Rumor Has It (21 page)

    The girl beckoned Erin over. 'Come and look! Do you know who she is?'

    'Yes.' The familiar sensation of nausea set in. Trembling but de termined, Erin placed the tissue-wrapped skirt in a Beautiful Clothes bag. This time Stella had gone too far.

    Outside on the pavement, acting a lot braver than she felt, she confronted her nemesis.

    'You can't do this, Stella.'

    'Why can't I? You banned me from your shop, but this isn't

your shop, is it? I'm out here on the pavement,' Stella spread her arms wide, 'expressing a personal opinion
that happens to be the truth
, and you can't stop me.'

    The woman Stella had been haranguing hurried off, clutching the carrier of clothes she'd been about to bring into the shop.

    'This is my business and I'm not going to let you ruin it. If you don't stop, I'll call the police.'

    Stella stared at her, her manicured hands clenched at her sides. 'But you've wrecked my life! Why do I have to sit back and take it?'

    Erin didn't know what to do. There was no point in phoning Fergus, who was working in Cheltenham today. Besides, hadn't he told Stella over and over again that it hadn't happened that way round? And had Stella taken a blind bit of notice?

    'Why can't I hurt you like you've hurt me?' Stella wailed. 'I'm better than you! And I'd
never
steal a married man from his wife!'

    There was no getting through to her. Sadly, however, she was getting through to a lot of passers-by who were stopping to watch the drama with interest. Erin was at her wits' end. Could she really call the police or would they laugh at her and tick her off for wasting their time? Should she try a solicitor first? Or how about a hit man to bump Stella off?

    'Hey up, what's going on here?'

    It was Max Dineen, heading down the street towards them. Had Tilly told him about the hassle they'd been getting from Stella? Erin braced herself, because he and Stella had been friendly for years. If he joined in with the abuse and started accusing her of being a marriage-wrecking bitch, she would die.

    Stella turned at the sound of his voice, took one look at Max, and promptly burst into tears.

    'Bloody hell,' Max exclaimed. 'I'm not that ugly, am I?'

    From his laconic tone and the glance he directed at her, Erin knew he was up to speed with the situation.

    'Oh Max!' Stella let out a wail of despair. 'I'm so miserable I just want to
die.'

    Erin wasn't proud of the fact that a little voice in her brain was thinking,
now there's a coincidence
, as she watched Stella stumble into Max's arms.

    Max's heart sank. Fuck, this was the moment you really wished you hadn't got involved. He didn't mind wading in and breaking up an argument but this was altogether more complicated. Stella was a ranter, not a crier. Having her burst into noisy sobs on his shoulder was the last thing he'd expected, about as likely as her bouncing down the High Street on a Spacehopper. But she was definitely doing it now. He could feel her tears on his neck, and her fingers digging into his back. She was distraught. And her hair was plaster ing itself against his face, an unnervingly spooky experience when you considered that it wasn't actually Stella's hair and had probably originally belonged to some ancient Russian peasant.

    'Max… Max… I d-don't know what to d-d-dooo.'

    Too late to back out now. Eurgh, what if the hair had belonged to a hairy-chinned seventeen-stone shot-putter called Olga?

    'It's OK, it's OK.' Max patted her on the back and pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket. 'Here, use this.'

    Erin was backing away. 'I have to get back. I've left a customer in the shop.'

    'Off you go.' He smiled briefly, feeling sorry for her. 'I'll take care of this one.'

    Erin shot him a look of passionate relief and hurried back inside. Max in turn glanced around at the ogling bystanders and said, 'Show's over, you can put your knitting away, girls. There's not going to be any bloodshed today.'

    'Where are we g-going?' hiccupped Stella as he steered her up the road.

    'Your place. You're in no condition to open the shop this afternoon.' Reaching his car, Max pulled open the passenger door. 'Come on, in you get.'

    'Oh Max. Thank you. And will you stay with me for a bit? You won't just dump me and drive off?'

    Great, because he only had about a million other things to do today. Oh well, too late to worry about that now. Stella wasn't exactly a close friend, but they'd known each other through their complementary businesses for several years and he was fond of her; she was bossy, brash and super-confident. Well, as a rule. She was losing it now. You couldn't help but sympathize.

    'I'll come in,' said Max. 'For a bit.'

Back at her modern, super-clean, super-tidy house, Stella opened a bottle of white wine and knocked back the first glass in one go.

    Max frowned. 'Is that going to make you feel better?'

    'Don't know. I'll tell you when I find out. I'm just in knots, Max.
Knots
.' She shook her head in desperation. 'I wake up in the morning and everything
hurts
. That woman stole my husband.'

    She wasn't looking so great, actually. Her face was drawn and the habitual super-polished exterior was missing. This was what jeal ousy did to you; it demolished your confidence and ate away at your appearance like a maggot invading an apple.

    Max said flatly, 'She didn't, you know. You have to believe that.'

    'But I'm never
going
to believe it, because I know it's not true.' Stella's jaw was rigid, her mind made up; as far as she was concerned, why else would Fergus leave her? Max knew there was no point in trying to tell her otherwise.

    'You just need to get on with your life. Living well is the best revenge.'

    'But how
can
I?'

    'Bloody hell, by being happy!'

    'But the only thing that could make me happy is a baby! That's all I want!'

    'So do it.'

    Stella was looking at him oddly. She poured herself another glass and jiggled her shoe.

    'What?' said Max.

    'Would you do it?'

    'What? If I was in your shoes?'

    'No. I meant would you give me a baby?'

    Oh shit. 'You don't mean that.'

    'I do! Max, don't you see? It makes perfect sense.' The way she was looking at him, she actually seemed to think it
did
make perfect sense. 'I like you. I always have. You like me. And you're a great dad to Louisa.'

    'Plus I'm gay,' said Max.

    'Not completely. No, don't start shaking your head! Think about it. We get on well together. I've fancied you for years. Apart from Fergus, you're the only man I could face sleeping with. We could give it a try. Who knows, you might really like it and decide not to be gay anymore.'

    'Stella, please stop this.'

    'If you were really gay, you'd have a boyfriend by now. OK,' Stella blurted out as Max rose to his feet, 'forget the relationship, we can just do the sperm thing instead. Artificial insemination, how about that? And you wouldn't have to pay child support or anything. It wouldn't cost you a penny. Don't you see, Max? If I go to a sperm bank, how do I really know what I'm getting? God, they could fob me off with any old leftover rubbish that's coming up to its sell-by date. I'd much rather have a baby and know for sure who the father is. And I'd love it to be you, I really would. You're funny and kind and better looking than bloody Fergus. Picture it, we'd have a beautiful baby…'

    Max backed away. OK, enough. Apart from anything else, he

was picturing the baby and it was sporting spectacles, a full set of extensions, and a broad Liverpudlian accent.

    'Stella, you aren't thinking straight and you don't mean it. Believe me, you're a great girl and you'll find someone who's right for you, once you get over Fergus. But you have to promise me you'll stop hassling Erin.'

    'It makes me feel better,' said Stella.

    'Sweetheart, it's not dignified.' At that moment the cat flap rattled and Bing slinked in. Taking advantage of the cat's arrival, Max glanced at his watch and grimaced. 'Look, I'm really sorry but I have to get off now. I'm meeting a new client this afternoon and I can't keep them waiting. Promise me you won't top yourself, OK?'

    Stella, who doted on her cat, reached down and scooped Bing into her arms. 'That'd just make it easier for them, wouldn't it? Erin and Fergus.' Stroking Bing and showering kisses on his furry ears, Stella said with some of her old spirit, 'Don't worry, I wouldn't give them the satisfaction.'

    'Good girl.' Max nodded with approval.

    She smiled and shook back her hair. 'Especially when I've just had my extensions redone. Sod that; they cost me three hundred quid.'

JAMIE MICHAELS AND HIS fiancée had just moved into a six- bed roomed, eight-bathroomed mock-Tudor mansion in a gated com munity on the outskirts of Birmingham.

    'Me mate recommended you. Cal Cavanagh, yeah? He said you was the business. And as soon as my missus found out you'd done his place, she said we had to have you too.'

    'What's good enough for the Cavanaghs is good enough for us,' giggled Tandy. 'And we've got loads of ideas. I can't wait to get started. Can I offer you a drink before we get going? We've got Cristal champagne on ice, if you want. Eighty quid a bottle!'

    Tilly kept a straight face, because Max had warned her that any sniggering would get her sacked on the spot. He'd also explained that just because young Premiership footballers had more money than sense, there was no cause to turn your nose up at their ideas. 'They pay good money for our services and it's our job to give them whatever they want. There are interior designers who try and force their version of good taste on to clients who don't share it. I usually get called in to redo the work six months down the line. People are entitled to live with an end product they bloody well like.'

    Which was fair enough. Tilly completely agreed with that. And it was just as well too. Because as they followed Jamie and Tandy over the house, they certainly had some eye-popping ideas.

    'I'm thinking of, like, tartan walls in silver and pink metallic hand-painted wallpaper for the dining room. Because when I was little, I had a Barbie with a pink and silver tartan dress.' Tandy was tiny, blonde, and doll-like herself, bubbling with enthusiasm in a minuscule white skirt and khaki top. She smelled of Chanel No.5 and fake tan, and the ring on her engagement finger was the size of a walnut. 'And you know the chandelier you put in Cal's kitchen? Well, we want one bigger than that. And could you do one of those disco floors that light up, like in
Saturday Night Fever
?'

    It was Tilly's job to write down each of their ideas while Max made suggestions as to how they might be adapted, explaining that if the chandelier was any bigger, Jamie would crack his head every time he walked under it, and a disco floor was a fantastic idea but how about having it in the karaoke room rather than the kitchen, because that was where more dancing might take place.

    Turquoise and pewter leopard print en-suite bathroom? Tandy crossed her fingers; she evidently had her heart set on this.

    Perfect, said Max, he knew just the suppliers. And how about Versace taps?

    After two hours, the preliminary meeting was over. Tandy threw her arms round Max and cried, 'I love your plans! This is so cool, I can't wait for everything to be done!'

    'Hang on,' said Max. 'You haven't had your estimate yet. You might go off me when you find out how much it's going to cost.'

    Jamie frowned and rubbed his hand through his spiky bleached hair. 'More than two hundred grand?'

    'No.' Max shook his head. 'There's nothing structural. I'll get home and work on the figures, but I'm thinking around one eighty.'

    'That's all? Cool. No problem.' His face cleared. 'We're doing a shoot for
Hi!
magazine once it's done, for two hundred. So, quids in!'

    Yeek, two hundred thousand for a photo shoot and interview.

    'It's going to be a huge party to officially celebrate our engage ment.' Having done the math, Tandy said brightly, 'We'll have twenty grand left over! How about if we get a dear little church built in the garden, for when we get married?'

    'Or,' said Max, 'why not get married somewhere really spectacu lar and have a massive hot tub installed instead.'

    'You're brilliant!' Tandy clapped her hands, then hugged Tilly. 'And so are you. You'll both have to come along to the party when everything's finished. All my girlfriends will be wanting to book you when they see what you've done to our house.'

    Then the doorbell went and Tandy disappeared upstairs for her weekly session with her nail technician. Jamie showed Max and Tilly out and they made their way across the drive, past the midnight-blue Maserati, the pillar-box-red Porsche, and the Barbie pink 4x4 with the diamanté-studded steering wheel and pink suede upholstered seats.

    'She's nineteen,' Tilly marveled. 'This is where I've been going wrong.'

    'Bag yourself a footballer. Become a WAG,' said Max.

    Except Tilly knew she didn't have it in her to become high maintenance; the endless fake tans, trips to the hairdresser, and having to get her nails done would drive her nuts. 'I think I'm more of a SAG. Slobby and geriatric.'