All That Mullarkey (25 page)

Contentedly, she mused, ‘The more I drink, the more desirable and interesting I become.’ She sloshed her glass in a gesture at the busy bar. ‘Bet I could pull any man in this room.’

Liza blew a raspberry. ‘Bollocks. You get horny when you’re drunk and
think
you’re desirable and blah-blah.’

Cleo sighed so hard that a nearby couple glanced up. ‘I suppose that’s true.’

‘And I would’ve thought you’d learnt your lesson about drink and your love life.’ Liza drained her glass. ‘How
is
Justin?’

Just as unsettling as ever. ‘OK, I suppose.’

Liza pushed her empty glass away. ‘And he’s really babysitting Shona at your place?’

Cleo nodded, then stopped, because it made the room tip.

It had felt extremely odd leaving Justin in her house. For the fortieth time she checked her mobile in case he’d been trying to contact her. ‘He doesn’t want her in his place just now because he’s being hassled by his old tenants – prank phone calls and putting dead stuff through the letter box.’

‘
Yurrr
!’ Liza mimed the action of vomiting. ‘Gross! What do the Old Bill say?’

Cleo shrugged. ‘They spoke to the ex-tenants who, predictably, denied all knowledge.’

‘They would, wouldn’t they? Christ, let’s go get coffee. My eyes are crossing.’

They wandered, reasonably steadily, into the red-vinyl aromatic warmth of the coffee bar across the road. It was busy but they found one of the tall tables free, in a corner. ‘Short skirts, high heels, high stools – definitely a challenge!’ Liza gave a whoop and hopped onto a stool, tossing back her hair.

As she struggled to slide up onto her stool in more cautious style, Cleo’s giggle became a squawk of horror. ‘Change places with me quickly! There’s someone I don’t want to see.’ She pushed at Liza’s shoulder.

Liza clung onto the table. ‘Must be kidding, I’ve only just hoisted myself up here. Who, anyway? Ah, the blond twins. They’re not bad, are they?’

Despite having been in a relationship for six months – an all-time record – with Lovely Bloke Adam, Liza couldn’t break the habit of running her inbuilt desire-o-meter over men. But latte arriving in huge thick red cups, delicious and aromatic, distracted them both from Drew and Martin, who weren’t looking over to their corner in any case.

‘So,’ Liza said, touching her impeccably made-up lips minutely to the too-hot surface of the coffee. ‘Tell me about the trip to the seaside. Can’t imagine Justin playing Daddies. Did he buy Shona candyfloss and toffee apple, then give her promptly to you when she honked?’

Cleo struggled to get a grip of her giant cup. ‘Actually he’s fine with Shona and adapts to her limitations. And incredibly,’ she glanced at Drew and Martin, then lowered her voice, ‘he seems besotted with her. Something I hadn’t anticipated. My life’s getting way too complex. With work and Shona I scarcely have time to meet anyone else, particularly someone cool about me being a single parent. And now I’ve realised I kind of need Justin’s approval.’

Liza snorted. ‘What for?’

Cleo groaned. ‘Because whoever I’m close to will be close to Shona. It’s not fair for that to be somebody Justin doesn’t like.’

‘’Course it is, it’s your life.’

‘But Shona’s life isn’t mine. She’s shared.’

Clattering her cup to its saucer, Liza snapped, ‘I think you’ll find, in law, Justin has no rights except to stump up for Shona’s keep.’

‘But there’s honour and integrity, apart from law.’

Liza slapped her hand theatrically on the table. ‘Crap! Bullshit. A crock of … Ooh look, here’s my Adam!’

‘Oh … hi Adam.’ Cleo suppressed a sigh. Adam. Gangly, tawny, besotted Adam, love of Liza’s life, was currently folding himself around Liza with relish and satisfaction. Brilliant. Probably adoring old Adam had searched them out so he could spend the night with Liza. Cleo was supposed to be sleeping in Liza’s spare room and would end up trying not to listen through the wall. Oh, what fun.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Although he was about to slide into the sleeping-bag bed, Justin went up and peeped into Shona’s pine cot for one last time, to reassure himself that she was breathing.

He touched the back of his hand to the moist warmth of her cheek. This was his daughter. An unbreakable tie to Cleo, madwoman Cleo, the woman he’d least intended to be tied to, the one who’d been bad for him and who he’d decided to forget. His child: asleep in a cot in Cleo’s comfortable room of natural earthy colours and sexy satin textures. He’d never been in Cleo’s bedroom before, although he’d entered her body and maybe even some way into her mind. Intimate and yet distant. If he were to crawl under her quilt now, lay his head on her pillow, she’d never know … He shook himself. Sad. He’d have to watch it.

He thought of her changing on the beach, not wanting him to hold the towel. From behind his sunglasses he’d pretended not to watch her, but wondered about her body post-childbirth.

Pity if it had suffered. Not that there was much sign, in a swimsuit it all looked pretty tidy. He had a sudden, freshened memory of her. Her skin against his, hair slithering, mouth
 
…

One last look at Shona and he backed from the room.

Clambering through the stair gate, a stride and a half from
the front door, he froze. A scratchy scraping told him that
somebody was trying to get in. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. The knob turned suddenly and the door shot open.

And, surprise, surprise, in tottered Cleo.

She leapt like a guilty kitten. ‘Oh
shit
!’ she yelped, clutching her heart. ‘You stupid arse, what are you lurking about in your boxers for? I nearly had a heart attack.’ She leaned her back against the doorframe and her knees buckled gently until she knelt inelegantly on the floor.

He gazed down sternly, biting back a smile. ‘No wonder you get into scrapes. Drunk on the floor, skirt up to your knickers –’

She gathered her legs beneath her. ‘I’m not
drunk
. I just decided not to stay at Liza’s. We met Adam, and Liza wanted him to go back to her flat, so I decided to get a taxi – at
huge
expense … Who the fuck d’you think you are, you disapproving arse? My mother?’

Justin laughed. ‘Yeah, right, I did sound like someone’s mother. Give me your hand. Ready? Hup!’ Co-operatively, she thrust herself to her feet and nearly toppled him onto the stairs. He had to grab the handrail to stop them both falling, her breasts pressing for an instant against his bare chest.

He freed himself. ‘Go and sit in the kitchen, I’ll make coffee.’ He nipped into the sitting room to where his sleeping bag lay over the air bed and pulled on a T-shirt.

In the kitchen Cleo had pillowed her head on the table and closed her eyes. ‘I was OK till I got in the taxi. But now I feel a little bit … whizzy.’

‘Whizzy. Right, I’ll get you some sparkling water and paracetamol.’ He also made black coffee – if it was an old wives’ tale that it would help her, he’d chance it – and took the opposite chair. She drank the water, took the tablets and blew on the coffee. Hair tumbled and face flushed, Cleo’s half-shut eyes glittered like marcasite.

Halfway down the coffee, her eyes opened fully. ‘You’d been upstairs. Did Shona wake?’

He rubbed his nose. ‘No, I’ve been up every five minutes to look in on her – remember, I’m a novice.’

‘Novice at all this mullarkey?’ She laughed. ‘Were you checking she’s still breathing? I do that. To reassure myself I’m doing OK.’ She folded her arms on the table. It pushed her breasts up.

No stretch marks there, so far as he could see.

‘It’s just her and me, what if I do it wrong? There’s no one to ask whether she’s too hot or too cold. I read about meningitis or sudden infant death and I panic.’ Cleo shuddered, making her breasts shake.

He made himself look down into his coffee. ‘Cheerful, aren’t
we? Let’s talk about something else … Cleo?’ He looked up to see that tears were sliding slowly down her cheeks. ‘What’s the matter?’ A truly dreadful thought hit him. ‘Shona hasn’t got something you haven’t told me about, has she?’

Forlornly, Cleo shook her head.

Sighing in relief, Justin hitched his chair closer, hesitantly sliding his arm around her shoulders. The bareness of his arm connected warmly with the flesh at the top of her spine that was exposed by her scooped-neck top. ‘Tell me what’s the matter.’

Her breath wavered. ‘It’s just that, that, sometimes … I get so frigh-frigh-frightened! Shona’s only got me, what if I do something wrong? When she was tiny I used to feel sure I was doing something stupid, there never seemed enough information. The doctors, midwives and health visitors, they so obviously know what they’re doing. They’re
trained
.’

He let his arm tighten, smothering a smile. ‘Did you think someone ought to have sent you on a course? Don’t Ntrain do a seminar? “Powerful Supermothers” or “Mother-well”?’

For a moment she teetered on the edge of sobs – until a giggle bubbled out. She rolled her head onto his shoulder and he felt the wetness of her tears against his neck. ‘But it was hard being pregnant, alone. Liza didn’t really understand; one of my friends was ending her marriage and the other moving house. Mum and Dad were disapproving. So it was just me and the baby. There were no problems, I didn’t get particularly big, didn’t even see a doctor until I was over five months. But I felt anxious.’

He patted her back. ‘But you’ve done a brilliant job. You’re so in charge. I’m the total dunce, stumbling about, hoping I get it right, while you sail along.’

Another hiccup shook her. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered. Then began to disentangle herself stickily from his shoulder. ‘I’ve probably cried my make-up all over your T-shirt.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Look – ’ He hesitated, awkwardly. ‘I’ll still stay, if that’s OK, you might not feel up to looking after Shona.’

She clambered unsteadily to her feet. ‘Incapable, you mean. I’d better get to bed.’

‘I’ll give you a hand with the stairs.’

‘You’re such a hero.’

Oh God.

Cleo lifted a clammy hand to an aching head. Oh G-o-d.

She covered her face against the daylight glaring in through open curtains. Then she snatched her hands away and sat up.

The cot was empty.

For a moment she thought she’d be sick – and then she heard Shona’s happy shout downstairs, the deep up-and-down of Justin’s voice in reply, and remembered.

She rolled back down to the cool sheet. Now she need only feel hungover. And disadvantaged that Justin, coming in to fetch Shona, would have seen her asleep, perhaps mouth open, snoring. She cringed. Must have a shower. Must have fluids.

She scrubbed off the make-up, which should’ve been carefully wiped away last night. Last night. There was something bad about last night.

Oh, no – she’d cried. She made an appalled face at herself in the bathroom mirror.

Fantastic. She’d bawled all over Justin for no proper reason, been a maudlin silly drunk. He’d heaved her up to bed. She groaned as she dried herself, dragged on her comforting towelling robe, yanked up the hood over her damp hair and tramped down to grapple with the intricacies of the stair gate.

Shona clarioned her arrival – ‘Mummee! Mum!’ – accomplishing one of her knees-in runs, beaming, arms up, confident of her welcome.

Cleo automatically went into the corresponding delighted mum routine. ‘Hello, baby! Were you a good girl for Justin? Mmm, what lovely kisses.’ Fib. They were slobbery and rather full of Weetabix. She gulped hard.

Fully dressed, fresh, backside on one chair and feet on another, Justin lounged in the kitchen. Cereal bowls stood in the sink. He grinned. ‘And how are we this morning?’

Cleo shuffled to the fridge, bending awkwardly with Shona happily astride her hip. ‘You look OK, I feel like hell.’ She poured orange juice, sploshing messily.

‘Gink!’ Shona threw herself forwards, fingers grasping air near the glass as she launched into rising, howling pleas.

Cleo put her down; the racket in her ear was pretty near unbearable. ‘Where’s your cup? Wait … let me put the lid on … there. Thank you.’

‘’K’you,’ Shona repeated round the thick spout of the beaker. She suddenly caught Justin’s eyes on her and burst into a rich baby chuckle before turning and trotting off into the sitting room. ‘Bah-bye!’

‘Bah-bye,’ Justin called after her.

Cleo forced herself to drink orange juice, coffee and Alka Seltzer-Extra-Strong-For-Morons-Like-You, then dropped a single slice of bread in the toaster.

‘That’s no breakfast,’ Justin chided. ‘Sit down, I’ll fry you some runny eggs.’

She turned throbbing eyes on him. ‘Have pity.’ Yanking the chair from under his feet, she sank down to nibble distastefully at lightly browned toast.

He stretched, looking great in a navy sweatshirt that said
University of Boston, Mass
up the outside of one arm. ‘Apart from hungover, how are you?’

Under his gold-sprinkled gaze, she flushed. ‘Look, you were great but don’t take any notice of that stupid blubbing. Occasionally I get what my mum calls “gin-drunk” – weeping and wailing over absolutely nothing. You must’ve hated every second.’