A Hundred Pieces of Me (29 page)

Gina frowned and tried to keep her voice level. In a way, she had to admire Amanda’s sheer brass neck. ‘That’s not the point.’

‘Oh, come on. I don’t believe they’d mount a prosecution. That’s just an empty threat. And it’s
our
house!’ Her frustration was audible. Amanda clearly wasn’t a woman who was used to hearing no. Especially not a legal no.

‘Believe me, they would. And they don’t care that it’s your house. Listed buildings are different. You’re seen as a custodian, not an owner. I’m really sorry.’

‘The reason I hired you is because I expected you to be able to handle this sort of thing.’ Amanda let out an impatient sigh. ‘I don’t believe you can’t fast-track it.’

‘I’ll monitor everything as closely as possible, I promise.’ Gina had worked with some pushy property developers while she was at the council, but Amanda had a way of applying pressure she’d never felt before. She straightened her back, even though Amanda couldn’t see. ‘If you have a look at the schedule of works I emailed through, there’s plenty that Lorcan can be getting on with while we’re waiting for the go-ahead. Repairs don’t need consent, so we’ve got the roofing specialist here today.’

‘This is really disappointing, Gina.’

‘I know, but in the long run—’

‘Fine. Fine. I have to go. But if you can keep the pressure on, that would be appreciated.’

Gina found herself making agreeing noises, but before she could explain the rest of the week’s schedule, Amanda had said goodbye and was gone.

‘Wow,’ said Gina, staring at the phone. The lock screen was a photo of duck eggs; the same duck eggs she’d had in her hands, she guessed. ‘Did I handle that all right? I can’t tell.’

‘It sounded perfectly reasonable to me,’ said Nick. ‘In as much as any of this planning regulation stuff is reasonable.’

‘No, I mean the time issue. I didn’t realise there was a deadline on this. If there is, you’d better tell me now.’

The kettle boiled and he poured more water onto the coffee. ‘There isn’t, not particularly. Amanda just likes to get things moving ASAP – it’s part of working in that field. Time is money.’

Gina wasn’t sure that was the whole answer. ‘She does understand that this sort of project doesn’t move on normal schedules?’ She gave him a square look. ‘Some things will happen quickly, and others . . . Well, be prepared for rotten floors, and unexpected holes behind walls. I tell all my clients, you need a twenty per cent cash reserve and a forty per cent time one. Minimum.’

‘Look, she’s not going to be back for another fortnight.’ Nick put the refilled cafetière on a pile of colour cards. ‘This merger she’s refereeing seems to be expanding daily, so I doubt she’ll have time to make more than, ooh, three or four chasing phone calls a day.’

‘Okay. Maybe ask her to condense it into one nightly email? Then I can respond properly.’ Gina took a mouthful of cold coffee. Suddenly it didn’t seem too strong any more. Her heart was pounding.

‘It’ll be fine. Honestly. Amanda’s just very full-on. It’s one of the reasons we had to build two offices into the last house. And buy the flat in the Barbican. I think we’d end up killing each other if we had to live together all the time.’

‘Have you never lived together?’

He laughed. ‘Once. For six months when her flat was on the market. Never again. We agreed that either we bought a second place, or one of us went into rehab or prison.’

Gina glanced over, surprised at the honesty of the admission, and Nick added, ‘I’m joking. Sort of.’

‘Still, this house should be big enough,’ she said. ‘A wing each?’

‘That’s the idea,’ said Nick, but he’d turned back to the counter for the toast, and she couldn’t see his face.

‘Nick?’ Lorcan appeared at the kitchen door. ‘Morning, Gina. I’ve got Barry Butler here. About the roof? Ah, is that coffee? Grand.’

Gina poured him a mugful, then topped up her own. It wasn’t even half past nine yet, and she felt as if she’d been awake for hours.

‘Has no one come for this dog yet?’ Naomi asked, eyeing Buzz, who was curled up in his basket while Gina assembled the tea and cakes in the kitchen. He was doing his best to ignore Naomi, in the hope that he would be ignored in turn. But Naomi didn’t ignore things.

‘Not yet. Next week.’

‘I thought the rescue woman was going to move him to a greyhound shelter?’

‘She is, as soon as a space comes up. To be honest, he’s no bother. He spends most of the day over the road. I just feed him, and give him somewhere to sleep.’

Gina put the tea tray in front of Naomi on the coffee table. She had hoped that her attention would be drawn to the bright clean lines of her nearly empty sitting room rather than to the dog in the corner. The boxes were now confined to the spare room (which they nearly filled, but still), leaving light to flood into the main living area. She’d put a big mirror on one wall, reflecting the grey-blue sky outside; the sill displayed three postcards on stalks, and the Polaroid of the eggs in her hands. The main blank wall, where her one amazing picture would go, still had only her lining-paper list, now decorated with a packet of gold stars she’d found in a box. No point in saving gold stars, Gina had decided. They formed glittering trails around her favourite things.

‘Naomi? Cupcake? From the gourmet deli?’

Naomi was staring at Buzz’s knobbly back with a semi-disgusted, semi-fascinated expression. ‘Are you feeding him enough? I’ve seen fatter supermodels.’

‘I’m giving him this special greyhound food to build him up. Rachel says they’re all skinny. He gets very nervous and apparently it stops him putting on weight.’

‘You’re starting to sound like you know a lot about this all of a sudden.’ Naomi turned back to her with reproachful eyes. ‘Don’t get suckered in. You don’t need a dog. They’re a tie. You’re getting rid of stuff, not taking things in. What about that holiday you were going on?’

‘Oh, it’s only for a few more days. I don’t mind.’ Despite herself, Gina was getting attached to Buzz. He demanded so little of her, and Rachel had been right: his silent company
was
just what she needed, to take the edge of her solitude. Buzz added a rhythm to her day that wasn’t completely unwelcome in its new free-form state – he gave it a beginning and an end, and a walk around the park with her new friend.

‘Any sign of your bike?’ Naomi helped herself to the blue cupcake.

Gina shook her head. ‘The police gave me a crime number, but they weren’t very hopeful about getting it back.’

‘That’s outrageous. Don’t they know what it’s worth? Can you claim on your household insurance?’

‘To be honest, Nay, I don’t care. That bike didn’t bring me any luck. I’m glad it’s gone. It only . . .’ Gina blew out a long breath ‘. . . it only reminded me that I wasn’t the cycling wife Stuart obviously wanted. Now it’s gone, I don’t have to kick myself.’

Naomi looked at her sympathetically. ‘Fair enough. I just wish you could have spent that money on your big treat. How’s the fund coming on?’

‘It’ll come on a lot quicker when you get round to showing me how to flog my clothes.’

‘Next weekend, I promise. Actually,’ Naomi corrected herself, ‘not next weekend – we’re going to stay with my mother in Brighton. The weekend after that. We’ll get the dummy round.’

‘That’d be me.’

‘Ha ha. Very good. But how’s it going otherwise? You’ve got rid of loads. Are you not worried Stuart’s going to see his old jackets in the window of the Oxfam shop?’

‘No, I was tempted. But he’s getting them back, in bin bags.’

‘Is he asking for the rings?’ Naomi asked nosily. ‘You don’t have to hand them over. I’ve seen it on
Judge Judy
. They’re yours – people have them melted down and made into a divorce ring. Ooh, what about personal letters? Are you giving those back? That’d put a crimp in his love nest, unpacking a bundle of those.’

Gina smiled at the glee on Naomi’s face, but then stopped. ‘What would you do,’ she said, ‘if you had some letters that belonged to someone else? Would you give them back?’

‘What? If I’d stolen them? Well, duh, Gina. Yes.’

‘No, not stolen.’ She hesitated again. ‘Returned.’

Naomi put her cup down. ‘Oh, no. Are you talking about those letters Kit’s mum sent back? I thought you’d given them to him that time you saw him.’

‘Don’t look like that. No, I didn’t. I was going to, but the moment wasn’t right . . .’ Gina winced. ‘I thought maybe, now some water’s passed under the bridge . . .’

‘No!’ Naomi looked incredulous. ‘Get rid of them. For God’s sake. Don’t even think of going back to that mess. You had your chance to get it sorted out, and the pair of you managed to make everything just that little bit worse, so on balance, Gina, I would say, no. Do
not
send those letters back to Kit, do
not
arrange to see him,
stop
picking that scab, and move
on
.’

Naomi took a deep breath. She’d been speaking so quickly, her voice rising with each passionate sentence, that Buzz had abandoned his basket and retreated to the kitchen. ‘Sorry,’ she added. ‘I’ve scared your dog.’

Gina didn’t respond to the lame jokiness because Naomi clearly wasn’t joking. It was hard to explain properly how she felt about the letters. She couldn’t just throw them away – it would be like throwing out the part of herself that had written them. If he did . . . well, that was different. In the last house, there had been drawers to stuff them into. Here, every item that stayed was a choice.

‘I just feel they’re not mine to throw away,’ she said. ‘I want him to see them.’

‘Why?’

‘So he knows I wrote them.’

‘He
knows
, Gina.’ Naomi threw her hands in the air. ‘But it was thirteen years ago. Why would he want to read them now? What’s the point?’ She sank back, and regarded Gina with surprise. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you were still so hung up on Kit.’

‘I’m not hung up on him,’ said Gina. ‘It’s more me. I just feel I have to tidy this up while I’m tidying everything else up. I feel . . . OK, I still feel guilty about it. I feel like all the bad luck in my life basically stems from not dealing with that situation properly.’

‘What? You were a
kid
.’ Naomi rolled her eyes. ‘Who can honestly say they dealt with anything properly when they were twenty-one?’

‘I wasn’t the last time I saw him.’

‘Well, he didn’t exactly cover himself in glory then either, if you ask me.’

They sat and looked at each other, the highlights and lowlights of all the years they’d been each other’s best friend flickering between them, too many for them to be anything other than completely honest with each other.

‘Shred the letters,’ said Naomi. ‘Give them to me and I’ll do it.’

‘I can’t,’ said Gina, simply. ‘That doesn’t solve anything.’

‘So what do you want me to say? Yes, go and see him? Because I don’t think it’s a great idea. Not right now.’ Naomi gave her a sharp look. ‘I’m not being funny, but it’s going to look like you’re using it as an excuse to get back in touch because you’re getting a divorce. And even if it’s not –’

‘It’s not.’

‘– I guarantee that’s how he’ll see it. So give it a couple of months, then see if you’re still desperate to hand the letters over in person. Wait until your decree absolute’s through, at least.’ She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Any news on that?’

Gina sighed. ‘It won’t happen until the financial arrangements are sorted out. And that won’t happen until Stuart gets that box of junk by the door and all the money he thinks he’s due. Which could be a while.’

Naomi grimaced. She glanced around the flat, and spotted the list on the wall opposite. Gina watched as she levered herself off the sofa, and went over to read it.

‘“One hundred favourite things”,’ she read aloud. ‘Interesting.’

‘It is.’

There was a pause as Naomi read on, occasionally laughing.

Gina grabbed the black marker pen from the pot on her desk, and went to join her.

‘Shift over,’ she said, and when Naomi moved, Gina wrote ‘20. Naomi McIntyre Hewson’ at the end.

‘A new entry at number twenty,’ said Naomi, wryly. ‘Below music but above, what? Tunnock’s Tea Cakes?’ But she bumped her hip against Gina’s with affection.

Chapter Thirteen

ITEM
: brown velvet Vivienne Westwood suit, ‘guitar’ jacket with nipped waist, and narrow pencil skirt, size 12

Hartley, 2nd June 2008

Gina lies on her bed in her old room at home in Matterdale Drive, after the world’s gloomiest hen night (Janet, Naomi and her, and a bottle of rosé wine at Ferrari’s in Longhampton) and stares at her wedding suit hanging on the back of her door, like someone standing sentry over her, making sure she doesn’t do a runner.

The suit’s cut so well that it doesn’t really need a body inside it. It’s curvy and confident all on its own. Gina half wishes she could put some kind of Sorcerer’s Apprentice spell on it and send the suit along to the register office tomorrow morning in her place to marry Stuart.