Читать книгу My Perfect Stranger: A hilarious love story by the bestselling author of One Day in December - Kat French, Kat French - Страница 12

‘I thought I might chain myself to the railings around the home,’ Mimi said. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time, I was at Greenham Common you know.’

Lucille nodded. ‘She was. She used her bra as a rope.’

Billy Bobbysocks grinned and skimmed a hand over his artful grey quiff. A loyal lifetime customer of Brylcreem, he still had an impressive head of hair for a man well into his eighties. ‘I rather like the idea of you chained up, my darling. May I be the keeper of the keys?’

Mimi’s dark eyes sparkled at her beau as Honey cleared her throat. It was a few days after the news about the possible closure, and Honey had called a campaign meeting now that the shop had shut for the day. They were gathered around the rickety Formica table in the staffroom. So far Honey had noted down Lucille’s suggestion to contact the local paper, and Nell’s idea to involve the residents’ families and organise a protest walk. Tash and Nell had turned up together about ten minutes previously. They’d both been eager to help as soon as they’d heard about the closure threat hanging over the home and the shop. As committees went, it was a decidedly rocky start – three women in their late twenties and three octogenarians; they sounded rather like a joke awaiting its punch line. Billy withdrew a silver hip-flask from his jacket and took a nip.

‘Anyone for brandy?’ he said, waving the bottle around the table at them, shrugging when they all declined and pushing the flask back inside his jacket. Honey’s thoughts automatically strayed to Hal, and the fact that he would have had that flask off Billy in a flash.

‘What do you reckon, Honey?’ Tash said, digging an elbow in her ribs beside her. ‘Honey?’

Honey glanced up at her friend, realising she had no clue what had been said since her mind had wandered into Hal territory.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Are you even listening? You were miles away.’

Honey chewed the end of her pencil. ‘Mmm. What did I miss?’

‘Lucille just suggested trying to raise the funds to buy the home from the current owners. It’s a long shot, but put it down as an idea anyway.’

A long shot was something of an understatement. ‘Anyone know any lottery winners?’ Honey said as she scribbled on the list. Unsurprisingly, five heads shook around the table.

‘Thought not.’

‘I think Old Don’s son works for the local rag though,’ Billy piped up. ‘He’d be a good one to start with.’ Old Don was one of the home’s most senior residents and his son, in his sixties himself, was a regular visitor. Honey nodded. ‘Will you speak to him, Billy? Maybe ask him to swing by the shop for a chat when he’s here next?’

Billy nodded. ‘Consider it done, my angel.’

‘Anything else, anyone? Any other business?’ Honey said, mostly because it was the thing people seemed to say to conclude meetings on the television. Tash raised her hand.

‘Yes, me please, Miss Jones. What are you wearing for your date with Deano tomorrow night?’

Honey frowned. ‘Tash!’

Nell clapped her hands gleefully. ‘Ooh, Tash told me about this. Your first pianist. I wonder what he’ll be like.’

‘I can play the piano,’ Billy chimed in helpfully, and Honey felt Nell start to laugh under her breath beside her. Lucille and Mimi cast a knowing glance at each other, and then laid a hand each on Billy’s arm.

‘Not this tune you can’t, darling,’ Mimi murmured theatrically as Honey cringed into her chair. If anyone attempted to explain the whole piano man thing to Billy, she was going to die on the spot. How had it happened that almost everyone she knew had become aware of her sexual issue? Hell, it wasn’t even an issue to her anymore, not half as much as it was to everyone else, anyway. Even Hal had seemed incredulous. Hal. What in God’s name had possessed her to tell him about it all? He seemed to transmit tell-me-the-truth vibes through his solid front door like some kind of weird telepathist.

Honey pushed her chair back, signalling the end of the conversation before anyone could say anything more about the issue. Billy helped Lucille and Mimi to their feet, and then offered them each an elbow to escort them out of the back door and across the lawn to the home. The ladies blew kisses at Honey, Tash and Nell as they moved into the doorway and watched them go.

‘Christ, I hope we’re like them when we get to that age,’ Tash said.

Honey laughed fondly. ‘Let’s grow old together disgracefully, girls.’

‘Deffo,’ Tash said, pulling a bottle of red wine from her bag with a grin. ‘Time for a quick one?’

Honey reached for the glass cupboard, but Nell picked up her bag instead.

‘I can’t tonight, ladies, sorry. I need to get home.’

‘You sure Simon can’t hold the fort for just a little longer?’ Honey’s fingers lingered hopefully on the third glass.

‘Umm. It’s not that … we’ve kind of made plans for the evening.’

Both Honey and Tash turned to look at Nell; there had been a strange inflection to her words.

‘It’s not your anniversary, is it?’ Honey was sure it was too early in the year for that.

‘And it’s not your birthday …’ Tash added, raising her eyebrows at Nell. ‘What’s going on, Nellie?’

Pink spots appeared in Nell’s cheeks and she shrugged lightly. ‘Nothing really,’ she murmured. ‘We just fancied a bit of an early night.’ She glanced down at her shiny shoes and then back up again with wide, almost innocent eyes.

‘An early night?’ Tash said slowly. ‘As in you and Simon have already made plans to get down and dirty tonight? Simon’s just gone up in my estimation.’

Honey sloshed wine into a glass and thrust it into Nell’s hands, sensing from Nell’s coyness that there was something juicier to this story. ‘A very quick one,’ she muttered, pouring wine into the other glasses and handing one to Nell.

‘What gives, Nell?’ Tash wheedled as they all perched around the table with their glasses in their hands. Nell sat tight-lipped and looked slowly from Honey to Tash and then back again, and after a moment she reached for her big leather satchel and flipped it open. Honey strongly suspected that they were about to see a positive pregnancy test. Nell had gone all glowy and excitable. She was very, very wrong. Nell didn’t pull a pregnancy test from her bag. She pulled out a metallic vibrator instead. Both Tash and Honey gasped out loud at the unexpectedness of the item in Nell’s perfectly french-manicured hand.

‘He gave me this before he went to work this morning!’ Nell squeaked, breathless and bright eyed. ‘Straight after his organic muesli!’

Honey started to laugh and put her hand over her mouth.

‘I told him a couple of days ago about that store we went into the other day, you know, the sex shop? Well, we’d had a couple of drinks, and I might have given him the idea that … anyway.’ She waved the vibrator around. ‘This. This is the reason I have to get home.’ She looked like someone about to throw themselves off a bungee platform, terrified and elated all at once. She placed the vibrator down and took a huge swig of wine in the style of a parched person.

‘Go Simon,’ Tash murmured. ‘You do know what to do with this thing, right?’

Nell shot Tash a look. ‘I think we can work it out.’

‘I wonder what else he bought from the store? Brace yourself, Nell,’ Honey grinned.

Nell’s eyes opened wide. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Maybe you should have bought those pretty purple beads after all,’ Tash laughed at Nell’s screwed-up nose.

Nell shook her head and then reached into her huge bag again, this time pulling out a fancy paper bag. ‘I nipped into town at lunchtime and got these. Thought I might, you know, be a bit more daring, seeing as how Simon has too.’

She reached into the bag and withdrew a boned demi-cup bra, ethereal wisps of black French lace stitched around the edge with pale pink ribbon. Matching briefs, barely there and black, followed the bra from the bag, along with a suspender belt and seamed stockings.

‘Are they crotchless?’ Tash asked, gesturing towards the briefs with her wine glass and earning herself a frown from Nell.

‘No they are not!’

Honey touched the expensive lace, knowing that despite the presence of a crotch, the underwear was still quite a departure for Nell. ‘They’re gorgeous,’ she said. ‘Simon is going to think all of his birthdays have come at once when he sees you in this lot.’

‘You think so?’ Nell said, exposing the vulnerability beneath her excitement.

‘Er, hello?’ Tash said. ‘He’ll be like a schoolboy who found his dad’s dirty mag!’

‘I very much doubt Simon’s dad ever bought a dirty mag,’ Nell said.

‘Having met his parents at your wedding, I think you’re probably right there,’ Tash laughed. ‘It’s a miracle they ever had a child at all. I can imagine it now. “Sylvia! On your back in the bedroom at ninteen hundred hours precisely for intercourse!”’

Tash threw a wink and a sharp military salute at Nell, who shook her head in gentle rebuke.

‘They’re an established army family, Tash, they can’t help being straight-laced. They’re really very nice when you get to know them.’

Given his upbringing, Simon could hardly be blamed for his safety first default setting, and the idea of him wandering around the store looking at vibrators had made Nell brave enough to buy underwear she’d never usually contemplate.

‘I really should go,’ she said, tucking the lace back into its bag along with the vibrator.

‘You really should,’ Honey smiled.

‘The on switch is on the base,’ Tash said, tapping the side of her nose. ‘Just so you know.’

Nell rolled her eyes and got to her feet. ‘Jealousy is a terrible thing, Tash,’ she laughed, leaning down to kiss both of her friends on the cheek. ‘Adios, amigos.’

‘You know you have to give us a progress report next time you see us, yes?’ Tash said.

‘Not a chance,’ Nell grinned, swinging her bag over her shoulder and skipping out of the door.

Honey left her flat just before eight o’clock on Friday evening, lingering for a second outside her door to look at Hal’s closed one. Each day she’d picked up something for him, food or the occasional bottle of whisky, each thing a legitimate reason to tap on his door. He hadn’t progressed beyond opening the door for a couple of minutes at the end of their conversation to take in whatever she had for him. He’d grouched at her yesterday about treating him like her pet project, all because she’d refused to bring any more alcohol so soon. She’d shot back that he really ought to think about being more polite seeing as she was only being neighbourly, and that if he’d rather she butt out then she wouldn’t bother again. He’d muttered sweary things and closed the door in her face, leaving her standing in the hallway still holding the shopping she’d bought him in her hand. ‘I’ll eat these my bloody self then!’ she’d yelled at him, and he’d yelled, ‘I just hope they don’t need cooking!’ back as she’d stomped across the hallway.

Hal really was an angry man a lot of the time, but it was the every now and then that he wasn’t angry that kept her coming back to his door. She was willing to bet he hadn’t left the house at all since his arrival a week or so back, and she was almost as certain that no one had been to visit him. Why was that? How had he wound up here, arriving out of nowhere looking like he was hiding away from the world? There was something about Hal that didn’t quite add up, and Honey was intrigued enough to want to know more. Intrigued, and drawn to him in a way that had nothing to do with a desire to help out a neighbour in need and everything to do with the way clothes clung to his body, the rich, easy depth of his voice and the warmth of his fingers when they brushed over hers. He was borderline rude ninety per cent of the time, but the other ten per cent was worth waiting for.

The carpet in The Cock Inn felt decidedly sticky underfoot as Honey stood at the bar twenty minutes later. She was a little early, and so far anyone resembling a synthesiser player called Deano had yet to materialise. Alone and trying to look nonchalant in the way only someone desperately hoping their date turns up can, Honey ordered a large glass of wine and perched herself on a stool, barfly-style. She was halfway down the slightly-too-warm chardonnay when the door opened and a guy came in on his own, his eyes slowly scanning the place and coming to rest on Honey. If she were to be picky then his shirt was slightly too Hawaiian and his hair far too blond for Honey’s usual taste, but hey ho … she smiled and raised her glass gamely in his direction as he sauntered over.

‘You must be Deano,’ she said, realising that he was incredibly tall as she slid off her high stool and eyeballed his palm tree-covered chest. Tipping her neck back, she looked up as he looked down and found herself suddenly nose to nose with him.

‘And you must be Honeysuckle, my favourite flower.’

‘Is it really?’

He looked disconcerted. ‘I’ve been practising that line for the last ten minutes.’

‘Sorry,’ she said, and she meant it. She’d become accustomed to verbal rallying with Hal, and it wasn’t fair to Deano to expect him to fall into the same mould. ‘Shall we grab a table?’ The pub was filling up with Friday night drinkers and pre-clubbers as she headed over to a small table in the corner. Deano joined her a couple of minutes later with drinks in his hand.

‘I guessed at white wine?’ he said, placing a glass down next to her almost-empty one.

‘Good guess,’ she smiled. He was actually quite attractive in a Germanic way, all strong boned and blond. She needed to relax and try to enjoy his company.

‘So, Honeysuckle. What brings a nice girl like you to a place like this?’

‘A blind date with an organist called Deano?’ she supplied with a smile, hoping he’d relax and drop the one-liners soon.

‘Synthesiser, actually,’ he said, looking affronted.

‘What sort of songs do you synthesise?’ she said, knowing even as she said it that it was a ridiculous question.

He frowned. ‘Are you taking the piss?’

Shit. This wasn’t going well so far. ‘Look, I’m really sorry. That was a stupid question. Truth is, this is my first blind date, and I’m kind of nervous. Can we start again?’

His Hawaiian-shirted shoulders slumped. ‘I’m nervous too. You’re my first date since Selina.’

‘Selina?’ she said, already guessing that she must be the ex Tash had referred to.

‘My fiancée. Or ex-fiancée if you want to be picky, which if you were her you no doubt would, seeing as she broke it off.’

Honey cleared her throat as he picked up his beer and necked half of it. She watched him and couldn’t help but notice that he had quite stubby fingers for such a tall synthesiser player. She also couldn’t help but notice the hurt in his grey eyes, and she knew without a doubt that Deano was too hung up on Selina to be the man who would make her body and soul sing louder than Aretha Franklin in the bathtub.

‘I think it’s probably best if we agree not to talk about our exes on a first date,’ she smiled, swallowing a mouthful of wine.

Deano nodded. ‘Too true. Women. Who needs ’em?’

Honey opened her eyes wide. As things not to say on a first date, that was pretty much up there at the top.

‘Present company excepted, and all that,’ he laughed, recovering himself not quite in time.

‘So what do you do, Deano, besides synthesise?’ Honey asked, helping him out of the hole he’d dug for himself.

‘I work in accounts,’ he said, with a casual shrug. ‘Bit dull, but a good crowd.’ His face dropped. ‘Except Selina works there so I’ll probably have to, I don’t know, resign or something.’

Selina again. He didn’t even seem to realise he’d said it.

‘As long as it pays the bills,’ Honey said, unsure how to develop a conversation around anything as deathly as accounting. ‘You must be good with numbers then?’ she ventured.

‘Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six are my favourites,’ Deano grinned and outlined an hourglass in the air with his hands, then dropped them slowly as if he’d belatedly realised that his best accountant joke was inappropriate for the occasion. ‘Er, sorry.’

Honey pulled her glass towards her, sneaking a glance at her watch at the same time. She wasn’t certain how much longer she could sit and make lad-chat about Deano’s no doubt perfectly curved ex without throwing the wine down the front of his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

It was just after eleven when Honey turned the front door key and let herself into the lobby. She hadn’t stayed at The Cock for last orders, because the more Deano drank the more morose he’d become about Selina, she of the apparently willowy skier’s legs and perfect rack. Honey had left him searching the jukebox for anything by Take That – he’d told her at least four times that they were Selina’s favourite and that she had a crush on Gary Barlow, who Deano would quite like to punch.

She tried to close the front door quietly out of consideration for Hal, although given their last encounter it was anyone’s guess why he deserved her consideration. As she tiptoed across the lobby, his door swung open.

‘Jesus, were you waiting up for me? You’re worse than my dad used to be,’ she said, letting him have both her annoyance in general at an evening wasted and her annoyance at him in particular for being so rude yesterday.

‘I heard you come in. Most people would’ve, given the racket you were making trying to get your key in the door. Are you pissed?’

‘Phhfft. Pissed off, more like. I was quiet and you know it. You were waiting for me.’

He leaned his shoulder against the wall, and the movement hitched the bottom of his t-shirt away from the waistband of his battered jeans. Honey noted the smooth line of skin exposed by the move, and the fine central line of hair that dipped into the denim. How was it that this man had her more aware of his body in two minutes than Deano had managed in two hours?

‘So, how was your date?’ he said, crossing his arms across his chest.

Honey slung her purse and keys into the glow of the lamp on the hall table, then kicked off her high heels as she moved towards him. Her mind was too relaxed with wine to stay angry.

‘Umm … it was … okayish?’ she said, and then corrected herself, standing close to him. ‘Actually, it was pretty shit. He wanted to talk about his ex-girlfriend’s perfect rack all night.’

Hal scrubbed a hand over the side of his face. ‘Sheesh. That’s pretty bad. She must have been an impressive girl.’

‘Yup.’ Honey pulled the artfully arranged pins from her hair and mussed it loose with her fingers, shoving the hairpins into the pocket of her denim skirt.

‘So what did you get wrong, Honeysuckle? Are you dressed like a nun or something?’

‘Piss off. I made an effort. I wore matching undies and everything, even though he was never going to find out.’

‘You mean your knickers actually say Friday?’

‘Ha bloody ha, Hal. No. I mean I tried to look nice for him and he didn’t even notice.’

She leaned against the wall, suddenly weary with the whole thing.

‘You smell good,’ Hal said quietly. ‘And I’m willing to bet you look good, too.’

Honey swallowed hard. Here he went with his ten per cent of brilliance, and here she went going jelly-kneed on him again.

‘I tried pretty hard,’ she said. ‘This skirt’s a twelve, and in a perfect world I’m a thirteen.’

She swayed a little on her feet, and for no reason other than her wine-emboldened hands insisted, she reached out and for the second time in her life, touched his jaw.

He let her, and then stepped closer and let her lift his hand and lay it against her cheek too.

If Deano had stripped her naked and screwed her on the sticky carpet of The Cock Inn he couldn’t have possibly fired off more sparks of sexual awareness than the simple touch of Hal’s palm against her face. Honey felt it right down to her bones.

‘A thirteen, huh? I didn’t know they did that size,’ he murmured, and she could feel his smile in her hand. It was a rarity, and all the more special for it.

‘They don’t, but I wish they did,’ she said, laying her other hand flat over the steady thud of his heart. She had no clue what she was doing. Instinct and chardonnay-lowered inhibitions were in charge of the situation, and she was close enough to Hal to know that whisky was involved in the equation too. He wasn’t drunk, but he certainly matched her on the scale right now.

She turned her back against the hallway wall and Hal moved with her, his body so close she could feel the heat of him.

‘Did Deano walk you home at least?’ he said. His hand was still on her jaw, and he let his thumb graze along her bottom lip, and then back again more slowly. Honey knew he must have been able to feel her holding her breath.

‘No,’ she whispered with the tiniest shake of her head, bunching the cotton of his t-shirt in her fingers to tug him nearer.

‘Not much of a gentleman, is he, our Deano. Did he kiss you goodnight?’ Honey could almost taste the late-night whisky on his breath, and wondered if he could smell the wine on hers.

‘No,’ she said again. ‘Deano didn’t kiss me, Hal.’

‘What a prick. All good first dates should end in a goodnight kiss,’ he said, and Honey closed her eyes as he lowered his head to hers and covered her lips with his own. Her arms slipped around his neck as his hand slid into her hair, cupping the side of her head as his mouth started to move, slow and warm, the hint of his tongue delicious against hers. She heard a low moan and wasn’t certain if it was hers or his, and moved her hands in his dark hair to hold him to her. Not that Hal seemed to be considering escape; his fingers moved restlessly beneath the edge of her top, scorching the skin of her back until she wanted to rip her own clothes off and feel his hands everywhere.

She was suddenly so glad that Deano wasn’t over his ex; so glad he hadn’t kissed her tonight, because then she’d have missed out on Hal kissing her breathlessly in their hallway, missed the sexiest couple of minutes of her life. He opened her lips with his own and explored her with his tongue, the hard warmth of his body pressing her into the wall as his fingertips massaged the hollow at the base of her spine. He tasted of scotch, and he felt like heaven under her hands. She learned things about him that only kisses can tell you. She learned that he’d be a skilled, considerate lover, and that he could kiss her in a way that made every inch of her body yearn to be naked against his. The man had skills that should be illegal. And then he took the kiss to a deeper level, open mouthed and so laden with pure lust when he licked inside her mouth that all she wanted was his mouth on hers all night. She pulled his t-shirt up and stroked his back, loving the way it made him groan against her lips. His skin was as smooth as silk sheets and as warm as fresh toast beneath her palms, firm and defined and utterly, utterly beautiful to touch. She wanted to touch him all over.

‘Let’s go inside,’ she whispered against his lips. ‘Take me to bed, Hal. Your bed. My bed. I don’t care which.’

His hand stilled in her hair, and his heart banging against hers told her that he was as turned on as she was. His mouth slowed to a barely there trace, lingering, tasting her lips as if they held the last drops of precious champagne.

And then he broke the kiss, still holding her, shaking his head a little as if trying to clear it, or worse, as if he were ashamed.

‘I don’t play the piano, Honey,’ he said, his lips moving against her ear. ‘I’m not the man.’

‘I don’t care, Hal. I don’t even want a pianist,’ she said, clinging to him, hating that she could sense his withdrawal from her. ‘I think it should be you. You’re the man I need. No one’s ever kissed me like that.’

‘Then you’ve been kissing the wrong men,’ he said gently, his hands finding her shoulders as he stepped back. ‘Go inside, Strawberry Girl. Go to bed. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I won’t do it again.’

She didn’t need to be able to see his eyes to know that he was lying. He’d wanted that kiss every bit as much as she had.

‘There,’ he murmured, propelling her gently across the tiles. ‘You’ve been walked home and kissed goodnight. Consider your date officially rescued.’

She watched him disappear through his door, knowing with certainty that she’d spent ninety-five per cent of the night with the wrong man.

Hal closed his door and reached out for the whisky bottle he’d left on his hall table when he’d heard Honey come in. Every encounter with Strawberry Girl taught him new things about her. How she smelled. How she laughed. The colour of her hair, and now the dress size of her clothes. This encounter had taught him more intimate things, hints of how she tasted, of the peach-like softness of her skin, of the dips and hollows of her spine. He’d held her curves in his hands and wanted things he hadn’t wanted in months.

He tipped the bottle to his lips, welcoming the harsh spirit as mouthwash to clear away the sweetness of Honey. He’d fucked up majorly out there. It would be easy and convenient to blame it on the whisky, and no doubt that’s what he’d do when he talked to her again. Now that she’d gone, their kiss served only as a reminder of all the things that were no longer a part of his life, of the woman who’d said she wanted forever until forever suddenly meant life beside a man who couldn’t see her.

He’d loved, and thanks to the accident, he’d lost. He’d lost, and he’d lost, until there was nothing more to lose. His restaurant? Sold. His cars? Auctioned. His fiancée? She’d tried to adjust, but in truth she’d fallen for Hal’s life as much as for him and it had been too big an ask. And now he was here in this house, and his plan to adjust to life alone had already hit rocky waters because of his madcap neighbour’s search for her goddamn elusive orgasm. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He had nothing to give. In the many, many long dark days and sleepless nights since the accident, there was one thing he’d come to realise with perfect clarity. From here on in, his life wasn’t going to include romance. He wouldn’t let another woman close enough to set him aside when she decided being with him was too difficult, and equally he wouldn’t let another woman contemplate a half life at his side. He didn’t need a nursemaid and he didn’t need a guide. It was finally time to learn how to deal with this fucking nightmare on his own.

Hal made his way to bed, wishing he could turn the clock back and resist the urge to open his front door when he’d heard Honey come in that evening.