All That Mullarkey (32 page)

The bathroom was much in keeping with the rest, as if it had been fitted at the beginning of the seventies and never touched again: a white cast-iron bath with a black panel, black and yellow vinyl floor tiles, a mean quantity of white wall tiles veined in mustard and a basin like a bird bath.

From the bedroom at the back, the smaller of the two doubles, she gazed out over field after field after field across the fens, enjoying the sensation of space.

The main bedroom looked out across the road to a
smallholding with a house and orchard. It would be a great view
when the blossom was out. The whole house felt … peaceful.
This could be a wonderful place to bring her daughter up.

When she reappeared downstairs, Patrick smiled. ‘Roof still on, is it?’

She laughed. ‘Seems to be.’

‘Good. Good. Well, now.’

Cleo sat down with her daughter drowsy and hot against her neck and prepared to find out how much Patrick wanted for his house, hardly daring to hope she could have it.

‘Stay here, tonight.’

Justin’s droopy eyelids lifted. ‘Are you making me a rude offer?’

She could. Perfect opportunity. Could be flip, say, ‘OK last time, wasn’t it?’ Because it had been triple OK for her. Temptation wriggled down her spine. Have to let him sleep first; he looked too knackered to raise an eyebrow –

Stop it, she told herself severely. ‘I was thinking about the air bed. You’d at least get eight hours’ uninterrupted sleep.’

When he dropped his head back, shut his eyes and groaned like that, it reminded her of when he … ‘Eight hours’ sleep! Sounds like bliss. Last night, those bastards sent four taxis. Would you truly not mind me crashing here again?’

She picked up the empty coffee mugs. ‘Truly. You can crawl in the sleeping bag and I’ll tell you all about my new house. You’ll be asleep in about a minute.’

In fact, she was amazed that he was even awake when she put her head back around the door. The normally sharp lines of his face almost sagged with fatigue but he was in his makeshift bed, eyes open. ‘Ready for my bedtime story,’ he joked. ‘What about this brilliant new house?’

So she sprawled on the sofa and explained and described and enthused, watching his lids fluttering from time to time and imagining how her sentences must be swimming and breaking up in his ears. Letting her eyes run across his naked upper chest and arms as his closed.

‘So, can you afford it?’

She pulled a face. ‘
Just
, if I can get a mortgage. The only thing I won’t have is furniture.’

‘So,’ he yawned. ‘What’s the new boyfriend think of it?’

‘Clive? He hasn’t seen it. He’s not officially a boyfriend yet, anyway. He’s “someone I’m seeing” – I’m being offish until I make up my mind.’

He yawned again, the helpless, jaw-cracking, eye-watering yawn of the desperate for sleep. ‘Nice bloke?’

She thought about Clive who she’d met at a Team Spirit workshop. He was nice. Separated, no kids, big brown eyes, hair in a collar-length 1970s style a bit like a young Barry Gibb. Just an ordinary bloke who worked in insurance and, in his spare time, wrote horror for the smaller subscription-only magazines. He’d hung around after the workshop to talk, shaking his hair out of his eyes and looking bashful, but made surprisingly short work of establishing that she was free to go out with him. ‘Very nice bloke,’ she agreed, with bright enthusiasm. And went on to describe the views from the windows of her house-to-be.

When Justin’s breathing was even and slow, she took herself up to her own bed to worry about how the hell she was going to afford little things like food, shoes and clothing.

Gav waited in the pub. Facing the door, he’d see her when she arrived in her usual whirl because she never seemed to get away from her desk promptly, hair tossed, jacket open. He took his glasses off and tucked them into his top pocket.

And there she was, flying in as if she’d travelled on the wind as a sudden flurry of rain clattered against the windows. He waved.

‘Summer can’t come soon enough,’ she observed, dropping
into a seat and grabbing a menu. ‘Shall we order?’ She glanced
at her watch. ‘I must be back for a two-fifteen meeting. I think I’ll have a hot chicken sandwich and white wine.’

Waiting to give their order at the bar, he turned sideways so that he could watch her but glide his eyes away quickly if she turned and caught him. She looked great. It felt great to be with her again. His heart felt light for the first time in weeks. He missed her and it had been a masterstroke to use an excuse about paperwork of hers he’d found in his things to suggest meeting for lunch on a working day. It was just like old times; he could almost kid himself that there was no Shona and no separation. As if they’d just made time for each other in a busy day, like they used to, and he’d be going home to her tonight.

He returned to the table with two glasses of wine. ‘So what’s new?’ He kind of meant, ‘What’s new at work?’ because that’s what she used to tell him about, indignant about all the planning she’d done for XYZ Co. only to have them hum and haver and change the brief. In those days, of course, he already knew just about everything else that happened in her life, except, maybe, what she and Liza found to giggle about. And, it turned out, her lover.

What he didn’t want to hear about was her eventful Saturday, deciding to
buy a house
and letting that bastard-bastard
stay over
.

‘Hasn’t he got a home of his own?’ Look at that, he’d drunk half his wine in a slurp.

A frown settled over her eyes. ‘You wouldn’t believe what’s happening to him. He’s become the victim of some lunatic’s hate campaign! Taxis and pizzas turn up at all times so he can’t sleep, people answering adverts he never placed. It’s a nightmare.’

What a pity, what an awful list of awful things. ‘Couldn’t happen to a nicer chap,’ he said, mock-pleasantly.

Slowly, she sipped her wine. ‘I suppose this is where I ask how Lillian is,’ she responded. ‘If you want to get into a pissing match?’

‘Haven’t drunk enough yet.’ He grinned. After a moment she grinned back and everything was OK, as long as he didn’t mind listening to endless reflections on how quickly she hoped the house sale would go through and how in the world she was going to afford everything. He hoped she wasn’t leading up to asking for some of their furniture, which he now looked upon as his, set out in his rented house in Bettsbrough. He wouldn’t mind it being theirs again; but he sure as hell didn’t want any of it to be hers.

He changed the subject. ‘Doing anything interesting this weekend?’

A young barman brought their sandwiches over and Cleo gave him a smile. ‘I’m going out with Liza on Friday.’

Liza was a safe topic. She’d talk about Liza until the cows came home. ‘How is she?’

A laugh. He missed her laugh. Particularly on Sunday mornings when he lay in bed alone and remembered how they used to mock-squabble over the papers, how he’d tickle her or pretend to beat her up to get the interesting pages first. ‘Liza doesn’t change much. Except she’s in lurve with an astonishingly normal bloke called Adam who’s about to move in with her.’

‘Sounds like a recipe for disaster.’

She shrugged, cutting her sandwich into smaller pieces. ‘Don’t see why. He likes drinking and nightclubs so it’s a match made in heaven.’

The sandwiches were too hot to eat without a lot of blowing and rapid chewing as if getting the scalding mouthful down the gullet was somehow preferable to having it on the tongue. Between scalding bites, he told her about working at Hillson’s and how Keith was having a heavy thing with a married woman. Then, like a bad tooth he was unable to resist probing, he veered back onto the subject of Justin. ‘So, Father of the Year doesn’t mind babysitting on Friday? Even if there’s nothing in it for him?’ He couldn’t stop the heavily sarcastic emphasis in his last few words.

Her eyes glittered. ‘He babysits because Shona’s his daughter. Of course there’s “nothing in it”.’ She paused. ‘Because I’m seeing someone called Clive.’ She tipped her wrist to look at her watch. ‘I’ll give coffee a miss this time.’

Heart sinking slowly to his gut, he watched her shrug into her jacket.

Not even a peck on the cheek. Not even a friendly clasp of hands. He checked the time. One forty five. Loads of time to toddle up the street to Ntrain for a two-fifteen meeting. She had had time for coffee.

She’d obviously wanted to get away.

He’d leave it a week or two before he suggested lunch again.

In fact, Cleo was seeing Clive that evening. A date that had reached its end in her car where condensation was forming on the windows. Clive’s lips, framed by the softness of his beard, snuffled their way up the side of her neck. She tried not to squirm when it tickled, nor be reminded of Ratty’s little dog. A change of course and his mouth reached hers, soft, searching. And he kissed her, slowly, deeply.

Mmm. Gentle, rather than demanding, but nice. Nice-ish. Not the kind of kisses that made her back tingle, though.

His arms tightened and he whispered, ‘Coffee?’ He kissed her ear and his hand burrowed inside her jacket. Cleo wasn’t so rusty that she didn’t recognise Clive’s invitation meant a token cup of coffee and ‘this is our fifth date, I’m hoping for a hell of a lot more. I’ve done the hand-holding, it’s about time we had sex.’ Clive’s house was empty and available, Justin would by now be dossed down on her sitting-room floor ready to attend to Shona, and there was absolutely no reason for her to be home until breakfast.

She thought about sex with Clive as he industriously worked his lips across her forehead and eyes. Clive, whose soft beard and gentle good looks actually hid the mind of a guy who wrote about swinging corpses and mouldy bodies for entertainment. Hmm. Fun for him was sitting in front of his computer, working out the sexual dynamics of an unnatural relationship with a werewolf. Hmm-mm.

Now what kind of a bedmate might a man like that be? Sensitive? Unlikely. Exciting? Possibly. Imaginative? Ought to be. Hopefully not … y’know,
odd
.

She shivered. ‘Sorry. Babysitter.’

Clive found her lips again with his. ‘Sure?’

‘Sure.’

Kiss. ‘OK.’ Kiss. ‘Will you be all right driving home?’

‘I usually am.’

‘Sure you can’t stay?’

‘Not this time.’

He stopped kissing her, his expression rueful. ‘You’re really not ready to take this relationship further, are you?’

She squeezed his hand and withdrew it from inside her jacket. ‘You’re very understanding.’

A very long kiss. ‘Another time.’ His voice was heavy with promise. Still no tingles.

Cleo began the fifteen-minute drive home.

Maybe next time she would go to bed with him. There was nothing to stop her and it might be nice. She’d even got her own supply of condoms for her handbag.

These days, condoms were essential for all new encounters. Just look at how Gav could have avoided trouble – there would have been no suspicion of unwelcome infection if he’d used condoms for his little adventure with Lillian.

Everyone ought to be protected by condoms what with AIDS and other nasties, hence the obligation to carry her own, according to Liza. But what if the ones Cleo had bought were the wrong size or shape …? After all, one size certainly didn’t fit all. Imagine the dismay if a lover didn’t fill out the condom she supplied to him. Maybe she should have bought a sort of selection box.

‘Pretty bloody complicated,’ she said aloud, as she swung out of Bettsbrough and onto the road to Middledip. ‘Maybe I’ll leave it a bit longer.’

Chapter Thirty-Nine

‘I was beginning to think you’d forgotten!’ She stepped back to let Justin in. ‘Shona’s been standing on a chair watching for you – now she’s lurking in the sitting room, punishing you for being late.’ She pushed the sitting-room door open to show Shona, kneeling on the floor, back to the door, studiously hitting a doll with a brush.

Justin’s grin wiped a layer of strain from his face. ‘I’ll have to sort her out.’

Shona shot to her feet. ‘No, no!’ She giggled, eyes each a separate sparkle in the curves of her face, and began to edge backwards, ready to be chased. Her favourite game.

In the furore of squeals and roars, Cleo stepped into her shoes and slipped into her jacket. During a lull, she managed to be heard. ‘I’ll be on my mobile. I’m going for a drink with Liza.’

‘OK.’

‘Sorry everywhere’s such a tip, I’ve been having a spring clean ready to hand the house back. And as quickly as I pack up ready for the move, Shona unpacks it.’

‘Don’t worry.’

Slowly she put her hand up to unlatch the door. ‘I won’t be late.’

‘Fine.’ He pretended to bite at Shona’s fingers when she pinched his nose. Shona yipped in delight and did it again.

Cleo rested her hand on the door latch. ‘Is everything all right? You seem …’

He shrugged, as well as he could with Shona on his shoulder, meeting her eyes. ‘The usual. You know.’

She let her hand drop. ‘What is it this time? A shipping order of Indian food? A three-piece suite from a catalogue?’