The One You Really Want (39 page)

‘I know what I'm like.' Stubbing out her cigarette, Tabitha glugged back her vodka and said, ‘I bet I never come back here again. That's how these places make their money, isn't it? From the one-visit-wonders. Oh, I say, who is
that
? Does he work here?'

Tabitha's eyes had lit up. At the far end of the bar, Connor was pinning up next week's staff rota and joking with a crowd of squash-playing regulars.

Nancy's heart swallow-dived into her stomach. ‘That's Connor. He owns the place.'

‘Now that's my kind of man,' Tabitha said eagerly. ‘Is he as nice as he looks?'

No, he's vile. ‘Yes,' Nancy reluctantly admitted.

‘Single?'

‘Yes.'

‘Hey, maybe this place isn't so bad after all.' Having finished her drink and been on the verge of leaving, Tabitha now settled herself back onto her stool and excitedly brushed cigarette ash from the front of her yellow tracksuit top. ‘Do you know him to talk to? Could you introduce me? Shall we just go over and say hello? Oh God, do I look a mess?'

Dutifully surveying her, Nancy felt like one of the ugly sisters watching Cinderella walk off with Prince Charming. Now that she was no longer wheezing like an old pair of bellows, Tabitha was looking radiant, pink-cheeked from her recent exertions and glowing with anticipation at the thought of meeting Connor.

Forcing a smile, Nancy wondered if this officially made her a masochist.

‘Don't worry. You look fine.'

Who knew, Tabitha might turn out to be just what Connor had been waiting for. Maybe she was just his type.

It was Sunday afternoon. Carmen checked the oven where the fish pie was bubbling away under the grill. She'd made it herself, because it was one of Nick's favourite meals. Cod and prawns, layered with sliced potatoes, mushrooms, tomatoes and a rich cheese sauce. It had taken ages to prepare from scratch, but she didn't mind. Nick would love it.

As she wiped down the worktops, Carmen heard the front door open and bang shut downstairs, signalling Nick's return from the off-licence. Smiling to herself, she marvelled at the way her life had altered out of all recognition in the last couple of months. Last year she hadn't cooked a single meal for herself, because what would have been the point? It had been easier to exist on tins of soup, toast, cups of tea and biscuits. Every now and again she had ventured as far as a ready-meal. Cooking proper food had seemed like such a waste of time and effort, particularly when she wouldn't even have enjoyed eating it.

Oh yes, everything was certainly different now. Rinsing out the J-Cloth, Carmen proudly gave the chrome taps a quick polish and turned to greet Nick as he squeezed into the tiny kitchen.

‘Valpolicella.' He waved the bottle at her triumphantly. ‘I know it's red but it was on special offer. Three ninety-nine.'

‘Red's fine,' Carmen assured him, because a special offer was a special offer. And even though he'd only been gone for ten minutes she gave him a hug to show how happy she was to have him back. ‘Dinner's nearly ready.'

Nick's grey eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘So, time for a quickie first? Or would you prefer a slow one afterwards?'

‘You mean I have to choose? Tuh, you can tell you're not eighteen.'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a challenge?'

‘For you, obviously. Oh well, serves me right for getting involved with a man past his prime - oooh!' squealed Carmen as he grabbed her arms and began pulling her out of the kitchen.

‘Right, clothes off. We'll see who's past their prime, shall we? Let me know if you can't keep up.' Bundling her through to the bedroom, Nick hauled her navy sweater over her head and pulled off his own sweatshirt.

‘I should turn off the oven,' Carmen giggled as he tipped her onto the bed and romantically yanked down her jeans. ‘The fish pie might burn.'

‘Making feeble excuses already? Shame on you.' Stepping out of his own trousers, Nick tossed them dramatically to one side like a magician.

‘What's that noise?' Carmen tilted her head.

‘Oh dear,
more
excuses?' Tut-tutting, Nick shook his head. ‘Getting desperate now. Don't tell me, let me guess - burglars have broken in, they're eating our dinner, drinking our—'

‘No, I'm serious.' Sliding out from under him as he made a playful lunge towards her, Carmen said, ‘I
can
hear something. '

He grinned. ‘That's the sound of my heart beating.'

‘Listen.' She pressed a finger to his lips and sat up. ‘It's like someone taking a shower.'

Nick listened. ‘Hygienic burglars?'

Leaping off the bed, Carmen raced across the bedroom in her bra, knickers and woolly socks.

‘If there are burglars in your shower,' he called after her, ‘you'll frighten the life out of them.'

‘Oh oh
oh
,' shrieked Carmen, skidding to a halt at the entrance to the living room. Water was cascading down from the ceiling, drenching the carpet and furniture.

‘Bloody hell,' exclaimed Nick, behind her.

‘Stop it!' Carmen waved her arms helplessly at the cracked ceiling. ‘How do we make it stop? Oh no, look at the walls! Look at my sofa!'

‘Where's the stopcock?' Nick gazed wildly around, moving forward then grimacing as his bare feet sank into the sodden carpet. ‘God, it's disgusting, like walking through a bog.'

Darting into the bathroom, Carmen seized a turquoise bath towel and wrapped it round herself. As she galloped downstairs, the door to her landlord's living room was flung open. Mr Sadler, an unedifying sight in his string vest with dark chest hairs poking through the holes and his stomach rolling over the waistband of his trousers, glared up at her.

‘What the bloody hell have you been doing?' he roared. ‘There's water coming through my ceiling!'

Incensed, Carmen shouted back, ‘You think there's water coming through
your
ceiling? You should see it coming through
my
ceiling. The tank's burst up in the loft or something. Where's the stopcock?'

Mr Sadler let out the kind of disgusted groan that suggested it wasn't the first time this had happened. Carmen recalled the patchy stains on her living room ceiling - the ones she and Nick had so painstakingly painted over.

‘Stopcock. Right,' he sighed, ambling into his flat. Really hoping that his state of undress didn't mean he'd been doing with his wife what she'd been about to do with Nick, Carmen followed him through to the kitchen and watched him turn off the stopcock in the cupboard under the sink.

‘Now what?' demanded Carmen. ‘What do I do about my living room?'

‘Go and save what you can.' Straightening up with difficulty, Mr Sadler took his mobile out of his trouser pocket and began punching out a number. ‘My brother's a plumber, I'll get him over here right away.'

Carmen said pointedly, ‘Is he the one who fixed it last time?'

Mr Sadler grunted and reached back under the sink with his free hand, pulling out a box of household candles. ‘Better take some of these too. I'll have to turn off the mains if we don't want to be electrocuted, and it'll be dark soon.'

 

Upstairs, Nick wrapped his arms round Carmen. ‘It'll be OK. We'll get the place fixed up again, don't you worry.'

‘Everything's ruined,' Carmen said sadly, as the drips fell steadily from the ceiling.

‘It's only water. The carpet will dry out. I managed to save the TV.' Nick's tone was consoling. ‘It's in the bedroom.'

‘Mr Sadler's brother's on his way round to fix it. Probably with gaffer tape and Uhu.' Carmen pulled a face. ‘We're not going to have electricity either. It's going to be pitch black and freezing in here by tea time.'

‘Hey, don't worry.' Tenderly smoothing her damp spiky hair, Nick said, ‘You can come and stay with me.' He gave the turquoise bath towel a playful tug. ‘Better go and get dressed if you don't want Sadler's brother ogling you.'

‘Bet you're glad you came over.' Carmen smiled ruefully. ‘No heat, no light, no sex.'

‘How can you even say that?' Nick narrowed his eyes lasciviously as she headed for the bedroom to retrieve her clothes. ‘We still have homemade fish pie.'

By the time Carmen had finished dressing and had packed a holdall with spare clothes to take to Nick's flat, he had served up their meal. The sodden green carpet might resemble a swamp, but Nick had wiped down the tiny dining table and two chairs, decorated the table with every last one of Mr Sadler's candles and poured the Valpolicella into matching glasses. He was now sitting at the table solemnly holding Carmen's purple and white striped umbrella over his head as water continued to drip-drip-drip from the ceiling.

‘I love you.' Joining him, Carmen leaned over for a kiss.

‘We'll have to share the umbrella. Love you too,' said Nick. ‘Come on, eat up before it gets cold.'

Several minutes later there was a knock at the door.

‘Plumber's here,' Mr Sadler bellowed as Carmen pushed back her chair and splashed across the carpet to let them in.

‘Right, the hatch leading into the roof is in the living room,' Mr Sadler was telling the plumber. Turning to face Carmen he indicated that she should move out of the way to allow the ladder through. ‘All right, love? Water stopped dripping now? My brother couldn't make it - he had tickets for the Arsenal match this afternoon - so I called a number out the Yellow Pages. Whoops, mind your back.'

Carmen looked at Joe James, behind him. Joe looked at Carmen, evidently confused. Time either stood still or sped by, she was too shocked to be able to tell which.

‘Carmen,' said Joe.

‘Well, well, what about that?' Mr Sadler nodded jovially. ‘Know each other, do you?' Nudging Joe he added, ‘Does that mean I get a discount?'

Carmen felt as if her head were full of the expanding insulating foam that got pumped into wall cavities. This was worse than Big Russ arriving at the shelter. She watched Joe haul his stepladder and tool case into the living room and plonk them down on the carpet. He stared at Nick, sitting surreally at the dining room table drinking red wine and holding the striped umbrella.

‘I'm sorry,' said Joe, ‘but I really don't get this. What is going on here?'

‘Burst pipe, I imagine,' Nick said cheerfully. ‘You're the plumber. You should know.'

Ignoring him, Joe turned to Carmen. ‘You actually
live
here? What are you doing in a place like this?'

Numbly Carmen said, ‘I just moved in a couple of weeks ago. Joe, could we chat privately for a—'

‘Joe?' Nick picked up the name. ‘Is this the ex-boyfriend you were telling me about?'

Joe's expression tightened. Defensively he said, ‘What have you been telling people?'

Oh God, of all the plumbers in all the phone books . . .

‘Look,
nothing
,' Carmen pleaded, ‘but if we could just have a private word in the kitchen—'

‘Don't expect to bill me for all this chit-chat,' grumbled Mr Sadler, checking his watch.

‘This doesn't make sense.' Joe shook his head. ‘What's happened to Fitzallen Square? Why aren't you there any more?'

Why can't you keep your big blabbering mouth
shut
, Carmen longed to flash back at him. Either that or take a swing at Joe with his ladder before stabbing him with her umbrella through the heart.

‘Fitzallen Square?' Now it was Nick's turn to look perplexed. ‘What were you doing in Fitzallen Square?'

‘That was the last place she lived.' Joe shot him a look of disbelief.

‘What?' Nick began to laugh. ‘You didn't tell me about this! You mean you rented a room in one of those mansions? Or were you actually living with some mega-rich bloke?'

He was joking, but Carmen couldn't bring herself to smile.

‘Hang on, who are
you
?' demanded Joe.

‘I'm Carmen's boyfriend.' Nick remained calm. ‘Why? D'you have a problem with that?'

Joe replied with a smirk, ‘I reckon you're the one with the problem, mate, if you don't know where Carmen's been living up until now.'

‘OK, stop it,' Carmen blurted out, horribly aware that even Mr Sadler was by this time agog. ‘I'll
tell
Nick—'

‘Why don't you let him tell me?' There was an edge to Nick's voice. ‘He's clearly dying to.'

‘So what happened?' Joe turned to Carmen. ‘Did you sell it?'

Carmen said nothing.

‘Sell what?' demanded Nick, putting down the umbrella.

‘The house in Fitzallen Square.' Joe was by this time enjoying himself. ‘Bloody great wedding cake of a place, five storeys high, pillars outside, the lot.'

Nick frowned. ‘But whose house
is
it?'

‘Hers, of course.' Returning his attention to Carmen, who was finding it increasingly hard to breathe, Joe said, ‘Or have you rented it out to some Arab prince or something? I don't get it though. Why would you give up a place like that for a dump like this?'

Indignantly Mr Sadler said, ‘Excuse
me
.'

‘And forget to mention it to your new boyfriend,' Joe continued silkily, his eyes not leaving Carmen's chalk-white face.

The room fell silent, apart from the steady drip of water falling from the ceiling. Finally Nick said in bewildered disbelief, ‘You own a house in Fitzallen Square?'