Take a Chance on Me (21 page)

Abbie gazed up the stairs at Georgia. Georgia in turn looked first at her, then at Des standing in the living room doorway.

Abbie said, ‘Des, you can go.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I bet you are.’ Georgia’s expression was stony.

‘Look, this isn’t what it sounds like.’ So many explanations and excuses were tumbling around inside Abbie’s head, she couldn’t coherently voice any of them.

‘Isn’t it? Really? Well that’s a relief, because from where I’m standing it sounds like you’re having an affair with your boss who’s in love with you.’

‘Des. Tell her it’s not true.’

Des looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. ‘But she heard me say it. I
do
love you.’

‘
Out
.’ Trembling all over, Abbie yanked open the front door. When he’d gone, she closed it behind her and eyed Georgia again. ‘And what are you doing here anyway? You left the house twenty minutes ago. I saw you drive off.’

‘Right, listen, I wasn’t spying on you, OK?’ Georgia’s arms were tightly folded, her tone defiant. ‘I was a couple of miles down the road when I realized I’d left the drop-off list on my bed. And on the way back I thought I’d stop in at the shop and pick up a carton of milk, to save you the bother. So that’s what I did. I actually thought I was doing a nice thing.’ As she carried on, she stomped down the staircase. ‘
Then
I thought how about if I parked behind the house, sneaked in through the back door and left the milk out by the kettle so you’d get a huge surprise when you went into the kitchen? Because you wouldn’t have a clue how it had got there and it’d be like the fairies had left it for you! So I did that too, and you were still busy hoovering away, you didn’t hear me come in, and then I went upstairs to pick up my list.’ Pausing for breath at last, she concluded evenly, ‘Which is when it all started to go wrong. And I’m sorry, but how was I supposed to know your boyfriend was going to turn up?’

Abbie had never felt more sick. ‘He’s not my boyfriend, you don’t—’

‘Oh please, are you seriously going to tell me I don’t understand? I’ve spent my whole life watching it happen! My mother was either cheating on men or having them cheat on her. That’s why I loved it that you and my dad were so happy together. You were a proper married couple who didn’t do any of that horrible stuff. You trusted each other and I thought that was fantastic. Well, more fool me.’ Georgia’s blue eyes, so unnervingly like Tom’s, registered disdain. ‘Because you aren’t like that at all, are you? You’re exactly the same as my mother, keeping secrets and lying through your teeth. You’re cheating on my dad behind his back. And that is just…
disgusting
.’

‘OK, stop.’ Abbie’s voice rose in panic. ‘Stop right there, I
haven’t
cheated on Tom and I’m
not
disgusting!’

‘Hello? I heard it with my own ears… you and your boss spent the night together!’ On the attack now, Georgia said, ‘Was that in a bed, or are you going to tell me the two of you wee in a canoe?’

‘Nothing happened!’

Georgia looked repulsed. ‘Dad’s going to be devastated.’

Oh God. ‘Could we go into the kitchen?’ If she didn’t sit down, she’d fall down. Stumbling past her, Abbie said, ‘I’m going to explain everything and you’re going to listen. Because I never meant any of this to happen and it’s not my fault.’

‘You’re sounding more and more like my mum.’

‘If this is anyone’s fault,’ Abbie retaliated, ‘it’s your mother’s.’

Ten minutes later, Georgia knew everything. And while she was less angry than before, she was nowhere near ecstatic. Frankly, Abbie couldn’t blame her. She’d been forced to share information neither of them was comfortable with. There had been kissing, yes. In a double bed, yes. But no sex, God no, none at all, absolutely not. So no actual physical betrayal, surely.

Except Georgia didn’t appear to be convinced of this. And she looked utterly repulsed, as if she was being forced to picture the hideous scene in close-up, high-definition detail.

‘OK, so if you came home from work and you went upstairs and found Dad in bed with some other woman, you’d be absolutely fine with that, would you?’

‘No, no, of course I wouldn’t. But it only happened because I thought Tom had been unfaithful to me. I was distraught. And I wouldn’t
ever
have contacted Des.’ Abbie was vehement; how could she persuade Georgia to believe her? ‘He just happened to phone… and I was in such a state, he came over. But I didn’t cheat on Tom. And he doesn’t need to know what happened that night. I love him. More than anything. And he loves me. It would break his heart.’ Her fingers digging into her palms, she pleaded, ‘It’s best if you don’t tell him.’

Georgia twirled a strand of hair round and around her thumb, tightening it like a noose then letting it go. She studied Abbie in silence for several seconds before finally speaking.

‘You’d better be telling me the truth.’

‘I am.’ Scarcely able to breathe, Abbie nodded, then shook her head. ‘I never wanted any of this to happen.’

‘What are you going to do about your boss?’

‘Nothing. You heard what I was telling him earlier. Des knows I’m not interested in him. He’ll get over it.’ She prayed Des would be discreet.

Georgia gazed down at the floor. Finally she looked up. ‘OK, I won’t say anything to Dad.’

A lump expanded in Abbie’s throat. ‘Good.’ Good was the understatement of the year. ‘Thanks,’ she added, even though she knew Georgia was doing it for Tom’s sake, not hers.

Georgia’s don’t-thank-me shrug was a nerve-wracking echo of her father’s. ‘Anyway, I’d better get going. Lots to do.’ Still clutching her van keys, she moved towards the door.

‘See you later.’ Spotting the condensation-dotted carton next to the kettle, Abbie said hurriedly, ‘Oh, and thanks for the milk, that was really thoughtful of you. Um, so what would you like for dinner tonight? Tell me what you’re in the mood for and I’ll cook it. I could do steak! Or how about that spicy prawn thing with rice? What d’you think?’

Georgia gave her a pitying look. ‘I think you have to learn that the first rule of lying is to act normally. Because if you suddenly start being extra-nice to me, Dad’s going to be suspicious.’

‘Sorry.’ It was both a salutary lesson and a slap in the face. Abbie glanced down at her hands, which were still shaking.

Pausing in the doorway, Georgia turned and said, ‘We’ll have the spicy prawn thing.’

***

‘Come in. Oh, hello.’ Des colored when he saw who had knocked on the door to his office. ‘Come on in.’ He waited until she’d closed the door behind her, then said, ‘Look, I’m sorry about yesterday.’

He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night. Well, welcome to the club. Abbie said, ‘So you keep telling me. But you have to promise you won’t come to the house again
ever
.’

‘I promise.’ He nodded unhappily. ‘What happened with you and the girl?’

‘She’s not going to say anything to Tom. For now. But last night was just… horrible.’ A sob escaped Abbie’s chest without any warning; the strain of pretending everything was normal had been agonizing. She’d spent the evening cooking dinner, washing up afterwards, then cleaning the kitchen. When Tom had innocently asked, during the meal, if she knew if Des was signing up for the cricket team this year, Georgia’s stony gaze across the table had caused her stomach to clench with fear. How was she going to keep this up for the next week… month… year?

‘Don’t cry.’ Hurriedly patting his pockets and failing to come up with a handkerchief, Des yanked open the desk drawer and pulled out a Burger King napkin instead. ‘Here, use this.’

‘I can’t b-believe she found out like that. It’s just a nightmare.’ Abbie wiped her eyes with the thin, scratchy paper. ‘She said she thought me and Tom were happy together, she couldn’t believe I’d done something like that to him. She’s on his side all the way.’

‘Do you want me to talk to her?’

‘God, are you mad? No way! She heard what you said, all that stuff about… you know…’

‘Loving you? I said it and I meant it.’ Des stayed calm. ‘But I won’t tell Tom. And I won’t tell him about our night together either. Whatever happens from now on, it’s up to you. If he hears it from anyone, you’ll know it won’t have been me.’

Was she stupid to trust him? Abbie decided she knew Des well enough to believe what he said. He was an honorable man who wouldn’t betray her.

‘We’re just going to carry on as if nothing’s happened.’ She wondered if this was actually possible, but what other choice did they have? ‘I was going to hand in my notice here, but then everyone would want to know why, and I can’t think of a reason.’

‘Good.’ Des shook his head. ‘I don’t want you to leave. We’ll get through this, you’ll see.’

Ow.

OK, this wasn’t funny. As if he didn’t have enough to contend with already.

Ow, ow, fucking
ow
.

Right, just breathe slowly. That’s it, in and out, you can do it—

OWWWW!

Ash caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and clutched the shower door for support. He looked like Quasimodo. A fat, pale, pathetic Quasimodo. Worse, in fact, because in all the pictures of Quasimodo he’d ever seen, he’d at least been wearing clothes.

Carefully, inch by inch, Ash eased himself out of the shower cubicle in a stooped, Neanderthal way. You saw the government health warnings on packets of cigarettes and on all those drink ads on TV, but it never occurred to the bloody government, did it, to slap stickers on bottles of shampoo?

Warning: dropping this in the shower and bending down to pick it up could seriously damage your health.

Not to mention your bendability.

And it had to happen today of all days, less than four hours before embarking on the date of a lifetime. At seven-thirty he was due to pick Fia up from the Hollybush, drive her into Bristol, and sit next to her through a two-hour performance of
Madame Butterfly
. He’d been counting down the minutes, so excited he hadn’t even been able to eat anything today.

Well, somebody had to be excited about it. Last night in the pub, Tom had suggested getting a group together to go and see the new James Bond film at the Vue this evening. Fia, collecting plates from their table, had said eagerly, ‘Ooh, I love James Bond, can I come along too?’ Appalled, Ash had been forced to blurt out, ‘But we’re going to the Pargeter Theatre tomorrow night, remember?’

And Fia, who had clearly forgotten all about it, had summoned up a smile and exclaimed, ‘Oh yes, that’s right, so we are.’

And now this. To cap it all, he’d gone and put his bloody back out. Typical. Gingerly wrapping himself in his dressing gown, he made his way ultra-slowly downstairs. Every step was agony. Right, just keep moving and maybe things would improve, the muscle spasm would ease or somehow loosen up.

After twenty minutes the pain was, if anything, worse. It felt as if the Incredible Hulk had jammed his spine into a giant vice and was sadistically tightening it.

Speaking of sadists…

Already aware of the outcome of the conversation he was about to have, out of desperation, Ash gave it a shot anyway.

‘I’m sorry,’ drawled the receptionist who answered the phone, ‘if you want to see the doctor, you have to phone this number between eight-thirty and eight-fifty in the morning.’

She didn’t sound remotely sorry. She sounded as if nothing gave her more pleasure than to make grown men cry.

‘But something just went in my back.’ Shit, it even hurt to
speak
. ‘At eight-thirty this morning I was fine.’

‘In that case, try calling us tomorrow morning and we’ll see if we can fit you in then.’

Try
being the operative word, because the line was usually jammed with desperate sick people dialing over and over again.

‘But I need to see someone today. It’s urgent.’ Ash spoke through gritted teeth. ‘How about if I come along to the office and just wait until everyone else has been seen?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous; you can’t do that! The doctor’s a very busy man.’ Irritably, the receptionist said, ‘His list is full. We don’t have people just turning up here.’

‘But I need to be seen!’

‘Can you move at all? Or are you completely immobile?’

‘I can move a bit. But it’s very painful.’
And I have a date tonight, you hideous old bag. When did you last have one of those, eh?

‘If you can move, you can wait till tomorrow. Or if you really want to be a nuisance, get yourself off to Casualty. We can’t help you.’

Which kind of made you wonder why she’d bothered picking up the phone in the first place. And now she’d ended the call, not even allowing him the satisfaction of hanging up on her. Hissing air out between his teeth, Ash inched his way over to the kitchen drawer that doubled as a medicine cabinet. He searched through the jumble of antacids, Elastoplasts, cans of Deep Heat and antiseptic spray, assorted Sinex inhalers, and sachets of Lem-sip. Painkillers, where were the painkillers? Don’t say he’d used them all without realizing and—OK, right, two ibuprofen, that’d have to do. At least they were better than nothing; they’d take the edge off.

Thirty minutes later, the pain was as ferocious as ever. The Incredible Hulk showed no signs of easing the pressure. It was four-thirty and driving a car would be a physical impossibility. Ash thought the situation through. If he called for a taxi to pick him up and take him to Casualty there was no telling how long he’d have to wait before being seen. So that was out of the question, because if it killed him, he wasn’t going to miss out on his big date.

And at this rate it might well kill him. OK, not literally. But he was definitely going to need something else to get through this. Back at the medicine drawer, Ash did some more searching. Packets of Tunes. Micropore tape. Strepsils. Cod liver oil capsules the size of grapes, that got stuck in your gullet and gave you fish-breath. Hayfever tablets. Night Nurse. Sun cream that must be at least three years old… hang on, Night Nurse? That had pain stuff in it, right? He scanned the side of the bottle. Contains aspirin. Brilliant, you were definitely allowed to take ibuprofen with aspirin.

Negotiating the childproof top took some doing and increased the spasm in his back, but he breathed through the pain—God, this had to be worse than childbirth—and glugged down a couple of mouthfuls.

By five-thirty, he’d ordered a cab to take them to the theatre, taken another
small
sip of Night Nurse, and spent fifteen minutes getting his boxer shorts on, with the help of a hoopla throwing action and a wire coat hanger. One final desperate trawl through the medicine drawer came up with a lone orange tablet left over from his mother’s last visit when she’d been over here recuperating from her neck-lift, eyebag-reduction, and whole-body lipo. His mother, who had moved to Cape Town six years ago, had embraced self-improvement in a major way. In her view, a year without plastic surgery was a year wasted. She was a mass consumer of painkillers. Ash peered at the tablet, badly in need of help.

But since he wasn’t stupid, he phoned his mother first.

‘Mum? Those orange tablets you were taking when you were over here last year. What were they for?’

‘Hello darling! Goodness, let me see, orange, orange… were they oval or circular?’

‘Oval.’

‘Glossy or matte?’

‘Um, glossy.’

‘Oh, I know, something beginning with B… God, listen to me, memory like a thing with holes in! Darling, why do you want to know?’

‘There’s a leftover one here. And I’ve done my back in,’ said Ash. ‘I’m desperate.’

‘Oh go on, darling, take it. Those things got me through post-op. So how are you otherwise? Lost any weight yet?’

‘No.’ He swallowed the tablet.

‘Thought any more about liposuction?’

‘Funnily enough, I haven’t.’

‘Now, now darling, don’t get huffy, you should give it a go! They sucked
gallons
of fat out of me!’

‘Bye, Mum.’ Ash hung up the phone before she could start interrogating him about girlfriends. Some women got evangelical about religion, but these days his barely recognizable mother preached the gospel of plastic surgery. She was also convinced that if he followed her example, his love life would improve to no end.

And who knew? Maybe she was right.

God, no wonder he was messed up.