum?’

‘Just a friend, sweetheart. We’ve had dinner …’

‘Is it Brigid?’

‘Um … no, it’s a man called James. The one who gave us Buddy, remember?’

‘Yeah.’ He pauses. ‘My ear hurts and there’s stuff in it.’

‘Oh dear. That doesn’t sound good.’ She clicks on his bedside light and peers into his ear as best she can. ‘It does look red, Freddie, and there’s a bit of sticky, leaky stuff here …’ She touches it gently. ‘It feels hot, too. I think you’ve got an ear infection …’ He nods glumly. ‘I’ll take you to the doctor first thing in the morning. You can stay off school and have the day with me.’

Tears fill his eyes and he grabs for her hand. ‘There’s corns in it.’

‘What?’

‘There’s corns in my ear.’

‘What d’you mean, corns? People get corns on their feet, not in their ears – what are you talking about, Freddie?’

‘Yellow corns,’ he mumbles.

Kerry inspects his ear again – it’s definitely gummy in there, and she can detect an odour – a sort of rotting-vegetation whiff. ‘D’you mean you put something in your ear?’

‘Yeah.’ He bites his lip. ‘I put yellow corn in it.’

‘But …’ Picturing James waiting patiently downstairs in the music room, Kerry shakes her head in disbelief. In fact … maybe he’s not waiting patiently. Maybe he has already put on his jacket and quietly let himself out. ‘I can’t remember the last time we had sweetcorn,’ she murmurs. ‘I know you don’t really like it.’

‘It was at Nanny and Nonno’s.’

‘But that was last weekend! That’s what, at least four days ago, five if you had it on Saturday …’ Freddie nods, and Kerry shoots him an alarmed look. ‘Are you sure you put it in your ear? You’re not just making this up, are you?’

‘Yeah. No. I’m not telling a lie, Mummy.’

‘But why?’ And now James will be walking home, thinking, well, that’s that. Pleasant enough meal, but Kerry obviously doesn’t have space in her life for a proper, grown-up evening.

‘’Cause I don’t like it,’ Freddie says simply.

‘Yes, and there are lots of things I don’t like,’ she exclaims, ‘like eggs and mushrooms and tinned tuna, but I don’t go stuffing them in my ear, do I—’

His bottom lip wobbles and she cuts herself short. Of course she doesn’t; she’s an adult and her son is a five-year-old, scared little boy.

‘Oh, honey,’ she murmurs, pulling him close. ‘Does it really hurt?’

‘Yeah, and it’s stinky as well.’

‘I know, love. I can actually smell it from here. Listen, I think I’d better take you to hospital right away.’

‘Can the doctor get it out?’ He is crying now, his cheek hot and wet against her face.

‘Yes, of course he can.’

He sniffs and wipes a pyjama sleeve across his face. ‘How?’

‘Don’t you worry about that,’ she says. ‘That’s what they’re for, darling. Now let’s get you up and dressed.’

James is still there, amazingly, when she and a still-sleepy Freddie appear in the music room. ‘You probably heard all that?’

‘Yes, God … is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Thanks but I’d better deal with it.’ She smiles wearily. A few hours ago she’d felt like the old Kerry in her blue dress and lip gloss with her hair blow-dried; now, she’s been pinged firmly back into Mum-land.

‘I’d drive you,’ James offers, ‘but I’ve had half of that bottle of wine—’

‘Yes, me too. That’s going to look great in A&E, isn’t it? Wine-breath mum brings in little boy who’s had sweetcorn festering in his ear for nearly a week …’ She laughs mirthlessly. ‘And I’m going to have to wake Mia and bring her with me.’

‘Well …’ He frowns. ‘You could call a cab and I could stay here until you get back …’

‘That’s really kind of you, but Mia would freak out if she woke up in the night and found you here.’

‘Oh, of course …’

Kerry bites her lip. ‘It’s just that she doesn’t know you …’

‘My ear’s still leaking,’ Freddie whines.

‘I know, darling.’ She rubs her hands across her face, as if trying to erase the fact that this is actually happening.

‘Shall I call you a taxi?’ James asks hesitantly.

‘Yes please. Phone’s on the worktop by the cooker. You sit here, Freddie’ – she indicates the armchair in the corner of the music room – ‘and I’ll get Mia.’

Minutes later she’s lifting a sleeping Mia from her bed and gently feeding her arms into her red dressing gown, then carrying her downstairs and into the waiting taxi. She says goodbye to James – not even a peck on the cheek – and he’s gone, slightly huffily she thinks now, but what else was she supposed to do?

‘Shorling General?’ the driver asks.

‘Yes please.’ She closes the car door and looks out at the inky night sky. It’s nearly 11 p.m., the taxi smells pungently of Magic Tree, and she can hear Buddy barking fretfully in the house as the driver pulls away.

Serves me right, Kerry reflects, stroking Mia’s hair as she rests her head on her lap, for having lewd thoughts in the music room.