Famous (40 page)

‘Just you.’

‘And when did you decide this?’ I asked. ‘While you were still living with your pregnant wife?’

‘No. And I don’t expect you to believe me Sam, but our marriage had been falling apart for a while, well before I met you. And now it’s over. For good.’

‘And I’m supposed to believe you?’ I asked.

‘I know you won’t straightaway, but it’s true, I swear. And I know it’s going to take time for you to trust me again.’

‘What if I don’t want to trust you?’ I asked.

‘That’s your decision Sam, no matter what I say.’

I stared down at the grass.

I hadn’t expected this. Ever. Not in my lifetime. Here was Alistair Ambrose telling me he liked me. Telling me his marriage was over. Telling me he wanted to be with me. It was all just a tincy bit overwhelming.

‘Will you ever be able to forgive me?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ I sighed. ‘Honestly I don’t know.’

He moved closer and tentatively put his arm around my shoulders.

‘Will you think about what I’ve said?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I replied. I would give him that much.

He leaned in to kiss me.

‘Please,’ I said, holding up my hand. ‘Don’t.’

‘Okay,’ he replied, pulling back.

‘I need time, Alistair,’ I said. ‘This is a complete shock for me and I need time to think everything over.’

‘If I stay in town for the night will you meet me for dinner?’ he asked.

‘There is absolutely nowhere to eat,’ I warned him. ‘Unless you want to go to the pub for roast pork.’

‘How about fish and chips back here beside the river then?’ he suggested.

‘Okay,’ I agreed. It wasn’t as though I had any other plans.

It turned out Alistair was staying at the only accommodation available in Floodgate, a small bed and breakfast on the edge of town.

‘Do you think they recognised you?’ I asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ he replied. ‘I had my cap and glasses on. Or if they did, they didn’t say anything.’

We agreed to meet back beside the river at six o’clock, Alistair with the fish and chips.

I went back to the cabin and tried to work for the afternoon, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had come all this way just to tell me he cared about me, and he wanted to date me. Why? It’s not like he really even knew me. It had been one night.
One night
. Plus, it was obvious he could get any woman he wanted. As angry as I still was with him, there was a part of me that was flattered. Flattered he’d come all this way to see me. Flattered he wanted me. And then there was another part of me that said be careful, be very careful.

I went back to the river just after six and Alistair was there already, sitting on the grass. We sat and talked, drank a bottle of wine, and pretended to eat the fish and chips in front of us, but really just moved them around on the paper. We talked about his kids, football, my job and my family. Things we possibly should have talked about before jumping into bed together.

‘Will you stay with me tonight?’ he asked. He had to drive back to the city early in the morning.

‘No,’ I replied.

It was hard to say no. Very hard. Here was Alistair. Incredibly good-looking, wanting me, asking me to spend the night with him. And here was me, remembering how good the sex had been, lonely, and wanting to be wanted.

‘I just can’t,’ I said. ‘Not now. Not yet.’

But every girl is entitled to change her mind. The memory of the mind-blowing sex was just too powerful to ignore. Plus, there was nothing wrong with make-up sex, I decided. It was one of the most common forms of sex known to woman.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, I told myself. It’d just be a shag and that’s it: nothing more, nothing less.

‘Really?’ he asked, his green eyes lighting up.

‘Fantastic.’

We decided to head back to the cabin. Staying at the bed and breakfast would have been like erecting a billboard of our rendezvous in the main street of Floodgate.

‘Nice pad,’ smiled Alistair, as I showed him into the cabin.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Lovely isn’t it?’

And it’s your bloody fault I’m living here, I thought to myself, but refrained from saying it.

I opened a bottle of wine and we sat down on the lumpy couch.

‘Come here,’ said Alistair, immediately putting down his wine glass and opening his arms.

You can still run, I told myself. This is your last chance.

Bugger that, myself replied, looking across at his handsome face.

I was pleased to note he was still a brilliant kisser, and an expert at removing layers of my clothing before I’d realised they’d gone. With only my bra and undone trousers remaining we headed to the bedroom, Alistair leading me by the hand.

Unlike the frantic sex of last time, this was slower, more sensual, and quieter. It felt, in a passionate way, as though our bodies were actually connecting.

Just think about it as sex, I reminded myself. Nothing else.

I kissed his now-familiar smooth and toned chest, as he lay on top of me and gently slid inside. And then I fell asleep with his arm wrapped around my shoulders and my head resting on his chest.

Early the next morning Alistair left to drive back to the city.

‘Will you think about what I’ve said?’ he asked again.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘But I can’t promise anything.’

He looked wounded at this but said, ‘I know. But just think about it, Sam. Please.’

‘I will,’ I agreed.

The sex had been nothing short of fantastic and part of me wanted to forgive him, but part of me was still so bloody furious with him.

As his black Porsche headed down the dirt driveway, trailed by a cloud of dust, I phoned Elsie at the café to see how she was feeling.

‘Oh I’m fine love,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’ But she didn’t sound fine.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘I want you to go home and have a rest. I’ll come in and run the café for you today.’

‘Honestly love, I’m fine.’

‘Don’t you think I can do it?’ I asked, hoping this would make her change her mind.

‘Well, of course I do.’

‘Then let me,’ I said.

Finally she gave in and told me she’d only be a phone call away if I needed any help.

‘How did it go with your man yesterday?’ she asked.

‘He’s not my man, Elsie.’

‘I know love, I was just checking.’

‘It went okay,’ I sighed. ‘I guess.’

‘Just remember, love,’ she added. ‘Put silk on a goat and it’s still a goat.’

I think this was some sort of warning and I had a funny feeling Alistair was the goat.

I went into the café and, after a thorough rundown from Elsie, I finally managed to shuffle her out the door and off home.

It was a steady day, but I coped. In fact, I even enjoyed it. Ethan popped by for some lunch and gave me a hand to serve a few extra customers. And, as unbelievable as it was, I even managed to make an extra batch of date scones without either burning them or making them look like they’d been rolling round in your handbag for a week.

13

Friday arrived and with it Cake Baking Day. Mands and Lizzie weren’t going to be arriving until later in the evening, so at four o’clock I went round to Elsie’s house for a glass of wine and to bake my orange and cream cheese cake. I was nervous. I prayed I wasn’t going to set any part of her kitchen on fire. We stood side by side at her kitchen bench in our aprons, mixing our ingredients into two big bowls. I stirred my cake mix, pleasantly surprised at how therapeutic and relaxing it was to stand and stir a cake mix with a wooden spoon. And then, under Elsie’s guidance, it was oven time.

‘If you keep opening the door and looking it’ll never cook,’ warned Elsie, as I checked my cake for the tenth time. ‘The continuous drip polishes the stone,’ she added.

I think she meant I should be patient. When the buzzer finally went off I lifted my cake out of the oven, too scared to look at it.

‘Holy Moses! Get a load of that!’ exclaimed Elsie. ‘Well done love! All you need to do now is ice it.’

Much to my complete surprise it appeared to have risen perfectly. In fact, it looked delicious. It looked like a proper cake and not remotely like a piece of charcoal. After waiting for it to cool I set about covering it with cream-cheese icing. Forty minutes later (it was my first cake after all) I took my apron off and stood back to admire my handiwork.

‘Well, I’ll be,’ said Elsie. ‘That’s a cake if ever I saw one.’

I beamed back at her. I, Samantha Steel, had baked a cake. A cake which had not collapsed, or burned. And the funny thing was, I had actually enjoyed baking it. Who would have thought?

My parents arrived at Elsie’s house a short while later, my mother in the driver’s seat as per usual.

‘That’s Samantha’s cake,’ said Elsie, as we brought their bags inside. ‘Isn’t it a beauty?’

‘You baked that?’ asked Dad, disbelief pooling in his eyes.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘With a bit of help.’

‘That’s fantastic, love,’ he replied, giving me a hug. ‘Just fantastic.’

My mother stood staring at the cake. And then at me. And then back to the cake. No words were uttered.

After having dinner and settling them in with Elsie and Bob, I made my way back to the cabin in time to meet Mands and Lizzie. Thankfully they managed to arrive safely, without either getting lost or killing any animals. We immediately set about opening a bottle of wine. And then another. And catching up on long-overdue gossip. Lizzie, after taking our feedback on board, had ordered her sperm.

She went with number two, the sax-playing, singing, Yale undergraduate. I think she secretly wanted to be a stage mum. Mands, after much deliberation, had decided not to visit Sven the Swedish toe-sucker. She was (by her own admission) jealous of her own feet.

‘I wish they were ugly,’ she sighed.

The girls informed me that my limelight was definitely fading. This was great news. There were no more magazine articles with Tiny Tits and her poor fatherless children and only a few newspaper articles to speak of about any of us. They had even stopped using the dreaded nose picture, thanks be to God.

‘You’ll be back in no time, dolls,’ said Mands. ‘I can feel it.’

I’d made a decision not to tell the girls about Alistair’s visit, as hard as this was. I needed time to make up my own mind, without their friendly advice or enthusiasm. I’d tell them once I had made my decision, whenever and whatever that may be.

The next morning I let the girls have a little sleep-in as I got up to put the coffee on and make us some breakfast. I couldn’t seem to sleep in anymore, I don’t know why. I think it might have had something to do with how soundly I slept here, no tossing and turning as I did in the city. Here I fell into a deep slumber straightaway, the kind of deep slumber that resulted in a small patch of dribble on the pillowcase come morning.

‘Rise and shine,’ I called out, walking into the bedrooms. They both groaned and rolled straight over.

‘What time is it?’ grumbled Lizzie.

‘Time to get up and go to the fair,’ I replied.

‘Mary bloody Poppins,’ mumbled Mands, from the other room.

‘My head hurts,’ moaned Lizzie.

‘Nothing a bit of brekkie won’t fix. Upsy-daisy,’ I urged, pulling back the duvet.

‘I’ll give you upsy-friggin-daisy,’ she muttered.

‘You’re turning into a bloody morning person,’ called out Mands. ‘You’ll be down at the chicken coup at six o’clock collecting eggs next.’

I decided to ignore her and pour the coffee instead.

Our first stop was Elsie’s house to collect my cake. I arrived to find Dad and Elsie standing in the kitchen, aprons on, chatting away like old friends and clearing up from breakfast.

My mother and Bob were sitting at the dining table, reading the newspaper in companionable silence.

‘What’s this?’ asked Mands, as we hopped back into the car and I handed her the cake to hold.

I had been dreading this moment.

‘It’s a cake,’ I replied.

‘I can see that.’

‘A cake that I made and am entering in the cake-off.’

‘The what-off?’

‘The cake-baking competition at the fair.’

‘Let me get this straight,’ said Mands. ‘You, Samantha Steel, have baked a cake which you are going to enter in a cake-baking competition at the town fair.’