Don't Want To Miss A Thing (21 page)

‘I can imagine,’ said Dex.
Good news
.

‘Plus, I’m not particularly interested in a full-time relationship.’

Dex nodded slowly to show he was listening and understood.
Better and better
.

‘So what I’m saying is, you seem like a discreet kind of person . . .’

She waited. He nodded again, although seriously, how could she tell?

‘. . . And I do have to be up early tomorrow, but if you’d like to spend the night here with me, I think we’d have a very nice time.’

‘I think you could be right,’ said Dex. ‘Although I have to be up early too, so it’s probably easier if I don’t stay the whole night.’

Amanda paused and eyed him shrewdly. ‘I’m not a marriage-wrecker. You told me you were single. Is that true?’

‘Don’t worry, it’s true. I couldn’t be more single if I tried.’ Rising to his feet, Dex reached for her hand. ‘That’s why this idea of yours sounds pretty much perfect.’

Well, that had been nice.

Sometimes a bit of no-strings, honest-to-goodness, purely physical sex was just what you needed.

Or more than a bit, even.

Anyway. Very nice indeed.

Amanda’s bathroom was done out in pale green marble. Stepping out of the shower, Dex towelled himself dry and dressed again, then headed back to the bedroom.

She was lying in bed, unashamedly naked, smiling up at him. ‘You look cheerful.’

Dex grinned. ‘So do you.’

‘It’s been like a really good workout at the gym. Only much more fun.’ Amanda lifted her face to him for a kiss. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Well, you know where to find me if you ever fancy a rematch. And here’s my number.’ She passed him a Post-It bearing her name and number scribbled in felt-tip. ‘Even though you haven’t asked for it.’

‘I was just about to,’ said Dex.

‘I was too impatient. Sometimes,’ Amanda playfully nudged him with her foot, ‘I’m too brazen for my own good.’

Chapter 25

Molly bumped into Amber in the village shop.

‘How’s things?’ She gave the girl a hug, because the last few weeks hadn’t been easy for Amber, who was still flatly refusing to see Joe. ‘I thought you’d have come along to my class last night but someone said they’d seen you going out. Did you do something nice?’

‘Nice enough, but it doesn’t exactly count as going out. I was just babysitting. Delphi’s adorable, isn’t she? If you sing to her, she does this hilarious sitting-down dance, shuffling on her bottom and waving her hands in the air. It’s
so
cute!’

‘Oh, you babysat for Dex?’ Molly experienced a jolt of envy coupled with loss;
she
had taught Delphi how to do the shuffle-bottom dance, they had done it together on her own living-room carpet. Not that she could have looked after Delphi last night, but it hurt to know that she was no longer being asked to babysit. On the surface she and Dex were polite towards each other but the chilly distance remained. Thanks to her cutting comments, the easy camaraderie between them had been killed stone dead.

‘I didn’t have to babysit the whole night,’ said Amber. ‘He was home by one o’clock.’

It was none of her business but she couldn’t help herself. Molly said casually, ‘And did Dex go somewhere nice?’
I’m not being nosy, just making polite conversation
.

‘I don’t know where he went, but I’d say he definitely had a good time.’

‘Oh?’ What did that mean?

‘Put it this way. He went out smelling of that aftershave he always wears.’ Amber’s eyes glinted with mischief. ‘Came back five hours later with damp hair and smelling of lemon shower gel.’

Right. So Dex had found someone who didn’t reject his advances. Well, that was always going to happen, wasn’t it?

With an effort, Molly forced herself not to feel jealous. She’d had her chance and turned him down, hadn’t she? For
all
the right reasons.

In the long term, it was definitely for the best.

Leaving school that afternoon, Amber experienced that prickling being-watched feeling and saw a boy across the road observing her. When she paused, he slid down from the wall he’d been sitting on and headed her way.

Weirdly, she guessed who he was and what he was doing here just by the look of him. Clean-cut boys tended to have clean-cut friends.

‘Are you Amber?’

She stopped walking. ‘You already know I am.’

‘OK, yes. Well, I looked you up on Facebook.’

Even his trainers were dazzlingly white. ‘And who are you? Another long-lost brother?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I’m Shaun’s friend. Max. He asked me to come over and see you.’

‘Why? To have a good laugh at me?’

‘Of course not. Don’t say that. Shaun’s worried about you. He just wants to know if you’re all right.’

Amber gave a snort of derision. ‘Me? Oh I’m fine. Never better. My father’s spent his life lying to me, and now he’s living with his other family. Why wouldn’t I be all right?’

‘But it’s not Shaun’s fault, is it? And you were OK with him at first.’

She had been, on that initial fateful day in Tetbury. She’d been distraught and Shaun – her
half-brother
– had been apologetic. She’d had questions, he’d had answers. But since then, Amber’s resentment had grown. If he and his mother hadn’t existed, her life would still be normal, happy, trouble-free. Instead, she hated her father and was simultaneously repulsed and outraged by the fact that he was living with Shaun and Christina.

And, all right, also jealous.

‘Look, I don’t have to talk to Shaun if I don’t want to. And sending you over here isn’t going to make any difference, so don’t bother trying it again. Anyway, I have to go now.’

‘Fine.’ Max pushed back his silky fair hair and took out his car keys. ‘So that’s that.’ He flashed a rueful smile. ‘Mission: abject failure.’

‘Not my fault,’ said Amber. Did he expect her to feel sorry for him? Apologise for wasting his petrol?
No chance
.

‘Can I offer you a lift anywhere?’ He pressed the key in his hand and a sporty blue Renault parked beside them emitted a high-pitched
woooop
.

One of those flashy types.

‘No thanks. My boyfriend’s waiting for me.’

‘Right. Well, nice to meet you anyway. Can I just say one thing?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Shaun’s my best mate. He’s a good person. As brothers go, you could do a lot worse.’

‘Thanks, but still not interested,’ said Amber. ‘Bye.’

Doss was waiting for her, as arranged, outside the off-licence.

‘All right?’ He gave Amber a cider-tinged kiss on the mouth and said, ‘Got any money on you?’

She was seventeen and the owner of the off-licence was an expert at spotting fake IDs. Amber gave Doss ten pounds of her babysitting earnings and waited on the pavement while he went inside to buy as much cheap alcohol as possible.

Doss wasn’t his real name, of course. He’d been christened Daniel and had acquired the nickname as a result of not doing a stroke of work during his final years at school. Or since. But he was good company and really good-looking, thin and dark with Johnny Depp eyes and loads of tattoos. They’d been friends for months and on the couple of occasions he’d come to Amber’s home, her father had palpably disapproved of him. Aware of this, Doss had been delighted when he’d heard about Joe’s unravelled double life. He’d comforted her when she’d needed comforting and now they were a couple, hanging out three or four times a week. She enjoyed it when they spent a couple of hours together lying on the grass in the park, everything beginning to feel better. They drank strong cider, Doss told her Joe was a two-faced tosser and they talked about the upcoming music festivals they would attend this summer.

‘Got ’em.’ He emerged from the off-licence, the carrier bag clanking with cans, and took her hand in his. ‘Let’s go. We’re meeting up with Beeny and some of his mates.’

Oh. Amber wasn’t wild about Beeny, who didn’t usually smell too fresh and could get quite tedious when he was stoned.

‘Don’t look like that,’ Doss chided. ‘He’s cool.’

‘I know.’ He had a sweet dog, that was something in his favour.

‘And he said he might have some stuff for us.’

Stuff that would make them as droney and repetitive as Beeny? Urgh, no thanks; it drove Amber nuts, the way he called everyone ‘Maaaaaaan’. Changing the subject, she said, ‘What happened to that earring I bought you?’ Last week at the open-air market she’d picked out a silver hoop for him.

‘Oh yeah, sorry. I kind of lost it.’ He slung his free arm round her shoulders as they headed for the park. ‘It, like, fell out.’

Chapter 26

It was her.

Oh my God, it actually
was
her.

Now that she was paying attention, Frankie could see it. The woman sitting at the corner table of the café was wearing a grey jumper, loose linen trousers and ballet flats. She was slender, unassuming, apparently in her sixties, with lots of wispy grey-blond hair falling around her face and light blue eyes hidden behind unflattering tortoiseshell spectacles.

Almost as if she were trying to be invisible.

And she was evidently doing a very good job of it. Frankie, behind the counter, listened as two families at adjacent tables competed with each other to be the biggest fans of
Next to You
. They were excitedly discussing favourite episodes, quoting lines from the show, attempting to mimic the characters.

Blithely unaware that Hope Johnson, one of the stars of the series, was sitting less than ten feet away from them.

To be fair, she wasn’t recognisable unless you were openly searching for a resemblance. It had been eighteen years since she’d graced the nation’s screens but the difference in her made it seem
more like forty; she was like a faded shadow of her vivacious former self.

The banter between the visiting families, one from Cardiff and the other from Newcastle, continued to flourish. Photos were taken of the memorabilia and of the pictures hanging on the walls, and each of them in turn posed outside with Young Bert, who was used to it.

At last they left. It was almost four o’clock and Frankie began clearing the tables, aware that Hope Johnson was now surreptitiously eyeing the displayed memorabilia too.

Should she say something?

Or not?

Finally she ventured, ‘Can I get you another cup of tea?’

Hope Johnson looked round. ‘Oh . . . are you wanting to close up? Sorry . . .’

‘No, no problem. Stay as long as you like.’

Tentatively, Hope said, ‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’

‘Quite sure.’ No one had heard of her for so many years; to be on the safe side, Frankie flipped the sign over on the door to say Closed. ‘It’s lovely to have you here.’

Hope looked like a startled faun in the forest. Her slender hands trembled as she handed her cup to Frankie. ‘You know . . .?’

‘Who you are? Yes. Don’t worry, though,’ said Frankie. ‘I promise you I’m discreet. If you don’t want me to tell anyone, I won’t.’

‘Oh goodness.’ Hope exhaled slowly. ‘I can’t believe you recognised me. No one ever does.’

‘Well, I cheated a bit.’ Bringing her a fresh cup of tea, Frankie said, ‘One thing hasn’t changed.’

‘I can’t imagine what.’ The older woman remained utterly mystified.

‘See that photograph up on the wall over there?’ Frankie pointed to a close-up of Hope laughing with the director outside the front of the house. ‘I took it myself, on the last day of filming. You’d just finished the final scene.’

Hope scrutinised it, peering through her spectacles. ‘Ah yes, I remember that day.’

‘Look again.’ Frankie guided her attention to her hands in the photo, the right one close to her face. Then she nodded at Hope’s own right hand, currently clutching the handle of her teacup.

‘Oh my goodness.’ Hope made the connection. ‘My
ring
.’

It was a simple silver ring with bevelled edges and an unusual square tiger’s eye stone set in the centre. There was a homemade quality to it, and an oddly masculine aspect that was at odds with Hope’s narrow fingers.

‘I dust the photos every couple of days, that’s how I noticed. As soon as I saw your ring, I knew it was you.’

‘Quite the lady detective,’ Hope said with amusement.

‘We’ve been running the café for the last twelve years,’ said Frankie. ‘So I pretty much know these photos off by heart.’

‘Well. Hello. It’s lovely to see you again.’ Hope sipped her tea and surveyed her thoughtfully. ‘I do remember you now. You haven’t changed much. Unlike me.’

Seeing as she’d mentioned it herself, Frankie said sympathetically, ‘Have you been ill?’

Hope’s expression was rueful. ‘You know, I almost wish I had that excuse. But no, no medical reason for it. I’ve just aged badly.’

Aaaargh,
that
was embarrassing. ‘Oh sorry, I didn’t mean—’

‘No need to apologise. It’s fine. You know, I always suspected it would happen . . . my mother was exactly the same. And when I found myself going down the same path, I just kind of . . . gave up. Some people carry on looking marvellous all their lives. Others
don’t have the genes for it.’ Hope smiled briefly. ‘On the plus side, I might be faded and wrinkly, but at least I’m still here.’

Since there wasn’t much she could say to that, Frankie changed the subject. ‘It must feel strange to be back.’

‘Oh yes. I never imagined I’d see this place again.’ Hope was gazing around the room, visibly moved now by the photos. ‘Never thought I’d come back to Briarwood. I don’t suppose . . . no, doesn’t matter.’

‘Say it,’ Frankie prompted.

‘Well . . . it’s incredibly cheeky, but I wondered if I could see the rest of the house.’

‘Of course you can!’

‘Really? That’s so kind of you.’ Her thin face lighting up, Hope said earnestly, ‘Just for a couple of minutes. I know how busy you must be and I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

‘Please, you wouldn’t be at all. I wouldn’t have this café if it wasn’t for you. And my daughter won’t be home before midnight,’ Frankie assured her. ‘You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.’

And unbelievably, it was happening. After closing up the café and showing Hope over the house, they had gravitated to the kitchen, where a chicken casserole was bubbling in the oven. When Hope had commented on how good it smelled, Frankie had said, ‘You’re welcome to stay and have some,’ not expecting for one moment that Hope would take her up on it.