A Walk in the Park (11 page)

Flynn said, “What we were talking about this morning reminded me of something. I was going to mention it when Gigi came down and dragged me away. Plus, I needed to think it through.”

Lara blinked. “Go on.”

“It was nine or ten years ago. I was working at Gray's.” He paused, “A woman came in to buy some wine. We were running a tasting and she was trying a few different kinds. We got chatting, then all of a sudden she asked me if I was the skier. I told her I was, and then she said did I used to have a girlfriend called Lara.”

“Who was she?”

“I said yes I had,” Flynn continued steadily. “And she said she thought so, that she'd known you when you were growing up; she'd moved away years ago, but during her last visit back to Bath she'd seen the two of us together. She recognized me from the TV and was so glad to see you looking so happy. She asked if I was still in touch with you and I told her I wasn't, that you'd left Bath and hadn't kept in touch with anyone here.”

Lara's heart was thudding away. “What was her name?”

“I don't know. But she talked about you for a bit, told me she'd been a friend of your mum's and how awful it must have been for you when she died. She said she left Bath just after it happened and that she'd written to you but never had any reply.”

“I didn't get any letter.” Her mind was racing ahead. “She might have sent one, but I never saw it. Anyway, carry on. What else?”

But Flynn was already shaking his head. “That's it, that's all there was. Bearing in mind that I didn't have any reason to remember her. But I'm sure she was more tanned than the other people in the shop, as if she'd been abroad on vacation…”

“Or if she
lived
somewhere hot,” Gigi put in helpfully, “and had just come back to Bath.”

“But you don't have her name,” said Lara. “So that means we still don't know who she is.”

“She bought some wine.” Flynn leaned to one side and drew a folded sheet of paper from his trouser pocket. “It was before I got the business computerized.” The Grays had been famously anti-technology prior to his arrival. “But we've been through all the old invoices today. I've made a list of every female whose name begins with a J.”

“So you see,” Gigi chimed in again, “it
was
boring, but it was worth it!”

“Can I see?” Lara reached for the sheet of paper. The names were in Flynn's hand, instantly transporting her back to their teenage years together; that untidy, spiky writing style was spookily unchanged.

She scanned the names, so many of them… Jane Morgan… J. Lancaster… Julie Knight… Judith Childerley… Jennifer Fuge… Joanne Margason… Josephine Pride… J. Carter… Jean Drew…

There were more. She scrutinized them all, willing the right one to leap out at her, released like a tiger from the depths of her subconscious.

“It's no good, I can't tell.” Reaching the end, she put the list down and felt her throat tighten with disappointment. “I don't think I ever knew her surname. We're never going to know which one's her. Even if we could find out, those invoices are years old…”

“Don't be such a pessimist. Keep thinking about that name beginning with J. It might come to you.” Flynn retrieved the list then rose to his feet. “Right, I have work to do. Better be off.” The moment he said it, Gigi jumped up and gave him a hug. Still in a daze, Lara nevertheless experienced a twinge of envy that he'd managed to get her off the ground; if she'd been the one leaving, Gigi would have stayed where she was and said, “Bye, Mum!”

“Mum?”

“What?”

“Dad's leaving now. Are you going to say anything?”

“Oh. Um, good-bye.”

“Mum!”

“What?” Gigi was giving her a don't-be-so-
rude
look.

“You could try saying thank you.”

“Right. Yes of course, sorry.” Lara looked up at Flynn, silhouetted against the sun with Gigi still clinging to his arm. “Thanks. Very much.”

Thanks
for
raising
my
hopes
and
dashing
them
again, thanks for stirring up all the old feelings, thanks for making me feel like a failure for not being able to remember my mum's friend's name.

He smiled slightly, as if reading her mind. “No problem. Just trying to help.”

***

Evie was stuck in traffic on her way to drop off an order before heading home. Well, not her own home. Lara's. But in just a few days they'd fallen into such an easy routine it felt as if they'd been there for weeks.

The traffic lights changed and she edged forward in the queue of cars. It had been both strange and nice being back at work today. Some of the customers had known about the wedding-that-never-was and had been astonished to see her there in the shop with Bonnie and Ray. Others, complete strangers, had no clue about any of it. And a regular customer called Kevin, just back from a month-long visit to Canada, had greeted her with a cheery, “So how's married life treating the new Mrs. Barber? Everything you wished for and more, I hope!”

Which had resulted in one of those
slightly
awkward pauses until Ray had put a supportive arm around Evie's shoulder and said, “Whoops, do you want to tell him, pet? Or shall I?”

The eventual consensus had been that Joel was a plonker. Then, just as Kevin was leaving the shop, an Interflora delivery had arrived. The young girl handed Evie a lavish cellophane-wrapped bouquet of Asiatic lilies, alstroemeria, and germini.

“Blimey.” Kevin looked impressed. “New boyfriend? That's what I call quick work.”

Because that was
so
likely, wasn't it?

“Oh yes, I'm beating them off with a stick.” Evie tore open the mini-envelope and glanced at the card which said:
I'm sorry. I love you
. “But these are from the old one.”

“Ah, don't you love it when that happens? He's seen the error of his ways and now he wants to win you back.” Kevin had three teenage daughters and was accustomed to the associated traumas. “Am I right?”

“You're right. But it's not going to happen.” Out of the corner of her eye, Evie saw Bonnie's face fall. Oh dear, did that mean she hadn't completely believed her before?

Now the traffic was starting to move again. The smell of the lilies was strong inside the car. Evie had tried to leave them with Bonnie but had been forced to bring them home with her. She reached the junction and turned left; ironically the outfits she had in the trunk of the car needed to be dropped off at the hotel Lara had been booked into for the night of the wedding.

Driving in through the gates, she was relieved to see plenty of free spaces today. No sea of cars, no glamorous nuptials in progress, no grumpy gardener types waiting to have a go at her for parking in the wrong spot.

Evie lugged everything out of the trunk and crunched across the gravel to the Ellison's imposing entrance.

OK, spoke too soon. As she approached the steps, the grumpy gardener appeared at the top of them with a watering can, evidently about to start watering the flowers in the stone tubs on either side of the heavy double doors.

Spotting her, he put the watering can down and said, “Hello there, hang on, let me give you a hand with those.”

“It's alright, I can manage—” As she said it, one of the slippery polyethylene dry-cleaning covers slithered from her grasp, probably just to spite her, and she had to catch it between elbow and hip.

“Don't worry, no problem. I'll get them.” He didn't appear to have recognized her, which was good. Evie let him take three of the polyethylene-covered outfits and one of the bags containing various accessories.

“I need to leave them at reception.”

“The receptionist's just gone upstairs to help one of the guests sort out his TV.” The gardener held the heavy door open and followed her inside. “She'll be back in a minute. I've just realized what I'm carrying here.” Amused, he held up the nun's habit and the bishop's robe. “Ha, look at these. What's in the bag?”

Cheeky sod, and now he was opening it up, seeing what was in there. “Excuse me, can you not do that? Leave it alone, it's not yours.”

“I just wanted to—”

“Well, you can't. Get your dirty hands off it.” Dumping the outfits on the desk, Evie snatched the bag away from him; the irony of it being her turn to tell him off didn't escape her.

“My hands aren't dirty,” he protested.

“I don't care. I still don't want you poking around in there. It's none of your business.”

“Hang on, haven't I seen you before?” He was surveying her more closely now. “Where do I know you from?”

Oh yes, because that was just the conversation she wanted to have. Like she was actually going to remind him. Evie said, “I've no idea. Anyway, I'll wait here for the receptionist to come down. You can get back to your watering.”

Whoops, she'd meant to sound mildly dismissive, not downright derogatory.

Beneath his uncombed hair, the gardener raised an eyebrow and said, “Watering plants is important. If you don't do it, they die.”

Feeling guilty and keen to get rid of him before he remembered when they'd last met, Evie said, “I know, sorry. And thanks for all your help.” Never had she been so glad to see the brunette in her smart blue uniform come clip-clopping down the staircase. “Ah, here's the receptionist… bye.”

And still he didn't move. Why wasn't he heading back outside? Oh no, he'd helped her carry everything up the steps and into reception. Mortified that it hadn't occurred to her before, Evie scrabbled around in her jacket pocket and found a couple of the coins she kept in there for parking meters. A fifty pence piece and a pound. Well, he wasn't having both.

“Sorry, there you go.” Hastily she pressed the pound coin into his hand, then made a point of turning her attention to the receptionist. “Hello! I've got a delivery for some guests of yours… the Manning family…”

***

There were some things you accepted might happen in real life, and others that were less likely. Then there were the things you really couldn't
ever
imagine happening, like Prince Charles taking up break dancing or Rod Stewart marrying a brunette.

When Gigi came bursting into the living room clutching her laptop and yelling, “Oh my God, you are not going to
believe
this,” Lara said, “Let me guess. Justin Bieber joined One Direction.”

“
Way
better than that. Wait till you see.” Gigi plonked herself down on the sofa between Evie and Lara and wriggled to make room for her elbows. “God, I can't believe he didn't tell us himself. But that's Harry for you. Leave it to him and it might occur to him to mention it in his next Christmas card.”

This was about Harry? Lara said, “He might mention what?”

Evie peered at the screen. “Is this Harry who was away on vacation when I was up there?”

“The very one.” Gigi was busy clicking on links. “If we've told you he's a fuddy-duddy, you have no idea just
how
fuddy and how duddy. OK, here it is, take a look at this…”

“Wow,” said Lara when they'd finished watching. “Just… wow.”

This was what Harry, in his inimitable way, would have called a turn-up for the books. She smiled, remembering how Gigi, aged five, had thought it was a turnip for the books. Ever since, anything remotely surprising had always been described as a turnip.

And this was a turnip and a half.

“It's just mad.” Gigi was busy scrolling through the hundreds of comments on EnjaySeven's website. “Talk about the odd couple. But everyone's buying the shirts! Sales must be going through the roof. And then guess what you see when you go to the Flying Ducks website.”

“I can't guess.” Lara envisaged the old-fashioned, utterly basic home page splashed with Hollywood-style fanfare and giant photos of EnjaySeven.

“Nothing! Nothing at all!” Clicking on it, Gigi showed them. “Not a single mention.
Unbelievable
.”

To be fair, there was a tiny message in a box politely requesting customers to be patient while orders were filled, due to an unforeseen increase in demand.

“Typical Harry,” Lara said fondly.

“Typical of
my
luck.” Gigi rolled her eyes. “Eighteen years I lived in that town, and how many superstar rappers turned up? Yet the minute I move down here, it all kicks off in Keswick.”

“Never mind,” said Evie. “You got yourself a dad instead.”

“I know. It's OK, I'm not complaining about that. God, it's just so weird though. This time last week I bet Harry didn't even know what YouTube was. Now he's not only on it, he's gone and got himself a million hits and everyone's going crazy for the uptight English guy.”

“He looks nice.” Evie gave Gigi a nudge and pointed to the screen. “Go on, play another clip.”

Lara was in Superdrug, trying to choose a new roll-on deodorant and sniffing her way through all the different kinds, because how could you buy one without wanting to know what your underarms were going to smell like?

God, though, so much choice.
So
much. Waterlily and Mint. Silkflower and Mandarin. Passionfruit and Pink Pepper… that one sounded like an hors d'oeuvre…

Her phone was ringing. She fished it out of her bag and saw Flynn's name flash up. “Hello?”

“Hi. I just called round to the house and no one's in. Where are you?”

His voice still had the ability to make her pulse quicken; the novelty hadn't worn off yet.

“What are you, our parole officer?” Assuming by “you” he meant the two of them, Lara said, “Gigi's gone to get her hair cut. She must have switched her phone off.”

“I wasn't asking about Gigi. It's you I'm after.” Oo-er, he definitely didn't mean
that
the way it sounded.

“I'm shopping.” She put the other deodorants back on the shelf and went for Passionfruit and Pink Pepper, dropping it into her basket alongside the exfoliating scrub and razors. Oh, the glamour. Hopefully Flynn would be picturing her wafting through Jolly's buying glamorous underwear and designer shoes.

As if.

“In town? Can we meet up? How about at the Moon and Sixpence in fifteen minutes?”

Lara checked her watch; it was midday. “OK, but I have to be somewhere by one. Why do you want to see me? Is it about Gigi?” As she said it, her stomach tightened with fear; was he tiring of his daughter already? Did he feel overwhelmed by her full-on enthusiasm? Had it seemed like a good idea at the time, but the actual reality of being landed with her was turning out to be too much of a responsibility for—

“Yes, I do need to talk to you about Gigi.” Flynn paused and fear spiraled into maternal outrage; if he dared to utter just
one
word
of
criticism
… “But this is mainly about you.”

Lara made her way up past the Roman baths, thronged with tourists. The Moon and Sixpence was on Milsom Place. She bagged the last empty table outside in the private courtyard and sat down to wait. Flynn would be here in a few minutes. Damn, her underarms felt a bit sticky, but if she were to pay a visit to the ladies' someone else might come along and grab the table.

OK, no problem, she could do this. Just to be on the safe side, Lara waited for the waitress to disappear inside before sneaking the deodorant out of her bag and surreptitiously slipping it up under her top. Left arm, done. OK, now swap over. Right arm…

“Hello.”

Bugger, caught in the act. Trust Flynn to be early. She chucked the lid into her handbag and left the roll-on wedged under her arm. Not ideal, but better than him seeing what she'd been up to.

“Hi, you're here!” Now she could escape to the ladies'; keeping her right arm clamped to her side, Lara rose to her feet. Awkwardly, Flynn thought she was doing it to greet him with a cheek kiss. She experienced an involuntary frisson as his mouth brushed the side of her face, then felt his hand on her shoulder, gently guiding her back into her seat.

“I am. There was a parking space right outside. You're looking smart.”

In honor of her upcoming interview she was wearing a white jersey top and a charcoal pencil skirt. He looked smart too, in his dark suit. Was Flynn the kind of man for whom parking spaces magically materialized wherever he went? Lara watched him as the waitress came rushing over.

“Drink?” said Flynn.

“No, thanks. Just coffee.”

“Two coffees, please.”

The waitress was visibly,
effortlessly
charmed by his smile.

“Go on then,” Lara prompted when she'd left them to it. “What's this about Gigi?”

He heard the tension in her voice and looked surprised. “My God, relax. What are you expecting me to say?”

“I don't know. I just want you to tell me.”

“I thought it was best to check with you first, in case you have other plans. But if you don't, I've spoken to the Grays and it's fine by them. We'd like to offer Gigi a job.”

“Oh.” She hadn't been expecting that. “At the wine merchants?”

“No, at the circus.” Flynn nodded. “Yes. Not full time. Probably thirty hours a week. How does that sound?”

“Um, good.”

He frowned. “Are you OK? You look kind of… stiff. Have you done something to your neck?”

It was hard to relax with a roll-on deodorant clenched under your arm like an alternative version of pass-the-orange. Lara shifted in her seat. “I'm fine. I thought you were going to say something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like would it be OK if you took a step back, you've done your stint with Gigi, she knows who you are now, can you just get on with your own life?”

“You seriously think I'd say that?”

“I don't know! How would I? All I know is this is my daughter we're talking about and it's my job to protect her,” said Lara. “And that's something I'll do until the day I die.”

Flynn said, “She's my daughter too.”

“Fathers walk away from their kids all the time.”

“Sometimes mothers do too.”

“Not me.”

“Nor me.” He shook his head before they went any further. “This is crazy. We're on the same side here. Based on no grounds whatsoever, you thought I wanted to opt out of having anything more to do with Gigi. But that isn't true, so that means there's nothing to argue about.”

“OK.” He had a point. But he also had no idea how easy it was to fear the worst. Lara forced herself to relax, while still unobtrusively keeping her right arm clamped to her side. Actually, now would be a good time to nip inside and get rid of the roll-on…

“So that's that sorted,” said Flynn. “If you're fine with it, I'll go ahead and talk to Gigi. Now, the other thing,” he announced just as she was about to push back her chair. “The main reason I wanted to see you.”

“Is it good news or bad news?” Either way, she was on her way to the loo.

“Good news, I hope.”

When had she ever been able to resist good news? Lara stayed put. There was something about the way he was saying it. “Go on.”

“I've found your mum's friend.”

She stared at him. “You can't have.”

“Ah, but I have.” Flynn was smiling, evidently pleased with himself.

“How?”

“I'm quite clever.”

“You're not David Blaine though. I don't see that it's possible. How do you
know
it's her?”

“I emailed her this morning. Twenty minutes ago she emailed me back. And I did have some help,” he added. “That was a long list we had to work through. It took a while to narrow it down.”

“But…?” Lara was stunned; she couldn't begin to imagine how he'd managed it. She sat back as the waitress returned with their tray of coffee.

Flynn waited until they were alone again before saying in a low voice, “I have a friend in the police force. They can trace people through their credit card details.”

Lara's eyes widened. “Isn't that illegal?”

“Probably. But it's all in a good cause.”

“And that's how you found her?”

“It's how we found a lot of people who
weren't
her.” Flynn took out his iPhone and began tapping away at it.

“Are you calling her now? Don't!” yelped Lara. “It's too soon, I'm not ready!”

“Calm down, I'm just showing you the email. I Googled the name and found a blog. And the details seemed to fit, so I started reading, and then there was a mention of having once lived in Bath, so I sent her a message asking if she'd ever known someone called Barbara Carson…”

“And she said yes?”

Flynn nodded and passed his phone over so she could see the reply for herself. “Her name's Jo Finnegan. She lives up in the hills outside Barcelona.”

Jo Finnegan. Possibly Josie or Joanne. It still didn't ring a bell but that was because she'd never really known the name in the first place. And it no longer mattered because Flynn had found her anyway. Lara gazed at the email on the screen and saw that Jo Finnegan hadn't just said yes, she'd bellowed:

YES I DID KNOW BARBARA!!! And I remember who you are too—how amazing to hear from you after all this time! Longing to know why you're contacting me and assuming—hoping—it has something to do with Barbara's daughter. (Good news, preferably.) Please let me know at once. Sorry, my mobile is kaput but send another message and I will reply asap.

Very best wishes, Jo.

Lara exhaled. How amazing. Against all the odds, he'd found her mum's friend. Not that there was any guarantee that this woman would be able to answer any of the questions she had for her, but it would still be wonderful to contact another person who'd known her mother. As the years had gone by, she hated the sensation that her own memories were depleting, leaving her with a picture like a jigsaw with more and more pieces falling away…

“Want to see what she looks like?” Taking back the iPhone, Flynn found the blog and scrolled down. “There you go.” The photograph was small but it was recognizably her mother's friend, a head and shoulders snapshot of a woman in her sixties with a round tanned face. No makeup but plenty of paler laughter lines fanning out from the corners of her wide-set brown eyes. A crooked nose. Wavy light-brown hair fastened up at the sides with barrettes. Big silver earrings and a generous double chin.

Did she look like the kind of person you'd want to confide your deepest, darkest secrets in? Studying her carefully, Lara thought she probably did.

God, I hope so.

She raised her gaze to Flynn and said, “Yes, I remember her face. Those eyes. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Did it take ages?”

“Yes. But it was worth it.”

“One minute I want to kill you,” said Lara. “The next minute, you go and do something nice.”

“Drink your coffee.” He pushed her saucer closer. “You haven't touched it.”

“In a minute. Let me go to the loo first.” Her brain in a whirl, Lara remembered that this was what she had to do next and jumped to her feet. Sadly she'd forgotten why she was meant to be doing it and reaching for her handbag caused the glass bottle of roll-on deodorant to drop out of her top and land head first with a clatter and a splash in her coffee cup.

Noisy and messy. Plus, everyone was turning to stare. Terrific.

With admirable restraint, Flynn surveyed the scene of the accident. “Is that a… roll-on deodorant?”

“Looks like it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I allowed to ask where you were keeping that thing?”

“It was under my arm, OK? I forgot it was there. What can I say? You make me nervous.” Lara hastily mopped up the mess with a napkin and handed the cup with the upended deodorant in it to the waitress who was doing her best not to smirk.

Flynn said, “Am I allowed to ask if there's another one under the other arm?”

“No there isn't. Because that would be ridiculous.”

He nodded gravely. “You're right, it would.”

“Everyone's still looking at me. Maybe we can go now.”

His mouth began to twitch. “If that's what you want.”