Nadia Knows Best (10 page)

“Blimey, love, thought it was gonna rain, did you? You must be boiling in that getup.” The driver swiveled round as she cranked open the window. “I'm tellin' you, you'll feel a lot better if you take that coat off.”

The annoying thing about electronic organizers was that Nadia didn't know how to work them.

Jay had left behind his Psion on the newly installed worktop in the kitchen before disappearing for the afternoon. Picking it up and turning it this way and that, Nadia thought back fondly to the days of the good old Filofax, when all you had to do to get into them was unpop the clasp. Then you could poke around to your heart's content.

Why did Psions have to be so inaccessible? Honestly, they must have been invented by the world's biggest spoilsport. Who knew what stupendous secrets might be lurking inside this little metal case? Nadia gave it a shake, just in case this was all it needed in order to fall open and magically start spilling out riveting items of gossip about his private life. Then, hearing footsteps on the stairs, she hurriedly stuffed the Psion into her bag. If Bart spotted it, he might volunteer to drop it round to Jay's house on his way home from work.

And there was really no need, she was quite capable of doing that herself.

***

Nadia pulled into Canynge Road at just gone six o'clock. Jay's car was there, which was good. Not that she had any kind of hidden agenda or anything. It was just always nice…
interesting
… to see where other people lived and what the insides of their homes looked like. She might not be able to get into his electronic organizer but she could get into his house.

Well, it would be a perfectly natural response, wouldn't it? If she turned up on his doorstep with his Psion, the least Jay could do was invite her in for a quick coffee or something. She'd be able to see where he'd hung the telephone box painting, check out the rest of the artwork, discover whether he was obsessively tidy or a complete slob…

Good grief.

Oh help, did this mean she was turning into a stalker?

Except a stalker would surely stop to run a comb through her hair and put on a bit of makeup before calling round to visit her stalkee.

Reassuring herself that she wasn't deranged, merely curious in a perfectly healthy and normal way, Nadia climbed out of the car.

Jay's front door was painted a glossy dark green, with a heavy brass letter box and knocker. When he opened the door he seemed surprised to see her, as if he'd been expecting someone else.

“Oh, hi. What's this about?”

Not the most enthusiastic of welcomes, but Nadia gave him one of her sunniest smiles anyway. He'd changed out of his work clothes into dark blue trousers and a pomegranate-pink polo shirt that not all men could get away with, and he was back to looking harassed.

“You didn't even realize you'd left it behind.” Tut-tutting good-naturedly, she held up the Psion. “I found it in the kitchen.”

“Right. Thanks.” Nodding with relief, Jay took the organizer from her. “Thanks for bringing it over.”

For heaven's sake, had the big bad wolf taught him nothing? Why wasn't he inviting her in? Expectantly Nadia said, “That's OK, it wasn't too far out of my way. And it's not as if I needed to rush home.”

She was just wondering whether to ask casually how he was enjoying his phone box painting when Jay cleared his throat and said, “Look, I'd ask you inside but I'm actually just on my way out. There's someone I have to meet.”

“Oh no, no, that's fine, heavens, I can't stop anyway.” Nadia heard herself begin to babble. “I have to pick up my sister and take her to buy a… a hamster.”

It was pretty startling, listening to the words coming out of her own mouth. Jay looked taken aback too.

“Your sister the artist?”

A hamster. Why? Why?

“Not Clare. My other sister,” Nadia hurriedly explained. “She's thirteen. You know how thirteen-year-olds are about hamsters. Tilly's set her heart on one and I promised to drive her out to this farm where they're selling them. Anyway, I'd better go, she'll be wondering where I am.”

Wondering why I'm such an idiot more like, Nadia thought as she hurried back to the car. The next time Jay left something behind at the house she'd jolly well leave it there. Hamsters indeed.

It was while she was unwrapping a piece of gum that she noticed the taxi pulling up outside Jay's house. Folding the strip of gum into her mouth, Nadia watched as a woman with long blonde hair emerged, paid the driver, and waited for change. From this distance the woman looked to be in her early thirties and beautiful in an unsmiling ice-queen kind of way. Like a bored model sashaying down a catwalk, thought Nadia as the woman flicked back her hair. Honestly, talk about miserable. What she needed was someone to tell her a really fantastic joke.

Then the taxi pulled away, leaving her standing on the pavement in full view, and Nadia saw what she hadn't been able to see before.

The woman was pregnant.

Startled, Nadia watched her turn and climb the steps to Jay's front door, then ring the bell and wait. When the door opened, she looked at Jay and briefly said something before walking past him into the house. The door then closed behind them.

By the size of the bump beneath the woman's flowing yellow dress she had to be seven or eight months pregnant. Nadia sat back in her seat, too dumbfounded to even chew her gum. If the blonde was Jay's girlfriend—especially his pregnant girlfriend—wouldn't they have heard about her before now? He'd never even hinted that he was involved with someone.

Then again, what if she were his ex-girlfriend? That would explain why she wasn't looking too cheerful. God, and who could blame her? She was about to have a baby and it had all gone pear-shaped with the father; that was enough to make anyone miserable.

Stop it. Nadia gave herself a mental telling-off, because she was getting carried away again. Just because a pregnant woman had disappeared into Jay's home didn't automatically mean the baby was his. She could be his cleaning lady, or someone he hired to do his ironing, or a piano teacher who just happened to be pregnant—

The front door opened again.

Even as she scrunched down in the driver's seat, Nadia wondered why she was bothering. If Jay peered down the road in her direction he'd recognize her car in an instant. But he wasn't even glancing to his left. He had his arm round the pregnant woman and was carrying a small overnight case. As he unlocked his own car and helped her into the passenger seat, he gave her hand a squeeze.

Well, thought Nadia when Jay's car had disappeared from view. Probably not his piano teacher then.

***

“But I don't want a hamster,” said Tilly the following evening.

“How do you know you don't want one? You've never had one before.” Nadia was doing her double-glazing salesman bit. “You don't know what you're missing.”

“I think I do. Having to clean hamster poo out of some smelly old cage.” Tilly wrinkled her nose. “And it's not as if they ever do anything interesting unless you count sex, and you need two hamsters for that.”

Nadia wondered why she had to have such a selfish and uncooperative sister. Last night she'd been so busy envisaging Jay as a father-to-be that all thoughts of hamsters had gone clean out of her head.

When Jay had turned up at work this morning and said casually, “Did you get one then?” she hadn't had the faintest idea what he was talking about.

“A hamster?” Jay had prompted when she'd looked blank.

“Oh! Oh right. Yes, we got one. He's great.” She'd nodded with enthusiasm. “Tilly's thrilled.”

“Good. What kind is he?”

Kind? Whoops.

“Um, white.” Were hamsters white or was that just rats? “Well, whitish. More of a sort of pale brown actually.” Nadia had been forced to improvise rapidly. “And really furry. His name's Gerald. He, um, poos a lot.”

Jay had seemed happy enough with this information. Tilly, on the other hand, was being decidedly difficult.

“Yuk,” she retorted. “I hate hamsters, they're like rats.”

“OK.” Nadia conceded defeat. “But you have to promise me something. If a strange man ever starts asking about your hamster, just pretend you have a pale brown one called Gerald.”

“You're weird,” said Tilly.

“I know. But I'm very lovable. Blimey, what's Michael Schumacher doing coming to our house?” Nadia peered out through the living-room window as something testosterone-fueled roared up the drive.

“It's for me.” Clare's voice sang out from upstairs. “It's Piers. Can someone let him in?”

This was Clare's way of letting everyone know she was far too cool to be ready on time.

Pulling open the front door, Nadia came face to face with someone who clearly thought he was great.

Irresistible, in fact.

“Hi, Clare'll be down in a minute.” Nadia had never seen him before, but she'd met plenty of his type. Confidence oozed from every pore. Instinctively she suspected she didn't like Piers.

“You must be Nadine.” He flashed her a boyish grin. “I've heard all about you.”

It was on the tip of Nadia's tongue to call him Peter, but she didn't.

“And you're Piers. Come through to the living room, Clare won't be long.”

Tilly, twisting round on the sofa, beamed hello at him. “She can never make up her mind what to wear.”

“You're telling me.” Piers winked at Nadia. “And sometimes she doesn't wear anything at all.”

Nadia gave him a blank look.

“Didn't Clare tell you about Saturday?” Piers started to laugh.

“No. Tell me about what?”

There was the sound of thunderous footsteps on the staircase, then Clare breathlessly catapulted into the living room.

“Ready! Let's go!”

***

As the electric-blue Ferrari made its way down Whiteladies Road, Clare reveled in the fact that they were the center of attention. She adored the way people turned and stared, wondering who she was and what she'd done to deserve a ride in such a crowd-stopper of a car.

After the humiliating events of Saturday afternoon, she had given serious thought to finishing with Piers. But when he'd phoned her on Monday he couldn't have been more charming or apologetic. Plus, Clare had hastily reminded herself, it really hadn't been his fault. She couldn't blame him for the actions of one idiotic friend.

Which was why she'd agreed to see him tonight and was now extremely glad she had. Piers was on his best behavior, having arrived to pick her up exactly on time and looking sensational in the white shirt and rich-boy navy suit that went so well with his eyes. How could she not feel great when they were together? They looked like a couple out of a glossy magazine, Clare thought joyfully. And he was taking her along to the opening of a new club where everyone who mattered would see them being a couple. Ha, they'd all be so jealous.

“D'you have a brush in there?” Piers nodded at the beaded clutch bag on her lap.

“Yes, do you want to borrow it?”

“I meant for you.” He sounded amused. “I prefer your hair down.”

Clare bit back the automatic retort that it was her hair and she'd spent ages putting it up. Piers had an eye for these things; style-wise, he knew what was what. If he thought she looked better with her hair down, it probably did look better down.

Taking the small brush out of her bag, Clare began unpinning the carefully constructed chignon.

“Good girl.” Piers tooted his horn at a gaggle of students crossing the road too slowly for his liking.

A hideous thought suddenly occurred to her. “Eddie isn't going to be there, is he?”

Piers grinned. “It's OK, you're safe. Eddie's still in a state of shock. By the way,” he slid his hand experimentally up her bare thigh, “are you wearing anything under that slinky dress?”

“Big knickers. Very big knickers. And I have to be back home tonight,” she added, to show him she wasn't a pushover.

Piers looked hurt. “You can't go home. I want you to stay at my place.”

Clare smiled to herself, pleased to be back in charge, her thigh tingling pleasurably beneath his touch.

“Well. We'll see.”

Tilly watched from her bedroom window, a mixture of fear and excitement squirming in her stomach. It was Saturday, it was midday and any minute now her mother would be pulling into the driveway along with her new boyfriend and her new boyfriend's daughter. Brian and Tamsin, mustn't forget their names. They might be complete strangers now but they could end up being her family.

Tilly scratched at the flakes of loose paint on the window frame and prayed she'd like them. When she hadn't seen her mother for months it was easy to mock Leonie and her scatty, rackety ways. But when she was actually here in person it all seemed to matter that little bit more.

As the car came bouncing up the drive, Tilly took a deep, steadying breath. Her stomach was doing that falling-off-a-cliff thing. What was she thinking of, hoping she'd like Brian and Tamsin? What if they didn't like her?

***

“Oh my baby, come here, give me a hug, look how you've
grown
.” Bracelets jangled as Leonie flung out her arms. She was wearing a floaty, pointy-hemmed dress that swirled around her ankles, silver earrings as big as saucers, and woody-spicy perfume. Hugging her, it occurred to Tilly that she'd never known her mother to wear the same scent twice.

Bit like boyfriends.

“Just look at you,” Leonie mock-scolded, holding her at arm's length. “Jeans and a funny old T-shirt. And so skinny! I hope you're eating properly.”

“Of course I'm eating properly.” Tilly tucked her hair behind her ears, feeling mousy and plain. With her long Clairol-blonde hair, heavily made-up eyes, and bright clothes, Leonie looked marvelously exotic in a flashy, fairground kind of way.

“It's so good to see you again. Is anyone else around?” Leonie's gaze drifted toward the house and Tilly braced herself.

“They're in the kitchen.”

“I suppose I'd better be polite and say hello. Ooh, introductions first. Darling, this is Brian.” Linking her arm through Tilly's, Leonie swung her round to meet the other occupants of the car. “And Brian's daughter Tamsin. You two, this is Tilly, my beautiful baby girl. Now why don't you all get to know each other while I pop inside for a quick chat? Does James have a nose stud yet?”

“A what?”

“Joking, darling. Won't be a minute, then we can go.”

Tilly watched her mother's hips sway as she headed for the house. She hated it when Leonie introduced her to people then promptly abandoned her with them. Feeling awkward, she turned back to the occupants of the car. Brian had long hair that was thinning on top and he was wearing a leather vest, as befitted someone who was slightly over the hill and in the music business. Tamsin, who was eyeing her with undisguised curiosity, was startlingly pretty with sparkly green eyes and a heart-shaped face. Her denim jacket was covered in scrawled writing and she was sitting cross-legged on the backseat with an iPod in her lap.

“Hi,” said Tilly in desperation.

“All right?” Brian was busy tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, drumming along to an invisible beat.

“Are you a vegetarian?” said Tamsin.

“Um, no.” Tilly wondered if this would be enough to make Tamsin hate her.

“Oh.” The girl sounded amused. “You look like one.”

***

Things got easier over lunch in a busy pizzeria on Park Street. Leonie was on vivacious form, keeping the conversation going between the four of them. Relaxing, Tilly decided that Tamsin wasn't so bad after all; despite the vegetarian jibe, she was less scary than she'd first appeared. Brian seemed OK too, although he didn't actually say much. He did, however, have a couple of old friends in Bristol whom he was anxious to look up. Tilly was finishing her tiramisu when Leonie explained this.

“So what we thought, darling, is we'd pop off and see them for an hour or two when we leave here. That gives you and Tamsin some time together to really get to know each other, and we'll meet the two of you back here at… ooh, five o'clock?”

It was like being unexpectedly set up on a blind date. Not that she'd ever been on one. With a jolt of dismay, Tilly said, “What do we do until then?”

“Darling, you're teenagers, what do girls your age normally do on a Saturday afternoon?” Leonie stroked Brian's neck as she spoke. “Have fun together. Chat about music! Go shopping!”

“Can't.” Tamsin gloomily sucked her ice-cream spoon. “No money.”

“We'll give you money,” Leonie announced. “And see you back here at five.”

***

“Ten pounds each.” Tamsin shook her head in disgust as the two of them emerged from the restaurant. “That won't even keep me in cigarettes.”

“It's better than nothing.” Tilly actually thought ten pounds was quite a lot.

“Blimey, you're easily pleased. My mother would love you, she was always moaning about how much I cost her. I like your mum, though. She's good fun, isn't she?”

“I suppose.” Tilly couldn't help feeling fobbed off. For the last fortnight she'd been mentally building herself up, preparing for her mother's visit, and it was practically over already. At five o'clock they'd all meet up again and find somewhere else to eat. By seven, Leonie would be making let's-go noises, explaining how long it would take to drive all the way back to Brighton. By seven thirty they'd be gone.

“She wants to see how well we get along together.” Tamsin offered her a Marlboro Light. “Isn't it a bit weird, you living with some bloke who isn't even your dad?”

“No.” Tilly was instantly on the defensive. “I like it.”

“So what happened? I mean, Leonie told us about your real dad doing a bunk when you were a baby, but she was a bit vague about the rest.”

You don't say, thought Tilly.

“My mum had my sisters first, then she left them with James and went off with some other bloke to Crete. When they broke up, she met another chap, and when
they
broke up she met another one.” Bluntly Tilly said, “My mother has a low boredom threshold. Anyway, she was living with a furniture maker called Liam when she found out she was pregnant with me. After my first birthday, Liam took off. Then the lease ran out on the place they'd been renting. Mum didn't have anywhere to live so she turned up on James's doorstep with me in her arms and begged him to let us stay for a few days. James is so nice he didn't have the heart to say no.”

“So they got back together?” Tamsin was actually interested.

“No. We were there for three months. Then Mum met the next big love of her life, someone else she couldn't live without. Except
he
wasn't so keen on the idea of taking me on as part of the deal. Mum was distraught, she didn't know what to do, she said she couldn't cope with me on her own… well, by this time I was settled at James's house. I loved being with my sisters—half sisters—and I thought James was my dad. He told Mum he was happy for me to stay with them. I don't know if he only meant for a while”—Tilly's smile was rueful—“but I never left. Mum went off with her boyfriend—I think he lasted a couple of years, which was practically a record for her. And I was happy where I was. I suppose I just got used to her not being around. She was never a mother-type mother.”

“You're lucky.” Tamsin flicked her cigarette into the gutter as they strode along. “Mine is, and it's a complete nightmare. She's so strict you wouldn't believe it. Nag, nag, nag, do your homework, clean your room, you're not going out wearing
that
—it did my head in. That's why I came to live with my dad instead.” She shook back her hair, clearly pleased with herself. “He lets me do whatever I like.”

With only ten pounds each to spend, their trawl around the shops didn't last long. When Tamsin discovered that Tilly's school was only fifteen minutes' walk away, and that the varsity team was playing cricket against Bristol Grammar, she insisted they went along to watch the game.

Tilly wrinkled her nose; cricket was unbelievably dull. “What for?”

“Look, it's your duty to cheer them on. And check out the talent.”

“You haven't seen the boys in my year.” Tilly gave her a pitying look. “We have no talent.”

“Ah, you say that, but I'd be viewing them with a fresh eye. And they'd fancy me rotten, because boys always do. Then next time I come down, we can arrange to meet up with them. Oh, come on, it'll be a laugh,” Tamsin urged. “I'll do the same for you when you come and stay with us. Boys you don't know are always more fun than boys you do.”

On the way to the school, they had to pass the newsagents where Annie worked. When they'd joined the crush earlier in Claire's Accessories in Broadmead, Tamsin had immediately blown her money on fake tattoos, stick-on glitter transfers, and a toe ring. In order not to be left out, Tilly had spent nine pounds sixty on a nail varnish and two hair ties she didn't even want. Now, with only forty pence left in her pocket, she was regretting it. All this walking had made her thirsty; she could've murdered a can of Coke.

But tonight was Annie's big dinner date with James, the dinner date she'd had such a hand in arranging, and it would be nice to pop in and say hello.

Better still, Annie might let them have a glass of tap water, which meant she could spend her remaining forty pence on chewing gum.

“Want to go in here?” Tilly paused as they drew level with the shop.

“Sure. I like newsagents.” Tamsin grinned at her. “We can wave at ourselves on the CCTV.”

“I don't think this one has CCTV.”

“No? Shame.” Jauntily, Tamsin said, “Lead on, Macduff.”

Annie was behind the counter, leafing through a copy of
Hello!
magazine.

“You caught me out.” Beaming at Tilly, she pointed to the photo she'd been studying, of Jennifer Aniston arriving at some movie premiere with a glamorous new hairdo. “I'm getting mine done straight after we've closed here. This is the kind of thing I'm after, but it's so embarrassing taking a photo along, isn't it? You just imagine all the stylists sniggering with each other in the back room, going, ‘Ha, she seriously thinks we can make her look like Jennifer Aniston!'”

“Maybe if you took along a photo of someone more your own age?” Tilly only made the suggestion to be helpful, but the moment the words were out she knew they'd been the wrong ones. Annie was looking determinedly un-upset. Oh God, Jennifer Aniston was probably older than her.

Behind her, Tilly could hear Tamsin quietly snorting with laughter, which didn't help.

“I'm sorry,” she muttered. Why did it always have to be her mouth that spouted the embarrassing stuff?

“It doesn't matter a bit. And you're probably right. I'm not going to take the picture along anyway.” Annie closed the magazine. “I'll just tell them to put my hair up and do their best to make me look smart. So, what are you doing here on a Saturday?”

“There's a cricket match on at the school. We're going along to watch.” Glancing over her shoulder, Tilly said, “This is Tamsin. My… um, friend.”

To her horror, as she turned, she saw Tamsin hurriedly stuffing something into her jeans pocket… Tilly couldn't believe it. If she was looking at Tamsin—
introducing
Tamsin, for crying out loud—then surely Annie had to have seen it too.

“Er, I'll have some orange Tic Tacs please,” Tilly said, far too loudly, “and a packet of Juicy Fruit.”

Ignoring Tilly, Annie said calmly, “Maybe you should put those back.”

“Excuse me?” Tamsin raised her eyebrows, apparently mystified. “Put what back?”

Oh God, oh God. Tilly began to sweat.

“Those pens.” Annie's gaze didn't waver from Tamsin's face. “The ones you just put in your pocket.”

“Pens? Why would I want a bunch of stupid pens?” Tamsin looked at her as if she were mad. “Tilly, ready to go? We don't want to miss the match.”

Tilly was rooted to the spot and in a state of anguish. She wanted to cover her eyes like a three-year-old and pretend she wasn't here.

“See this?” Annie gestured to the laminated sign up on the wall behind the counter, announcing that Shoplifters Would Be Prosecuted. “It's true. Now come on, just be sensible and—”

“Who's going to catch me if I ran out of here now? You?” Tamsin smirked. “I don't think so.”

Annie said evenly, “I know which school you go to.”

“And that's where you're wrong, because I don't even live in Bristol. So you'll never find me.” Tamsin's eyes were bright with triumph. “Unless you get the police to do a photofit picture of me and stick Wanted posters up all over the country. Who knows, they might even put me on
Crimewatch
. Can't you just picture it? Thirteen-year-old girl pinches ballpoint pens from crappy corner shop…”

“Put them back,” Tilly blurted out.

Tamsin raised her plucked eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Put the pens back.”

“Oh, for God's sake, this is pathetic.” Heaving an exaggerated sigh that was practically a snort, Tamsin dragged the pens from her pocket and flung them back into their box on the stationery shelf. “There, happy now?”

Tilly turned back to Annie. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Annie said quietly.

“Could you… um, not mention this to James?”

Annie hesitated, then nodded. “OK.”

“Ahem,” Tamsin sang out. “Getting
bored
over here. Can we go?”