All That Mullarkey (27 page)

Removing his gaze from the movie page, Justin’s expressive eyes lit up. ‘Now that’s a
dress! It deserves to be worn.’

She folded it carefully back into its bag. ‘You’re right. It’s going back. Someone else will give it the glamorous life it deserves.’ She hung the bag on the hook on the back of the kitchen door, so that she’d remember to take it with her in the morning.

Justin watched her. ‘You know I’ll have Shona.’

She dropped back into her seat and took up her pen. ‘I don’t go out that much. Most available men avoid mumsy women. They have their own kids, they’re agonised by separation from them, and they’re terrified they’ll create a one-his-one-hers-and-one-theirs family, only for that to break up too. And Liza’s chosen just now to be involved with Adam, for the one and only time in her life she doesn’t want to go out on the pull.

‘And anyway, do I really want to put myself round the nightclubs? I’ve done that and regretted –’ Her voice dried. She bit her lip. Flicked him a glance.

He twisted a grin. ‘I remember.’

On her way to Dora’s in the morning, Shona ya-la-ing happily from the back of the car, Cleo felt depressed. No, she shouldn’t say depressed, depression was a proper, serious illness. She was just a bit low. Down. Blue.

She tried to count her blessings. She had a secure home – small, but safe and comfy. And if the only house she liked for sale in Middledip at the moment was too big and expensive, well, she’d have to wait, or look in Bettsbrough.

She had a reliable car; she had a good job with a fair income. And, thank every star in the sky, her darling daughter was happy and healthy.

And that was all that was important, her and Shona.

With Justin going home in the next few days, being alone with Shona was going to seem strange; but it wasn’t fair to get used to him being around, to having someone to share the cooking and play Scrabble with, someone who let Cleo get an uninterrupted night’s sleep when Shona had been up every night with spiky gums. Even if Cleo was getting accustomed to a sitting room strewn with the air bed and his clothes, Justin had his own life to live.

He was going home to his clean and decorated flat with a wardrobe and a proper bed. He must be delighted at the prospect of having his seclusion and space back. Anita, the woman he was seeing, could ring and he wouldn’t have to go outside to talk to her. He wouldn’t have to make do with Anita’s shared flat when they wanted sex; his flat would give them privacy. They could bonk in bedroom, bath or hall.

She felt a sudden, tear-pricking, bile-tasting jealousy of Anita and Justin’s healthy sex life. And of pigs. She’d read recently that a pig’s orgasm lasts thirty minutes. That was simply unreasonable.

Three nights later, she arrived home to find him packing. ‘My place is habitable again. I thought that, if I got most of my stuff there tonight, I’d have the weekend to buy whatever needs replacing.’

‘Right. Good idea. I can’t help until Shona’s had something to eat –’

‘It’s OK.’ He didn’t look up from zipping up a big red bag. ‘I’ll get my stuff out of your garage and then Gez is coming with a van. Anita’s waiting at the other end to help unpack. We’ll get a takeaway.’

‘So, you’re all organised,’ she said, brightly. She and Shona ate their meal and then they waved from the doorway as Justin left.

After that, even with Shona banging wooden pegs through a wooden frame, even with the radio on, it was really, really quiet. Cleo put the sleeping bag through the washing machine and dryer, did a blitzy polish round with lemon Pledge and sprayed the kitchen with anti-bacterial stuff.

She played for a while with Shona, putting the right animals in the right holes of a puzzle, bathed with Shona and went though Shona’s bedtime routine.

And it got even quieter.

The flowers that arrived the next day were gorgeous. The card read:
I’m ballooning, I’m training a dinosaur, I’m grateful you took me in. Thanks. Justin.

She responded by text:
You
Õre dodgy, youÕre welcome, youÕre missed. Cleo.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Late on Sunday evening, Justin knocked at Cleo’s door, wondering whether he was doing the right thing.

Suddenly, she was framed in the doorway, grinning, in a pair of cut-off jeans and a long pink T-shirt. ‘You don’t live here any more, remember?’

From Cleo’s hip, Shona held out her arms and squeaked, ‘Jussin!’

He swooped her up and she slid her tiny arm around his neck and beamed into his face. ‘Hi-yah!’

‘Hiya!’ He plopped a kiss onto the end of her nose. Then, to Cleo, ‘I’ve brought back your key.’

She stood back invitingly. ‘If you had a key you should’ve used it.’

He stepped in. ‘I didn’t want to intrude.’

‘Yeah, right, make me sound like I might be doing something interesting. Are you just passing? Or staying for a proper visit?’

He dropped right back into the routine, sharing a meal and bathing Shona. Warm water, suds, bath toys, Shona’s dimpled, pudgy limbs glistening and hair like a shampoo punk rocker. Her robust protests at the intolerable process of hair washing, ‘Nah-nah-nooooh!’

Sleeves rolled up, he crouched beside the bath, captivated by her pearly-toothed smiles.

It had been great, staying with Cleo. Apart from getting along so well with Cleo without sex to complicate things, he’d lived with his daughter. The thought of no longer doing so created a grey ache. Living alone this weekend had been odd, even with Anita around quite a lot of – too much of – the time. Sleeping in a new bed, his flat smelling of cleaning fluids and paint, instead of squirming into the sleeping bag and flopping down on the air bed by the wood stove.

He sighed and reached for Shona’s yellow duck towel, the one that folded into a hat at the corner, complete with beak. Trapping and wrapping her, he threw her over his shoulder, making her simultaneously squeal with delight and break wind with gusto.

Later, once Shona was snuggled up in bed, he settled himself in the chair he’d used when he’d lived there, while Cleo flipped through TV channels.

‘Taken that expensive dress back?’

She pulled a guilty face. ‘Tomorrow.’

He made an effort to sound casual. ‘I was hoping you’d fancy giving it an airing and come out with me on Saturday night.’

Pleasure flitted across her face, then doubt. ‘Where?’

‘It’s a work thing. Dinner with the bosses and a few bottles of bubbly dished out for achievement. It’s also supposed to be an exercise in mixing up the three cliquey parts of the firm – studio, office and print works.’

He watched a frown form above eyes so clear he could almost see her brain activity. ‘What about Anita?’

He blew out his cheeks. ‘Anita wouldn’t actually be much of an asset. We studio oiks are perceived as elitist bastards and we’ve been told we have to mix – Anita is a poor mixer.’ Cleo’s doubtful expression made him add, honestly, ‘Also, she’s getting a bit … serious. She wants to be full on and I’m not up for it. I’m cooling things. You’d be doing me a favour, really.’

Cleo pulled a face. ‘You have to resort to taking me to ditch her? Sorry, no babysitter.’ She slapped her empty coffee mug onto the table.

He did his wounded look. ‘You’re not a last resort. I’m inviting you because you put me up for weeks when I didn’t have anywhere to crash.’ Except with Drew, Martin, Gez, his sister … ‘And because you’ll be great at mingling, you have
aplomb
. Liza says she’ll babysit.’

She stared at him. ‘Do you usually organise babysitters for your dates?’

Impatiently, he rose. ‘OK, forget it, you’ve got more excuses than a guilty schoolboy. I’ll tell Liza no thanks.’ He located his keys. ‘I’ll be in touch about seeing Shona.’

Her voice halted him as he opened the front door. ‘Dinner will be lovely. But don’t organise my babysitter!’

He reversed the car out of her drive. So, he’d asked her out, kind of. Which was bad. But he’d seen how lonely it was for her to be bright and together and professional all day amongst strangers, then to go home and spend her evening in isolation with Shona. He’d decided to do something about it. Which was good. Kind, thoughtful, all that stuff.

He hoped he wouldn’t regret it.

Cleo rang Liza before the sound of Justin’s car had faded. ‘Has Justin asked you to babysit on Saturday?’

Liza giggled. ‘That’s right. You know I’m mad about Shona so it’s no problem.’

Cleo waited for inquisitive questions or accusations of rude behaviour. They didn’t come. ‘I know how much you like to play the cool auntie. But you’re actually free on a Saturday?’

‘As it happens.’

‘He’s invited me to some works do. I don’t know whether I ought to go.’

The theme tune of an American sitcom blared behind Liza’s voice. ‘It’s up to you. Aren’t you keen?’

She was, too keen probably, that was the issue. Reluctantly, though, she could see all kinds of obstacles. ‘It would cost me about forty-five quid in taxi fares from Peterborough to Middledip after midnight on a Saturday. And the same if you want to go home, because you don’t drive – or, if you stay here, there’s only the air bed – so maybe it would be more sensible to forget it.’ Her heart settled heavily.

‘I’ll sleep over at your place, you can sleep at mine. Easy. Don’t fret.’

Chapter Thirty-Three

The following Saturday morning, Cleo drove Shona to Ferry Meadows to feed the waterfowl. The sunshine bounced off the three lakes and swarms of kids clambered about the playgrounds, or yelled their way between dog walkers and cyclists along the footpaths that circled each stretch of water.

Shona always adored a ride in the trucks behind the tiny train or a boat trip up the river past the golf course. Cleo preferred drinking cappuccino and watching the windsurfers skimming and slicing over the dancing water.

But today, she had to meet Gav.

Drag. She hadn’t heard from him since the day of Justin’s fire, so the phone call yesterday had been a surprise. And an inconvenience. Hardly in the door, Shona tired, famished and screaming for the food she could smell cooking, it hadn’t been the best time for her phone to ring.

He’d been abrupt. ‘Can we meet up?’

‘Or I could ring you later.’ Cleo tried to joggle Shona soothingly. Shona’s rising wails indicated that joggling was not, in fact, all that soothing.

‘I’d rather it was face to face.’

‘As long as I can feed Shona first. Want to come round later?’

Gav sounded almost disgusted. ‘No I don’t! When we meet tomorrow, can you leave Shona with … someone?’

Tartly, she’d reminded him, ‘We come as a package, Shona and me.’

Ferry Meadows had seemed a good meeting point, close to Keith’s Posh Pad so Gav need only walk up Ham Lane. Cleo and Shona were crouching on the path, feeding the ducks, when he arrived, his hair lifting in the lake breeze.

Cleo took in his lowered brows and turned-down mouth. ‘You look cheerful – not.’

He attempted a smile. ‘So – you couldn’t leave her?’

Cleo threw bread to the shiny-green-capped mallards over the heads of the thuggish white geese, making her tone neutral. ‘People who leave tiny kiddies home alone get in big trouble.’

‘What about … her father?’

‘What about him?’

The geese swayed and bobbed in unison on rubbery, webbed feet, all eyes fixed on the bread bag until it was empty. Then they all swung back toward the water. The mallards hung around for another few minutes, like visitors too polite to leave the moment they’d eaten.

‘Fancy a walk round the lake?’ suggested Gav.

‘OK. Buggy, Shona?’ It was a mistake to suggest that she had a choice, because Shona’s emphatic headshake meant that Cleo was lumbered with pushing the buggy with one hand and hanging on to Shona with the other. Gav offered no help. Justin would’ve automatically taken either buggy or child and she’d obviously become too used to it, Cleo reflected.

She had better get unused to it again, hadn’t she?

To add to her distractions, Shona launched loudly into her latest conversational gambit of exclaiming, ‘
Yook
!’ and pointing dramatically at whatever she wanted admired. As she could cry, ‘Yook!’ every two seconds, it got a bit wearing. So Cleo probably sounded irritated when she asked, ‘What’s up?’

‘Did you know he’d set the police on me?’

‘Yook!’ marvelled Shona, pointing theatrically at a fisherman.

‘Yes, he’s fishing,’ Cleo responded dutifully, before turning back to Gav. ‘What are you on about?’

Because he wasn’t wearing his glasses Gav looked more his old self, except for what seemed like fresh frown lines. ‘The police rang me at work – at my new job! – wanting to see me about that bloody flat. Did I know Mr Mullarkey, they said. ’Course I said I didn’t. It was only when they said Justin …’

Shona swung round. ‘Jussin?’

Realising that she needed to concentrate, Cleo swept Shona into her bright-blue buggy, quashing her protests by peeling a satsuma and handing down segments as they strolled around the lake. The grass, rippled by the breeze, grew long either side of the path. Cleo frowned. ‘What’s Justin’s flat got to do with you?’