Paul clearly had other ideas. He ploughed straight in. ‘It never is, is it, Stella? It’s never what it looks like with you. Can’t you just come out and admit the truth? Even your own daughter doesn’t know what the hell’s going on.’ Don’t bring me into it, thought Lipsy. ‘One minute you’re flirting with me, the next minute you’re getting back with her dad, and the next you’re having it off with your neighbour!’
My dad? Lipsy looked at her mother quizzically. Surely not. Please, God, not that.
But Paul hadn’t finished yet, and so far her mother hadn’t even looked up from the floor let alone had a chance to speak. ‘I’m more than disappointed with you, Stella. I’m disgusted.’
Her mum flinched. Lipsy said, ‘Hey, come on. No need for that.’
‘Really?’ he rounded on Lipsy, then seemed to think better of it. ‘You think what you like. And you,’ he turned again to her mother, ‘you can do what the hell you want. You always do anyway.’
Then he was gone, the door slamming behind him, tyres squealing into the night. Lipsy crouched by her mum who was slumped in a heap on the bare floor and stroked her head, lost for words.
When her mother finally looked up she forced a smile. ‘Men, eh?’ she said, then she covered her face with her hands again and started to cry.
Chapter 23
This is clearly going to be a week of waking up and regretting what happened the night before. For the second time in four days I wake with a banging head and an overwhelming sense of foreboding.
This time the head is caused not by excessive alcohol but by excessive crying. No one ever tells you that crying all night will have such a detrimental effect on your health – not to mention your looks – but it does. My skull is throbbing, my eyes have swollen into slits, my face is blotchy and – horror of horrors – there are at least four freshly broken veins on my cheeks. Damn that Paul Not-So-Smart and his jumping to conclusions. If only he’d bothered to listen to my explanation.
If only he’d picked another night to spy on me.
It was all so innocent. Joshua phoned me yesterday and said he wanted to talk to me about a “business proposition”. Maybe that does sound a bit ominous but this is
Joshua
, remember. He’s as harmless as a money spider. So I go round there after dinner, taking with me a bottle of red wine that was left over from the decorating party. I was glad of the opportunity to see him alone anyway, wanting to thank him for all his help with the house and to apologise again for my ex’s crappy behaviour.
I was right not to worry. Joshua had no ulterior motives: only wanted to tell me that he’d heard I was planning a dive into the world of property and could put me in touch with his brother who is some hot-shot developer in London. For advice. He also said he’d be interested in going into the business with me if I was looking for a partner. He fancies himself as project manager. I have to say, I can’t think of anyone more organised than Joshua and he probably would be very useful. Plus, he has the added bonus of being seriously loaded.
But I told him I’d have to discuss it with my father, who was already on board as my partner, and by the way did he know that my father was in prison at the moment? For some reason this seemed to unsettle him. He jumped up off his immaculate white sofa in shock, jolting me and spilling red wine everywhere.
Now, any normal person would have mopped it up a bit, said never mind, and then got back to drinking the stuff. Not Joshua, the one-man cleaning machine. Before I knew it he had his entire armoury of cleaning fluids out of the cupboard, was soaking the carpet with a combination of chemicals usually used to make small bombs, and scrubbing at the sofa like it was made of gold. He also insisted on washing my blouse there and then. I protested – who wants to end up topless on a Tuesday night for no good reason? – but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d already removed his own stained shirt, revealing a six-pack that made my eyes go wide. Shame he so obviously wasn’t interested in me. Apart from the OCD he really could have been perfect in lots of ways.
I banished these terrible thoughts immediately, loyal to my perfect Paul, and shed my own top, which was whisked away and in the washing machine in a flash – the well maintained, not-about-to-burn-his-house-down washing machine, obviously. After a short, uncomfortable silence we agreed to continue the discussion another time and I left discreetly, to spare both of our blushes.
And the rest you know. You, of course, wouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like my Paul did. Anyone who knows me would have thought, ‘There must be some completely rational and innocent explanation for this, no matter how it looks. One that doesn’t involve exchanging bodily fluids with her admittedly very handsome neighbour.’
Paul Smart thought the worst of me, and the way I’m feeling this morning I figure this just about sums him up. It is with a heavy heart I dial the number for Smart Homes.
Just to make matters worse, Loretta answers the phone. ‘Hi,’ I say, ‘it’s Stella.’ I can actually feel her scowl. ‘Is Paul there?’ I ask politely.
‘Yes.’ This is all I get.
‘Well, can I speak to him?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stella. Sorry.’ She wasn’t sorry at all, the bitch. She was loving it.
‘Why?’ I’m still calm.
‘He seems to be in a bit of a bad mood today. You wouldn’t have any idea why, would you?’ There is something in her voice that tells me she knows more about what’s going on than I do.
‘No. But I think maybe you do. Is there something you’d like to get off your chest, Loretta? Oh, sorry,’ I add, because I too can be a bitch sometimes, ‘you haven’t really got a chest to get anything off, have you?’
This gets her where it hurts. ‘At least I don’t go flaunting it to anything in trousers like you,’ she says. ‘Paul knows all about you, Stella. He knows about your little get together with another man on Monday night. Not so very clever then, were you?’
Monday night? What is she talking about?
Then I remember. Monday after work was when I met up with John Dean to tell him ‘Thanks but no thanks’ and ‘Goodbye’. It went better than expected – he listened and took me seriously instead of making a big joke out of it and carrying on like before. Actually, he had been quite upset. Not devastated, I couldn’t hope for that much, but disappointed – hurt even. I think he’d liked the idea of getting back together with me, moving into my little house, playing happy families with me and Lipsy and the new baby.
But he hadn’t banked on the old, gullible Stella being a distant relic and a new, assertive – and in love with someone else – Stella having replaced her. Neither, to tell the truth, had I. So when it came down to it we just talked. I didn’t shout or blame or pile on the guilt. He didn’t defend or plead or argue. What he did do was apologise, I like to think genuinely, for leaving me the way he did. I told him I forgave him. I’m not sure I do completely, but I know I will one day.
And that, it seems, is what Loretta saw. God knows how she presented it to Paul – not well, I imagine.
No wonder he was so ready to believe the worst of me.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I ask her now. I can tell she is checking the office before she answers, making sure no one can hear her.
‘Because you need to learn that you can’t have everything.’ I can picture her face, her red nose and her screwed up mouth. She hates me, I’ve always known this. I’ve just never really known why.
‘That’s stupid, Loretta. I know I can’t. Why do you even think that way?’
She’s on a roll now – I don’t think she even heard me. ‘Flouncing in and out of here, day in, day out. All the blokes eating out of the palm of your hand, you loving every minute of it.’ Flouncing? I’m not sure I know how to flounce. ‘And Paul, you treat him like dirt, only bothering with him when you need something, using him like some stand-in boyfriend.’
‘Maybe that’s what it looks like to you but that’s not how it –’
Ignoring me, she carries on, ‘You’re not good enough to lick his boots and now he sees through you completely, just like I always have.’
It’s the way she’s talking about Paul that gives it away. I’d thought it was just a harmless crush, but judging by the amount of venom coming my way, I’d say she more than fancies him. It seems Loretta is in love with my Paul, and is willing to do anything to discredit me.
I just wonder how much damage she’s actually managed to do.
It looks like she’s played a blinder this time. She’s stitched me up like a kipper, as Billy would say. I can picture her sitting at her immaculate desk, rubbing her bony hands together with glee, thinking, ‘He’s mine, he’s all mine.’
‘It’ll never happen, Loretta,’ I say quietly.
That shuts her up. ‘What won’t?’
‘It’ll never happen. You and Paul. I know what you’ve done and why you’ve done it, but you’re going to be disappointed, my friend. He’s not remotely interested in you, and even if you have managed to split us up you still stand no chance. Not in a million years.’
I don’t enjoy the silence. She’s one dangerous lady – if only I’d realised that sooner I might have tried to make a friend of her instead of letting her wind me up all the time. I’m sure she’s planning her next move already. But when she finally speaks, all she says is, ‘Do you want me to give him a message?’
With a sigh I ask her to tell Paul that I’m taking the rest of the week off as holiday. I know it’s short notice but my work is up to date. It won’t cause any problems. And that I’m sorry – she doesn’t need to know what for.
Loretta pretends she’s making a note of it. I wonder how much of my message will reach Paul’s ears, if any. ‘Don’t worry, Stella,’ she says, sickly sweet. ‘You won’t be missed. You’re completely dispensable, and we can all do quite well without you. Better, even.’
***
Time on my hands. Not much to do with it. A little bit of money in the bank for once but absolutely no inclination to go shopping. What’s the point of filling my house with all that stuff on my list if I’ve got nobody to share it with? I call Bonnie, hoping she’ll be free for a coffee and a chat, or just a chat – anything, I’m desperate – but she’s at work and says she’ll call me for a catch-up later.
To get out of the house I decide to go to the shopping centre anyway, pretending to myself that I need to look for those all-important finishing touches – in training for my new career. There are still a few jobs left at the house, like skirting boards to finish and curtains to hang, but I’m not really in the mood.
Lipsy offers to come out with me but I can see she’s shattered, my fault for keeping her up half the night. I feel really bad about it so I ask if there’s anything she’d like me to buy for her. For her or the baby. She just gives me a look, what is fast becoming a
Lipsy
look, and says, ‘You can’t fix everything by buying things, you know.’
Well, I knew that! I was only trying to cheer the girl up.
‘See you later then,’ I say despondently as I head for the door.
‘Mum,’ she calls and I turn my sad eyes back to her. She laughs and comes to give me a hug. My daughter is finally putting some weight on. It suits her. ‘Don’t worry,’ she tells me. ‘It’ll all work out in the end.’
Now, aren’t I supposed to be the one telling her that?
Once I’m up town I drift around aimlessly for a while then find myself outside Café Crème. I’m not sure I like the place that much anymore, and I wish in some ways I hadn’t taken the second job, despite the fact that I desperately needed it at the time. I wonder whether it will ever go back to being a refuge again, a place to meet and chat and have a laugh. Probably not. But there are other coffee shops. On a whim, I head inside and grab a slip of paper from Gina. I scribble a few words on it, stuff it on Tony’s desk, then give Gina a quick hug and wave goodbye. For good.
Handing in my notice was the right thing to do, I’m sure of it. If only all decisions were so easy to make.
Chapter 24
Paul flinched when Loretta came to see him at lunchtime. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but he couldn’t help associating her with what had happened the night before. The sight of Stella standing in her hallway frantically trying to cover herself up after being with another man was too upsetting. He pushed it out of his mind for the hundredth time and turned to face Loretta.
‘Sorry to bother you, Paul,’ she said.
‘That’s OK. What can I do for you?’
Loretta leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I just thought you’d like to know she’s not coming in today so there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘Who?’ he said, knowing full well who but not wanting to give Loretta the impression that they were in this together.
‘Why, Stella, of course. She phoned in earlier. Just said she was taking the rest of the week off. Huh!’ When she breathed out Paul got a nasty whiff of extra strong mints.
‘Did she say anything else?’
‘Nothing!’ Loretta rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘Not a word. No sorry, no explanation. Just leaving us all in the lurch. Well, don’t you worry, Paul. We’ll manage. I’ve already got Susan covering the rental admin and I can do the rest. Joe’s got his diary organised and I’m sorting out the website. It’s all under control.’
Paul twisted his head from side to side. Why did he feel so tense all of a sudden? He just wanted Loretta to go away – he wanted the whole damn office to go away and leave him alone to think. He needed to think. But he knew he should be grateful; his staff were coming through for him and right now he needed them to get on with it more than ever.
‘Thanks, Loretta,’ he said, cracking his neck alarmingly. ‘You’re a star.’
She grinned and leaned even closer. ‘Would you like me to massage your neck for you?’
‘No!’ Shit, he hadn’t meant to shout it like that. ‘Sorry, Loretta. No thank you. I’m fine. Well, I’ll let you get on with running the office then. Seems you’ve got a lot to do.’
She murmured something and disappeared. Paul sat back and tried to imagine what might be going on in Stella’s head today. He guessed she’d stayed off work because she was too embarrassed to face him, but that wasn’t really like her. The Stella he knew would have brazened it out, or at least had another stab at explaining. Last night there had been some garbled explanation but Paul hadn’t really been listening.