The One You Really Want (15 page)

Rennie wondered how he felt about this. Carmen? Were they serious?

‘Your leather trousers raised four hundred pounds, by the way. And the four jackets went for five hundred and fifty each.'

‘Has he been . . . staying here?' In deference to Rose, Rennie phrased it as delicately as he knew how.

Rose looked shocked. ‘Of course not! He's been the perfect gentleman. Drives her home, kisses her goodnight on the doorstep.'

Well, that was something.

‘She's come over all dippy,' said Nancy. ‘Like a teenager. If she isn't out with Joe, she's talking about him. I swear she counts the minutes before she'll see him again.'

Rennie knew he should be pleased that Carmen was returning to the land of the living at long last. He wished he could
feel
more pleased.

‘Well, that's . . . great.' As he said it, Rennie wondered if this was half his fault. OK, maybe he'd teased Carmen about Joe, but he hadn't seriously expected her to take him up on it.

‘I don't like the thought of leaving you here on your own.' Rose was looking concerned.

‘Mum, he's not ten years old.' Waggling her eyebrows apologetically, Nancy attempted to edge Rose towards the door.

‘Are you sure you wouldn't like to come to the zoo?'

Rennie said gravely, ‘I'll be fine. I promise not to play with matches or climb out onto my window ledge. Now, you two go off and enjoy yourselves.'

When Rose and Nancy had left, Rennie hauled his case upstairs and lay down on his bed. His mobile beeped, signalling the arrival of yet another text.

‘Where r u? Fancy meeting up? Call me! Miss u loads. Luv Caz. xxx'

Rennie knew he should be used to textspeak by now, but it still amused him. Wasn't this the kind of message a thirteen-year-old girl might compose? Luv, for heaven's sake. And kisses. Caz was a twenty-eight-year-old medical physicist, hugely intelligent and perfectly capable of spelling long complicated words if she so desired. Yet her text made her sound like the kind of person who'd leap at the chance of appearing on
Trisha
.

Still, she had the best figure in Finsbury Park. And he had the rest of the day free. Still lying on his back, Rennie replied to her text with a brief: ‘See you at your place in an hour.'

He couldn't bring himself to abbreviate.

Nor could he bring himself to raise much enthusiasm for the prospect of spending the afternoon with Caz, lovely girl though she undoubtedly was. As he stood beneath the shower, vigorously shampooing his hair, Rennie recalled Nancy's comments about Carmen, how she had been counting down the minutes before she would next see Joe.

Thinking about it again gave Rennie quite a jolt. Counting down the minutes was what he did when he was starving and had a frozen lasagne in the microwave. (That bit on the packet instructing you to leave it to stand for one minute was the part that
really
irritated him.) But he honestly couldn't remember
ever
counting down the minutes before meeting up with a girlfriend, experiencing that sense of breathless anticipation, knowing that if something were to happen to prevent their reunion he would be distraught.

Which probably explained why he was so often late turning up for a date.

Maybe love just wasn't his thing, Rennie thought as he reached for the shower gel. He'd never been in love, not properly. He suspected it had something to do with the thrill of the chase. Or, in his case, the abject lack of it. If you had to work hard to attract a girl's attention, do your best to make her like you and endlessly worry that she might not be interested in return, actually overcoming all those obstacles might mean so much that you then automatically fell in love with her, because winning her heart, like reaching the summit of Everest, was such a fantastic achievement.

But that had never happened to him. What with girls being generally more forward nowadays, it had been years since he'd even had the chance to spot one he liked and make the first move. They always spotted him and made their move first. Whenever he visited a bar or a nightclub, pretty girls approached him, instigating conversation - if you could call it that - and offering him their phone numbers, their undisguised interest and their bodies before you could say floozy.

And that was the problem, Rennie decided, sluicing the last of the foaming gel from his body and stepping out of the shower. He'd never had to try. He didn't need to be wildly entertaining and witty, because these girls would shriek with laughter at the feeblest joke. If he treated them in an offhand fashion, they tolerated it. They were crazy about him even when he
knew
he didn't deserve it.

For crying out loud, where was the sense of hard-earned achievement in that?

Beeeep
went his phone. For a moment, as he reached across to pick it up, Rennie fantasised that it would be Caz, texting him to say frightfully sorry but she'd changed her mind and couldn't see him this afternoon after all.

Or, in textspeak, frtfly sry, chngd mnd, cnt c u 2dy.

Didn't she realise how dramatically she'd shoot up in his estimation if she did that?

Well, he'd been half right. The message was from Caz.

It said: ‘Ready 4 U! Luv C xxx'

Rennie towelled himself dry. Maybe he should ring and be the one to cancel. Was it fair to take advantage of her like this? Wouldn't he be happier stretched across the sofa downstairs, watching
Casablanca
or
Citizen Kane
?

But Caz would think
that
was unfair. More than anything else, she wanted to see him - and sleep with him - this afternoon. She would be upset if he let her down now.

Wearily, Rennie dragged a clean pair of jeans and a fresh shirt out of his wardrobe. He'd spend the afternoon with Caz and be home early. Tonight he'd have a serious talk with Carmen and find out exactly what was going on between her and Joe James.

Buttoning his denim shirt, Rennie wondered what time Carmen would be back.

 

The answer to this question was a bit bloody late for his liking.

‘Yay, you're still awake,' Carmen said cheerfully, letting herself into the house at two thirty in the morning and discovering Rennie making his tenth cup of coffee in the kitchen.

Of course I'm still awake, Rennie thought crossly. I've been waiting for
you
.

Aloud he said, ‘And what on earth time do you call this? Where have you been? What have you been doing? Don't you have to be up early for work? And why's your shirt on inside out?'

Carmen grinned and gave him a hug. ‘Yes, Mum, no, Mum, sorry I'm late, Mum. We were having such fun I didn't notice the time. But I promise to get up at seven o'clock for work. And my shirt isn't on inside out.'

‘I should hope not.' Rennie wondered if she could tell that he was sounding jokey but deep down he actually meant it. Although Carmen was clearly in such a daze of euphoria he doubted she'd notice if he was wearing a dress.

‘How was New York? How's Jessie?' Having poured herself a glass of water, Carmen perched on the nearest stool. Her eyes were sparkling; he had never seen her looking so happy.

‘Jessie's OK. She was just going through a bad patch. Her sister's with her now. So what's happening with you and this chap?'

This time Carmen's whole face lit up. ‘We just clicked. He's so . . . great. We never stop talking. That's what we've been doing today. We went for a walk, we had lunch at Pizza Hut, we went to his flat and watched TV, then we played Scrabble, then we went for another walk, then back to the flat, Joe cooked us scrambled eggs on toast and we listened to music and it was just so . . . so exciting, not scary at all! It's like we've known each other our whole lives. And no, I haven't slept with him yet,' Carmen went on, because it was so transparently what Rennie wanted to ask her. ‘We're taking things slowly. We both know how we feel about each other, so there's no hurry. People jump into bed together all the time and it means nothing. We want it to be extra special.'

Rennie, who had spent the afternoon in bed with an ecstatic Caz having completely meaningless sex, helped himself to a Jaffa cake.

‘So you might be seeing him again then.'

Carmen pulled a face at him. ‘Of course I'm seeing him again. Tomorrow night, in fact.'

‘Bet you can't wait.'

‘I can't.' She beamed, immune to his teasing.

‘You'll be counting the minutes,' said Rennie.

‘Right, I'm shattered, I'm off to bed.' Yawning widely, Carmen headed for the kitchen door. Then she paused and gazed seriously at Rennie. ‘And yes, I
will
be counting the minutes. I feel as if I'm allowed to be happy again. That's a good thing, isn't it?'

Rennie softened, unable to begrudge her a bit of much-deserved happiness. ‘Definitely a good thing.'

‘I like Joe. He likes me.' Carmen hesitated then said, ‘I think if Spike met him, he'd like him too.'

Not very logical, but Rennie knew what she meant.

‘I'm sure he would.' Rennie nodded, because what else could he say?

‘And it's all thanks to you,' Carmen went on happily. ‘If you hadn't agreed to help the charity, I'd never have met Joe.' Blowing him a kiss she added, ‘It's like you're my fairy godmother.'

Rennie waited until she'd gone before exhaling slowly and saying, ‘
Bugger
.'

Rose was a firm believer in the benefits of the great outdoors. Why be stuck inside a stuffy old house when you could be outside breathing in great lungfuls of real, un-centrally heated fresh air? Besides, as well as being good for you, venturing out into the square enabled you to interact with the outside world, to nod and smile and exchange a few cheerful words with pleasant-looking passers-by.

Not that all of them fell into this category. Yesterday a rigid-looking couple - husband and wife, presumably, and not necessarily happily married if body language was anything to go by - had taken the path that led past Rose's bench. The man, in his sixties or thereabouts and with a military air to him, had narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the sight of her. Rose had set down her knitting and smiled at them perfectly politely, but the pair had remained hatchet-faced.

‘Morning,' Rose called out as they drew level. ‘Beautiful day, isn't it?'

‘Hrrmmph,' the man snorted in reply. His wife, averting her thin face, behaved as though she hadn't noticed Rose's presence.

And they had marched on by, not looking very cheerful at all. Feeling sorry for them, Rose had picked up her knitting and smiled to herself.
Separate Tables
, the film that had earned lovely David Niven an Oscar, that was what the couple reminded her of. They'd have fitted right into that hotel dining room, sitting stiffly and in silence in the background.

Rose took a packet of homemade fudge out of her bag and popped a square into her mouth. She gazed around with satisfaction, listening to the birds twittering in the branches of the ash trees overhead. It might only be Tuesday, but already she regarded this bench as
her
bench. The weather had improved dramatically since the weekend and the sun was out. What, Rose thought contentedly, could be nicer than sitting here in the garden square with her knitting and her fudge, admiring the trees and the beautiful houses beyond them?

Reaching the end of a row, Rose heard a rustling noise from the bushes to her left. Next moment there was a yelp of pain and the sound of frantic whimpering. Jumping to her feet, she headed over to the bush and saw a pair of terrified brown eyes peering out at her.

‘Doreen, Doreen!' shouted a voice, and the young man called Zac rounded the bend in the path. When he saw Rose on her knees, he broke into a trot.

‘She's in here,' Rose told him, attempting to part the spiky branches and wincing as a thorn scraped her wrist.

‘Oh Doreen, you are hopeless,' Zac chided, reaching Rose's side and tut-tutting at the little dog's predicament. ‘Come on, baby, sshh, keep still, let me just untangle you . . .' Bravely he plunged in, ignoring the vicious thorns, separating the branches until there was enough of a gap to ease Doreen through. ‘There, you silly thing, you're safe now.' Leaning back on his heels, he pulled Doreen onto his lap and soothingly stroked her ears. ‘Honestly, what are we going to do with you? Thanks,' he turned to Rose, ‘she's a hopeless case, a bit too intrepid for her own good. She thinks she's Indiana Jones. I spend my life having to rescue her from ridiculous places.'

‘She has an enquiring mind,' said Rose, ‘and the spirit of adventure. That's not such a bad thing. Och, look at her wee nose, that's what made her yelp.'

There was a small scratch just above Doreen's nose. Zac gently wiped away the beads of blood and kissed the top of her trembling head. ‘Poor baby, never pick a fight with a hawthorn bush. They'll always win.'

‘She's not the only one in the wars. Look at you.' Rose tut-tutted, pointing to the injuries Zac had sustained while plunging fearlessly to the rescue. There were several scratches on the backs of his hands and a deeper one on his wrist that was actually bleeding quite a lot.

‘I'll live,' said Zac.

‘But you might drip blood on your clothes.' Rose pushed back the sleeve of his completely impractical lime-green suede jacket. Rising to her feet, she said, ‘I've got an Elastoplast in my bag. Come on, let's sort you out.'

As they reached the bench, Doreen began to snuffle excitedly. Opening her capacious bag, Rose said, ‘She can smell the fudge. OK if she has a piece?'