Paradise (7 page)

Angel could only imagine how much Ethan would hate the idea of having Cal as a neighbour, but she replied, ‘I’d like it if you saw more of Honey.’

For a moment they were both silent, then Cal said, ‘You didn’t answer my question last night, when I asked if you’d rushed into things with Ethan?’ It was a
question Angel really didn’t feel he had the right to ask.

‘I don’t think so,’ she replied, determined to play it cool.

Cal shook his head, and looked sceptical. ‘I don’t want to upset you, Angel, but it’s got rebound written all over it, can’t you see that? And, come on, what do you really know about the guy? The news about his daughter must have been a shock.’

He sounded so patronising and judgemental . . . and what right did he have to judge Ethan? Angel saw red. ‘It is
not
a rebound thing! And I didn’t rush into it. I weighed things up very carefully, wondering if I should stay with someone who had cheated on me and might well do it again for all I knew, or whether I could have a new life with a man who loves me.’ She wasn’t going to sit back and let Cal rip her to shreds. He certainly knew how to kill a moment! She got up and headed for the door but he was too quick for her. He caught her arm. ‘Please don’t go.’

‘Why not? So you can carry on having a go at me!’ Angel glared at him, her green eyes flashing with anger.

Cal didn’t answer but instead pulled her towards him. ‘I’m sorry, Angel. I just want to know that you’re okay. Sorry.’

His voice was soft and low and aroused feelings in her that she thought she had let go of a long time ago. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, that she was with Ethan, but her body said something different. Just the feeling of having Cal so close, his hands on her shoulders, was setting off a chain reaction of lust and longing within her. And so when Cal ducked down and lightly kissed her lips, she didn’t resist him. Instead she found herself kissing him back, and the kiss became deeper, more intense, a passionate, sexy, searching kiss
that sent shock waves of desire through Angel’s body and made her long to feel Cal’s touch.

As if in answer he slid his hands under her tee-shirt and lightly caressed her breasts, circled her nipples in the way which had always turned her on so much in the past. Angel pressed her body closer to his, slipped her hands under his tee-shirt, felt the smooth skin of his back. His body felt so familiar to her, so good. God knows where it would have ended up, because Angel was feeling reckless enough for anything, but suddenly she came to her senses and realised what she was doing.

She pulled away. ‘I can’t do this,’ she said abruptly.

Cal looked taken aback. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m with Ethan now.’ Once more she made for the door.

‘I don’t believe you,’ Cal called after her. Angel kept on walking.

She barely slept that night, alternately scorched by guilt about Ethan then replaying the kiss, to feel again that rush of desire. Why had she done that? It was playing with fire.

But however conflicted Angel felt, she forced herself to put on an act that she was blissfully happy the following day, not wanting her daughter to pick up any bad vibes. And it was so sweet, seeing Honey opening her presents. Angel and Cal seemed to have bought up most of Toys R Us between them, but with typical perverse toddler behaviour the present Honey liked best of all was a ginger-and-white toy cat which meowed when you pressed its tummy. She was not nearly as impressed by the mini laptop, the Snow White dressing-up costume, the collection of Barbies, the Barbie castle, the Barbie riding school . . . though she did like the box of dressing-up shoes, clearly her
mother’s daughter in that respect, and the bright pink scooter got her approval.

Cal was back to being distantly polite with Angel and she with him. She wanted to pretend the kiss had never happened. It was just because it was the first time they had been alone together and Christmas was always an emotional workout, she tried to tell herself. It didn’t mean anything.

Michelle and Frank were busy preparing Christmas lunch. Honey was desperate to go out on her new scooter, and Cal suggested that he and Angel took her down to the seafront. After last night Angel wasn’t sure it was such a good idea to be alone with Cal, but when Honey found out she might not go with them, she was so upset that Angel had to change her mind.

Both she and Cal were quiet as he drove them down to the seafront in his sleek black BMW. They walked along the promenade towards the brightly coloured children’s playground by the old pier, Honey whizzing ahead on her scooter, seemingly oblivious to the biting wind coming off the sea. Cal kept all his comments strictly on the level of small talk. Wasn’t it funny seeing all the children on their new bikes/skateboards/rollerblades? Did she think Honey needed to wear a helmet? Would Honey be warm enough in her coat? And Angel returned with small talk of her own.

But every now and then she couldn’t resist glancing at Cal. He was wearing a black cashmere military-style coat with the collar turned up, and looked so handsome. She couldn’t deny the old pull of desire she felt for him. But this had to stop. Just as Angel thought she had got away without talking about their kiss, he turned and looked at her and said softly, ‘That was quite some kiss last night. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.’

Angel was completely floored. She looked out at the
iron-grey sea and pulled her chestnut aviator UGG hat further down over her face, both to keep herself warm against the bitter wind blowing off to the sea and as if to fend off the question.

‘It was a mistake,’ she said quickly. ‘Please don’t talk about it.’ She thought about how devastated Ethan would be if he knew, and felt ashamed. All her reassurances to him that there was nothing more between her and Cal suddenly seemed hollow. She had thought she was immune to Cal now, had spent the last months building up her defences against him, but just seeing him again was destroying them, piece by piece, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable.

Cal shook his head. ‘Nothing that felt that good could be a mistake. But if that’s how you want to play it.’

‘It’s not how I want to
play
it! It’s not some game. I made a mistake. We all make mistakes.’ She paused, colour rushing into her face as she realised what she was saying.

‘Perhaps it’s time you finally forgave me for mine?’ Cal said, an undeniable edge of hope in his voice.

Angel couldn’t believe that they were having this conversation. ‘I’m with Ethan, I told you.’ She made her voice as hard and cold as she could, to try and hide the turmoil she felt, and Cal seemed to realise he wouldn’t be able to get through to her and withdrew once again, making it impossible for Angel to read what he was thinking. He was always so good at that.

Back at her parents’ house it was the full-on family Christmas experience – champagne, crackers, dinner – where everyone ate too much, except Angel who was too preoccupied with thoughts of Cal. Then the obligatory TV-fest until Gemma and Tony came round in the evening and they played Trivial Pursuit and ate more food. This was exactly how Angel had spent the
last five Christmases with Cal when they were together, and today was such a strange experience because everything was at once the same yet completely different. At one moment during the game, Cal received a phone call and went out of the room to take it which immediately put Angel on high alert – who was he speaking to? Was it a woman? Why had he left the room? And even as these thoughts collided in her head she felt furious with herself for being so easily drawn back.

AFTER CHRISTMAS DAY,
Cal had Honey for a few days and Angel used the time to catch up with Jez in London. Even though she knew she wouldn’t be apart from her daughter for long, she still felt Honey’s absence like a physical ache and had to keep busy so as not to dwell on missing her.

‘So how was it with Cal?’ Jez asked as they met up in the bar of the Mayfair Hotel for cocktails, typically asking the very question that had been preoccupying Angel herself.

They were sitting on one of the luxurious purple velvet sofas by the fire, with glasses of pink champagne. Angel contemplated telling him about the kiss and then thought better of it, not wanting it to take on an even greater importance than it already had in her mind. Indeed, she could not stop thinking about it – and it still aroused such contradictory feelings of desire, quickly followed by guilt.

‘It was okay at times,’ she said slowly. ‘And then at others it felt really strange being with him. He was very offhand with me.’ She shook back her long blonde hair as if shrugging off the memory, and took a sip of champagne. ‘I don’t know, maybe it’s just too soon for us to meet up like that . . . everything is still too raw.’

Jez arched an eyebrow. ‘He still loves you, it is so
obvious! He’s doing his distant act as a defence, but it
is
just an act.’

For as long as she had known him – which was coming up for eight years – Jez had been one of her closest friends and confidantes. He put on an act of being shallow, and camper than a row of tents, but underneath he had a heart of gold, and was both caring and perceptive – a bit too perceptive sometimes. ‘And don’t be cross with me, but I think you’re still in love with him on some level.’

Angel sighed, ‘I don’t know, Jez. When I found out that he had seen Alessia for three months – that it hadn’t just been a one night stand, not that a one night stand wasn’t bad enough – it shook everything up. I never thought Cal would do that to me – ever.’

‘I know, Angel, but he bitterly regrets it, and it wasn’t as if things between you were going well back then.’ It was true, of course. After Honey was born, Angel had completely shut herself off from Cal, had been impossible to live with, snapping at him one moment, withdrawing the next; nor did she feel able to tell anyone as she felt such a failure as a mother. Post-natal depression had been one of the worst experiences of her life.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it all back,’ Jez added, seeing sadness invade Angel’s face.

‘Shall we talk about something else?’

But even though they then chatted and gossiped about which celebrity was doing what to whom, the mood of sadness stayed. It was as if Angel had been so caught up in the whirlwind of her infatuation with Ethan and her determination to leave Cal and start a new life for herself, that she hadn’t given herself any time to grieve for her broken marriage.

After cocktails she treated Jez and Rufus, who had finally finished work at the gym, to dinner at Nobu in
Mayfair. It had always been one of Angel’s favourite restaurants and she knew Jez and Rufus loved it too, but hadn’t been able to go for a while because of their money worries.

Rufus was the perfect partner for Jez, being calm, quiet, thoughtful and totally loyal. Before Rufus, Jez had flitted from affair to affair, pretending to be happy but inside always craving a stable relationship. It was lovely to see them together, they suited each other perfectly.

Angel was just in the middle of telling Rufus that he must come out to LA in the New Year when she caught sight of someone she had hoped she would never have to see again. Ever. She was the former soap-star actress Simone Fraser, the woman Cal had left to be with Angel. Simone had never forgiven her – though Angel never knew whether that was because she had lost her position as an A-list WAG or whether it was truly because of her feelings for Cal. After Cal, Simone had gone out with a succession of footballers, slipping further and further down the leagues. The last Angel had heard, Simone was dating someone from Torquay.

‘Don’t look now,’ she muttered to Jez, trying to be discreet, ‘but I can see Simone Fraser over there.’

‘Where?’ Jez demanded, instantly turning round and craning his neck to get a better look at the fallen WAG. Simone had always been stunning-looking, with a heart-shaped face, huge brown eyes and a slender figure, but she had become obsessed with ageing, had gone down the Botox route by the look of her immobile forehead and had had work done on her lips, which were pumped up and now looked out of proportion with her delicate features. She also rarely smiled and had a permanent sulky pout, which only accentuated the inflated lips.

‘Oh my sweet Jesus! What
has
she done to her
mouth!’ Jez exclaimed. ‘It looks like two bloated chipolatas coated in lip gloss.
So
not a good look!’

‘Shush!’ Angel warned him, worried that Simone would overhear them. She really wasn’t up to a confrontation. Over the years Angel had learnt to her cost that any meeting with Simone would end up with her coming out with a stream of bitchy comments. But unfortunately for Angel, Simone had clocked her. Instead of simply giving her the evil eye, she rose from her seat and started walking unsteadily towards their table. A walk made precarious by her skin-tight black leather pencil skirt and staggeringly high silver-studded black Louboutins, as well as by the fact that she seemed to be pissed. Somehow she made it to their table without falling over and stood next to Angel.

‘Long time no see, Angel,’ she said, slurring her words slightly. ‘Having fun with your basketball player?’ She fumbled to push up her red satin bra strap which had slipped down one arm.

‘It’s baseball,’ Angel said through gritted teeth.

‘Whatever.’ Simone swayed and grabbed the table for support, nearly knocking over Angel’s wine glass. ‘Oops!’ she said, and plonked herself down on the free chair next to Rufus. ‘Don’t mind if I sit down for a minute, do you?’ It was a bit late now, she was sitting there. She flicked back her long brunette hair, which seemed to be modelled on Cheryl Cole’s lovely locks, nearly catching Rufus in the eye. ‘So, you left Cal. I never saw that one coming! I thought you’d be together forever . . . like swans or is it geese?’ She giggled, while Angel looked at her in appalled fascination – the woman was totally caned. She had never seen Simone like this before. Simone picked up Rufus’s glass of wine and took a large swig from it.

‘’Course, I phoned Cal offering a shoulder to cry on, but the bastard never even returned my call.’