Conditional Love (29 page)

Why was he showing someone round
my
house without my knowledge?

Audrey banged me on the back firmly until I stopped spluttering and I gave her a reassuring smile.

‘Gosh, I didn’t realise he was here already. I’d better go. That’s my boyfriend, Marc. He’s helping me with the property side of things.’

She eyed me shrewdly. ‘Hmm.’

Hmm indeed, I thought, as I stepped back out into the fog and waved goodbye to Audrey. I hadn’t spoken to Marc for several days. In fact, since the conversation about Lilac Lane, he hadn’t been in touch at all. Marc hadn’t been too impressed when I had reported back after speaking to Nick as promised.

‘He’s having you on,’ Marc had said harshly. ‘Pulling the wool over your eyes.’

‘No, he’s not,’ I had replied calmly. ‘Quite the opposite. The bigger the build, the bigger Nick’s fees would be. If he wanted to make more money, he would jump at the chance of cramming more houses onto the plot.’

Marc had huffed crossly. ‘It’s not cramming, it’s … oh, never mind.’ He muttered something about never trusting a woman with business, but before I could quiz him on what he meant, he had rung off. And that was the last I had heard from him.

Now it looked suspiciously like he was taking matters into his own hands.

The fog was still dense and I picked my way carefully towards the front door of the bungalow. The fog inside my head was just as murky; I couldn’t shake my confusion. However much I tried to be the adventurous type to make myself more appealing to Marc, I couldn’t escape the feeling that I wasn’t being true to myself. And if Marc really had my best interests at heart, why was he sneaking around behind my back?

I trusted him, didn’t I? Didn’t I?

Drawing a deep breath, I knocked hard on the door. Ironically, I hadn’t brought my own key with me. My whole body tensed as I heard the thud of footsteps echoing through the empty bungalow towards me.

Don’t jump to conclusions. There might be a totally plausible explanation.

Yeah right.

The door that I usually struggled with flew open. A look of surprise illuminated Marc’s face in the semi-darkness. This was rapidly followed by a flash of anger, before his normal charming smile reappeared. He held his arms out to me and cocked his head to one side.

‘Busted,’ he said, grinning sheepishly. ‘This was meant to be a surprise.’

‘What are you doing in my house?’ I stepped past him, ducking out of reach as he tried to kiss me.

Standing in the living room, tapping away at his mobile phone, was an older man in a sharp dark suit. He strode across the small room and pumped my hand as Marc hurriedly made the introductions.

‘This is Phil Strong,’ he said, rubbing his head in rough circular motions. I had never seen him so edgy. ‘Remember? The property developer I told you about.’

‘Vaguely,’ I said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘I was just saying to Marc –’ began the property developer.

I turned my back on him and shoved my hands in my pockets so Marc couldn’t see them shaking.

‘And do you remember what I told you?’ I said fiercely, stepping closer to him.

‘Er, do you think you could give us a minute, mate?’ said Marc. He rolled his eyes at Phil as if to say ‘Women.’

If I thought he would even register the pain through the thick wall of muscle, I would punch him.

‘I’ll be in the car,’ said Phil, winking at Marc.

‘Look, I was doing this for us, Princess, for you,’ he said as soon as Phil was out of earshot. He leaned towards me and tilted my chin to within kissing distance.

‘Tiptoeing behind my back?’ I stepped back and brushed him off. My heart was pounding. A few hours ago, I would have gone weak at the knees at the slightest sign of his affection. Now it felt like the kiss of Judas.

He held his hands up in defence. ‘I know how scared you are of taking risks. That’s why I thought I’d get an expert in, to go through the options. It’s not as if I was making any decisions without telling you.’

Without telling me? They weren’t his decisions to make. Full stop.

‘You’re here, in my house, without my permission. Presumably by having a key cut, also without my permission.’

Marc smiled indulgently and ploughed on, ignoring my furious grunts.

‘There’s so much more you can do with this place.’ He grabbed hold of my arms, his eyes shining with excitement. ‘That architect of yours is small beer, he’s got no vision.’

I bristled at that. How dare he criticise Nick’s talents? Nick had more passion and creativity, not to mention a far more accurate moral compass, than Marc could ever dream of.

‘Phil reckons we could… you can easily double, if not treble, your money!’

‘But it’s not what I want,’ I said, shaking my head incredulously. Hadn’t he listened to a word I had been saying?

‘Think about it, Princess,’ he said, giving me his special twinkle, the one that normally made me lunge for him and drag him off to the nearest soft surface.

‘With a few quid behind us, we can buy somewhere much bigger. Away from this place in the back of beyond.’ If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say he sounded desperate.

I walked away from him and perched on the ledge in the bay window. I hid my eyes behind my hands and sighed as a wave of sadness threatened to drown me. Would he ever care what I wanted? Would he ever stop to put me first?

I knew the answer to that.

All of a sudden, I saw my future stretching ahead, Marc calling the shots, me trotting behind in his wake, grateful for the occasional crumb of attention.

It was my own fault that things had turned out this way. I could see that now. I had always danced to Marc’s tune, never asserted myself in our relationship, happy to go with the flow. My philosophy had been that if I accepted what life threw at me, I would be safe from disappointment and failure.

But I had changed. The inheritance had changed all that. I had started to face my challenges head on: making my own decisions, designing a house, meeting my father, standing up to my mother. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing any of these things. I couldn’t, hand on heart, say that I was happier for it – not yet. In fact, I was scared stiff most of the time. But at least it felt like I was facing my future. A future I was determined to build on my own terms.

When I opened my eyes Marc was leaning against the wall, arms folded. In the looks department, he was my ideal man, but that was no longer enough. He curled his lip and stared at me from under frowning eyebrows as if he knew bad news was coming his way.

‘You don’t get it, do you?’ I said, shaking my head sadly. ‘I’m not interested in making a fortune. I want a house. Just one. This part of Lilac Lane belonged to my family. Now it belongs to me. And Woodby is not the back of beyond. It’s home.’

‘What about me?’ He kicked his trainer up behind him, scuffing the wallpaper. ‘We’re a team, aren’t we?’

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get a tiny bit of satisfaction from my next words: ‘Marc, we need to talk.’

I had done the right thing. I told myself this repeatedly on the journey back to the flat. The last time Marc and I had split up I had been crushed under the weight of my own misery. This time I felt surprisingly light and liberated. Well, I would be as soon as I’d stopped trembling. From now on I would be doing things my way. And that abdominal toner was going straight in the bin.

It was only when I saw the flash of a speed camera as a BMW streaked across a red light that I remembered another camera snapping away in Woodby.

‘Nick!’ I yelled, stamping on the brakes.

The car behind tooted at me. I had stood the poor man up! He would have been sitting in the pub on his own, staring into a cold cup of coffee. I checked the clock on the dashboard. Too late to go back, he would have given up on me by now.

What was he going to think of me? Unreliable, thoughtless, rude?

I sighed. Yet more character flaws to add to the list.

thirty-three

Decorations were my favourite thing about Christmas, they made everywhere look magical. Even our tired old flat was transformed with a bit of sparkle: the tinsel, the fairy lights, the holly and especially the tree. Over the years I had gradually brought the official start to the Christmas season forward until now, in our flat at least, it started on December the first with our annual trip to the garden centre to pick out a tree.

Emma and I were almost ready to leave.

‘Bushy but not too fat,’ Jess piped up from her position on the sofa. She had declared herself too tired to come with us, but evidently not too tired to issue precise instructions. ‘Make sure there are no bald patches and not so tall that we can’t reach up to put the angel on top.’

‘So
you
can’t, you mean, short arse,’ said Emma, flicking her pony tail over her shoulder. She stood in the corner of the living room where the tree was destined to go and stretched her arm up to estimate the height of the ceiling.

‘Sure you won’t come with us?’ I asked, slipping my warmest boots on.

Jess sighed and undid the top button on her denim mini skirt. ‘I’d love to but I’ve got thirty-four school reports to finish off and masks to make: three camels, two sheep and one donkey. And I’m shattered already.’

She did look pale.

‘You OK? I asked.

‘Yeah, it’s a busy time of year at school with the nativity, carol concert and all the children’s parties. But I’m really looking forward to Christmas. It’s going to be the best ever.’ She gave me a secretive smile. ‘I think I know what Spike has bought me.’

‘Really? Tell me more!’ I sat down on the sofa next to her, ignoring Emma’s impatient tuts.

She nodded excitedly. ‘Something I’ve been dreaming of all my life.’

Emma smirked from the doorway. ‘Not the Sylvanian Families windmill?’

Jess glared at her and turned back to me. ‘We arranged to meet in the shopping centre on Saturday. I arrived early and saw him coming out of the jeweller’s. He wasn’t carrying any bags!’

She sat back and grinned at me as if that explained everything.

‘Whatever he bought must have been really tiny. Like a ring!’ she said in response to my blank look. ‘I think he’s going to propose!’ She squealed and drummed her feet on the floor.

I hugged her and caught Emma’s unimpressed face over Jess’s shoulder.

‘I hope your dream comes true then.’ I kissed her and stood up to leave.

‘And I’ve got the perfect present for him,’ she continued, her eyes shining happily.

‘Let me guess. A personality?’ said Emma, hopping out of the way as Jess waved the TV remote ominously in her direction.

In truth, neither of us had warmed to Spike. He seemed so nondescript compared to Jess’s colourful character. I was secretly convinced that it was the idea of him that Jess adored; the hero in the police uniform. If he’d worn a suit and worked in an office, she wouldn’t have looked twice, I was sure.

I kept my feelings to myself. I was possibly the least qualified person to comment on whether he was suitable or not. Unfortunately, Emma had no such qualms.

‘Green really doesn’t suit you, Emma,’ said Jess airily. ‘Anyway, my lips are sealed. But he’s going to love it.’

‘Jealous?’ snorted Emma. ‘I’ve got my own dreams coming true. Check this out.’

She took a piece of paper from her jeans pocket which she unfolded into a letter and handed to me. It was from the National Silverware Awards.

‘You’ve been shortlisted for a prize!’ I exclaimed. ‘Well done you!’

Emma was grinning so widely, I could see her tonsils. I hugged her until she groaned in pain.

‘Ah, well done, babes,’ said Jess magnanimously. ‘But bear in mind that if it’s national, you’ll be up against real talent from around the country.’

‘Emma is talented.’ I gave her a warning look.

‘Of course she is,’ said Jess, holding her hands up. ‘I’m just saying, she shouldn’t get her hopes up, that’s all.’

‘We should get going, all the best trees will have gone,’ I said hastily, dragging Emma into the hall before any Piper blood was spilt. We made it as far as the front door when the doorbell rang.

I gripped Emma’s arm. ‘If it’s Marc, I’m not in.’

‘I’ll go downstairs and open the main door. Then if it is him, at least you won’t hear his screams from here.’

‘Thanks,’ I replied, bravely shutting the door behind her and pressing my ear to it.

I hadn’t heard a thing from Marc since I’d dumped him and I was quite keen to keep it that way.

A couple of minutes later, two sets of footsteps made their way back up the staircase.

‘Not at all!’ I heard Emma cry, an octave higher than usual. ‘She’ll be pleased to see you.’

I breathed a sigh of relief. Not Marc then.

‘We’ve heard so much about you.’ Odd. She sounded almost flirty!

My pulse was thumping in my ears as I strained to tune into a second, much lower voice. It couldn’t be my father, could it? Surely he would have called me first?

Before I had a chance to speculate any further, I was forced to jump out of the way as Emma flung the door back on its hinges. Her eyes were dancing with excitement and her mouth was wide open. It was pretty much the same expression she had had when four of her numbers had come up on the lottery, until she found out she had only won forty-seven pounds.

‘It’s Mr Cromwell,’ said Emma, nudging me and waggling her eyebrows with all the subtlety of a Pantomime dame. Sure enough, Nick followed closely behind her, clutching his briefcase in front of him like a shield.

I cringed inwardly. I had meant to call and apologise for standing him up, but somehow I hadn’t got round to it and as the days went on, it had simply got more and more awkward until finally it was too late to do anything about it.

And now here he was, in our tiny hallway, all wrapped up in a thick coat, packed between Emma and the front door like a woolly sardine.

‘Oh, call me Nick, please,’ said my architect, who looked, if it were possible, even more uncomfortable than me. ‘Hello Sophie, sorry to barge in unannounced, but I was passing and I wanted to… Oh. Are you on your way out?’

‘No! We’ve just got back in,’ boomed Emma, widening her eyes at me. ‘Come on, Sophie, what are you waiting for? Get your coat off! And you, Nick.’