‘No, it’s all right, thank you. I’ll get her a taxi,’ said Stevie, a bit too quickly.
He was laughing now and shaking his head. The nicer he was to her, the more it seemed to annoy her. That made him want to be even nicer, because getting under her skin was the only bit of fun he was having at the moment.
‘Okay, spend your money,’ he said, ‘but don’t say I didnae offer.’
They pulled up outside the cottage. The lights were on downstairs in Matthew’s house and the curtains were still open.
‘We’ll sit here for a wee minute,’ Adam MacLean said, ‘and give them a chance to see us.’
Great!
thought Stevie, but then again, the sooner they were seen, the sooner it would all come to whatever head it was going to come to and be over.
‘After aw,’ Adam went on, ‘that’s what lovers dae…do, isn’t it? Sit in the car and talk and kiss and stuff.’
‘There’s no way I’m kissing you,’ said Stevie, horrified.
‘Don’t worry yerself, lady,’ said Adam, jerking backwards. ‘I’m just trying to make this as realistic as possible. Without stooping to bodily contact. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ said Stevie.
He grunted.
‘Would this be a good time to talk about money then?’ said Stevie.
‘Look,’ he said, sounding a little bit strained, ‘I’ll work out some figures. I certainly can’t afford to pay for the entire cottage and my mortgage for very long…’
‘I’m not asking you to! That’s my point!’ Stevie burst out.
‘Stop yer blethering, woman! I know you’re no’ asking me to!’ he snapped, then made an open-palmed gesture that suggested he was trying to calm himself. He had massive hands that looked more than capable of landing a painful wallop.
‘Look, if it bothers you that much, I’ll make it my priority, okay?’
‘Yes, it does bother me, Mr MacLean,’ said Stevie, ‘so I’d appreciate it if you would, thank you.’
‘My name’s Adam, by the way. Might sound a wee bit odd if we’re trying to convince people we’re a couple when there’s you calling me by my title and surname.’
‘Okay…Adam,’ she said. It sounded rather intimate to call him by his Christian, or rather heathen name, especially after she had gotten used to calling him ‘MacLean’ for so long. Well, that and a selection of fruitier alternatives.
‘So, is Stevie short for Stephanie?’
‘No, it’s just Stevie. Like the poet.’
‘Stevie Smith?’
Crikey–he’s heard of her
. ‘Yes.’
She’s surprised I’ve heard of Stevie Smith. She thinks I’m bloody illiterate! Cheeky wee
…Adam tried to contain his annoyance but it leaked out in the way he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in an angry little tattoo.
They waited a tad longer, but there was no activity from across the road. Matthew and Jo had probably gone to bed and left the light on in their hurry to get upstairs and bonk each other’s head off. Both she and Adam started to say together that maybe they should go, and likewise, together, they thought, So this evening’s been for nothing, after all.
‘Maybe better luck next time then,’ said Adam.
Oh, God forbid a next time!
Although that thought was quickly pushed out of the way by a more serious one as Adam got out of the car.
Where’s he going? Oh, please don’t tell me he wants to come in for coffee!
However, he was only doing his gentlemanly-type duty in opening the door for her, then he got back in the car after a gruff and sarcastically toned, ‘Good night and thanks for the popcorn!’ and after doing a three-point turn in the little lane, he zoomed off with a frustration-laden squeal of tyres. Stevie flinched. She hated loud noises of any kind–bangs, shouts, pops–they upset her, made her feel insecure, took her back to childhood days she would rather not think about.
He couldn’t wait to get away from me, as much as I couldn’t wait to get away from him
, she mused, staring into the space his car had just occupied.
Suddenly her heart was in her mouth, for out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure at Matthew’s window, obviously alerted by the noise of the car.
‘
Steady
,’ she told herself, and raised her hand, waving a fond farewell at the car that had already gone, not that whoever was at the window would know that. Then she slowly opened the cottage door and walked in, with another lingering stare up the lane for good measure.
After Kate’s taxi had ferried her home, she made a quick call to Adam MacLean who was more than surprised to hear from her.
‘I think we were spotted,’ she said excitedly. ‘Well enough to set the cat amongst the pigeons, although I could be getting it out of perspective.’
‘Calm down, woman, and talk English,’ said Adam. ‘I cannae underston’ you.’
Which is rich coming from a person who makes Rab C. Nesbitt sound intelligible, thought Stevie.
‘Your tyres made a bit of a noise as you sped off,’ she said, enjoying making the point. ‘You must have alerted them across the road because someone…’
‘Jo?’
‘I don’t know, I didn’t dare look, but there was definitely someone watching through the window. I pretended to be waving goodbye to you, although you’d already gone. Rather loudly.’
‘Awright, awright, I get your point. Anyway, it obviously did the trick,’ said Adam, fending off her obvious criticism of his driving abilities. ‘That’s good news. I just wish they’d seen me too and, you know, linked us together.’
Stevie caught sight of the invoice for the wedding stationery and a beautiful little plan hatched before her eyes.
‘I think I know a way to do that if you’ve got what I need,’ she said, trying to fight off the strangest feeling that what she planned to do next felt dangerously akin to fun.
Stevie’s idea was as simple and delicious as a stuff-in-the-oven part-baked loaf and was ready to be implemented three days later on the Tuesday when she got a quick call from Adam to say that he was finally in possession of the required item. She met him briefly at the gym where he handed it over, and after an accident-free half-hour walk and periodic sprint on the treadmill, she went home to plug away at her new work brief until Matthew got home from work.
The realization that this plan of Adam’s might not be as daft as she had first thought and might actually work had brought such a light feeling to her heart that she had found herself able to sort out Paris and Brandon’s final chapter at long last. Their wonderful, idyllic ending was created from a happy, hopeful bubble in her brain, and it was quite an impressive one, if she said so herself. Blissfully, the manuscript was emailed over to
Midnight Moon
HQ by start of business that morning, as promised. Stevie was resolute that she would never cut it so fine again. You could only let people like Crystal down once, and then you were toast. Ashes of toast, even.
It was a big relief, to be back on track writing. The pretty room she was using as an office made a major contribution to that. It was spacious but cosy and peaceful, with a bonny view of the long garden. Nosy roses poked in through the windows, which had been thrown open to let in some fresh air, along with the comforting rumble of the odd train in the near distance. It was the sort of room she could imagine sitting in and writing her big blockbuster. Not that she wasn’t grateful for her position at
Midnight Moon
. She and ‘Alexis’ and ‘Paula’ were privileged in that they received a monthly salary in advance of any royalties, and that gave them a steady income. Crystal also pushed a few magazine articles her way, paying her a separate amount for those, and Stevie bumped up her savings by writing some long, traditional poetry for a greetings card company. She had been doing a lot of extra work to finance her wedding. Now it seemed she had been working for months for nothing.
Stevie took a walk into town to get some fresh air and stretch her legs and do the final but hardest job–letting go of the wedding rings. She was going to sell them on to the jeweller who was well-known in the area for giving the fairest prices. The man offered her one hundred and twenty for the two wedding bands, which would cover half the cost of the order-of-service booklets, and a further one hundred and five for the engagement ring. Stevie took it without even trying to barter him up to a better price. It wasn’t as if she could ever have worn it, not with the memories it had collected. If–
when
–she and Matthew got back together, she would choose a new one, not pearls
next time though. She should have listened when her mother had inspected it and said, ‘Pearls mean tears, I hope you know.’
When she got home, she chased away the dip in her spirits by scribbling some rough notes for
Highland Fling
. She decided to make her heroine small and feisty and the ‘hero’ mean and moody. Possibly give him a scar, one that had been very painful to receive. The heroine would outwit him at every turn.
Ha!
Once she had pictures of ‘Damme MacQueen’ and ‘Evie Sweetwell’ in her mind, the ideas started to come through thick and fast. She felt she just might have a winner on her hands.
In stark contrast, Matthew was finding it hard to concentrate at work. He had acted upon the letter asking him to apply for a Platinum Visa by ringing
this number for an instant decision
, only to be told that he had been instantly rejected.
‘So why the hell did you invite me to get one if you were going to tell me I couldn’t?’ said Matthew, taking their decision extremely personally.
‘Sorry, sir,’ said the levelheaded operative, who’d had this conversation many times before. Then she went into automated spiel about how he could find out his credit rating. Matthew knew exactly how he could do that. He also knew that the fact he had been refused their Visa would show up on his rating and influence future lenders. He hung up when she was in mid-flow and immediately felt guilty about being so rude and acting so out of character. Then again, he seemed to be doing quite a lot of things lately that were out of character and of which he didn’t feel particularly proud.
One of his Visa bills had arrived that morning. The holiday cost had been added on to the amount outstanding,
plus the charge for a cash advance that he had totally forgotten about, which had taken him over the limit. This needed settling immediately, so the urgent block-capital-written message emblazoned across the top had commanded. Plus something was niggling him and that wasn’t helping his mood either. He just happened to be about to close the curtains on Saturday night, when he saw Stevie standing on the doorstep of the cottage waving someone off. She had her best green top on and a big
dreamy
smile, the sort of smile you didn’t wear for a friend, either. Why that had affected him so much, he didn’t know because it was none of his business; she was no longer in his life. He was with Jo now
.
He had put it out of his mind numerous times, but it seemed to be on elastic and kept bouncing back.
The sunlight was streaming through the window when he got home that evening, highlighting how grubby the kitchen had become since Stevie had left. The work surface was full of crumbs and the floor badly needed a good scrub. He’d have to get a cleaner in. Jo wasn’t the type to put on an apron and wear down her long, deliciously scratchy fingernails doing domestic chores; she wasn’t a ‘Stevie’. There wouldn’t have been much point leaving Stevie for her if she was.
Jo relaxed in the bath for half an hour whilst Matthew rustled up something tasty in the kitchen. She had been through so much and he wanted to cosset her and spoil her. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t miss coming home to sparkling work surfaces and delicious cooking smells, especially tonight, when his spirits felt as if they had been
steamrollered, but what he lost with one hand, he gained with the other and twice over. How could he compare what he had rejected to what he had now? Jo was a different creature entirely, one built for pleasure and luxury, not for comfort and reliability. Jo and Stevie–it was like comparing a brand new sports car with a Vauxhall Cavalier. Although that was an unfortunate simile, he thought straightaway. He’d had a faithful Vauxhall Cavalier for years and loved it, and the new sporty black Punto he had traded it against in the end hadn’t been a patch on his old car friend.
Whilst the pasta was boiling, he thought he might just snap around with a duster and tidy a few things away. Jo’s detritus seemed to have taken over every surface like a virulent ivy, and how the hell could they roll around on the mat in front of the fire, like he intended to do that evening, when it was dull with dust and mysterious house ‘bits’. He went into the cupboard for the vacuum cleaner. Where on earth was the Dyson?
Oh bloody hell!
Stevie waited a good three-quarters of an hour after she had seen Matthew come in from work before going over the road. She had to be seen to be extra casual. Luck was on her side as Matthew’s head seemed to be zipping across the window as if he was moving things from one place to another.
‘I’m just popping across the road. I’ll be ten seconds, poppet!’ she called to Danny.
‘Okay, Mummy!’
Stevie lifted up the Visa bill that Adam had given her,
and walked slowly and deliberately across the road. She had been dying to steam it open, but hadn’t fallen prey to the temptation.
He’s seen me, she thought, on noticing how Matthew jumped back from the window. That hurt a lot. Did he really have to insult her by pretending he wasn’t in? What had she ever done to him to deserve this? The small act turned her jellied nerves to steel. She put the envelope through his letterbox without ceremony and returned home, not looking behind her. Then she texted Adam to tell him that she’d done it. Then she waited.
As soon as Matthew had jumped back from the window, he felt cross with himself. It was a stupid, puerile reaction, a ridiculous thing to do and she must have seen him. ‘
She didn’t deserve that
,’ said the old Matthew. The nice, friendly, kind one with a conscience that he had stuffed away in order to allow himself to act in the way he had been doing for the past few months. He had wanted Jo so much, there was no easy way to get her, there were bound to be casualties.
All’s fair in love and war
. He recited the mantra when the doubts crept up on him and his own brain started to mutiny and call him a selection of choice names.
All’s fair
…
The letterbox clacked and the single envelope dropped on the doormat. He stole up to it, as if it might contain something harmful or demanding, then, tentatively, he lifted it to see it was just a Visa bill for Jo. He wondered how much her outstanding amount was, and if there was enough credit left on it to buy a badly needed vacuum
cleaner. He stuck it on the mantelpiece to give to her later and thought no more about it.
Thought no more about it, that was, until half past midnight, when his cooling brain was resting on the pillow, sifting through which head rubbish to throw into dreams, which bits of the day to put in the ‘in’ tray and which in the ‘out’. When its attentions came to Jo’s letter, it stopped its manic business abruptly and nudged him rudely awake.
Why did Stevie have Jo’s post?
Matthew went downstairs and got the envelope bearing Jo’s old address, the one she shared with her husband. He couldn’t work it out. The only way Stevie could have got this was if MacLean gave it to her. But why would he do that? How come they knew each other? What did it all mean? What was he up to? What was she up to? He didn’t get it. His brain started to ache from trying to work it all out.
Matthew didn’t get any more sleep that night, and not even the big bread-knife he tucked under his pillow brought him any feeling of security.
The next morning he waited until Jo was dressed before he handed over the envelope to her. She looked at it, then immediately threw it down as if it was contaminated.
‘How did you get this?’ she asked. ‘Did Adam bring it round? Shit, he knows where we live, doesn’t he?’
Jo looked nervous and frightened, and Matt immediately leapt out of his seat to wrap her up in a big safe cuddle.
‘Well, there’s the mystery. Stevie posted it.’ He felt her stiffen even more.
‘Stevie?
Stevie?
How the hell did she get it?’
‘I don’t know.’
Jo ran to the window. ‘What is she up to?’ she said, screwing up her face as if she was casting a hex. ‘Or should I say
they
?’
‘They who?’
‘My ex and your ex. They both have an axe to grind, wouldn’t you say?’
Matthew laughed. ‘You can’t seriously be insinuating that Stevie and Adam have got together, can you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Jo jeered. ‘Adam wouldn’t look at someone like Stevie Honeywell.’
Matthew had been about to ask what was so wrong with Stevie, but the hard look in Jo’s eyes told him that might be unwise.
‘I’m going to go over there and ask her how she got this,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves, nervously rather than aggressively.
‘Don’t be silly!’ snapped Jo. ‘That’s exactly what she wants you to do.’
‘But I want to find out if he knows where I live!’ Matthew gulped.
Oh God!
He would come home from work tonight and find a horse’s head in his bed.
‘I don’t know how he could know that,’ said Jo. ‘I told him you lived at the other side of Wakefield.’
‘He could have followed us. You said it yourself–he’s nuts, isn’t he?’
Jo was about to say something, but swallowed it. Instead she started to nod slowly in agreement.
‘Yes, that’s possible, I suppose. Then again, I think he
would have done something a bit more drastic than this. Not exactly his style–grievous bodily letter delivering, if you know what I mean. And Adam wouldn’t have got the wrong house.’
Which means he’s up to something
.
‘So what’s going on then?’ Matthew querried.
Jo thought of what had happened when she had returned home from Majorca and told Adam she was leaving him. She should have realized from his reaction that he had something more up his sleeve.
Hmmm
. Her previous suspicions
had
been correct after all. How stupid had she been, to think that Adam really had let her go?
She flapped her hand, as if dismissing the whole other side of the street.
‘Look Matt, I’m sorry, but I am not playing psychological games with Stevie because that’s what she wants me to do. It’s not fair on her. She obviously needs help.’
‘You seem very sure that’s what she’s doing.’
Jo nodded slowly. She felt suddenly empowered, thrilled.
Adam still wants me
.
‘I know how women think, Matt, because–surprise, surprise–I’m a woman myself.’ She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Wanna see some proof?’
‘Yes, please.’
Once again, Jo and Matthew were late for work.
Adam MacLean rang Stevie at ten.
‘What time does your wee boy go tae his bed?’ he asked.
‘About half past seven,’ said Stevie. ‘He’s always asleep for eight.’
‘I’ll be round at nine,’ said Adam. ‘Feel free not to cook anything.’
And Stevie thought, Even when the guy’s talking English, he makes no sense at all.