Don’t You Forget About Me (33 page)

‘Well, have a wonderful weekend,’ he beams, striding past my desk, Monty at his heels.

‘Yes, you too,’ I call after him as he walks out through reception with a visible spring in his step. Obviously his ‘online hobby’ has worked wonders in restoring his mojo. Which is brilliant, and I’m not feeling in the least bit prudey about it or anything, I remind myself firmly.

I watch as he walks out through the doors, passing Fergus, who enters carrying a large box with ‘PartyTime’ in bold lettering down the side. It’s probably the balloons I ordered for the party. I know it’s in a super-posh private members’ club, but even so, you can’t have a party without balloons.

‘So c’mon, spill the beans, tell me what’s been going on!’ demands Kym before Fergus is barely through the door. She’s been off sick with a cold and now she’s back with a vengeance. ‘I’m dying to know what happened. Did she get in touch? Have you been on a date? Are you in love?’

As she fires off questions without pausing for breath, Fergus shoots me a desperate look. I throw him an encouraging one back. We’ve only seen each other briefly since our heart-to-heart in the café but I know there’s been no more news.

‘Not yet,’ he says, borrowing my line. ‘Now, if you just want to sign here,’ he continues chirpily, putting the package on the counter.

But Kym’s not having any of it. Pursing her frosted-lipsticked mouth, she frowns. ‘Not yet as in you’re not yet in love, or not yet as in she didn’t reply?’

‘The second one,’ he says, colouring slightly and passing her his electronic pad for her signature.

‘Who didn’t reply?’ barks a voice, and Wendy appears thundering down the corridor in her duffel coat, on her way home.

‘Fergus posted a Missed Connection,’ says Kym.

I quickly turn and glare at her. Honestly, talk about a betrayal.

‘What?’ says Kym of my look. ‘Wasn’t I supposed to tell anyone?’

‘A Missed Connection?’ chime in a few people from Accounts who are leaving and are now milling around in reception.

Fergus goes even redder.

‘You?
No way!
’ One of the guys, a chubby bloke with a paunch whose name I can never remember, lets out a little snort and looks secretly thrilled that this handsome Irishman has had to resort to posting a small ad. ‘What, and she never replied?’ he whoops.

‘Well, he wouldn’t know yet as he’s still working through all the replies from the girls who did,’ I announce loudly, grabbing my coat and marching over to Fergus. ‘There’re hundreds of them, it’s taking him forever, isn’t it?’ I roll my eyes at Fergus who grins back gratefully.

That silences the chubby bloke and, linking my arm through Fergus’s, I steer him quickly out of the office. ‘Just ignore them,’ I hiss in his ear as we walk out through the automatic doors and into the chilly evening.

‘Hey, I’m an actor, I’m used to rejection. It comes with the territory.’ Unchaining his bicycle, he starts wheeling it down the road as he walks alongside me down the street. ‘In fact, I don’t know why I’m even bothering with this audition.’

My ears prick up. ‘What audition?’ I ask, rounding on him.

‘For a TV drama.’

‘Fergus, that’s fantastic!’ I gasp. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘My agent only just called me,’ he shrugs, trying to sound casual. ‘It’s all very last-minute.’

‘When’s the audition?’

‘Tomorrow. I’ve got to learn my lines tonight.’

‘Wow that’s great!’ I grin excitedly.

He allows himself a small smile. I can tell he’s secretly really excited, but desperately trying not to be. ‘What about you?’ he asks.

‘Going to see my granddad, it’s his big poker night.’ I’m interrupted by the shrill ring of my mobile. ‘Sorry, hang on a sec,’ I say, pulling it out of my pocket and answering. It’s Seb, wanting to know where I am. ‘I’m just walking to the bus stop. I should be at Hemmingway House in about half an hour,’ I answer happily. I’ve been really looking forward to tonight all week. I can’t wait for the opportunity to introduce Seb and Granddad to each other again.

‘Cool,’ he replies.

‘So as long as you arrive before seven when the game starts—’

‘Well that’s the thing, there’s been a bit of a problem.’

‘
Problem?
’ My good mood suddenly stalls, like a car engine. ‘What kind of problem?’

‘I totally forgot I had a squash game already arranged.’

I don’t want to believe what I’m hearing.

‘But can’t you just cancel? It’s only squash . . .’

At the word ‘only’ I can almost hear him bristle on the other end of the line. ‘It’s been in the diary for ages, I can’t just cancel at the last minute,’ he says impatiently.

‘But I really wanted you to meet Gramps,’ I say redundantly. The first time they met it was a disaster, and I so wanted it to be different this time. I was even planning to hide my granddad’s antique pistol to be on the safe side.

‘I’m sorry, babe,’ he says, softening, ‘I made a mistake with the dates.’ But he still doesn’t change his mind. ‘Another time, huh?’

Disappointment kicks hard and flat in the stomach. I’ve spent the last few weeks doing things that Seb wanted to do, and yet the one thing that was important to me . . . Unexpectedly tears prickle. I feel upset. Let down.
Pissed off.
Because this isn’t just about me, it’s about Gramps. He lives for his poker nights and will have been looking forward to this game for days. I can’t upset the numbers. I can’t let him down. I
won’t
let him down.

Putting down the phone I turn to Fergus. ‘How’s your poker face?’

We end up doing a deal. Fergus is to come with me to the poker night, and afterwards I’m going to help him learn his lines. ‘Let’s shake on it,’ he grins, jumping on his bike and promising to meet me there.

‘Hang on, I haven’t given you directions,’ I yell after him.

But he just laughs. ‘Don’t worry, I’m a courier, I’ll find it,’ he replies, before disappearing into the traffic.

Sure enough, as my bus pulls up outside Hemmingway House, he’s already waiting for me, and together we walk through the automatic doors.

‘Ah, Ms Connelly,’ cries Miss Temple, pouncing on me as soon as we enter reception.

‘Oh, hi,’ I force a smile. I swear she lies in wait for me.

‘Who’s that?’ hisses Fergus in my ear.

‘The dragon who hates Gramps,’ I hiss back.

‘And you are?’ she demands sternly, turning to Fergus.

‘Fergus O’Flanagan,’ he replies, throwing on his charm like an overcoat. Smiling broadly, he fixes her with a twinkling gaze. ‘And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?’

The effect is incredible. Miss Temple visibly melts before my eyes and suddenly goes all girlie. ‘Please, call me Catherine,’ she blushes.

Catherine?
I stare in disbelief.

‘Like our future queen herself,’ he flatters, reaching for her hand and kissing it. ‘In fact, I can see quite a similarity.’

‘You can?’ she giggles flirtily, the blush rising even higher on her cheeks.

A similarity? Between the Duchess of Cambridge and Miss Temple? That’s like saying there’s a similarity between a newborn kitten and a Rottweiler.

I clear my throat loudly and both of them turn to me. ‘We should go, Gramps is expecting us.’

‘Of course, I’m sorry, will you excuse us?’ Fergus turns back to Miss Temple – correction –
Catherine.

‘Oh, no, not at all, don’t mind me.’ Reluctantly letting go of his hand, she starts fanning herself with a sheaf of papers. ‘Enjoy yourselves, and give my regards to your grandfather,’ she smiles giddily. ‘A charming gentleman . . . you must visit again soon.’

‘We will,’ smiles Fergus, flashing me a wink as I link arms with him and propel him through the fire doors.

‘
Like our future queen!
’ I gasp, as they swing shut behind us.

‘Hey, I didn’t have my glasses on,’ he protests, smirking.

For a moment we don’t say anything and continue down the corridor until, unable to hold it in any longer, we both turn to each other and burst out laughing.

We’re still laughing by the time we reach Granddad’s room and I knock on his door. Three fast raps, followed by three slow ones. Fergus glances at me quizzically.

‘It’s a special knock . . . poker nights are against the rules,’ I whisper.

‘Crikey,’ murmurs Fergus, looking suddenly nervous at all this subterfuge.

There’s a pause, then the sound of a lock turning, and the door opens to reveal Gramps looking dapper in his pinstriped suit, an emerald green silk handkerchief spilling from his top pocket. His face lights up when he sees it’s me, and without saying a word he checks the coast is clear before ushering us both inside.

Once the door is closed he embraces me in a whiskery hug. ‘Tess darling,’ he beams, ‘I’m so glad you could make it.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ I grin, waving at all the familiar faces, all residents of Hemmingway House, who are already sitting around a fold-up table. There’s a ripple of cheery hellos. ‘I brought my friend Fergus.’ I gesture towards Fergus; he’s already being accosted by Phyllis, who’s trying to get him to sit next to her.

‘Phyllis, let go of the poor chap,’ chastises Gramps sternly.

Caught in the act, Phyllis tuts loudly. ‘What? I’m not doing anything,’ she protests innocently.

Breaking free to join us, Fergus smiles gratefully. ‘Thanks for that,’ he says under his breath as he extends his hand.

‘You be careful there my son,’ grins Gramps, shaking it vigorously. ‘She’ll be trying to steal you from under Tess’s nose.’

‘Oh no, Fergus isn’t my boyfriend,’ I begin explaining hastily, but I’m interrupted by Phyllis.

‘Did I hear the word “
boyfriend
”?’ she says loudly, rounding on me.

I feel my face go bright red and can’t look at Fergus. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ replies Fergus, before I’ve got a chance to answer.

What the . . . ?
I round sharply on him to see a big grin plastered all over his face.

‘You can’t let me get hit on all night by Phyllis,’ he hisses through gritted teeth like a ventriloquist.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Phyllis poised on the edge of her chair, her beady eyes magnified beneath her glasses. She might be nudging eighty, but she’s a man-eater.

‘Um, yes,’ I nod, playing along. ‘This is my boyfriend.’

I feel a bit guilty pretending to Gramps, but I’ll just have to explain later.

‘Splendid! Splendid!’ he cheers, looking thrilled. Throwing his arms around Fergus he gives him a fatherly embrace. ‘At last!’

Er, all right, Gramps, you don’t have to go that far, I muse, catching Fergus’s look of amusement. ‘OK, so shall we start?’ I say briskly. ‘Everyone’s waiting.’

‘Yes, yes, indeed,’ he nods, and there’s a ripple of agreement as everyone starts shuffling up to make room for me and Fergus.

We sit down at the table on which is a deck of cards and a bottle of Blackstock & White whisky. And is that . . .

‘Gramps, are you burning incense?’ I ask, suddenly noticing the small smouldering cone in the middle of the table.

‘Nag Champa,’ he corrects with amazing clarity, considering his memory is failing. ‘That nice nurse Melanie gave it to me. Said it would help with the pipe,’ he winks, sticking it in the corner of his mouth and lighting a match.

‘But Gramps, the rules,’ I protest anxiously, but I’m silenced by Fergus who pours me a large tot of whisky. I give up and take a grateful glug.

‘Now then, people . . .’ As Gramps calls for everyone’s attention, the chattering falls silent around the table. Puffing merrily away on his pipe, he reaches for the deck of cards. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’ And, with a flourish, he starts dealing.

Two hours, a bottle of whisky and a serious amount of gambling later, I’ve lost all my money, along with most of the other players. Gramps, however, is on a winning streak. Despite only betting with coins, he’s up over fifty pounds and is winning every hand. Now it’s down to just him and Fergus.

‘Well that’s me out,’ he announces, laying down his hand. ‘I’m no match for you.’

‘Nonsense!’ refutes Gramps, but his chest swells up with pride.

‘Your granddad should be doing this professionally,’ says Fergus, winking at me.

‘Hey, don’t you be giving him any ideas,’ I protest.

Gramps chuckles delightedly and puffs on his pipe. ‘Oh come along, one more game,’ he cajoles.

But Fergus shakes his head. ‘That would be grand, but I’m afraid I have to get home. I’ve got an audition tomorrow.’

‘Ooh, are you an actor?’ pipes up Phyllis, who was out a long time ago and has been nodding off on the sofa for the past hour.

‘For my sins,’ he grins.

‘I once courted an actor, you know. He trod the boards at the Variety Hall, handsome chap he was.’