Thinking of You (28 page)

“Oh God, of course, come in!”

“He's having you on.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “It's nothing more than a scratch. I could have done better with one of my fingernails.”

“I want to hear all about it,” said Jem as she ushered them inside.

“Ha, that's nothing. Wait till you hear what happened when your mum went to Pembroke Road to pick up the rest of your stuff.”

 

The change in Jem was unbelievable, heartwarming. For once in her life, Ginny discovered, she had acted on impulse and it had paid off. Jem, hugging her, had said, “Mum, I can't believe you did this. Everything's sorted out now. I'm so happy.”

“She just couldn't bear the thought of having you back here with her,” said Lucy. “She was desperate.”

Ginny smiled at them, because every maternal fiber of her being longed to hold on to Jem for ever, keeping her safe from harm at home. They were young; they couldn't begin to understand that making it possible for her daughter to leave again was one of the most grown-up things she'd ever done.

But this time, she knew, Jem would be happy. Tomorrow evening she was driving them back up to Bristol. For the last few weeks of term all three would be staying with Rhona in Henbury. It was complicated but not impossible; Davy was moving into the tiny bedroom that had been Lucy's, and Lucy and Jem were taking over his old room. Together, they were going to put all their energy into revising for their exams and hopefully Jem would be able to put in enough work to pass. Then, after the summer break, Lucy and Jem would get a flat-share together, hopefully with someone less good-looking but with a far nicer personality than—

“Mum, you have to tell me what happened with Rupert!”

Oh yes, that had been fun. Just for a split second when he'd opened the front door, Rupert's face had been a picture.

***

“Hello, Rupert,” Ginny said brightly. “So you managed to get out of the bathroom then. I've come to pick up the rest of Jem's things. And her deposit.”

His lip curled. “You're welcome to take her junk away. I'm keeping the deposit in lieu of notice.”

“Rupert, don't be like that. There's no need.” Marching into the flat, Ginny gave him a pitying look. “Besides, I'm not leaving until you've paid me back the money. In cash.”

Well, why not? Five hundred pounds was five hundred pounds. And she must have looked as if she meant business, because Rupert heaved a sigh and disappeared into his bedroom, returning a couple of minutes later with a roll of twenty-pound notes.

“You don't have to count them.”

“Oh, but I will. Honesty hasn't always been your best policy, has it?” Having checked that all the money was there, Ginny went into Jem's room and collected the last of her belongings. When she reemerged, Rupert was standing in the living room, smoking a cigarette, looking out of the window at Davy in the car below.

“So you've got Stokes with you. Don't tell me he's given up the cleaning job to become your minder.”

“Rupert, he's worth ten of you.” Patiently, Ginny said, “I don't suppose you'll ever understand that, but at least everyone else does. And Davy's happy with himself.”

Rupert smirked, exhaling a stream of smoke. “You think I'm not?”

“Oh, I'm sure you are now. You're living your own life, doing whatever you like and not caring who else gets hurt. But that's the kind of attitude that comes back to bite you. And when it does, you'll know how it feels to be the one on the receiving end.”

He raised a laconic eyebrow. “Lecture over? Am I supposed to fall to my knees and beg forgiveness for my sins?”

“Not at all,” said Ginny. “In fact I'm glad it happened. My daughter made a huge mistake, but she's learned her lesson. With a bit of luck she'll steer clear of boys like you in future.”

“Boys like me.” Amused, Rupert flicked his cigarette out of the window.

“Plenty of money, no morals. Not what most people want from a relationship.” Annoyed by the cigarette thing, Ginny made the comment she'd been debating whether to mention. “I think your mother came to much the same conclusion, didn't she?”

The arrogant half smile disappeared from Rupert's face; he stiffened, instantly on his guard. “Excuse me?”

“Your mother. You told me she was dead, remember?” Ginny shook her head. “I felt terrible at the time. But you weren't actually telling the truth, were you?”

She watched him turn pale; God bless the Internet, and Finn too for dimly recognizing Rupert's double-barreled surname.

“She's dead as far as I'm concerned,” Rupert said flatly.

“Your father had lots of affairs while they were married. He made her desperately unhappy, but she stuck it out because of you. Then, when you were thirteen and away at boarding school, she fell in love with another man. And when your father found out about this, he kicked her out.”

“OK, said what you wanted to say? You can go now.” Stony-eyed, Rupert lit another cigarette.

“In a minute.” Ginny had no intention of stopping. “So you've refused to have anything to do with your mum ever since. But she's still with the same man and they're very happy together. He sounds like a lovely person.”

“I wouldn't know.” Rupert's jaw was taut. “Well, you've done your homework.”

“Your mum must miss you terribly.” Her tone gentler now, Ginny said, “I wish you'd consider seeing her again.”

“No chance.” A muscle flickered in his cheek.

“You've got two little half sisters you've never met.”

“Who live in government housing in a tower block in Hackney. With my mother and a tattooed window-fitter called Darren. There, I've said it. Happy now?”

Ginny almost—
almost
—felt sorry for him.

“I'm fine. How about you?”

“Best day of my life.” Flick went the second cigarette, sailing through the window and landing on the pavement below. “Congratulations. I suppose you've told Jem.”

He was both furious and mortified. Ginny shook her head. “I haven't. But I might if I hear you've said or done anything to upset her. From now on, I'd just like you to keep away from my daughter and her friends, OK?” She gathered up the bags containing Jem's things and indicated that Rupert could open the front door. As he did so, she added, “And it wouldn't kill you to use an ashtray.”

***

Since she wasn't a saint, it had almost killed Ginny to keep the story of Rupert's mother to herself. But a small part of her had known that publicly humiliating Rupert was unlikely to spur him into making contact with his mother.

Less altruistically, a far greater part of her had whispered that if softhearted Jem were to hear of it, she would only feel sorry for Rupert and might find herself being drawn to his new-found vulnerability.

That was the last thing they needed.

So she had heroically withheld the information. As far as Jem, Davy, and Lucy were concerned, she had simply given Rupert a coruscating piece of her mind and successfully wiped the smirk off his face.

“Which I did,” she told Finn now, in the restaurant on Monday lunchtime. “Thanks to you.”

He grinned. “My pleasure. Lucky he had an unusual name.”

“Lucky you remembered it,” said Ginny.

By delicious coincidence, Finn had actually met Elizabeth Derris-Beck eighteen months ago when she had come into his shop in London to sell her old engagement ring. Well-spoken, charming, and accompanied by her young daughters, she had relayed the whole story of her miserable first marriage and told Finn how deliriously happy she was now with her new man and new life. The ring had been a serious square-cut emerald flanked by top quality diamonds. When the necessary paperwork had been completed, Elizabeth had hugged her girls and said cheerfully, “That's us off to Lapland to see Father Christmas. And the rest goes toward a new car.”

“She sent me a photo of the four of them in a sleigh outside Santa's house,” Finn added. “And a note thanking me for buying the ring. She said they'd had the best holiday of their lives.”

“Maybe next year you and Tamsin could take Mae.” Ginny felt funny saying it; next year was a long time ahead.

“Maybe. So your weekend was a success.”

“Wonderful. Davy and Lucy are fantastic. We had a picnic on the beach yesterday, and a sandcastle competition. Lucy and Jem went swimming. Davy's phone hasn't stopped with friends calling to talk to him about how he saved Marcus McBride's life. It's done wonders for his confidence. I feel as proud as if he were my own son. And then last night I drove them back to Bristol. Jem's going to be fine, I know it. They'll look after her.”

“That's good news. You must be relieved,” said Finn.

Ginny smiled and nodded, because he sounded as if he really cared. And he was right; it was a happy ending. But what she couldn't tell him was that arriving back in Portsilver at midnight had been a depressing experience; Laurel was upstairs asleep and the house had seemed unbearably quiet. She had gone to bed feeling empty, lonely, and bereft all over again, unable to stop herself thinking,
What
about
me?

 

“Stop ogling the boss.”

Ginny jumped, unaware that Evie had emerged from the restaurant kitchen. “I wasn't!”

“Yes you were.” Evie's eyes danced. “Mind you, I can't say I blame you. Gorgeous shoulders. Spectacular bum.”

“Shhh.” Did Evie have to be quite so loud? Finn was only twenty feet away, showing out the last diners of the afternoon. And now he was closing the door, turning to see what all the shushing was about.

“What's going on?”

“Nothing.” Evie, who had no shame, said, “We were just admiring your body.”

“
You
were,” said Ginny, glasses clinking as she indignantly gathered them up.

“Fine, I was admiring. You were ogling.”

“I wasn't. I was thinking about Jem.” Keen to change the subject, Ginny said, “She phoned this morning to tell me her tutor's really pleased with all the work she's put in over the last couple of weeks. He thinks she might scrape through her exams after all.”

“That's great news.” Evie knew how worried she'd been about Jem. “But I still know an ogle when I see one. I have an eye for these things.”

Not to mention a mouth. What a shame it couldn't be zipped shut. “You want to get out more.” Ginny, clanking past with her hands full of glasses, said, “Some of us have more important things to think about than men's bodies.”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “Even mine?”

The kitchen was empty apart from Tom, the washer-upper, busy at the sink.

“You look hot.” He surveyed Ginny's hectically pink cheeks.

She took extra care unloading the glasses, giving herself time to recover. “Just busy, Tom.”

God, life would be so much easier if only she didn't have this overheating problem.

OK, life would be so much easier if only she could get over this hopeless, pointless,
ridiculous
crush.

As if to hammer the point home, just as she headed back to the dining room, the front door opened and Tamsin burst into the restaurant with Mae on her hip.

“I'm in love.” Tamsin's eyes were shining.

Which was the kind of announcement that might have got Ginny's hopes up, except that in her free hand Tamsin was waving some kind of glossy brochure. Rushing over to Finn, she gave him a don't-smudge-my-lipstick kiss and said, “Darling, you have to see it. Six bedrooms, sea views, Clive Christian kitchen, and an en suite bathroom to die for. It's the house of our dreams, a proper family home. I told the agent we'd meet him there at five o'clock.”

“Six bedrooms.” Finn studied the brochure in alarm. “Jesus, have you seen how much they're asking for it?”

“That's only a guide price; we can make an offer.” Eagerly pointing to the photos, Tamsin said, “Look at the billiard room. And that garden! And six bedrooms aren't so many when this is the rest of our lives we're talking about.” She turned her bewitching smile on him. “After all, you know we don't want Mae to be an only child.”

Ginny felt a bit sick, but there was no escaping their domestic bliss. Tamsin insisted on showing her and Evie the brochure, cooing delightedly over every detail of the house and explaining how unsuitable the flat was now that Mae was walking.

“We have to get it. It's just perfect.” Swishing back her long hair, Tamsin gave Ginny a sympathetic look. “Yours is only semidetached, isn't it? I bet you'd love to live in a house like this?”

Ginny wondered what Tamsin would do if she said, “Yes, but only if I could live in it with Finn.”

Obviously she didn't say it. Heavens, what was the matter with her today? Half an hour ago she'd been quietly ogling Finn from a distance. (Wouldn't Evie be delighted to know she'd been right?) And now here she was, fantasizing about making smart remarks to her rival.

Except Tamsin wasn't a rival, was she? Tamsin was having a proper grown-up relationship with Finn, rather than a sad, not-proper-at-all fantasy one.

Dutifully Ginny said, “It looks wonderful.”

“Dadadablaaa,” sang Mae, clapping her hands at Finn.

“You want to go to Daddy? Here, you take her. She weighs a ton.” Having passed Mae over to him, Tamsin gazed raptly at the two of them, then back at the photograph of the house. “How could any child not be happy, growing up in a place like this?”

***

Driving home from the restaurant, Ginny resolved to get a grip, put the whole Finn thing behind her, and get on with her life. Let's face it, she wasn't the first woman ever to have a one-off fling with her very attractive boss and she certainly wouldn't be the last.

Anyway, think positive, now it was time to move on. Absolutely. Make the most of what she had, which was a lot. Healthy happy daughter. A job she enjoyed. A nice house, even if Tamsin probably felt sorry for her having to live in such a shoebox. And there were so many other things to take pleasure in too, like art, books, walking on the beach, listening to music…

Feeling more positive already, Ginny buzzed down the car windows and made a conscious decision to find joy in those small things in life that it was only too easy to overlook, like the sunshine warming her face and those delicious little white clouds dotting the sky. Cornwall was beautiful. She was wearing her favorite white angora sweater, which looked a tiny bit like a cloud and hadn't gone bobbly yet. David Gray was singing on the radio and she loved David Gray, especially the way he wobbled his head. Turning up the volume, Ginny was tempted to sing along, but that might spoil it; the last thing David needed was her caterwauling mucking up his beautiful, heartfelt vocals. She'd just listen instead and think of other miraculous things like the velvety smoothness of pebbles, the crumbly deliciousness of Laurel's lemon drizzle cake, the incomparable sight of dolphins frolicking in the sea off Portsilver Point, the smell of hot tarmac…

Oh yes, hot tarmac, one of the all-time greats. And what a good job she hadn't been bellowing along to the radio. Having rounded the bend, Ginny slowed to a halt and beamed at the middle-aged man holding the Stop/Go lollipop sign currently directing her to Stop. Little did he imagine what a lucky escape he'd just had, not having been forced to hear her singing voice.

Ahead of him, two more council workers busily got on with the business of tarmacking a rectangular patch on the left-hand side of the road. A bus and a couple of cars passed through on the other side.

“Lovely day,” Ginny called over to the lollipop man, who was wrinkled and leathery from long years in the sun.

“Too nice to be working.” He beamed back at her, evidently a cheery soul. Well, why wouldn't he be, able to enjoy the smell of fresh tarmac all day long? With a flourish he swiveled the lollipop sign round to Go and Ginny gave him a little wave as she set off, breathing in deeply in order not to miss a single lungful of the hot, tarry deliciousness.

All too soon the moment was past, the joy behind her. Sniffing the air, desperate for one last hit and not finding it, Ginny was bereft. Half a mile further down the road and unable to bear it a second longer, she pulled into a driveway and rapidly reversed the car. It was no good; you couldn't open a bag of Maltesers and only eat one, could you? Exactly. And if she wanted to go back and experience the smell of tar again… well, was there anything wrong with that? Crikey, it wasn't against the law. And, unlike Maltesers, it didn't have any calories. It was one of life's harmless pleasures, for heaven's sake. What's more, it was free.

The lollipop man looked momentarily surprised when he saw her. As luck would have it, Ginny again found herself up against the Stop sign.

“You again?” He winked at her. “Are you stalking me? Look, I'd love to meet up with you for a drink but my old lady would have my guts for garters.”

Ginny grinned, because guts for garters always conjured up a wonderfully bizarre image in her mind. Then she got on with the serious business of inhaling the tar fumes which were, if such a thing was possible, even more irresistible this time. In fact, would it be possible to buy some tarmac from these men? Would they think she was weird if she asked them? And if they said no, maybe she could come back after they'd gone, like tonight under cover of darkness, and just dig up a little bit of tar before it set solid?

“Forget something, did you?” Lollipop man nodded genially. “Bad as my old lady. She'd forget her head if it wasn't screwed on.”

Jolly banter over, he swiveled the lollipop and waved Ginny through for the second time. She breathed in the addictive scent of the tar as she passed it being spread like glossy, sticky jam on the other side of the road.

Moments later the elusive sense of familiarity finally clicked into place in her brain and Ginny realized when she had last been enthralled by the smell, so long ago now that it simply hadn't registered before. There had been major road repairs going on outside the offices she'd been working in at the time and everyone else had grumbled constantly about the disruption, the smells, and the noise. But she had loved it all so much that she'd taken to sitting outside on the wall during her lunch breaks, watching the goings-on and eating her sandwiches.

Actually,
guzzling
her sandwiches, because that was when she'd been…

When she'd been…

Oh no, no, surely not…

***

Somehow, on autopilot, Ginny managed to park the car at only a slightly wonky angle in the town's central car park. When she climbed out, her legs almost gave way. OK, collapsing in a heap would just waste time and be an embarrassment. Girding herself, she clutched her handbag and headed for the shops.

At the threshold of the pharmacy, she stopped. The assistants knew her here; she'd spent many a happy hour browsing in the aisles, trying eye shadows on the back of her hand, and choosing lipsticks. What would they think if they saw her come in and buy a… no, she'd have to go somewhere else.

There was another smaller pharmacy in St. Aldam's Square that didn't stock any makeup so she'd never visited it before. Having done the deed, Ginny emerged and hurried away, checking left and right as she went, making sure there was no one around who might recognize her and demand to know what was in her bag.

The public lavatories weren't ideal but getting home wasn't an option; that would take fifteen minutes and she had to know now. And they were at least very nice public lavatories, scrupulously clean and freshly painted, with bright hanging baskets of flowers outside.

Locking herself in the far cubicle, Ginny trembled as she unwrapped the packet and read the instructions. She peed on the stick and closed her eyes, waiting for the chemicals to do their thing. Outside the cubicle she could hear a mother struggling with a baby in a stroller and simultaneously trying to persuade her young daughter to wash her hands.

“Come on, Megan, be a good girl, don't splash.”

“It's water!”

“I know, darling, but Thomas doesn't like it. Just keep the water away from him.”

Time was up. Ginny opened her eyes and looked at the stick thing.

Oh God.

Oh
God.

Outside, a scuffle ensued, accompanied by the sound of vigorous splashing and the outraged wails of a small baby. Ginny gazed blankly at the gray door of her cubicle and heard Megan giggling in triumph, her mission accomplished. The baby, evidently drenched, emitted ear-splitting howls of protest.

Megan's mother said with resignation, “Oh, you silly girl, look what you've done now.
That's
not very clever, is it?”

You're telling me, thought Ginny.