MILLIE'S FLING (16 page)

‘You should have phoned,’ said Millie. ‘Still, it was nice of Tim to offer to drive you over here.’

‘Tsh, I had to drop enough hints first,’ Adele snorted. But in an elegant way.

‘So how long are you down for?’ As she said it, Millie crossed her fingers behind her back.

‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe a couple of weeks. Just needed a change of scenery,’ sighed Adele, who had been really quite keen on a merchant banker who had had the gall to dump her for somebody else. But that was by the by, and certainly not the kind of tale one would want to relay to one's daughter. ‘London's so stuffy and bustly at this time of year—we’re up to our eyes in tourists.’ She shuddered dramatically. ‘Awful. I couldn’t bear it. Had to get away.’

And of course Newquay, the surfing capital of Europe, was so empty and tourist-free, Millie thought dryly. Man trouble, this was what this was all about, she’d bet money on it. Just as she knew the reason Adele never went anywhere without an ‘intellectual’ magazine tucked under her arm was because you never knew who you might bump into. Evidently, it was a wonderful icebreaker for fellow ‘intellectuals,’ announcing to the world in general—and potential husbands in particular—that you weren’t a brainless airhead.

‘Well, it's really nice to see you,’ Millie said valiantly. ‘You can have my room and I’ll sleep on the sofa.’

Heaven knows what Hester was going to make of this alarming turn of events, but what else could she do? Hardly recommend a cozy B&B.

‘Darling, how sweet of you, but I couldn’t possibly stay here!’

Phew. Thank goodness for that. Even her mother was sensitive enough to realize she couldn’t just turn up without warning and take up residence—

‘In this poky little cottage?’ Adele laughed at the very idea. ‘Where there's no room to swing a cat and you don’t even own a proper coffee machine? Lord, the very thought of it makes me shudder!’

Oh.

‘Oh,’ said Millie. It was a bit of a slap in the face, but actually the kind of slap in the face you didn’t mind too much. This was good news, after all. And Hester would be relieved. ‘Where are you staying then? A hotel?’

‘On my alimony? You must be joking, darling.’ As Adele sipped her coffee she pulled a good-grief-this-is-disgusting face. Then, recovering, she smiled brightly across at her daughter. ‘I thought I’d stay with Judy and Lloyd.’

‘You know what you are, don’t you?’ said Millie. ‘Mad, that's what.’

They were sitting out in Judy and Lloyd's garden, sharing a bottle of wine, and enjoying the warmth of the sun. Upstairs, Lloyd was showing Adele to her room.

Judy shrugged and batted away a hovering wasp.

‘Why, what am I supposed to do? Just say no?’

‘Yes!’

‘But then it would look as if I cared. And I don’t care. Not in a jealous way, at least.’

‘It must still feel a bit weird,’ Millie protested.

‘Not really. She isn’t
that
bad. I mean, she's only your mother,’ Judy reminded her. ‘Not Pol Pot.’

‘Hmm.’ Millie wasn’t so sure. ‘She can be hard work, I don’t know why Dad didn’t put his foot down.’

‘Yes you do. We all do. Because he's just too bloody nice to turn her away.’

‘Okay, but if she drives you mad, let me know. Otherwise it's not fair on you.’

‘Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.’ Judy sounded entertained. ‘She's your father's ex, that's all. He was so good when I had dotty Aunt Sarah to stay for a month last year—and she was
bedridden, poor old duck! So how can I kick up a fuss about having Adele to stay for a few days?’

Millie suspected it wouldn’t be long before Judy began to wish Adele was bedridden too. Glancing back at the house, she watched her parents make their way across the garden towards them.

Adele was now clutching a fringed lilac shawl and a hefty hardback biography of Placido Domingo.

‘Honestly, you’re hopeless,’ she was telling Lloyd. Turning her attention to Millie she said, ‘I asked him what he thought of Andrea Bocelli and he said signing for Aston Villa had been a big mistake.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He really is a
total
philistine.’

Lloyd, ambling along the path behind her, was chuckling good-naturedly to himself. He winked at Millie and said, ‘That's great. What's a philistine?’

The supermarket on the outskirts of Wadebridge was packed with shoppers. Feeling pretty daft, aware that people were laughing and pointing at her as she skated through the main doors, Millie consoled herself with the reminder that she was earning money. And spreading a little happiness. Not to mention giving the manager a silver wedding anniversary gift he’d never forget.

Nobody was expecting her. Pat, the theater sister, had made her wishes plain to Millie this morning.

‘His staff are great, just like one big happy family,’ she’d explained over the phone, ‘but I don’t trust them to keep it to themselves. If just one person lets slip to Jerry, it’ll all be spoiled. When you turn up I want it to be a fantastic surprise!’

A toddler in a stroller, spotting Millie, let out a wail of anguish and burst into noisy tears.

Oh well, can’t win them all.

As she skated past the newspapers and magazines, Millie realized she was attracting more and more attention. As if she was the Pied Piper, a number of children were starting to follow in her wake. Over to the left, the checkouts were all busy. To the right, a scrum of customers milled around the fruit and veg. A couple of teenage boys pummeled their chests and let out deafening Tarzan howls.

Spotting the inquiries desk
way
over to the left behind the line of checkouts, Millie tucked the T-shirt and bottle of sparkling wine under her arm and headed for it. Thanks to the turnstiles and inescapable one-way system, she was forced to navigate her way through pastas and sauces, cakes and biscuits, and cat food and dog chews (mmm, yum).

Finally, Millie squeezed past a huge woman bulk-buying biscuits and rolled up to the customer inquiries desk.

Three supervisors grinned at her.

‘Monkey nuts? Aisle sixteen, love,’ said one of them hilariously.

‘I’m here to see the manager,’ said Millie, a fair-sized crowd beginning to gather around her.

The manager?’

‘Jerry Heseltine.’ Why were the women giving each other odd looks? ‘I do have the right supermarket,’ Millie told them earnestly. ‘His wife gave me exact instructions.’ More wary expressions, a couple of nudges, and one smothered grin. ‘She arranged for me to come here today as a surprise. It's their silver wedding anniversary.’

The tills behind her were beginning to fall silent. One of the young bag-packing assistants cackled with laughter. All eyes were fixed on Millie.

‘Jerry Heseltine,’ she repeated, beginning to perspire a bit inside the costume. ‘He is your manager, isn’t he?’

Golly, how embarrassing if he turned out to be a trolley collector who’d spent the last twenty years lying to his wife, telling her he was the boss.

‘Oh, he's our manager,’ said one of the supervisors, whose name-badge announced that she was Mavis. ‘But he isn’t around.’

‘His wife said he’d definitely be here,’ Millie wailed. God, was she supposed to
wait
! ‘Look, where
is
he?’ she pleaded. ‘Do you know what he's doing and what time he’ll be back?’

The two supervisors flanking Mavis began to snort with laughter. Mavis, casually consulting her watch, said, ‘What's he doing? Well, it's four minutes past one, so having steamy sex with Doreen Pringle, I imagine.’

‘Oooh nooo!’ Millie put a hairy paw up to her mouth in horror.

‘And he wasn’t actually planning on being back,’ Mavis concluded with an air of malicious triumph. ‘They’ve both taken the rest of the afternoon off.’

‘Hell's bells,’ groaned Millie. ‘This was supposed to be so romantic.’

‘He's a selfish, cheating git,’ Mavis announced. ‘And she's an uppity cow. Works on the deli counter. Three lunchtimes a week they slope off together to her place. It's been going on for the last two years.’

‘What a bastard.’ Sorrowfully, Millie shook her gorilla's head.

‘Doreen only lives down the road,’ one of the other supervisors suggested helpfully, as supermarket supervisors tend to do. ‘On the Lime Acres estate. You could always pop along there and do your bit on her front doorstep.’

‘Thanks. But maybe not,’ Millie sighed.

Practically everyone at the tills had heard every word.

As she skated wearily towards the exit, Millie marveled at the selfishness of men. That poor theater nurse had been so thrilled at the prospect of surprising her loving husband… how could she have been married to him for twenty-five years and have got it so horribly wrong?

She’d been right about one thing though, when she’d described
the staff at the supermarket as one big happy family. Except it clearly hadn’t occurred to her that her own husband might be off playing mummies and daddies in his lunch hour with Doreen from the deli.

Donk!
Something ricocheted off the back of Millie's head, almost sending her careering into a bank of potted plants. Regaining her balance in the nick of time, she spun round and saw that one of the teenage boys had thrown a banana at her.

Killing themselves laughing, they jumped up and down and made whooping monkey noises.

For pity's sake. It was enough to put you off the opposite sex for life.

Back at the car, Millie removed her skates and placed the gorilla head on the passenger seat next to her. Phew, that was better.

What a complete bastard.

She saw him as she was pulling out of the car park thirty seconds later. He was unloading the contents of his shopping trolley into the boot of his car. Wearing white jeans and a sea-green polo shirt and looking even more gorgeous than ever.

Okay. Relax. Breathe normally. Just drive past and pretend you haven’t spotted him.

Keep your eyes fixed on the road ahead. Don’t look left. Don’t look left, don’t look left, don’t look…
Bugger.

Bugger and damn, she’d looked left. Just as Hugh Emerson finished loading the last carrier bag into the boot and glanced up.

He grinned, recognizing her at once. Millie immediately broke into a sweat, not helped by the fact that she was encased from neck to ankles in an eighteen-pound gorilla suit.

Okay, not the end of the world. Just nod and wave in a casual fashion, acknowledge his existence, then drive off. That's easy, no need to panic, you can do that.

And she could have done, if a skinny woman pushing a
piled-high trolley across the road in front of her hadn’t lost control of it at that moment and slammed the front wheels into the curb. A packet of loo rolls and an untied bag of apples toppled to the ground. The woman, panicking, tried and failed to jerk the trolley back on course. Frantically, mouthing apologies, she bent down and began retrieving the scattered Granny Smiths, but the polythene had split and as fast as she collected them up and threw them back in the bag they tumbled out again.

The trolley was still blocking the road. There was no escape. This is exactly what would happen to me, thought Millie, if I’d just robbed a bank and was desperate to make a quick getaway.

My whole life is one great big hideous jinx.

TAKING PITY ON THE skinny woman's predicament, Hugh strolled over and helped her pick up the escaped apples. The woman, Millie could tell, was both grateful and impressed. Next, he skillfully man-uevered her trolley up over the curb and sent her off happily in the direction of her car.

Even more skillfully, he was back in front of Millie's lime green Mini before she had a chance to drive off. With a slight smile, he indicated that she should open her window.

Begrudgingly, Millie wound it down. She’d taken off the hairy gorilla hands in order to drive, of course, but they were still dangling by their velcro fastenings from her wrists.

Any monkey-nut jokes, Millie decided, and she’d be forced to run over his foot. Plus, he’d better not mention bananas.

Don’t try and be witty,
please
don’t try and be witty. Because I promise you, I’m not in the mood.

And a broken foot often offends.

‘I always think golf buggies are the answer,’ Hugh remarked. ‘The first supermarket to give us golf buggies instead of unsteerable trolleys has to be on to a winner, don’t you think?’

Millie smiled; she couldn’t help it. Whenever she thought about Hugh Emerson—which was scarily often—she grew dry-mouthed and panicky. But as soon as they were actually conversing again, she mysteriously relaxed.

Any normal person, of course, would do it the other way round.

‘Thank you.’ She nodded gravely, like the Queen. ‘For not making any banana jokes.’

‘I don’t know any banana jokes.’ Hugh paused. ‘Well, apart from one, which I couldn’t possibly repeat.’ Another pause. ‘Not in front of a gorilla, anyway.’

‘Would you do something for me?’ coaxed Millie. ‘Just put your foot under my front wheel for a moment?’

‘Oh dear, bad day?’ Hugh was laughing down at her now. ‘And here on business, at a guess. Did it all go horribly wrong?’

Briefly, Millie told him.