Could It Be I'm Falling in Love? (40 page)

It had been a long day. Woody stowed his ladder in the garage, looking forward to a bath and a beer. He rubbed his head with a yawn, dug his keys out of his shorts pocket and headed over to the front door.

And that’s when he saw it … A pot of something sat on the doorstep, wrapped in a red satin bow, a handwritten note attached.

He bent to retrieve it.

Peace offering.

Sorry for being a nobber. You didn’t wimp out – you rock!

But your hands
are
as rough as a badger’s proverbial!

Try this.

Rox.

x

Woody laughed.

Beneath the note and the ribbon was a pot of hand cream.

So, was she going bonkers, or not?

Roxy tortured herself for possibly the eleven thousandth time since her jaunt up Woody’s ladder, as she made the short walk to the Dog and Duck. Did Woody
really
have feelings for her? The question was driving her nuts.

She frowned. Blokes weren’t normally confusing: Beer, footie, fast cars, shoot–’em-ups, uninhibited nut-scratching and unambiguously available women = good … Talking, thinking, Smart Cars, rom-coms, hugs-that-didn’t-end-in-sex and women who required any effort = bad.

But Woody …

She
wasn’t
going mad … They’d definitely had ‘a moment’ up his ladder. He’d reverse-cuddled her, for God’s sake! And you didn’t reverse-cuddle someone without feeling
something
.

But then again … she’d only been up his ladder in the first place to clean the window
she’d
deliberately dirtied. It wasn’t Woody’s fault she’d decided to ‘fess up to her crap career and got sad enough to necessitate the hugging thing.
And, at the end of the day, there was still the matter of Jennifer. There was
always
the matter of Jennifer.

Roxy arrived at the pub none the wiser.

‘All right, Rox?’ Simon’s voice came from the left.

‘Mega,’ she shot back, trying to force her eyes over in his direction. But her eyes had a will of their own and they were already locked on Woody, standing in checked shirt and jeans at the bar. He looked so good –
he was so good
– it was all she could do not to sigh. But then she noticed the rest of the group beside her. And the group was collectively frowning.

‘He was already here when we arrived,’ Simon said quietly. ‘According to Dave, he’s been here quite some time.’

And that was when Roxy noticed the figure next to Woody. Sitting at the bar, looking like he’d rolled through three fields to get there, was Austin. He was wearing a grubby anorak and his skin looked waxy and damp.

‘Apparently there’s a big awards ceremony in London,’ Holly whispered over her orange juice, ‘so all the photographers at his gates have left. Otherwise he’d never have got out.’

‘He wants to come to our meeting,’ added Simon.

‘But Woody said he wasn’t invited!’ said Roxy.

‘Maybe he realised he needs help,’ offered Holly.

‘Maybe he realised he’s got no friends,’ Terence muttered.

Roxy frowned at Woody and Austin. You could practically
see
the tension between them. But why? Woody liked everyone – why was he so weird about Austin? And why did he think she’d get hurt? And, talking of whys, why
did
Austin want to come to the meeting? It didn’t make sense – he’d made it
clear that he didn’t really like anyone, and she was sure he wasn’t here because of her. As flattered as she’d been by his exploration of her inner thigh, she knew he wasn’t really serious. He was like her – born to flirt. It was rude-dream stuff – not stuff that would ever be real. Surely Woody realised
she
knew better than that!

But then her attention was distracted by a fast-moving boob tube. Like a supersonic, man-seeking missile, Chelle hurtled in, in a strip of silver elastic. She expertly placed herself between Austin and Woody, her cleavage sandwiched perfectly equidistant between them.

‘I’m gagging for a Bacardi and Coke!’ she pouted. Woody and Austin stopped talking. There was a long, awkward pause. And then Woody nodded at Dave.

Chelle simpered and they waited in silence for her drink. It finally arrived. Chelle took a tiny sip from its straw.

‘Wow, what’s with all the sexual tension?’ she giggled. ‘Honestly, you guys – get a room!’

Austin eyed her with glassy disinterest from his bar stool. ‘Parole Officer Woody was just deciding if I can come to tonight’s meeting.’

‘Wicked!’ Chelle dropped her hand on to his thigh. ‘It wouldn’t be the same without you.’

‘Not everyone’s as enthusiastic about the prospect,’ he said darkly. He glanced over at Woody and his crossed arms.

Chelle turned the full force of her cleavage towards Woody.

‘Oh, come on, Woody – let Austin come!’

Roxy saw how her eyes doubled in size as she implored him. Instinctively her palms tightened.

‘I mean, the others are all right,’ Chelle continued, ‘but none of ‘em is as famous as Austin. And this is supposed to be a famous persons’ club, right?’

‘Yeah, come on, Woodster; I’m cool,’ Austin drawled.

Woody looked over to the group. His eyes rested on Roxy. She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. For the briefest of moments, Woody looked disappointed. And then he turned back to Austin, face stern.

‘There’ll be no rude behaviour,’ he told him. ‘No cruel digs, nasty names or sexual advances.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that!’ Chelle swivelled her cleavage back to Austin.

‘And you’ll have to open up.’ Woody frowned. ‘It’s the whole point of the group. You need to talk about yourself and your situation.’

‘But I’m my own favourite subject.’ Austin grinned.

‘And, contrary to popular opinion, this
isn’t
a famous persons’ club.’

‘You’re telling me.’ Austin eyed Chelle.

Woody scrutinised Austin for a moment. There was a very long pause. ‘I’m warning you, Austin – last chance.’

‘Magic.’ Austin saluted and grinned. And then he slapped his empty glass on the counter. ‘Fill me up, Dave; I’m in.’

Dave stepped forward and reluctantly filled the glass.

‘Let’s dispense with the foreplay, shall we, Davey-boy?’ Austin grabbed the whisky bottle from his hands and unsteadily rose
to his feet. ‘Put it on my tab. In fact, put drinks for everyone on my tab! Let Lavender Heath get pissed on me. Come on, gang … let’s get
analysing
!’ And, holding the whisky bottle aloft, he headed towards the stairs.

Grumbling quietly, the group shuffled along behind him.

‘Thanks, Woody,’ Chelle smirked. ‘You’re amazing!’

‘Amazingly stupid,’ he replied grimly, and followed the group up the stairs.

Roxy ordered a drink, feeling weird. Had she been wrong to nod about Austin? Woody hadn’t seemed pleased – although he
never
seemed pleased around Austin. She suddenly had a sense of foreboding.

By the time she arrived in the upstairs room, everyone was already chatting. Numbly she laid out the cake she’d baked for the meeting. Simon came over to help.

He gave a low whistle. ‘Apple and cider: that’s pretty adventurous for a beginner!’ He cut a slice and took a quick bite. ‘Mmmm, and made with …’ He paused for a moment, trying to work it out. ‘Actually, what
is
it made with?’

‘Parsnip,’ she answered hollowly.

‘Of course: the low-cal alternative to butter!’ He smiled.

They both joined the group and sat down. Roxy sank into the far edge of an old springless sofa. She tried not to feel miserable as she looked up to where Chelle was perching between Austin and Woody, nipples freakishly pert in her boob tube.

‘You look well,’ she heard Sue compliment Terence. ‘Younger; more relaxed.’

Despite everything, Roxy smiled. Terence self-consciously stroked his new eyebrows and avoided meeting her eye.

‘Yes, Terence, you look
divine
,’ Austin declared loudly. ‘A real honey.’

The room suddenly felt tense. Eight pairs of eyes searched for an empty space on which to focus.

‘So, you’re writing again?’ Cressida declared. Everyone turned to see who she was addressing.

‘I …’ A flush started to grow across Holly’s cheeks.

‘Don’t look so startled. A friend in publishing told me.’

‘Well, yes. Yes, I am.’ Her entire face was now fuchsia.

‘But that’s wonderful!’ Cressida told her. ‘What’s the new book about?’

Holly looked awkward. ‘I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind.’

‘Oh, gosh, how rude of me! Of course.’

‘Early days and all that,’ Holly offered meekly. ‘Sorry.’

‘Well done, Holly. That’s brilliant.’ Woody smiled.

‘Yeah, good on you, Hol,’ agreed Simon. ‘What made you start writing again?’

‘Oh, you know …’ Holly tailed off with painful embarrassment.

Roxy decided to dive in. ‘Leave the poor woman alone. She’ll tell us when she’s good and ready.’

Holly smiled at her gratefully.

Woody turned to Austin, who was working his way steadily through his bottle of Jack.

‘So, Austin, seeing as you were so keen to join us tonight, why don’t you talk about yourself?’

‘Yeah, go on, Austin – tell us stuff!’ Chelle angled her breasts towards him.

Austin looked at Woody and shrugged. Roxy suddenly wondered how many bottles of Jack he’d already gone through. He didn’t sound drunk, but his eyes gave him away. His eyes told her he was definitely – dangerously – bladdered.

‘Not much to say …’ He poured himself yet another drink. ‘I’m as rich as Donald Trump, as happy as Forrest Gump and busier in the sack than Hugh Hefner. No problems here.’

‘Yes, you’re the model of well-adjusted,’ Cressida observed.

But Simon couldn’t hide his curiosity. ‘But what about your recent change in lifestyle?’

‘My what?’

‘Well, your … you know … retirement.’

‘What about it?’

Simon blushed. ‘Well … how do you like it?’

Austin surveyed him for a moment, like a shark. There was a long pause. ‘It’s peachy,’ he finally declared.

‘But you must miss your old life?’ pressed Roxy. ‘Aren’t you itching to get back to all the Hollywood parties and premieres and private yachts?’

‘And miss our meetings?’ he replied, deadpan.

‘But what do you
do
all day?’ puzzled Cressida.

Austin took a long sip of whisky. ‘Get up, watch TV—’

‘Crack a Special Brew,’ muttered Terence.

‘And that’s it?’ Cressida frowned.

‘I might spend a few hours on my Xbox.’

‘So you don’t do anything productive, or useful, or helpful?’

‘Christ, not this again.’

‘You really do nothing at all?’ Holly frowned.

‘Some days I get dressed—’

‘And you’re happy to waste your life like this?’ Cressida asked.

‘Fuck, what is this –
Judge Judy?
’

‘Nobody’s judging you,’ Woody told him. ‘Cressida’s trying to help – we all are. We’re trying to offer you friendship.’

Austin turned to Holly and grinned. ‘Wanna be friends? I’ve not made friends with a virgin for ages.’ He dropped a grubby hand on her knee.

Chelle tutted and visibly deflated.

‘Oi!’ Roxy piped up. The last thing Holly needed was a mauling.

‘Jealous?’ he asked with a wink. ‘Don’t worry, Feisty, I’ve got enough friendship to go around.’

‘
Austin
 …’ Woody growled.

‘All right!’ he held up the offending hand in surrender.

‘But why did you do it?’ Simon blurted. ‘I don’t get it. Why walk away from success?’

‘I was bored.’

‘Spielberg and Myers were queueing up to work with you!’

Austin pulled a face and swigged.

‘But you’ve got so much talent …’ said Simon. ‘You’re not just good; you could be a great. Not just a British great – an all-time, Brando-style legend. The rom-coms were just the beginning. Any fool could see you’re capable of more.’

Austin looked at Simon strangely. ‘I went to LA for one thing, and one thing only. And believe me, Downton, when
you’ve pulled one pair of Hollywood beef curtains, you’ve pulled them all. It’s not just their faces that all look the same.’

‘Beef curtains?’ Cressida frowned.

‘You don’t want to know.’ Roxy and Woody told her together. And for the briefest of moments their eyes met. But before Roxy had a chance to go tingly, Austin was looking at Chelle’s mouth.

‘You’d better shut that, sweetheart – you don’t know what I might put in it. You sure you haven’t done her, Woods? Going floppy in your old age?’

‘He was so nice on
Parkinson
,’ Cressida lamented.

‘Why did you come tonight, Austin?’ Woody asked harshly. ‘No bullshit – tell us the truth.’

Everyone looked expectantly at Austin. Slowly, he shrugged and then laughed.

‘Bloody fantastic,’ declared Terence sarcastically. ‘We’re officially nothing more than a “laugh”.’

‘My career’s not a laugh,’ Simon said quietly, his voice low as he looked at his lap. ‘I’ve cried blood, sweat and tears for the Bard; I’ve begged every casting director, swallowed every indignity, eaten every possible variety of humble pie. And
you
 …’ He looked up and pointed, shakily, at Austin. ‘
And you
 …’