Nadia Knows Best (12 page)

The second letter had arrived this morning. The gist of it, basically, was that he didn't believe he had made a mistake before.

Both irritated and unsettled, Miriam waited until everyone had gone to bed before sitting down at the kitchen table and composing her reply—in handwriting that sloped to the right and bore no resemblance to her own.

Dear Sir,

I'm afraid this is a case of mistaken identity. You seem to think I am someone I'm not. As I am frail and in poor health, I would greatly appreciate it if you would desist from writing any further letters. I don't know who you are and can state categorically that we have never met.

Yours sincerely,

M. Kinsella

Miriam addressed the envelope in the same slanty writing then slid the folded sheet of paper, along with his own letter, inside. As she was clicking shut her handbag, she heard the crunch of car tires outside on the drive.

The look on James's face when he put his head round the kitchen door told her all she needed to know.

“What time do you call this?” Miriam demanded, secretly delighted that he'd obviously had a good time. It wasn't as if James was short of female admirers, he'd just never taken them up on their offers. It was as if marriage to Leonie had unnerved him to such a degree that he hadn't been able to bring himself to risk dating again.

Then again, after Leonie, who could blame him?

Checking his watch, James pulled a face. “Ten past one. Don't tell me I'm grounded.”

Miriam had written her letter with the aid of a large Scotch. Now, brandishing the bottle, she said, “Nightcap? So you had a good time at the dinner party after all.”

“I had a good time,” James agreed, sloshing Scotch into a tumbler, “but not at the dinner party.”

“You didn't go?”

“Oh, we went. We just didn't stay. Ended up in an Indian restaurant instead. It's been a really great evening.”

“With this woman Tilly set you up with? The one from the newsagents?”

Unlike Mary-Jane Elson, Miriam wasn't poking fun. Feeling happier than he had in a long time, James said, “Annie,” and felt the back of his neck heat up. It was like coming out of a decades-long hibernation.

“Annie, that's it.” Watching him, Miriam was reminded that she had felt the same way once, about the writer of the letter she'd had such trouble replying to tonight.

In a small corner of her heart she still loved him.

The rest of her wished he was dead. Not nastily dead, of course. Nothing violent or unpleasant. Just a peaceful, drifting-away-in-your-sleep kind of death.

Slightly ashamed to be thinking such a thing—but not ashamed enough to stop thinking it—Miriam said, “Tell me what Annie's like.”

“Down-to-earth. Straightforward. She's a good person,” said James. “Kind. Easy to be with.” He paused. “And she's honest. Like you, really.”

Honest. And a good person.

“Oh, that's me all right.” As she flashed a smile, Miriam wondered how James would react if he knew the truth. “I'm just an all-round saint.”

***

“I'm not stupid, you know,” Tilly announced. “I know exactly what you're up to.”

Nadia looked bemused as Tilly chucked her schoolbag into the back of the car and jumped into the passenger seat.

“What? All I did was offer to pick you up after school while Dad's away. It's practically on my way home and I knew I was finishing early today.” Big lie. “What's wrong with that?”

Tilly raised her eyebrows. “Remind me again, which of us is thirteen?”

Precocious little brat.

“I just thought you'd be glad of a lift,” Nadia protested.

“Take a tip from me.” Tilly looked smug. “Never try and smuggle drugs through customs. That look-at-me-I'm-innocent thing's never going to fool anyone.”

“Fine. So do you want a lift or not?”

“Lift please.”

“And how about an ice cream?”

“What for?” said Tilly.

They were by this time heading in the direction of James's office building. Nadia flapped the neck of her T-shirt.

“I'm hot, I've been working my socks off, and I fancy a white Magnum. What's wrong with that?”

“You've got white Magnums at home in the freezer,” Tilly pointed out. “Hidden under the broad beans so Clare won't find them.”

“I want one now. And an evening paper.” Casually Nadia said, “Where's that newsagents you usually go to?”

Equally casually, Tilly said, “There's a garage just up here on the left.”

“Oh, come on,” begged Nadia, “don't be so mean, I just want to see her! Is that it?” Brightening, she pointed to a small shop with a gaggle of schoolboys with skateboards loitering outside.

“No. Does this mean you'll buy me a Magnum?”

“If that's what you want.”

“Actually,” said Tilly, who was saving up for the new Eminem CD, “I'd rather have the money.”

“Just tell me which one she works in.”

“Up past the traffic lights, on the right.”

Over the years Nadia had seen James being set up on blind dates against his better judgment and, true to form, nothing had ever come of them.

This time, clearly, things were different. Following his initial outing with Annie Healey on Saturday night, they had seen each other on Sunday afternoon, then again on Sunday evening and
again
on Monday evening. This morning, Tuesday, James had driven up to Liverpool for a two-day conference, having already arranged to meet up with Annie when he arrived back on Thursday night.

Bursting with curiosity and far too impatient to wait, Nadia had hatched her cunning plan and finished work early. She was longing to see her dad's new girlfriend for herself.

In honor of the occasion she even stamped the clods of earth from her wellies before entering the shop.

The woman serving behind the counter had wavy fair hair loosely tied back in a pony tail, friendly blue eyes with a trace of blue shadow melting into the creases, and plump ringless hands.

Tilly said, “Nadia, this is Annie Healey. Annie, meet Nadia, my sister.”

Thinking how much less stressful for Annie a chance encounter would be than a deliberately pre-planned one, Nadia put on her surprised-but-delighted face and said, “Really? Well, hello! How lovely to meet you!”

“You too.” Annie flushed slightly, but she was smiling.

“We came in because Nadia was desperate for an evening paper and a white chocolate Magnum.” Tilly counted the reasons off on her fingers, frowned, then added happily, “Oh yes, and to check you out.”

Fantastic.

“She wasn't supposed to say that,” Nadia apologized to Annie. “I'll beat her up when we get home.”

“It's OK, I don't mind. He's your dad.” Annie was sympathetic. “I'd be curious too.”

Hugely relieved to discover that she liked Annie Healey, Nadia said, “It's one of those weird situations. Our mother's had so many boyfriends I can hardly be bothered to meet them anymore. But with Dad it's different, he… um…”

“I know, he told me. And here I am.” Annie pulled a face and gestured self-deprecatingly at her green nylon overall. “I hope you weren't expecting Nicole Kidman.”

“Here you go.” Tilly, who had been delving into the chest freezer, pushed a Magnum into Nadia's hand. “And don't forget your paper.”

Nadia didn't want a paper, but she took one anyway. Tilly added helpfully, “You can give me my ice-cream money when we get home.”

“When Dad's back from his conference, you must come round for dinner one evening,” Nadia told Annie. “Meet everyone properly. But now we really have to go,” she added, because the poor woman was still looking apprehensive, like an interviewee about to be grilled by Piers Morgan. “I've parked on double yellows—just my luck to get clamped.”

“I don't get this. You tell me that it's bad to lie and then you go and do it,” Tilly complained as they made their way back to the car. “We're not parked on double yellows.”

“It was a white lie, to get us out of there. Sometimes it's easier to fib.” Meaningfully Nadia added, “Like pretending I didn't know who Annie was until you opened your big mouth. What's that noise?”

Tilly glanced over her shoulder. “Boys from our school, mucking about.”

As the shouts intensified, Nadia recognized the group of skateboarders she'd seen outside the other newsagents earlier.

“Somebody's on the ground. Are they playing or fighting?”

“Don't know.” Tilly didn't care; they were Year 10s. Everyone knew Year 10s were a law unto themselves.

Everyone except Nadia.

“They're hitting him!” Outraged, Nadia grabbed Tilly by the sleeve.

“So? They're always hitting people. Come on, the car's this way.”

“Now they're kicking him!” Nadia ignored Tilly's attempt to drag her away. “Right, that's it.”

“Just leave them. Don't interfere,” begged Tilly. “It'll be embarrassing.”

“Even more embarrassing when you hear on the news that a schoolboy was kicked to death in the street and no one bothered to do anything about it. HEY!” shouted Nadia, breaking into a run and dragging Tilly along in her wake. “You lot, what d'you think you're doing? Leave him alone!”

“Ooh, I'm so scared,” mocked one of the teenagers, grinning insolently at Nadia as she raced toward them. “Watch out, boys, it's Batman and Robin.”

Tilly was mortified. The half-dozen fourteen-year-olds might not know her by name but they would undoubtedly recognize her from school. It was all right for Nadia, piling in where she wasn't wanted, she wasn't going to have to face them in the cafeteria tomorrow.

“I said STOP IT,” roared Nadia, when one of the Year 10s aimed another kick at the boy sprawled on the ground.

“It's not Batman and Robin,” one of the others jeered, “it's Clint Eastwood. Look, he's got his Magnum.”

That cracked them up. They promptly began licking imaginary ice creams and snarling, “D'you feel lucky, punk? C'mon, make my day.”

Nadia shoved the uneaten Magnum into Tilly's hand, glared at the ringleader, and said, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Look who's talking.” With a smirk, he indicated her muddy wellingtons. “I wouldn't be seen dead in gear like that. What is it, all the rage down on the farm?”

“I recognize this one.” His second-in-command jabbed a finger at Tilly, who by this time was puce with embarrassment and had ice cream trickling down her arm. “She's in my brother's class.”

Tilly wanted to die.

“So who are you?” The ringleader leered at Nadia. “Her mother?”

“I'm her sister”—Nadia controlled herself with difficulty—“and you need a good slap.”

“Oh dear, more violence? Is that really the answer?” The boy stood there with his hands on his hips, cockily chewing gum. “Sure you wouldn't rather just shoot me with your big scary Magnum before it melts?”

“Get out of here, all of you, or I'll call the police,” bellowed Nadia and, laughing, they turned and scooted off on their skateboards.

“Did he really think I was your mum?” Nadia looked worried. “Maybe it's time to start buying proper moisturizer. It's OK, they've gone,” she told the curled-up heap on the ground. Bending down, she rested a hand on his trembling shoulder and felt him flinch. “Sshh, you're safe, nobody's going to hurt you now.”

“Go away.” It came out as a muffled groan. “Leave me alone.”

“I will not. Come on, let's take a look at you. Up you get.” Nadia wrapped her arms round the boy and heaved him into a sitting position. He was of smallish build with rumpled dark hair, a thin face, and a rip in the knee of his school trousers. There were a couple of grazes on his arm, struggling to bleed, and he had a swollen, cut lip. “Here, it's OK, I've got a clean tissue.” Digging in her shirt pocket, Nadia found it and tried to dab the wound, but the boy twisted out of reach. “Honestly, those thugs, how could they do this to you?”

“How could
you
do this to me?” hissed the boy, whom Tilly now recognized. He was new to the school. She had noticed him at break times, sitting on his own. Now, pushing Nadia away, he rose painfully to his feet and used his shirtsleeve to wipe the blood from his mouth.

“Look, you were trying to help,” he muttered, “but you weren't, OK? I'm never going to live this down now, being rescued by a couple of
girls
. Can you imagine how humiliating that is?”

Nadia gazed at him, openmouthed. “But… they were—”

“Kicking me, I know. And it would have been all over in a couple of minutes. But not anymore, oh no.” Vehemently the boy shook his head. “They won't let me forget this in a hurry. Thanks to you, they'll still be taking the piss out of me when I'm forty.”

Nadia looked as if she'd just been slapped. Since it seemed a pity to waste it, Tilly took a big bite out of the almost melted Magnum. The boy, perilously close to tears, wiped his sleeve across his face and muttered, “Next time, just leave people alone, OK? Don't interfere.”

Then he turned and limped away.

“That's OK, no problem, my pleasure,” said Nadia when he was out of earshot. “Any time.”

Tilly gave her a what-did-you-expect shrug. “Told you not to get involved.”

One minute Piers was being fantastic, the next he was back to playing silly buggers again. It was driving Clare mad. When they were clearly so great together, why did he have to do it? Why couldn't he just admit to himself that it had finally happened, he'd met the one he was meant to be with and he didn't need to play these ridiculous games anymore?

Because he was a man, probably. Scared of having the mickey taken out of him by his mates—who were only jealous anyway because they didn't have gorgeous girlfriends of their own.

It was one o'clock in the morning and Clare, too agitated to sleep, was painting instead. Sadly she was also too agitated to paint and it wasn't going well, but jabbing her brush at the canvas, like sticking pins into a wax effigy, was quite cathartic.

Sunday had been so brilliant, she'd been convinced Piers had come to his senses. They'd spent the day with old friends of his in Cheltenham, a brilliant married couple who lived in a glorious rambling Cotswold farmhouse. Clare had liked them immediately and they in turn had taken to her. After a vast lunch, they'd all walked for miles together through the stunning countryside surrounding their home. Piers had been cheerful, relaxed, and effortlessly affectionate, sliding his arm round her shoulders and planting jokey kisses on her face, which was something he never did when his Bristol friends were around. She'd felt loved and secure, and ridiculously happy. All the way back to Bristol on Sunday evening she had fantasized about them moving to the country and living in a stunning
Ideal Home
-style farmhouse like that.

When Piers had dropped her home, he'd kissed her lingeringly before murmuring in that full-of-promise way of his, “I'll give you a ring on Tuesday.”

And—get this—she'd actually been idiotic enough to believe he would.

Jab, jab,
jab
went the paintbrush as Clare attacked the canvas with renewed irritation. All evening she'd waited for him to call and he hadn't.

When she'd phoned his flat, there'd been no reply. His mobile was switched to the answering service. Pride had only allowed her to leave one message, but Piers still hadn't got back to her.

Why,
why
was he doing this? It was all so unnecessary. And this painting was in danger of being completely ruined; if she couldn't sell it, it would be all his fault.

Like an addict desperate for just one more fix, Clare snatched up the phone and pressed out his number again.

It went straight to the answering service.

Closing her eyes, she pictured Piers lying dead in the ER somewhere, with hospital curtains drawn round his cubicle and nurses sobbing helplessly at the tragedy of it all. His jacket lay across a chair and inside one of the pockets his mobile began to ring again. The nurses looked at each other, knowing that one of them had to answer it and break the terrible news to whoever was on the other end of the line. So young, so good-looking, such a waste…

Clare switched off the phone. Well, you could always live in hope.

***

It was the hottest day of the year so far and Nadia was stripped to a cropped white halter-neck tank top and denim shorts, with her hair tied up in a messy topknot. The sun was blazing down and her tan was coming along nicely, but it would never be a glamorous tan. Since a professional gardener couldn't work in a bikini and bare feet, the middle sections of her legs were always going to be browner than the bits at either end. Which meant, basically, that you ended up looking pretty damn gorgeous with your shorts and trainers on, but a bit of a twit the moment you took them off.

Leveling the soil before laying down the patio stones was back-breaking work. Thirsty too. Pausing to uncap her bottle of water, Nadia glugged back a couple of tepid mouthfuls and pulled a face. Yeeurgh, disgusting. Never mind, there was more in the house, stored in the mini-fridge that Jay had brought along for them to use now that summer was properly here.

She was standing at the kitchen window guzzling down proper ice-cold water when she saw the taxi pull up outside.

The passenger got out and Nadia abruptly stopped drinking. It was the pregnant woman she'd seen arriving at Jay's house the other day.

This time she was wearing loose white maternity trousers and a man's dark blue shirt. Nadia wondered if the shirt belonged to Jay.

The woman wasn't looking very happy, that was for sure. And she was keeping the taxi waiting while she approached the house.

Bart and the boys were working upstairs in the bedrooms. Nadia opened the front door and came face to face with… well, with whoever she was. Blimey, at close quarters she looked even more miserable, pale and drawn, and her shoulders were slumped in defeat.

Had Jay dumped her, was that it? Had he told her he'd do his bit financially, but that any kind of relationship between them was out of the question?

Frankly, Nadia couldn't blame him. She felt sorry for the woman of course, but at the same time she wasn't exactly making much of an effort. If she just looked more cheerful and wore some makeup, that would be a start. OK, it couldn't be much fun being hugely pregnant and dumped by your boyfriend, but where was the incentive for Jay to change his mind? What she needed to do was disguise those dark circles under her eyes, dress herself up a bit, smile like mad, and show him what he was missing.

Damn, I'm good at this, thought Nadia. I really should be a therapist.

“I'm looking for Jay. Is he here?”

Nadia realized she'd been staring. This woman would look
so
much better if she washed her long stringy hair.

“Sorry, he isn't.”

“Any idea where he is?”

Nadia shrugged and shook her head. “He doesn't always tell us. I think there's a property auction going on in Bishopston, but to be honest he could be anywhere. Have you tried his phone?”

“It's switched off.” The woman's expression was bleak and Nadia felt a surge of compassion.

“Tell me about it. That thing's always switched off. Look, can I take a message?”

Nosy? Moi?

The woman checked her watch. She looked absolutely wretched. “No. I'll just keep trying his phone. But if you do see him, tell him it's urgent. I'm on my way to the hospital now.” As she spoke, the woman's ringless left hand moved to her stomach. “He has to get there as soon as he can.”

Oh God, don't say she was actually in labor!

“Of course I will.” Nadia nodded vigorously. “And your name is…?”

Well, she could hardly refer to her as the stringy-haired pregnant one.

“Belinda.”

“Belinda.” Nadia's smile was reassuring. “No problem, I'll definitely tell him. You get off to the hospital. And don't worry, Jay'll be there in no time at all.”

For what it was worth.

“Thanks.” The woman didn't smile. She turned and made her way back to the waiting taxi.

Urrghh, imagine your water breaking on the way to the hospital and having the baby on the backseat.

Jay turned up an hour later. By the time Nadia had rushed in from the garden, he was deep in conversation with Bart and the boys, discussing the schedule for the rest of the week.

“Jay, could I—”

“Hang on a sec.” Jay held up a hand to stop her. “Let me just get this sorted out first.”

Agitated, Nadia said, “But—”

“
Please
.” Jay glared at her. “I need to speak to Bart.”

“You need to get to the hospital,” Nadia blurted out. “Belinda was here. It's very urgent, you have to go right away.”

That got his attention. She watched the color drain from Jay's face.

“Belinda was here?”

“Looking for you. Your phone was switched off. She was desperate to find you.”

“I was at the auction.” Jay raked back his hair, visibly shaken. “It had to be switched off.”

Was that guilt in his eyes?

“She's gone straight there in a taxi. You'd better hurry,” said Nadia. “Or you might be too late.”

Bart let out a low whistle when Jay had left.

“What was that all about? Who's Belinda?”

“She's nine months pregnant,” Nadia told him. “And not very happy with our boss.”

“Bugger me,” whistled Bart.

“Maybe we won't throw in together for a congratulations card,” said Nadia.

“See? Let that be a lesson to you.” Bart turned and wagged a stubby index finger at Kevin and Robbie. “Messing about with girls, not takin' proper care—this is the kind of trouble you'll end up in. You want to take my advice and keep it zipped.”

Kevin, never the brightest sparkler in the packet, nodded sagely at his father. Then he frowned and looked puzzled. “Keep what zipped?”