The One You Really Want (18 page)

‘You want me to tell Carmen,' Rennie said slowly, ‘so that she'll finish with your ex-boyfriend. And then what? You can have him back?'

Tina shrugged. ‘Maybe. I can't give Joe twenty grand because I don't have any money. But I still love him.'

‘Carmen isn't going to believe me.'

‘Fair enough. I'm not asking you to tell her so that she'll dump Joe.' Reaching across the table and snapping the last stick of KitKat in half - God, he
hated
it when girls did that - Tina said levelly, ‘I'm just suggesting you warn her, so that when he does start dropping hints about twenty grand solving all his problems, she'll stop and think it through before whipping out her solid gold, diamond-studded chequebook. '

The weather had taken a dramatic turn for the worse. Pewter-grey clouds loomed overhead, the temperature plummeted and icy rain began to pelt down as Nancy prepared to leave the house. By the time she reached the pavement, the icy rain had turned to hail, hammering onto her umbrella with the force of gunfire. Pellets of hail bounced and ricocheted in all directions like a mini Wimbledon gone mad. Shuddering as a car swished past, sending a wave of water over her feet, Nancy wondered just how desperate you had to be for a haircut to venture out in a hailstorm. Well,
this
desperate, clearly. Otherwise she'd be in the bathroom now with a comb and a pair of scissors, rather than out here getting soaked to the skin.

Except she'd done the comb-and-scissors thing before, and getting soaked to the skin was a small price to pay in order to avoid that awful sinking feeling when you gazed at yourself and your economy DIY haircut in the mirror and knew without a doubt that this was your Biggest Ever Mistake.

Anyway, she needed highlights as well as a cut. A new job definitely merited new highlights. And if she waited until the storm had passed, there wouldn't be enough time for a hairdresser to do both before—

‘Oh my God,' shrieked Nancy as she turned and saw the bicycle careering straight towards her. The cyclist, having completely lost control, hit the kerb with a metallic crunch and Nancy leapt back to avoid the bike. Sadly she was unable to avoid the cyclist, who shot over the handlebars and landed against her chest with a lung-crushing thud.

Whoomph
, Nancy promptly lost her footing and went over backwards. The cyclist, a teenager wearing an anorak and spectacles streaming with sleet, crashed down on top of her. Clearly horrified at finding himself in such close physical contact with an older woman, he yelped, ‘Sorry, sorry', and scrambled to his feet. Nancy, still on the ground, gazed open-mouthed in disbelief as he ran to retrieve his bike from the gutter, leapt onto it and pedalled furiously away.

Feeling like a wino, she hauled herself into a sitting position and gingerly examined her grazed hand. Hail was still hurtling down, her umbrella was bowling merrily across the road and her handbag - oh,
perfect
- had burst open in a puddle.

‘It's OK, don't move,' called a voice behind her. As if she might be about to jump up and break into a Riverdance routine.

Still winded by the impact, Nancy concentrated on getting her breathing back to normal. Carmen's neighbour, Mia's father, crouched beside her and said, ‘Want me to call an ambulance?'

Nancy shook her head. ‘I'll be all right. Nothing broken.'

‘That bloody idiot,' Connor said in disbelief. ‘I saw it happen from the window.'

‘Like Batman.' Nancy managed a shaky smile. ‘He appears out of nowhere, then shoots off again before you know what's hit you.'

‘Except he doesn't usually crash into you on his bicycle,' said Connor. Gravely, he held out his hand. ‘By the way, I'm Connor.'

‘I know. Mia's dad. Nice to meet you.'

Solemnly they shook hands. He was getting drenched, Nancy realised as the hail continued to clatter down like painful confetti.

‘Well, this is stupid. Like trying to pretend it isn't raining at some posh garden party. Think you can stand up?' said Connor.

Nancy nodded and allowed him to help her to her feet. The pavement was slippery with slush and she began to tremble as shock belatedly set in.

‘OK,' Connor murmured, leading her to the railings. ‘Just wait here a second while I fetch your stuff.'

He was wearing a blue and white rugby shirt and dark blue corduroys. Nancy leaned feebly against the railings and watched him gather together everything that had exploded out of her bag, including a box of tampons and a lipstick that had rolled into the gutter. He then raced up the road to collect her umbrella.

‘Come on,' said Connor when he returned, ‘let's get you inside.'

His front door was wide open. He helped her up the steps into his house.

‘Really, you don't have to—'

‘Hey, don't spoil my big moment. I've never come to the aid of a damsel in distress before. When I was a kid I always wanted to be a superhero,' Connor confided. ‘I used to dream about rescuing people from burning buildings, saving their lives.'

‘That's so noble.' Nancy smiled at him, picturing him as a boy.

‘Actually it wasn't. I wanted to rescue them so they'd be eternally grateful and give me some fantastic reward. Remember Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? I especially wanted to save Willie Wonka's life, so he'd give me his factory and I'd have a lifetime's supply of sweets. Now, shall I help you off with your coat?'

Nancy discovered that her hands were still shaking too badly to unfasten her belt. Feeling stupid, she stood there like a child while Connor did it for her.

‘I can't manage a factory full of sweets, I'm afraid. But you're welcome to the packet of orange TicTacs in my bag.'

Connor grinned and something inside Nancy went
twaannggg
as she looked at him properly for the first time and realised how attractive he was. OK, maybe not take-your-breath-away good looking like Rennie, whose chiselled cheekbones and wicked dark eyes had girls going feeble at the sight of him, but attractive in a down-to-earth way. Connor O'Shea looked rumpled and lived-in and . . . well, just downright
nice
.

Oops, she was still gazing at him. Right, stop it.
Ouch
.

‘Sorry.' Having peeled off her wet coat, Connor had gently pushed back the sleeve of her favourite olive-green sweater. Flinching, Nancy saw the nasty graze that ran the length of her forearm, with blue-grey bruising and blood seeping out through the broken skin.

‘Hang on, let me get the first-aid kit,' said Connor. ‘I think we're going to have to amputate.'

He had such a fantastic voice, lazy and humorous and with that impossible-to-resist Dublin accent.

‘Can I keep the arm as a souvenir?' Nancy watched as Connor, having fetched the kit, began to clean her forearm with antiseptic lotion.

‘Now that's what I call thrifty. You could mount it on a plaque,' he said approvingly. ‘Hang it on your wall. Great conversation piece, and so much cheaper than an oil painting. '

‘And when the novelty's worn off, I could sell it on to Charles Saatchi.' As she turned her arm outward, enabling him to lay sterile gauze over the wound, Nancy caught his eye and felt that jolt of attraction again. He smelled gorgeous, he had a sense of humour and she just loved the way his eyebrows moved when he smiled, as if they had a life of their own.

‘There, all done. Anything else need looking at?'

‘I'm fine.' Since she could hardly strip off and show him every painful bruise - what could he do, kiss them better? - Nancy carefully rolled the sleeve of her sweater down over the bandage. ‘Nice job. Thanks. How can I ever repay you for saving my life?' Reaching for her bag, she said, ‘Here, take my TicTacs. I want you to have them.'

Was she being suitably playful and light-hearted, or making a complete twit of herself? It was so long since she'd flirted with anyone that she couldn't remember for the life of her how it was done.

Mildly shocked, Nancy ordered herself to get a grip. For heaven's sake, Carmen had mourned the loss of her husband for three whole years, and yet here
she
was behaving like a twittering teenager just three weeks after the end of her own marriage. Surely that couldn't be right?

‘Listen,' Connor interrupted her thoughts, ‘what are you doing tomorrow night?'

Nancy's heart began to palpitate.

‘Sorry? Um . . . nothing planned.' Feeling herself going red, unable to believe this was all happening so fast, she said, ‘Why?'

Serve her right if he asked her to babysit.

‘How about coming round for a drink,' Connor suggested, ‘and we can get to know each other properly. Without the smell of antiseptic.'

‘Love to. Sounds great!' As she said it, Nancy wondered if that was too eager. But he'd asked her, hadn't he? What was wrong with saying yes? If she pretended to hesitate, he might change his mind. OK, act normal, just act norm—

‘Around seven, then? You, Rennie and Carmen?'

Oh.

‘Fine!' Nancy smiled extra brightly to hide her disappointment. Oh well, that was understandable; Connor probably thought it would be rude not to invite Rennie and Carmen along too. He wouldn't want them to feel left out.

He was being subtle, that was it.

‘Always good to get to know your neighbours,' Connor said easily. ‘I haven't met Carmen yet, not even to say hello to. Here, give me your hand.' Reaching for her left wrist, he dabbed carefully at her upturned palm with a tissue. ‘It's still bleeding. Maybe I should put a dressing on this one as well.'

‘What's going on?'

Startled, Nancy twisted round on her chair to find herself being stared at by a girl with wild magenta curls and a beautiful but none too friendly face. She was wearing a great deal of intricately applied make-up, a white shirt that presumably belonged to Connor, and nothing else.

‘This is Nancy, one of our neighbours. She had a bit of a run-in with a cyclist,' Connor explained. ‘Nancy, this is my girlfriend Sadie.'

Sadie nodded briefly, in acknowledgement. Nancy, attempting a friendly smile, felt as if she'd just stepped into a lift shaft without noticing the lift wasn't there.

‘Which neighbour?' demanded Sadie.

‘That side.' Connor pointed to the left. ‘With Rennie and Carmen. I've invited them over for a drink tomorrow night, so you'll be able to meet everyone properly then.'

‘And will Mia be here?'

‘Of course Mia'll be here.'

‘In that case, let's hope she behaves herself,' said Sadie shortly. ‘Connor, it's gone four o'clock. We have to be at the club by five.' The implication was clear as her narrowed gaze fixed on Connor's fingers round Nancy's wrist:
put her down
.

‘I need to leave too.' Glad that she was no longer shaking, Nancy pulled her hand free and rose to her feet. ‘Thanks for the first aid.'

‘Thank
you
for making a lifelong fantasy come true.' Connor grinned, oblivious to the effect his words were having on trap-mouthed Sadie. ‘Now, don't forget, seven o'clock tomorrow.'

‘Absolutely.' Nancy wondered if she could manage to break both legs before tomorrow afternoon. ‘See you then.'

Carmen didn't cry, or shout at him, or call him hideous names, but Rennie knew she was thinking them.

‘Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I just thought it was only fair to warn you,' said Rennie. ‘Don't shoot the messenger.'

Carmen looked at him as if he were her worst enemy.

‘But who
is
the other messenger? You can't not tell me! I have a right to know who's saying this stuff about Joe.'

‘I can't. They made me promise, cross my heart and hope to die. But they're on your side, that's the thing. They don't want to see you get hurt.'

Except he was hurting her now, Rennie knew that. He'd just told her that the man she was besotted with was stringing her along and not in love with her at all.

‘Right, well, thanks.'

‘Just bear it in mind,' said Rennie. ‘They may be wrong, he might be completely on the level, but—'

‘Yes, yes, I get the message, you think Joe is a con artist. I'll make sure I hide my credit cards and never take my eye off my purse.'

‘That's not what I meant,' Rennie shot back. ‘OK, fine, just forget I said it.'

‘How can I forget it?' howled Carmen. ‘You
have
said it! Tell me who told you!'

‘No.' He was emphatic.

‘No? Oh, and why not? Maybe because they don't exist?'

‘What?'
said Rennie.

Carmen jabbed an accusing finger at him. ‘It's what
you
think, but you know I won't take any notice if it's just you, so you've come up with this mystery visitor instead. Do you have any idea how insulting you are? You can't believe that Joe likes me for my personality. You're saying that if I didn't have money he wouldn't look at me twice.'

‘But—'

‘No, shut up, I don't want to hear another word,' Carmen hissed and grabbed her coat. ‘You said you wanted me to be happy, but you didn't actually mean it, because the moment I finally meet someone and start to
feel
happy, you have to come along and spoil it all. And, let me tell you, all the girls you sleep with wouldn't look twice at you if you just had a normal job. They're only interested because you have money.'

Luckily Rennie's feelings weren't hurt because he knew this wasn't true. Carmen knew it too, but he didn't remind her of this. He just stood there and let her get the insults out of her system. Right now, he felt it was the least he could do.