All That Mullarkey (28 page)

‘Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.’

She stiffened. ‘Would you mind not swearing around Shona? I detest hearing those kids who say effing-this and effing-that. Obviously, they pick it up from adults.’

‘Sorree!’ Gav snapped. He jammed his hands in his pockets. Then snatched them out and folded his arms. Walking with him was about as restful as watching a wrestling match. ‘I’m just angry. I was able to satisfy the police I knew nothing about it. But when I realised you were living with him …! I just thought you ought to know what kind of a vindictive bast
––
bloke he is.’

She snorted, knowing that dismissiveness would get up Gav’s nose. ‘I’m not living with him. He stayed on the air bed for a few weeks, that’s all.’

‘He tipped off the police that I might have torched his flat. As if I’d even dream of it – although nobody would blame me if I had burnt his bloody –
blooming
– flat down and him in it. Which he wasn’t. I’ve a perfect right to feel pi–– peeved that he slept with
my wife
.’

A family walking the other way looked fascinated. Cleo gritted her teeth. ‘Make up your mind – either you wouldn’t dream of burning down his home or no one could blame you.’

‘Nobody could.’

‘So why are you surprised your name came up?’

Gav stared stiffly ahead.

In the silence, Shona exclaimed, ‘Yook, duck!’

‘Mmm, a duck with a green head.’

‘Yook, duck!’ She pointed at a different duck.

‘The brown one is the lady duck.’ And to forestall the possibility that Shona might point singly at each of about fifty ducks in eyeshot, ‘There are lots of ducks.’

‘Don’t you get sick of baby gabble?’ Gav rolled his eyes.

Of course she did, but he was the last person she’d admit it to. ‘Kids don’t learn if they’re ignored.’

Several minutes of silence. Even Shona gave ‘Yook!’ a rest. They’d reached the second lake before Gav emerged from his sulk. ‘So you’re not living with him?’

Cleo blew out an irritated breath. ‘He’s gone back to his own place, as was always intended.’

Gav stopped suddenly, reaching out and halting the buggy. ‘I really miss you, Cleo.’

Oh n-o-o ...

‘I haven’t put in for the divorce, you know.’

Dismay shivered in the pit of her belly. ‘I did suspect.’

‘I kept hoping that we’d sort ourselves out, forget our bad patch and get back together. We were great.’ He fixed his eyes on her with scary hunger. His voice dropped, striking chords in her memory. But then she’d found it thrilling, not cloying. ‘Don’t you remember our marriage that everyone envied? Keith says he used to love coming into our house, our sane world where bickering didn’t seem to exist.’

Cleo tried to swallow down her heart, which had thumped and jumped into the base of her throat.

She tried to make her voice kind. ‘But our sane, adult world was a lie and we each turned to someone else. Our aims weren’t shared at all. The great time was based on a false premise and it ended.’

He hunched his shoulders. ‘We could put it behind us! I was happy. It’s miserable not coming home to you, I’ve been miserable every day since you left. Cleo ...?’

She hated to see him this way, misery graven in every line of his waxy white cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, gently. ‘There’s nothing left of “us”. We can’t change history. I can’t forget you lied rather than tell me you couldn’t have children.

‘And you’ll never forgive what I did – look, here’s a living reminder. My daughter. And you don’t even like her.’

They cut between the lakes to a wooden playground. Gav made a clumsily obvious effort with Shona, pushing her on a swing and clapping when she shot down the shiny metal slide like a little ball. But she ducked away and climbed onto a wooden rabbit to glare. Cleo watched the light die again from Gav’s eyes and sighed.

She tackled Justin the moment he arrived to pick her up, ignoring his dry, ‘Great dress, is it new?’

She turned in the seat to face him. ‘Did you tell the police Gav torched your flat?’ Though her eyes were fixed on his, she was aware of his dark grey suit and cobalt-blue shirt, of the quills of hair hanging over his eyes.

He grinned. ‘Has he been telling tales?’

‘Did you?’

The grin faded. ‘Not by choice. The Blumfields had alibis, friends who say they were with them in Brighton. The police asked me the direct question, “Anyone else with a grudge against you?” I said, “Not one who’d do this,” and that was enough, they leapt in saying there was obviously something I wasn’t letting on, they were used to dealing with delicate matters, etc. I knew Gav’s name and where he worked.’ He shrugged. ‘Couldn’t be avoided.’

They looked at each other. She reached for the seat belt. ‘Shall we go?’

The function room was unimaginative with red velvet curtains, white tablecloths and way too much brass and copper. Their places were at what was evidently the singles’ table as no one but Justin had brought a partner. Her red place card was inked ‘Cleo Reece’ in gold pen, whereas the rest were properly printed. She even caught a hissed, ‘Who’s she?’ It couldn’t be more obvious that she was a late addition to the guest list.

She watched Justin from under her lashes and wondered why he’d really invited her. Her being a good mixer seemed a bit lame. And if it really was to thank her for putting him up for a few weeks … hmm. Not much better. She sighed and admitted to herself that she was here because he felt sorry for her, with her nice new dress and nowhere to wear it. She shrank inside. She was a pity date.

He’d hardly want her glued to his side, in that case, so she’d better make a damned good job of ‘mingling’. Brightest smile firmly in place, she said, ‘Introduce me to everybody, then.’

There were ten others on their table, four from the studio, two girls from the office, Elizabeth and Zoë, and four men from the print works. Of these, three were machine assistants and one was a printer – Brad, tall and hunky with dark shoulder-length hair. He wore a seventies two-tone suit as if for a joke, collar undone, tie knot four inches too low, jacket straining over his shoulders. His avid brown eyes were trained on the sleek fabric of Cleo’s dress where it draped and gathered around her breasts.

‘Hello,’ Cleo tried. ‘I’m up here.’

With a blink, Brad snapped his gaze up to meet hers. ‘You certainly are. Where has Justin been hiding you? Justin, swap seats – I gotta sit next to her.’

Justin examined the menu card. ‘As if.’

Cleo couldn’t resist giving Brad a second look. Whatever reason, she was here, and if Brad’s attention was as obvious as the beam from a lighthouse, well, fine, it had been too long since anyone had offered such balm to her ego. Time was, of course, that Justin had gazed at her with identical wolfish intent and how had they ended up …? Well, she was wiser now.

As a cheesy appetiser of scallop shells filled with prawns and piped potato was served, Justin lifted his wine and chinked glasses with her. ‘Thanks again for taking me in. It must have been a pain.’

‘No problem. The house seems very quiet and tidy without you, now. Poor Shona still bursts into the sitting room expectantly in the mornings.’

He smiled a crooked smile, forking potato around without eating. ‘I so enjoyed being with her. I might be biased but I think she’s a pretty fantastic kid. It all worked out OK, didn’t it?’

‘Fine.’ Cautiously, she took a mouthful of soft prawn and dry potato. It didn’t taste a lot better than it looked.

Slowly, Justin laid down his fork. ‘I got to spend time with her, you got to share the load. To return to the conversation that was interrupted when I got the call to say my flat was on fire – that house on Main Road, nearly opposite the pub, the one you like but that you said was too big and expensive for you – we could share the deposit, share the mortgage, and all live there together. You, me, Shona. I could have my room, you have yours. Shona would have both of us.’

For an instant, Cleo had the dizzying sensation that her heart had just done a handstand. Was it with longing? For company, for some of the responsibility to slide onto someone else’s shoulders? Almost definitely its acrobatics were based on hope that eventually Justin would feel again something of what he seemed to feel for her in the beginning. And they’d be happy and it would be glorious and they’d be a family and have fun and –

Stop it
!

These were stupid, impossible, impractical dreams based on ridiculous, unfounded optimism and almost bound to bring woe. Her heart flounced right side up again and began to sulk.

Discarding her fork, she snatched up her glass. ‘I thought we’d already agreed that it’s a ludicrous idea. Think of how sniffy Anita was when you were living at my place. And you didn’t even bring her to spend the night. You’ll regret it the moment that you begin seeing someone again.’

His eyes were calm. ‘Let me worry about my own love life.’

She leaned towards him so that her lips were close to his ear. ‘OK, let’s worry about mine. I
have
no love life. Geddit? There’s been no one since I left Gav – and, bluntly, moving in with you isn’t going to improve my prospects.’

Around them, conversation swelled loud and raucous; but Cleo and Justin worked their way almost silently through the courses. In fact, Cleo didn’t eat much. She turned politely when Rockley’s head honcho took the stage to spout about the firm’s good year and dish out booze as prizes for various achievements, and applauded with the polite glaze of a guest. Justin received a bottle of Armagnac for the Ashton Campaign, whatever that was, and she managed a stiff, ‘Well done.’

On the closing round of applause, lilac and yellow discs of light began to race one another across the ceiling, and the base line of the DJ’s opening number eased from enormous speakers at the corners of the dance floor as his deep voice rumbled out, ‘Well, hello Rockley Image! Who’s gonna be first on the dance floor tooooo-
night
?’

‘Me!’ Brad’s big warm hand closed firmly on Cleo’s wrist and suddenly she was arriving at the centre of the floor with Robbie Williams’ invitation, ‘Let Meeee-eeee Enter
tain You’,
crashing round the room.

‘Fancy a dance?’ Brad’s invitation, though belated, was delivered with a scorching smile. After a moment, Cleo laughed and settled her feet into the rhythm. The dance floor filled up, encouraging Brad in his apparent aim to dance with her as close as humanly possible, sliding behind her to move in tightly and follow the movement of her hips with his. She had to corkscrew her neck to try and get a glimpse of him.

The crowd thickened, everyone bumping into one another to gusts of laughter.

‘This is terrible, I can’t talk to you,’ bellowed Brad. ‘Let’s get a drink.’

Cleo nodded and let Brad haul her behind him to the bar. She hung back while he procured her a cold Budweiser then fanned himself emphatically. ‘Let’s move closer to the door for a breath of fresh air.’

There was a bit of relief from the bass thump near the doorway, as well as the promised airflow. Brad moved in close, as if still struggling against the crowd. ‘Love your dress,’ he said. ‘Fantastic. You look amazing.’

As they exchanged the obligatory, feeling-the-way information about work, films and music, one of the machine assistants came over with two more bottles of Bud. Pretty neat idea to arrange that, she acknowledged, as it meant Brad neither had to leave her unattended nor plunge back into the bar melee.

‘So,’ he murmured, one hand on the wall above her, eyes flicking between her face and the slit at the neck of her dress. ‘You’re not heavily committed to Justin or anything?’

‘Not even lightly,’ she agreed. ‘I did him a favour and he brought me here as a thanks.’

‘Great.’ He ran the back of his hand up and down her arm. It tickled, pleasurably. ‘And you know he comes with mega-baggage? He’s got a baby with some tart he had a one-nighter with.’

Cleo nodded, laughter putting a tuck in her stomach. ‘That would be me.’

Brad’s mouth dropped open for a horror-struck moment; but then his arm darted opportunistically round her shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean
tart
, oh wow! I’m really, really sorry …’

His horrified remorse just made her laugh harder. She knew she ought to be drawing herself up in wounded resentment, but for several moments she even held onto him, wiping her eyes inelegantly on the backs of her hands. The whole situation was just so ludicrous. ‘Forget it. Shall we dance again?’ It was just slightly boring, standing on the edge of things while Brad tried too hard to rivet her with his conversation. Dancing would be better.

And it was. This was where Brad’s talents lay; he ought to stick to simply being a hunk. Squashed by dancers on all sides, his arms slid around her to shield her from the worst of the jostling and, experimentally, Cleo let her flesh go fluid and reform against his hot body.

Instantly, his mouth dropped over hers like a hoover, making her freeze in surprise, and she clung to his shoulders, feeling his chest muscled and firm through his shirt. It was, after all, difficult to keep her balance with her face stuck to his.

Chapter Thirty-Four

It was definitely out of order, Cleo and Brad sucking the faces off one another on the dance floor like that. Justin felt the molten anger of the justifiably pissed off.