When Good Friends Go Bad (41 page)

'Sure, Mom.' He jogged obligingly away.

'And he's supposed to be Irwin Beidlebaum's son? Yeah, right.'

Meg pursed her lips, a faraway look in her green eyes. 'He could have been. I wanted him to be. So did Irwin at first. If the old toerag hadn't got hitched again, we'd all still be happy campers. I don't ever want Georgina to know. You gotta promise me!'

'I promise.' Jen's head was reeling. 'Was it that night? In the Marlow Arms?'

She nodded. 'It only happened once. Way too much booze, not a single functioning brain cell to tell me it was a real bad idea.' Meg twirled a strand of long red hair around a finger, casting her eyes ruefully to the heavens. 'Now you see why I was loathe for you guys to meet? It wasn't so obvious at first but as he's gotten older . . .'

'Are you a hundred per cent certain?'

Her mouth quirked. 'Well there might be a few other contenders, I wasn't exactly locked at the knees back then, but no one else is in the front running. Take a look, you tell me.' She hitched her carry-on bag over her shoulder as they both glanced across at her son, being served by a cashier. 'I don't have definite proof. I could push for tests but well, shoot . . .' She sighed and then resumed. 'For a while there I was kind of thinking . . . the bank of Irwin has run dry, and until I get my healing practice going – if ever – the only money coming in is what I earn as a lousy waitress. There wasn't exactly a line-up of eager candidates wanting to pay Zeb's living expenses, health insurance, college tuition, and Giordani's undoubtedly worth a mint. But looks like Mace wants to step into the uncle role – he's keen that Zeb should go to a good school. And, hey, now I think about it the resemblance isn't that strong. You know, appearances can be deceiving.'

'Yes, they can.' Jen nodded, watching Zeb weave his way back through the crowded kiosk.

'No point in speculating about things that we'll never know for sure.' Meg followed her gaze.

'No point at all.' Jen felt choked. 'How's your angel? Still sitting on your shoulder?'

'Actually he's standing behind you, honey. He has a message for you.'

'He does?' Jen turned around but of course all she could see was a teenage girl reading
Cosmo.
Zeb skidded to a halt beside them, his hands full of plastic bags.

'Yes.' Meg put her arm around him. 'He says don't worry, man, the show ain't over till the fat lady sings.'

Zeb grinned. Jen gawped, then laughed so hard she almost knocked over a stand of postcards.

'That's a message?' she said, wiping her eyes.

'From my lips to God's ear.' Meg touched the crystal around her neck. 'You don't hate me, do you, Jen?'

'No, Meg,' Jen gave her a hug, 'I could never hate you. You'll always be my heroine for life.'

'Heroine for life? Where did that spring from?'

'The first morning we met. My first impression of you. I looked it up recently. Here, I wrote it down.' She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. 'According to Wikipedia, heroine refers to characters that in the face of danger and adversity or from a
position of weakness,'
she emphasised the last three words, 'display courage and the will for self-sacrifice – that is, heroism – for some greater good, originally of martial courage or excellence but extended to more general moral excellence.'

'Moral excellence?' Meg smiled ruefully.

'When the chips were down, Meg, you were there for us. Standing up to Dugan. Not telling Georgina about my silliness with Aiden. And now,' she gestured toward Zeb, 'sacrificing potential child support for Georgina's happiness. Hey, now that's a true heroine.'

'Well then you're mine, dude.' Meg squeezed her back. 'You're mine too.'

'You're ready to exchange contracts, Mrs Stoneman. All you need do is sign the documents and send them back to the office. We already have Mr Stoneman's signature and the courier could be there in ten minutes if you're not going out.'

'I'm in all morning.'

So, all those insurmountable problems with the Radcliffes had suddenly resolved themselves and they were now all set to go. Today would mark the end of her and Ollie owning this house, 36 Woburn Close. It was an odd feeling. Not quite sad, but something close. On one hand she was glad to get shot of it. She'd never loved the house. Their lives had taken a downhill turn from the moment they'd moved in. On the other hand it wasn't to blame. There'd been joyful moments too, celebrations, laughter, family evenings with all three of them watching Disney films by the fake-log gas fire. And thankfully the new buyers thought it was perfect. But still it was the end of an era. And the new one ahead of her looked hazy and a little bereft.

She switched on the radio. The announcer was twittering on about the weather. 'Moderate snow likely in the afternoon . . . High of minus two degrees Celsius . . . Wind east-south-east around fifteen knots, gusting to twenty knots. After several false starts, looks like we may have a white Christmas in spite of everything. Coral have cut the odds by . . .'

She was packing books in boxes when the doorbell rang. Jen grabbed a pen from a kitchen drawer and answered it. Instead of the courier she'd been expecting, it was Ollie standing on the doorstep holding a large thin rectangular package.

'Early Christmas present,' he said, holding it out.

'Coffee?' Jen moved aside to let him in. 'Kettle's just boiled.'

'I've got a better idea.' He brought his other hand out from behind his back with a bottle of Moët.

'At eleven?' She looked at the clock. This was getting to be a habit. First Helen, now Ollie.

'What better time? It's a big day.'

Jen was bringing out a couple of champagne flutes when the bell rang again.

'I'll get it.' Ollie jumped up, speeding for the door. He joined her in the kitchen moments later. 'It's a courier from the solicitor's office. He's waiting outside.'

'Contracts arrived?'

'Guess so.' He handed her a brown envelope. 'You need to put your signature there, next to mine, and he'll take it right back. They can exchange this afternoon apparently.'

'I know.' She placed the papers on the table and leafed through to the appropriate pages for signature. 'Now we really do have something to celebrate, don't we?'

'Don't we just?' He pulled his chair close, his forearms inches away from her own, eyeing her as if she was a time bomb and he had to decide between the red and blue wires.

'I heard you missed me.' She couldn't resist a sidelong peek even as she initialled pages.

Ollie grinned and took a sip of champagne. 'Said who?'

'Saul told Helen. Helen told me.'

'Big mouths,' he swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as he put his glass down. 'I knew they'd blab.'

Jen sat down, pen poised, then hesitated. 'But if that's true – why couldn't you just tell me that yourself?'

'Are you serious?' His youthful face sparkled – or not so youthful, she realised now. He seemed different, or maybe she hadn't really looked at him for a while. A man, not a kid. He was thirty, after all. 'After the way you attacked that poor bugger in Wales?' he teased. 'I'm treading very carefully around you from now on.'

'Like you were ever scared of anything.'

'Maybe I thought you'd get even more big-headed than you are already.' He went back to her question, still grinning. 'All these men pursuing you madly the minute I'm out of the picture.'

'Ha bloody ha.' She felt wretched suddenly. What must he think of her? First Aiden, then Dugan. At least she'd broken her perfect-housewife image. Next thing she'd be traipsing around Huntsleigh high street in leather miniskirts and fishnet stockings. And maybe collagen lips, puffed up to look like a grouper. Or a groupie. A groupie grouper.

Ollie's face turned grave. 'What happened to us, Jen?'

'Life, I suppose.' Jen put the pen down again and looked up to meet his so very blue eyes. 'Great expectations, as Charles Dickens might say. Too great to live up to. I used to miss you so much when you went away to work even though I knew that was part of the deal, that you were doing it for us.' She made a face, uncomfortable with her own mawkishness. 'Perhaps all the time, subconsciously, I thought you were going to get off with a camel. Or find yourself taken hostage in some stupid terrorist situation and cost me a small ransom.'

He smiled. 'I have to say, Saul might be more knowledgeable than you about football, cars and cooking but he doesn't have your sweet way with words.' He put his hand over hers and she could feel a strange flutter. 'You know, you were my best friend, Jen.'

'And you were mine, Ollie.'

She could smell his familiar spicy aftershave as he let go. She picked up the pen again, the pen that would allow them to lose this house, untie their ship, set Jen forever adrift into the big wide world.

And in microseconds her mind flashed back to all the wonderful and tragic things that had happened through their marriage. Like when Jen and Ollie played in the parents versus kids football match and Jen took a ferocious kick at the goal, only to have the ball bounce off the post and hit Ollie in the face. And the time Chloe played in her first concert with the school orchestra and she dropped her bow and the audience gasped while she quickly picked it up and she and Ollie were instantly on their feet, applauding wildly in a standing ovation. And sitting up all night together by Chloe's bed when she was in hospital with suspected meningitis. And burying her hamster Bucky in a torrential downpour because Chloe was grief-stricken and Ollie due to fly out at dawn the next day. And the way Ollie held her hand when she was giving birth to Chloe and wouldn't let go, even though he had deep gouges in his fist from her clawing nails. And their wedding day when they both got the giggles over a pimple on the registrar's nose and almost couldn't get out their vows from falling about in hysterics.

She felt as if she was drowning, her entire marriage appearing before her eyes as she sank for the third time. Life as she knew it was ending. For good or bad.

A few discreet coughs from the doorway reminded them that the courier was still waiting.

'We mustn't disappoint the Radcliffes,' Ollie said, 'they've waited a long time for this.' He handed her the pen and she signed her name for the last time and took the papers down the hall to the courier.

'I've never liked this place,' he said, staring around. 'I know you were in love with it but . . .'

'Me?' Jen glared at him. 'You picked it if I remember correctly.'

'You wanted to live in Huntsleigh.'

'You said it was modern and easy to keep clean,' she reminded him indignantly.

'Little did I know,' he said. 'Open your present.'

It was a painting. Big swirly clouds and a whirling sun over a landscape of wheatfields and crop circles and a tumbledown cottage. On the doorstep sat a little black cat. The brass plate on the frame read
Freedom.

'An original Bedlow,' he said. 'Should be worth a fortune some day.'

'It's lovely, Ollie,' she kissed his cheek. 'That reminds me, I've got something for you.' Jen rose to her feet, went over to a drawer and picked out a six-inch-square red leather box. 'Look inside.'

Ollie opened the lid and poked around. 'Green tissue paper?' He raised his eyebrows.

'Inside the green tissue paper. That was the smallest box we had.'

Carefully he removed the wrappings, to reveal his wedding ring. She took it out and placed it in his palm.

He turned it around in his fingers. 'You found it?' His face was almost awestruck, staring at the small item as if mesmerised.

'Well I didn't get it remade, if that's what you're imagining. It was in your old sports bag. Weird timing, eh?'

'Very weird.' There was a long pause and then they both spoke at once.

'Look . . .'

'I was thinking . . .'

'You first.'

'No, you.'

'All right,' Ollie sighed. 'You know, Jen, I've missed you. Your face. Your smile. Your laugh. The way you sing a song, saying the words before you sing them. The maniacal way you clean the table before we've finished eating. The way you chase after me and Chloe with your dustpan, your madness and eccentricity.'

'Hey stop, stop,' she laughed. 'It started well but now you're making me sound like I'm some type of nutcase.'

'Well, you know, I'd given up on us. It seemed that whatever I did I couldn't make you happy. But, lately, well, maybe since you met up with those friends of yours . . . it's like you're back to the funny, bright, off-the-wall girl I fell in love with. And I'm having real trouble letting her go.'

'What about Hot Lips Hutton?' She couldn't contain herself.

'Frances? She's a nice lady,' he said. 'But she was only ever a friend, whatever Saul and Helen dreamed up. I wasn't ready to get involved again so soon. Besides,' he looked at her guilelessly, 'I'm not even sure she thought about me in that way.'

Jen laughed, she couldn't help it. The day suddenly seemed twenty degrees sunnier. 'Oh Ollie,' she said, 'even despite Euro Disney? That's
exactly
why I love you.'

'You love me?'

'Yes.' She nodded vigorously. 'Yes, I bloody do.'

They snuggled up together in the sitting room on the beige cotton sofa.

'And this is the first thing I'm getting rid of.' Ollie wriggled uncomfortably, leaning into its ungiving back.

'We haven't got anywhere to put it anyway,' Jen reminded him. 'We've sold the house.'

'Good riddance,' he said. 'We'll get a new one. I mean an old one. A new old one. Maybe a farmhouse like Rowan's, only, you know, with less dry and wet rot and a solid foundation and even some plaster on the stone walls.'

'Now you're getting awfully picky.' She felt giddy with happiness. 'Can we have acreage? Only there was a notice in the Sheepshearer pub, someone selling their whole alpaca herd and equipment in a divorce sale, and we could do some farming. Besides my photography I always wanted to be a farmer.'

'You can have your alpacas,' Ollie promised, 'Chloe can have a baby lamb and I'll have my organic market garden.'

'Organic market garden?'

'Why not? I've always wanted to. If it's good enough for Prince Charles, it's good enough for me. Maybe it's time we discovered our roots again.'

'Yeah.' Jen tilted her head forward, examining her unbleached parting in the reflection of the window opposite her. 'I've been thinking about those . . . Hey, this'll be great.' She turned to him, enthused. 'We'll find a smallholding, some place with character, where we can put up Chloe's drawings and it won't look odd and the paint peeling off the walls will look quite natural because it's ethnic and old and we can have filthy floors and feel cool about them.'

'Filthy floors?' Ollie laughed at her. 'Wow, how lucky am I!'

'I've got to say one thing first,' She was suddenly sober, 'About you and me. And Aiden.'

'You don't need to . . .'

'No, I do. Wait. Ollie, I never told anyone this before, but something terrible happened that night I waited for him. You know, when he was supposed to visit me and stood me up instead. He didn't show up at the station and I waited and waited in case he'd missed the train and was coming in on a later one, and it got dark and it was raining and my dad's boss, Mr Farber . . . he came along on the last train and he offered me a lift and . . .' She broke off, biting her lip. 'Anyway, he was disgusting. Been drinking at a Christmas party. I shouldn't have got in, he smelt so bad, stale whisky and stinky wet wool but he was friends with my dad, he used to come to our house a lot. He parked up in a dark wood and I . . . I had to fight him off. If it hadn't been for a woman passing with a dog . . .'

'It's OK.' Ollie held her as she started to shake. 'It's all in the past now. It can't hurt you.'

She took a deep breath and forged on. So many years she hadn't wanted to talk about it, now it all came spilling out.

'I managed to get a lift home from her, but in spite of her begging me to call the police, I couldn't. And I couldn't tell my dad either, it would have killed him to feel he hadn't protected me, he would have lost his job, everything, and it would have been my word against Mr Farber's. So I took off to London, telling Dad that I had a bunch of parties to go to, making up friends I didn't have, telephoning him weekly, saying what a great time I was having, that I'd found a wonderful job and flat. In reality, I spent Christmas in a dingy hostel surrounded by drunks and druggies. My only real friends, Rowan, Meg and Georgie, were all spread out, Georgie in Switzerland, Meg back in the States and Rowan in Wales. Could have been worse, I guess, could have been the soup kitchen, on the streets.'

Ollie stroked her hair; she leaned against him, cuddling into his protective arm.

'I spent my seventeenth birthday staying in some graffiti-strewn short-term high-rise flat, where you could hear everything through the walls, every terrifying bang and shout through the night. It was the most miserable, loneliest time of my life. I could see Brent Cross shopping centre from my window, all the people arriving with their money, parking, going to the sales. I ended up on antidepressants, the only thing I had going for me was work. I managed to get an office job and then I met Helen. She saved me. Literally. I was almost suicidal, not knowing which way to go. I wasn't eating, could barely afford my rent and she took me in. She was like a mum to me. Mum, landlady, interfering friend. She's the only one who knows the whole of it. That's why she's so protective of me.' She turned her head to look up at Ollie. 'I know you've not always got along.'

'Nah, she's not so bad,' Ollie smiled. 'I've got to know her better recently. We're almost, I hesitate to say, friends.'

She laughed, suddenly feeling about five stone lighter. It was such a relief to unburden herself, as if she could finally let go of the weight she'd carried for so many years. 'But after all that, boy did I have a real sour attitude towards men. And I still felt that way until I met you, Ollie. You were so funny, kind and sunny, that I . . .'