Best of Friends (51 page)

“Oh.” Lizzie’s mind did the computation: if Debra was angry that she wasn’t going out with her friend, then she would inevitably expect her mother to stand in. Obviously Lizzie would not be suitable for clubbing but dinner would be acceptable. Lizzie now knew where her daughter and son-in-law spent all their money—on eating out. Debra and Barry had apparently been to restaurants at least twice every week, often three or four times. Debra obviously expected this to continue and Lizzie’s finances couldn’t stand it.

“I’m going out myself,” she said nervously.

“Where?” demanded Debra, fixing her mother with a basilisk eye.

“Out to Erin’s,” said Lizzie, praying that a bolt of lightning wouldn’t strike her for such lies.

“I might phone Mags and see what she’s doing,” sighed Debra, now that it was plain that she’d be on her own.

By the time Lizzie was ready, Debra had rearranged her night and wanted a lift into Cork where she was going to meet up with Mags for a wild night.

“I’m getting a taxi,” Lizzie pointed out.

Debra sighed theatrically. “I suppose I’ll have to get one too, then. You’re all dressed up,” she added.

Lizzie, who’d rediscovered a black jersey dress with a deep V down the front that was both slimming and sexy, flushed. “I like to make an effort,” she said.

She was glad she had. She was a bit late by the time she made it to the restaurant, but her efforts at getting ready were worth it when she saw the glimmer of admiration in Simon’s eyes.

“You look lovely,” he said, and it was clear he meant it.

“So do you,” she replied, and he did. His simple open-necked shirt couldn’t hide his lean, muscular body, and Lizzie felt a thrill ripple through her at the thought of being out with such a man. Myles had been nice-looking, yes, but he lacked the sheer male attractiveness of Simon.

“I didn’t think women told men they looked nice,” Simon said, grinning.

“Haven’t you worked out by now that I’m not most women?” Lizzie said, her eyes twinkling back at him.

She had worried that she wouldn’t know what to say to Simon because it had been so many millennia since she’d actually had a date. But talking to him turned out to be easy. Lizzie didn’t try to be anything she wasn’t and neither did Simon.

Over lovely food, with a superb jazz piano band in the background, they talked about life, love, divorce, kids (Simon had a grown-up son who lived in Belfast), work and the pursuit of adventure.

“I’m boring compared to you,” Lizzie said, when Simon had explained about his days as an Air Corp flight instructor and how he’d co-owned the Santa Monica centre for the past ten years.

“You’re not a bit boring,” he said, and the way his gaze held hers made her pulse quicken. “Don’t put yourself down, Lizzie.”

“Oh, I like to tease myself before anybody can get in there first,” she said lightly. Then she stopped.

Simon hadn’t reached across the table but, strangely, she felt as if he was suddenly gently touching her.

“You shouldn’t put yourself down,” he repeated softly. “There’s nothing a bit boring about you.”

“Old habits die hard,” said Lizzie.

This time, Simon did touch her—his fingers splaying out across the table to touch the tips of hers. It was such a small gesture and so electric. No open-mouthed kiss could be as tender as that touch, Lizzie thought in wonder.

When couples began to dance to the music in the tiny wooden-floored section, Simon shot her a questioning look. The pre-dinner Lizzie would have said no because she wasn’t a wonderful dancer by any stretch of the imagination and, anyway, he might notice her huge bum on the dance floor. She could hide it sitting down.

The after-dinner Lizzie smiled and got to her feet. “I have two left feet,” she whispered as they moved to the dance floor.

“Old habits,” murmured Simon, holding her close.

“No, really,” laughed Lizzie. “This isn’t a joke—I am hopeless.”

Only Simon wasn’t. Lizzie had always hated dancing with someone she didn’t know, but with Simon’s body close to hers and his arms around her, she suddenly learned how to move. Leaning against him, utterly comfortable in his embrace, she danced as she’d never danced before, letting the gentle jazz melodies wash over her.

“Why did you say you couldn’t dance?” Simon asked.

“I never could, until now.”

“You were with the wrong partner,” Simon said, his voice dark and husky in her ear.

Under the circumstances, she couldn’t say no when he offered to drive her home. She’d ask him in for coffee, she decided. Just coffee. And it would be safe because Debra was out and undoubtedly wouldn’t be back for hours.

At home Simon seemed relaxed and Lizzie allowed herself to relax too.

It was nice to bring a man home for coffee and be able to trust that he wasn’t going to hop on her. But, as they sat on opposite ends of the couch, talking and laughing, Lizzie found that
she
was the one who kept thinking it would be nice if something more happened.

She kept looking at the way Simon’s strong fingers held his coffee mug and she kept imagining those fingers sliding tantalisingly down the V of her dress.

Stop it, Lizzie, she told herself.

It was nearly twelve when Simon reluctantly said he ought to go.

“I’ve an early start,” he said.

“Yes, of course,” Lizzie said, thinking that she couldn’t remember when a night had gone so quickly. She put her coffee mug down too and stared at him over the Siberia of the middle of the couch. “Well, you don’t have to go just yet.”

“I should, Lizzie,” Simon said.

“Yes,” she said, crestfallen.

“You’re too tempting in that dress,” he went on.

“It’s a long time since I’ve had an occasion to wear it,” she said happily.

“You don’t get out enough,” Simon grinned, getting to his feet.

Lizzie got up too and then, she didn’t know how it happened, but they were touching and kissing, and it was like when they’d been dancing, only this time, there weren’t other people around. Simon’s hands moulded her body to his and she clung to him, kissing him as though she’d die if she stopped. And then, they were sitting on the couch, with Lizzie curled up against him, and she wondered if she’d left the heating on by mistake because she felt so hot and—

“Mum! What the hell are you doing?”

Lizzie shot out of Simon’s arms like a guilty schoolgirl caught behind the bike shed. Straightening her dress rapidly, she saw Debra standing at the door with an expression of utter disgust on her face.

“Who is this?” Debra asked, in much the same tone as she’d ask about the provenance of some muck on her shoes.

“I’m Simon,” he said calmly, getting to his feet.

Lizzie supposed that skydiving made you calm under any circumstances.

“This is Debra, my daughter,” Lizzie said, hoping that civility would rule. It didn’t.

“You’re bringing strange men back to the house!” said Debra furiously. “What can you have been thinking, Mum?”

“I’ll go, if you’d like,” Simon said, standing close to Lizzie. “Or I can stay.”

“Go,” she said, feeling like a coward. She couldn’t face Debra’s disgust, not even for someone as lovely as Simon. He kissed her gently on the cheek, while Debra made audible sounds of distaste. “I’ll phone you tomorrow,” he said, and made his own way out.

“I can’t believe you did that!” shrieked Debra when they’d heard the door shut gently. “Bringing a strange man back to the house. He could have been a rapist or anything. Are you stupid? Have you totally lost it? And at your age!”

“My age has nothing to do with it,” said Lizzie, stung.

“Yes it does,” said her daughter. “Who is this man? Where did you meet him?”

She sounded so upset at having found her mother at home with a strange man that Lizzie didn’t know how to calm her.

“I met him at the parachute jump. He’s one of the instructors. He’s nice,” she said.

“Nice!” Debra cried shakily. “Nice isn’t good enough. You’ve just met him. You don’t know anything about him! You could have gone out with me tonight, you know, and you didn’t. You obviously weren’t at Erin’s. Why did you lie to me? You lied so you could see some man. Why do you need to bring men home? I can’t believe you’d do this to me!”

Lizzie didn’t know how her bringing Simon home for coffee had turned into an attack on Debra, but that was clearly how Debra saw it. Lizzie had abandoned her for a man and Debra couldn’t bear the idea.

“I didn’t mean to lie to you, darling,” Lizzie said.

“But you did,” wailed Debra. “I thought we were there for each other. I never thought you’d lie to me.”

“I’m so sorry, love,” said Lizzie, falling into the familiar pattern. She could see tears welling up in Debra’s eyes, and she knew that when Debra felt threatened, she became upset.

“He’s gone now,” Lizzie said helplessly.

“You’ve got to be careful, Mum,” said Debra, sniffling. “Don’t tell me that Lothario tonight didn’t see you as a soft target. Older woman, living alone, divorced. He saw you as easy pickings, Mum.”

“He didn’t!” protested Lizzie.

“Oh, Mum, get real,” said Debra. “I’m thinking of you, you know. These types pick a certain type of older woman, that’s the scam. And you fell for it. After a week, he’d have been borrowing money off you.”

“Simon’s not like that,” said Lizzie quietly.

“How do you know? And did you ever think about me, Mum, coming home to the sight of my mother on the couch with a strange man. I got such a shock. What would Dad think?”

“We’re divorced,” Lizzie said, but the fight had gone out of her. She sat down on the couch suddenly, feeling weak and weepy.

“Oh, Mum,” said Debra, contrite. “I do love you. I worry about you, that’s all. I’d hate to see you getting hurt and that’s all that would happen here: you’d get hurt. You need someone to look after you and isn’t it lucky you’ve got me and I’ve got you? We can look after each other.”

“Yes,” said Lizzie quietly.

Debra sat beside her and put her arms round her mother. “We can go out and have fun ourselves; we don’t need men, do we?” she said, sounding like a child.

“Yes,” repeated Lizzie.

“And men just complicate life and we don’t need that, do we?”

Her mother shook her head. “No, we don’t.”

Sally’s grave, over in the windswept far corner of Angel Gabriel’s graveyard, had that raw and lonely look of recent graves. It was too soon for a headstone for it, too soon for the earth to have settled over Sally’s coffin. No grass grew on the mound of earth, although there was proof that Steve visited from the small, well-tended pots of flowers edging the grave.

A small china vase filled with roses sat amid a cluster of flower-pots. The roses were red—roses from Sally’s garden—and they’d clearly only been placed there a couple of days ago. It broke Abby’s heart to imagine Steve carefully cutting the blooms and placing them in the vase, keeping the water topped up, all as a tribute to his darling Sally.

Would anyone tend
her
grave with such loving care when she was gone, Abby wondered sadly. Probably not. She felt bad at giving in to such personal misery at her friend’s grave. She was healthy, she didn’t deserve to feel sorry for herself. She should feel sorry for Steve instead. Abby kept phoning to say hello but the answering machine was always on and Steve didn’t return her calls. Abby was torn between wanting to respect his privacy and feeling the need to see if there was anything she could do.

She knew that he needed time alone to grieve but she had promised Sally, after all, that she’d look after him. She wasn’t even doing that properly.

Abby closed her eyes and said a few prayers for Sally. She hadn’t been to the graveyard since the funeral, but today, driving past on her way out of town, she’d suddenly been struck by the desire to visit her friend’s resting place.

Somehow, Abby had thought that the peace and serenity of the graveyard would be the perfect place to talk to Sally and ask her, should she beg Tom to try again with their marriage? It was strange because, when Sally was alive, Abby wouldn’t have had to ask her this question. Sally was too aware of appreciating what you had in life and would have done anything to reconcile her two old friends.

Abby put her flowers carefully on the grave beside Steve’s. She prayed that Sally was somewhere good, somewhere where she could look down on everyone, happy, contented and loved, as she deserved to be.

Abby’s mood was sombre as she left, despite her efforts to perk up to meet Tom. They’d decided to meet in a neutral place. Lyonnais was private but too full of bad memories. Tom had picked a pub on the road between Cork and Dunmore and he was already there when Abby drove into the car park.

She parked beside his car and hurried in, knowing she was a few minutes late.

“Hello, Abby,” said Tom. He was sitting at a small table with a pint of Guinness and the newspaper crossword in front of him. Tom hated to sit waiting anywhere without something to read. He must have been there quite a while if he’d read the paper in its entirety and was now on to the crossword.

He looked good, Abby thought in surprise. She’d always assumed that once men left the marital home to sleep on a friend’s couch, they ended up with badly ironed shirts and strange stains on their ties. But Tom, who’d never been exactly a natty dresser before, looked really good in a denim shirt and a pair of perfectly ironed and pristine chinos.

“What do you want, Abby?” he said without preamble or even offering her a drink.

Slightly taken aback by his tone, Abby sat down and launched into the speech she’d prepared earlier.

“I didn’t come to talk to you about lawyers or a divorce or selling the house,” she began. “I came here to see if we could make it work again. Please hear me out, Tom. I think we should try again for Jess’s sake. And for mine,” she added. “I’ve missed you so much—you’ve no idea how much. I’d do anything if we could start again.”

He stared at her across the table but didn’t say anything and Abby took this as an encouraging sign.

“We could go for counselling,” she suggested. “In fact, we
should
go for counselling because I know it’s going to be hard for you to get over what happened, and hard for you to trust me. But it won’t happen again.” She was getting into her stride now, the words she’d practised flowing easily. “It was a one-off, a stupid,
stupid
moment when I wasn’t thinking about you or our marriage, or Jess or anything … And I’m so terribly sorry, Tom, can’t you see that?” Her eyes pleaded with his and she reached out to try and touch his hand. But Tom jerked it away before they could actually touch.