The One You Really Want (20 page)

Well, that tells me, thought Nancy. So much for thinking that the way Connor had been talking to her might have been in any way special.

Jess said, ‘Sadie's going to have her work cut out keeping that jealousy of hers under control. She's mad about Connor. God, look at the way her boobs are jiggling.'

‘Whose boobs are jiggling?' Rennie joined them, swigging from a bottle of Pils. ‘Oh, right. Implants.'

Mia's eyes widened with delight. ‘Are you serious? Is that a boob job? Really?'

Rennie said, ‘Trust me, I'm an expert.'

‘Ha!' Mia took another gulp from her Lilt can. ‘Fabulous. Did she have a sex change as well?'

‘Sshh.' Jess gave her a nudge, because she was getting loud and Sadie had just shot them a suspicious glance. ‘If Connor marries her, she'll be your stepmum.'

Mia spluttered and began to choke. ‘I'd rather cut off my own feet. No, no, he can't do that. I won't let him.'

‘My cousin said that when her dad started seeing this hotshot magazine editor,' said Therese. ‘They couldn't stand each other. My cousin couldn't
believe
her dad had such terrible taste. When she found out they were thinking of getting married, she threatened to run away from home.'

‘What happened?' Mia was eager for tips.

‘They got married. The hotshot magazine editor gave up her job and had four kids in five years. They've all got names like Archie and Alfred. It's like walking into an old people's home.'

Mia looked horrorstruck. ‘What did your cousin do?'

‘Ran away from home. No other choice. Well, they explained to her that at nineteen, you couldn't technically
call
it running away from home, but that's what she ended up doing. Moved into a disgusting bedsitter in Clapham. And she and her stepmother still hate each other.' Therese gave Mia's arm a comforting pat. ‘So you see? It could be a lot worse. Count your lucky stars Sadie isn't pregnant.'

Jess, gazing over at Sadie, said, ‘Imagine a baby with hair like that.'

 

This was serious. This was
seriously
serious. Now that the thought had been implanted in her mind, Mia found she couldn't let it go. She couldn't believe it hadn't occurred to her before. How many women, desperate not to lose the man of their dreams, ‘accidentally' became pregnant? God, zillions. And Sadie was how old? Thirty-three? Her biological clock was probably clanging away inside her surgically enhanced chest. She'd do anything to hang on to Connor. She knew he wouldn't leave her high and dry, because Connor was an honourable man, a devoted father who would never renege on his responsibilities.

It all made sense. Mia slipped out to the kitchen and found Rose loading the dishwasher.

‘Oh pet, are you all right? Headache?'

Feeling hot, and unaccustomed to drinking, Mia pressed her head against the cold metal of the upright freezer. She nodded. ‘Big headache.'

‘Hang on, I've painkillers in my bag.' Rose scuttled off and Mia took the opportunity to refill her Lilt can with chilled Frascati. There was a terrifying image in her brain of Sadie, hugely pregnant, firing out babies - pop, pop, pop, pop - like bullets from a machine gun. Gulping down half the Frascati and feeling her head start to buzz, Mia made her way slightly unsteadily across the kitchen in search of inspiration. This couldn't happen, it really
mustn't
happen. Was this how James Bond felt when he knew that if he didn't act now, the world would be destroyed?

‘Here we are!' Rose was back, clutching her brown patchwork leather handbag. Rummaging efficiently through the contents, she found a packet of Nurofen and popped a couple out of their plastic casings. ‘That's it, sweetheart, wash them down with some of that Lilt. They'll perk you up in no time.'

‘Perk me up. You make me sound like a pair of bosoms. Like Sadie with her permanently perky bosoms - in fact, permanently perky
protuberances
. . .' Mia was dimly aware that she was wittering on, but a thought was currently unfurling in her brain, courtesy of Rose and her patchwork leather bag.

As she knocked back the Nurofens and sluiced them down with Frascati, wine dripped down the front of her purple top. Rose promptly whisked a tissue from a mini-pack in her bag and handed it to Mia.

Because that was the thing about handbags, you kept your whole life in them. A woman's handbag was capable of telling you an awful lot about its owner. And Sadie ‘Perky Bosoms' Sylvester's handbag was currently hanging on a hook in the cupboard under the stairs. Just dangling there, all on its own in the dark, potentially bulging with secrets . . .

‘Still feeling a bit poorly, pet? Whoops-a-daisy.' Rose caught Mia's arm as she swayed and almost toppled over. ‘Why don't you go upstairs and lie down for a few minutes?'

Mia nodded vigorously. ‘Have a little rest. Oh yes. Good idea.'

 

The hall was empty. Everyone was in the living room singing and dancing along to Abba's ‘Waterloo'. Honestly, old people could be so sad sometimes; Mia hoped she wouldn't end up like that.

She opened the under-stairs cupboard and saw Sadie's bag hanging from one of the coat hooks. Most people kept theirs with them but Sadie had been paranoid about drink being spilled on her precious pale blue suede Prada. Mia's fingers itched to open it but, pressing though her need was, she was aware that it wasn't the height of good manners to go rooting through your dad's girlfriend's personal private things.

If, on the other hand, she accidentally nudged the straps and the bag
happened
to fall open on the floor, well, that would be OK, wouldn't it? It was pretty much what had happened to her dad yesterday when Nancy had been knocked down by that boy on the bike and he'd had to gather up everything that had spilled out of her bag. He'd told her all about having to scoop tampons out of the gutter.

Fantastic. Thanks, Dad.

Double-checking that the coast was still clear, Mia gave the handbag straps a casual nudge. Then, when that didn't dislodge the straps, a bigger nudge. Oh, for heaven's sake, were they superglued on? Impatiently she lifted them over the coat hook, let the bag drop to the floor and . . . bingo!

The sound of footsteps made Mia jump. She froze as someone in stilettos tip-tapped across the parquet floor between the living room and the kitchen. Hastily, Mia slid into the under-stairs cupboard and pulled the door almost shut behind her. Moments later the doorbell rang, giving her another shock.

Her dad called out, ‘I'll get it,' and Mia heard him emerge from the living room.

As he passed the under-stairs cupboard she glimpsed him through the one-inch gap in the door.

Then . . .
click
went the door as Connor closed it. Mia, inside the cupboard, was abruptly plunged into darkness. How she was going to get out again she had no idea; there was no handle on her side of the door.

Oh well, look on the bright side, at least she had privacy now. Her dad was opening the front door; she could just about hear him greeting some late arrival or other. Feeling about in the dark, Mia located the light switch. As light flooded the interior of the cupboard, she smiled down at the handbag on the floor and made herself comfortable on a crate of books. It was actually quite cosy in here, like playing house as a child.

Just as well she didn't need the loo.

‘Hey,' Connor exclaimed with delight, ‘my mystery neighbour. We meet at last.'

Carmen, finding herself being hugged then enthusiastically kissed on both cheeks, felt ashamed of herself. Rennie and Nancy had both told her that Connor O'Shea was a thoroughly nice man.

‘There. Now we know each other.' Connor eventually released her. ‘I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.'

‘I was.' Dimpling, Carmen said, ‘Sorry, don't take it personally. I was avoiding pretty much everyone.'

‘No need to apologise. Rennie told me about your husband. You've been through a rotten time.' Connor helped her out of her coat. ‘And neighbours can be tricky. It's like meeting new people on the first night of your holiday, realising after twenty minutes that you can't stand the sight of them and having to spend the next fortnight hiding round corners.'

He
was
nice. Grateful to him for understanding, Carmen said, ‘It's been a rough three years, but I'm over all that now. Back to normal. Well, normal-ish.' Let's face it, since marrying Spike, had her life ever really been normal?

‘It must help, having Rennie and Nancy around.'

‘Kind of.' This was true, but Carmen still wasn't ready to forgive Rennie for last night.

‘And I've been hearing about your new chap,' Connor went on. ‘That's great. You should have brought him along tonight, the more the merrier.'

Presumably he'd heard about Joe from Nancy. Carmen said, ‘It might not be so merry if he was here. Rennie doesn't have a high opinion of my boyfriend.'

‘Ah well, he's your brother-in-law,' Connor replied easily. ‘Bound to be protective. I'd be just the same with my daughter. '

‘But Rennie isn't my dad. What's that noise?' said Carmen.

Connor, busy adding her coat to the pile heaped on the chaise longue, said, ‘What noise?'

‘Your bell was working just now.' Carmen was puzzled. ‘Is that someone knocking on the door?'

 

When Mia had embarked on her search, she'd had her hopes pinned on finding a diary in Sadie's bag, with any luck containing incriminatingly chirpy entries along the lines of: Still two-timing Connor - let's hope he never finds out! or: Help, I'm pregnant and George has dumped me. Never mind, I'll tell Connor he's the father. Or: Up to 2 grams of crack cocaine a day now.
Really
expensive habit!

Or, best of all: Connor has
no
idea I was born a man, hooray for sex-change ops!

Oh God, wouldn't that be great?

The problem was, there was no diary in the bag. Mia, perched on her packing crate of books, rifled through the various compartments examining old receipts, a perfume atomiser, keys, pens, yet more receipts for annoyingly boring items, three packets of Wrigley's Extra and a hairbrush.

No hidden bottle of vodka, not a rock of crack cocaine in sight.

She opened Sadie's pink and blue striped make-up bag. Shiseido mascara, No. 7 foundation and eyeshadows, Elizabeth Arden Eight Hour cream, Estée Lauder blusher, three different lipsticks and . . . oh now, what was this?

What indeed?

Bingo
, Mia thought triumphantly, zipping the make-up bag back up. Perfect. Jumping to her feet, she cracked her head against the cupboard's sloping roof. Ooch, never mind, let me out now. She knocked on the door and heard voices - was it still Dad? - outside in the hall.

 

Having tried the front door and found no one on the doorstep, Connor frowned, puzzled, at Carmen. The next moment they both heard more knocking behind them.

‘Did you ever see that film
Poltergeist
?' said Connor.

‘I think it's coming from in there.' Carmen pointed to the under-stairs cupboard.

‘Can't be. It's a cupboard. And we don't have ghosts,' said Connor.

‘In that case, brace yourself. You could have a really massive spider.' Carmen, who was closer, pulled open the door.

‘Hi,' said Mia, swaying slightly and clutching her Lilt can. She beamed. ‘Thanks. You must be Carmen.'

Taking the can from her, Connor sniffed it then took a swig of lukewarm Frascati.

‘Mia. My daughter,' he told Carmen. ‘Drunk.'

‘Tiddly,' Mia corrected him, wagging a finger. ‘Not legless, just . . . pleasantly relaxed.'

‘Relaxed enough to shut yourself in a cupboard,' Connor observed.

‘Ah, but you're going to be jolly glad I did.' Looking determined, Mia said, ‘Dad, I need to have a serious talk with you. About condoms.'

Carmen did her best to keep a straight face. The look of horror on Connor O'Shea's face was fabulous.

‘OK. Maybe some other time.' Clearly appalled at the prospect of his daughter wanting to discuss her sex life, Connor began to steer Mia back towards the living room. ‘Why don't we all—'

‘No, you don't understand.' Mia dug her heels in like a dog. ‘Some other time may be too late.'

‘Look,' said Connor, ‘you don't even have a boyfriend. Can't we just—'

‘I know I don't have a boyfriend,
duh
. But
she
does.'

They'd reached the door to the living room. As Mia pointed an accusing finger at Sadie, the CD playing on the sound system chose that moment to come to an end, plunging the room into silence.

‘What?'
said Connor.

‘Condoms, Dad. You have to use them, every time. I'm
serious
,' Mia insisted as he started to smile. ‘She's trying to catch you out. She thinks if she gets pregnant, you'll marry her. Women do it all the time, it's the oldest trick in the book!'

Carmen saw that Sadie Sylvester was shaking her head in amused disbelief, exchanging glances with her co-workers that signalled, see what I have to put up with?

‘It's
true
,' Mia insisted.

Everyone was staring. Sadie said, ‘Connor, isn't it time your daughter went to bed? Then we could all enjoy the party in peace.'

Connor put his hand on Mia's shoulder. ‘I think that might be a good—'

‘Dad, get off, she's taking you for a fool!' With the air of a conjuror magicking a rabbit out of a hat, Mia stuck her hand down the front of her khaki vest and drew out a folded piece of paper. ‘Maybe when you see what I found, you'll realise I'm right.' Triumphantly she unfolded the page torn from a magazine. ‘This article is titled, “How I bagged my man!” and it's written by a girl who was desperate not to lose her boyfriend. He kept saying it was way too soon to think about settling down with one woman, but she knew how much he loved kids so she came off the pill without telling him. When she got pregnant he realised he loved her after all, and asked her to marry him. That was eight years ago and they're still happy together. She says, “I know it was a high risk strategy, but it worked like a charm. My husband's always telling me how glad he is that our darling daughter came along when she did. Of course, he still doesn't know I did it on purpose, but that's my little secret. Sometimes the end result justifies the means!”'