Rumours (34 page)

The doorbell rang.

‘That'll be Jo,' said Stella softly, suddenly wanting to change all plans and just keep Will with her. Jo could read it on her face as soon as she came in.

‘Softee,' she said, sotto voce. ‘Don't think about Will, let alone worry about him – just think about yourself.' She placed her hands on Stella's shoulders. ‘And give yourself enough time to tidy yourself up – you look shocking, girlfriend.'

‘I feel –
guilty
,' Stella said, only just then deciphering her colliding emotions.

‘Don't you dare!' Jo chastised. ‘Just forget about us and indulge yourself. Disappear into your own little world for a change. You are allowed to, you know.'

After they'd gone, Stella decided against any more hoovering or tidying. Jo's calmly delivered assertion had quelled her need for frantic housework to make time pass quickly as well as to distract from the growing anticipation of Xander's impending arrival. She sat with a cup of tea, gazing at Will's special space vehicle, now fixed; content that it should remain on the kitchen table. Her heart, it appeared, had been repositioned in her throat while her stomach was relocated to somewhere behind her rib cage. She could only manage half a cup, though her mouth was dry and she could have done with drinking more. However, just holding the mug was stabilizing and a little while later, she went upstairs to shower, shave her legs and undertake a little selective tweezering here and there. She regarded her naked self and giggled – as if the concept that later on a handsome man would be ravishing her, was as thrilling as it was presently unbelievable.

Xander tore around the eight-mile loop in a personal best, went on the rowing machine for half an hour as if battling rip tides and then all but flooded the bathroom during a vigorous and scalding hot shower. Should he splash on some aftershave? He didn't usually – but he knew he had a bottle somewhere. He stared at his face in the mirror – silly git, just be yourself. He reached instead for the fragrance-free post-shave balm that he normally used and patted it into his skin as he went through to his bedroom. He had to laugh at himself. When do I ever –
ever
– procrastinate about what to wear? And was he meant to take a change of clothes? Or just clean underwear for tomorrow? And what about a toothbrush? It all felt as protracted as packing for a holiday to a place where the weather was unpredictable.

Oh God – not the phone. He let it ring. But then his mobile trilled out with the ringtone he'd ascribed to his parents' number. Hi, Mum – fine thanks, and you? Dad? Cool. Cool. Busy – yep – flat out. Tomorrow – I'll call in tomorrow. No – don't cook lunch, I might be held up. I'll call you – tomorrow. Not sure what time – but I promise I'll call and come by.

His mobile rang again, almost immediately, and he automatically answered it.

‘What you doing!'

Caroline.

‘Hey, Cazza.'

‘
What you doing
?'

It was her jaunty voice, the tone she used when she wasn't doing much and just felt like a chat.

‘Nothing much.'

‘Come on over, then.'

‘Oh. Well. Actually I can't.'

‘Oh?'

‘I'm off out.'

‘Yeah? For a run?'

‘Done that.'

‘So where are you off to?'

There was a pause.

‘Hmm,' said Xander.

There was another pause.

‘Ho!' said Caroline.

Xander wasn't sure what tiny word or noise he could make in reply, so into the hiatus Caroline leapt. ‘You have
plans
!'

He hummed affirmatively, slightly distracted, the phone in the crook of his neck as he delved around a drawer deciding just to take fresh socks and boxers with him to Stella's. He'd leave them in his car with his wash bag and he went to the cupboard to stuff them all into a small rucksack.

Caroline had waited long enough. ‘And do the
plans
concern a certain Stella?'

Shit. A direct bloody question.

‘Are you seeing Stella, then, today?'

Caroline was tenacious – but always so bloody nice with it.

‘Er – yep. I am.'

There was a strange squeak from Caroline's end of the phone before a torrent of questions tumbled down the line. None of them really needed answering, Xander thought. And then he thought, Christ, I feel so stupidly nervous.

‘Xander?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well?'

He paused, sat on the edge of his bed, turned his back on his reflection in the mirror. ‘If I tell you I'm so nervous my balls have shrunk, promise you won't take the piss?'

Caroline laughed – because Xander
was
funny. But no – she had no intention of taking the piss. ‘You have a lovely time, mister.' She paused, continuing tenderly. ‘Don't be nervous – you're a great guy. A really great guy. It's Stella's lucky day.'

‘I'm going there – to hers,' he elaborated.

‘And then?'

Xander was slightly affronted. What did Caroline want – a précis of all he'd spent the last couple of days fantasizing about? ‘I don't know – but, you know. Her son won't be there. So – you know – we'll have the place to ourselves.'

‘I meant,' said Caroline measuredly, ‘did you have plans, say, to go to the movies, or out for dinner?'

She knew he'd be reddening at the other end of the line.

‘Oh. Ha!' And then he thought, fuck it, what the hell. ‘I'm hoping we'll be making our entertainment, OK? And for your information, we kind of had hors d'oeuvres the other night. Back here. After the Black Ox.'

‘So it's time for the main course, is it?' Caroline spoke with an audible grin. ‘Well, bon appétit, Xander Fletcher.'

‘Thank you,' said Xander, very sincerely.

‘Oh – and make sure Stella has dessert, even if you've finished yours.'

‘Phnar phnar,' said Xander, deadpan.

‘Have fun, Xander. You're fab. Don't be nervous.'

But he was.

Xander was ready to go but his landline was ringing again. He glanced at the caller ID. Longbridge. His hand hovered. If Lydia was resorting to the telephone, it could be urgent. But there again, if it was really urgent, she'd track him down on his mobile too. He let the house phone ring out and then he stared at his mobile. Not now, Lydia. Please – not now. He gave it ample time to ring but it didn't. He switched it to silent mode, checked the back door was locked and nothing was on standby. Then he glanced around the room as if he was seeing it like this for the last time; as if tomorrow, when he came back, it would all seem very different – as if he'd be returning after ages away. He thought, next time I'm home, I'll be a changed man. And then he laughed out loud and swore at himself and thanked Jesus Effing Christ that no one heard that. Soppy git.

Half past three and time for tea. Stella had been reboiling the kettle every five minutes or so and suddenly thought how stupid it would look if she offered Xander a cuppa when he arrived and the kettle boiled in an instant. She poured the hot water down the sink, filled the kettle from the cold tap and left it. Then she thought how she shouldn't have made the cupcakes – he probably wouldn't remember the brief exchange when she gave him Mrs Biggins' rock cake initially destined for Will. And cupcakes suddenly seemed just too whimsical. Especially the way she iced them, which was the way Will liked. She piled them into a cake tin and put it away, then she assessed what shop-bought biscuits she had and decided that supermarket own-brand chocolate digestives were a good option. But she didn't want it to seem as though she'd opened a new packet in his honour, so she broke into the pack and stuffed the two broken biscuits which were topmost into her mouth. And, predictably, that's when the doorbell rang. Two minutes early – two all-important minutes in which she could have finished her mouthful and checked in the mirror for any stray crumbs. Instead, though she forced her mouth into concrete-mixer mode, she ended up spitting it all out into the bin before going straight to the door which was now being knocked upon.

‘Not on the loo, were you?' Xander said, standing there with a grin; the sun behind him like prearranged stage lighting.

‘No! Ha! Not this time.'

He looked a little puzzled, took his hand to the sides of her mouth and brushed away the drooping moustache of biscuit crumbs.

‘Don't ask!' Stella groaned, resting her forehead lightly, quickly, against his chest.

‘I might,' Xander said, sneaking a sniff of her hair.

‘Come on in,' she said, her smile as wide as her door, her cheeks the same vermilion. ‘Tea?'

‘Please.'

‘Biscuit?'

‘If you haven't eaten them all.'

‘Cheeky sod.'

‘Stroppy mare.'

In the small kitchen, watching Stella make tea, Xander thought, I really want to kiss her. That awkward bash of lips when I came in doesn't count. He looked at her, she was turned away from him, her head hung low as she willed the kettle to boil. Her neck. The scoop of her pony-tail and the shaft of light revealing the downy hairs feathering their way close to her skin at the nape of her neck. He was only a step away. Now he was against her, his arms folded gently across her as his lips touched down lightly just behind her ear. And again – lower. And again – other side. Just perceptibly, she moved herself backwards so she was firm against him and tight in his grasp. And then the kettle boiled and they found they were standing a little too close to the scorch of its steam.

They took their mugs and a biscuit through to the sitting room, where the kitchen table was. Stella sat but Xander perused the room, asking about the photos, asking for recommendations amongst her paperbacks, taking the piss out of certain CDs in her collection, finding they liked the same films, offering to lend her his
Sopranos
boxed set. Then he came and sat next to her, eating another biscuit; crumbs on his face which she took great pleasure flicking away – archly at first, then tenderly. Xander admired Will's Lego creation. And then Stella said, no! you mustn't touch it! it's a one-off – hands off you dreadful man! And she smacked the back of Xander's hand and he caught it and kissed inside her palm and it sent such a shot of desire through her she thought, shall I ask you to come to bed right now?

‘Shall we get some fresh air?'

* * *

They strolled towards town, deciding to cook a meal later and reeling off a list of favourite ingredients that would make for a very eclectic spread indeed.

‘Favourite dish in the world?' Xander asked her.

‘Baked potato and butter,' Stella replied. ‘You?'

‘Frog's legs.'

‘Seriously?'

‘No. Not seriously. Roast chicken.'

‘We could have roast chicken later?'

‘But I liked the sound of your fish cakes.'

‘OK – back to plan A then?'

‘Yes. Bananas. I can make these really amazing caramelized bananas with toasted sesame seeds.'

‘I
hate
sesame seeds.'

‘Don't be ridiculous – how can you
hate
something so tiny and inoffensive.'

‘You told me you hate alfalfa – and that's even less offensive.'

‘Exactly. It's just a whole tangle of nothingness. It's like talking to yourself. Pointless.'

Stella laughed. ‘Oh God – I talk to myself all the time.'

Xander laughed too. ‘I'd never have guessed!' And he jogged across the road. Stella was a few strides behind and forgot to judge the traffic, too busy wondering what on earth Xander made of cottage cheese if he thought alfalfa was bland. A car tooted her, another screeched its brakes, then a cyclist came from nowhere and swore at her and Xander laughed because she was so flustered. And as soon as she reached the kerb he swept her up tight and kissed her. There they stood – to the outside world, a couple snogging most inappropriately right in the middle of the pavement.

‘Let's not go shopping,' Stella murmured. ‘Let's go back home.'

‘By the way, what were they like – the consortium?' Xander wasn't sure where that came from when his mind had been gamely on returning directly to Stella's.

‘Awful,' said Stella. ‘I didn't like them at all.'

‘It would be the worst outcome,' said Xander. He was walking fast, irritated. ‘They'll just chop the estate up and sell it on as quickly as they can.'

‘I figured that.' Stella stopped him a moment. Had she detected a hint of accusation in his voice? Please no. That's unfair. ‘But if they make an offer, I can't do anything about it. You know that, don't you? I'd get sacked.'

Xander was silent. But then he sighed, and slowed down. ‘I know.' He looked at her and the discontent which vexed the shine off his eyes had nothing to do with her.

‘Do you still want to come back? Cook? And stuff?' she asked, a little unsure.

But he smiled and held out his hand to her and they walked back to her house, saying little and thinking no more about Longbridge.

Inside, Stella shut the front door and pressed her back against it. Xander stood a little in front of her and watched her thinking.

‘You OK?' he asked.

She nodded. Didn't look up. ‘It's been a while – for me.'

‘That's OK,' he said quietly. ‘We don't have to – if you don't want. If you don't feel ready.'

Stella regarded him. ‘I've thought of little else,' she said. ‘Actually.'

‘Hussy,' he teased.

‘Quite the opposite,' she said. ‘I've probably forgotten how to do it.'

Xander touched her hand and her fingertips furled around his. ‘For what it's worth,' he said, ‘I'm nervous too.' Stella looked at him, surprised. ‘It's true,' he shrugged. And he thought to himself how true it was. ‘It's been a long time for me too.'