Nearly Almost Somebody (29 page)

She swayed, unaware of anything other than the proximity of his lips to her wrist. ‘My Chloe got smashed at the party. I’m blaming Grace. This is Zoë’s
Guilty
.’

‘It stinks.’

She snatched her hand away, blushing. ‘That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said.’

He laughed, holding the door open for her, but his smile faltered as he saw his father standing before them, scowling.

‘So, can I get my change now?’ Patrick asked Libby, his tone frosty.

Libby still held his twenty. ‘Sorry, yes. I won’t be a minute.’

There were no more smiles, no more lips hovering near wrists. He took his change and headed off with his drinks, muttering a thank you.
Whatever you’re imagining in your pretty little head, it’s never going to happen
. The card had said
Thank You
, not
I love you
.

* * *

The waitress, holding out a tray of pointlessly small, beef and horseradish sandwiches flashed Patrick the flirtiest smile.
Megan
, her name tag said. One of the bullying bitches making Libby’s life hell. He looked Megan over, making sure she fully understood how little he thought of her, and as she scuttled off he glanced over at Libby. She forced yet another smile for yet another customer and Patrick swore under his breath. This place was killing her.

‘Gracey,’ he said, ‘does Rob still want me to look at Sambuca?’

She nodded. ‘But you’re chocka this week.’

‘Set it up for tomorrow. Bump a few people, or I’ll stay late. Whatever.’

Patrick nursed his coffee, trying to ignore Grace’s astonished face. If working until six meant he could make Libby smile again, so be it. Because if he didn’t do something, she’d leave. Though why he felt he had to prevent that from happening was still a mystery.

The next day at Low Wood Farm, Patrick stooped to pet Cromwell, hiding his amusement as Robbie’s latest groom came out of a stable leading Cleo. Robbie didn’t even begin to hide his annoyance.

‘Naomi, that’s not Sambuca. Sammy’s the bay
gelding
in the end box.’ Robbie shook his head. ‘Two months and she hasn’t a bloody clue.’

‘She’s no worse than the others who’ve worked here,’ Patrick said. ‘Except for one. The problem is, your expectations have been raised.’

Robbie sighed, kicking a pebble. ‘How is she?’

‘Unhappy.’

‘You’d better not be contributing to that.’

‘Don’t worry. I have no intention of messing around with Libby. She’s Off Limits, remember?’

‘How’s she getting on at the bar?’

‘How do you think? The male staff are hitting on her and none of the female staff trust her. All they know is she shagged the owner’s sons. Plural.’

Robbie shook his head, muttering under his breath.

‘I was there yesterday,’ Patrick went on. ‘Libs said she’s dying to live up to her reputation and introduce
Coyote Ugly
style dancing on the bar. What are you going to do about it?’

‘Me?’ Robbie raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes, you. She’s a nice girl who you shouldn’t have dragged into your fucked up marriage and she shouldn’t have lost her job over it.’

‘I know, but–’

‘She deserves her job back.’

‘There’s no way Van’s letting her set foot on the yard. You can’t blame her.’

‘No, but then this mess is partly her fault.’ Patrick folded his arms. Why wasn’t Robbie even trying to help? ‘Come on, Rob. You’ve never been able to resist playing the hero. Do you think you can be Libby’s hero without getting divorced?’

‘Naomi,’ Robbie bellowed, his scowl growing, ‘you need to get on him. Today preferably. I can’t do it to Van. It’d crucify her.’

Bollocks. ‘If you can’t give her a job, there is something else.’

‘What?’

‘Did you see this?’ Patrick took a folded up page from his pocket. ‘It’s from the Guardian the other week. It’s the
Broken Ballerina
story.’

‘Yeah, I saw… Jesus, that’s not Libby is it?’

Patrick nodded.

‘I knew she used to be a ballet dancer, but…’ Robbie frowned at him. ‘Has she told you about it?’

‘Yes.’ Patrick turned his attention to the bay horse the clueless Naomi was struggling to clamber onto.

‘When?’

‘When it was in the paper. Look, what I know is irrelevant. What you need to do is persuade Clara to get Libby to her mum’s dance studio.’

‘Why me? You ring Clara.’

‘Because Clara will assume something that isn’t happening. Besides, she does anything you ask.’ Patrick frowned as Sambuca shifted under Naomi’s weight – the girl couldn’t weigh more than eight stone. ‘I think Libby might be right. It’s his back. We should scan it.’

* * *

Libby pushed open the doors to the community hall, fighting the urge to go home and hide under her duvet. No. Failing to attend Pilates was unacceptable. It only ran at term-times on a Thursday. She couldn’t miss it just because a few people might point and whisper. Besides, Pilates was as good for the soul as it was the body. Okay, it wasn’t yoga or grounding, but it worked for her. The gentle stretches were more calming than running, or even dancing. And being realistic, it was the only good thing in her life. That and Hyssop.

She smiled at the yummy mummies and waved to Gladys, the trendy granny, happy that none of them seemed to be snickering behind her back, but her smile vanished when she saw the glossy black bob of Vanessa Golding. Oh God, no.

Sheena the instructor opened the doors, inviting them in, but Libby couldn’t move. Robbie had told her the Haverton Community Centre had a Pilates class. How would he have known, except for his wife being a regular? Libby had lost her job and her friendship with Robbie, surely Vanessa couldn’t take this from her too.

She needed to leave, to go to Paolo who rang every other day, or to see her parents, who hadn’t rung for months. Libby staggered away, tears already falling. Paolo, parents... it didn’t matter. She just had to pick a destination.

‘Oh crikey, don’t. You’ll have me set off.’ Vanessa grabbed her arm and before Libby could protest, led her away to the little café. ‘The hot drinks are bloody awful, but they do a fantastic can of Diet Coke.’

Libby stared at her.

‘You don’t like Diet Coke?’

‘Actually, I quite like the tea they do here.’ Libby wiped her eyes. ‘Your accent. You’re Welsh.’

‘Yes...’

‘He told me so much about you, but he never said you were Welsh.’

‘Oh.’ Vanessa’s foot jiggled under the table. ‘So he said you came here, but now I’ve been coming for years–’

‘It’s a big hall and I don’t have anything else. Can’t we share, just this?’ Tears rolled down Libby’s face and she craved a cigarette, but she lacked the energy to run away.

‘I’m not here to… I wanted to say sorry.’

Libby looked up. ‘What?’

‘And thank you.’ Vanessa paused, sipping her drink. ‘He told me everything, how you always said I would come back. Thanks for doing that. I think if you hadn’t... maybe he’d never have had the guts to ask me to come home.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Libby wiped her eyes. ‘Don’t do it again.’

‘I won’t.’ Vanessa sat on her hands, jiggling her feet. ‘Do you love him?’

Libby shook her head. ‘But I do miss him. He was a good friend.’

‘I think he misses you too.’ Vanessa took a deep breath. ‘He’s asked me if you can come back to work. I said no. It’s too much to ask, right now.’

Libby’s heart surged with hope. ‘
Right now
? You mean–’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. Just maybe. But I will try, like socially. Just... stay away from Rob.’

Tears pricked at Libby’s eyes again as she nodded. ‘You really are the nicest person in the world. Everyone said so. I didn’t think anyone was this nice.’

‘I’m not a saint, Libby.’ Vanessa tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘And if I ever think that–’

‘You won’t. I promise.’

‘And I’ve a favour to ask.’

‘Anything.’

‘Rob wants to make sure you’re okay. He worries.’ Vanessa took a deep breath. ‘And I hear you’re at a bit of a loss, now that you can’t dance. I need you to do something about that.’

‘Why?’ Libby frowned, dubious.

‘Because if you don’t, Rob won’t be able to stop himself from rescuing you and that’ll kill my marriage.’

‘I...’

‘Rob was concocting some charade with Clara, but I think honesty is better.’ Vanessa handed her a business card. ‘You’re supposed to be there at four on Monday.’

Libby stared at the card.
The Keeley Dance Studio
. Oh God. ‘I’m sorry, I–’

‘If you’re about to tell me that you can’t, look me in the eye and do it.’

Libby couldn’t. Instead she stroked the ballerina on the business card. ‘I just don’t know if–’

‘Being here is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, so you’ll damn well look me in the eye and tell me you can’t do it.’

Libby raised her head, her jaw clenched. ‘I’ll be there.’

* * *

‘Jane rang. Libby hasn’t turned up,’ Robbie said, sighing down the phone.

Patrick sipped his coffee, taking his time. He knew Libby hadn’t turned up. She was sitting on the churchyard wall, staring at the dance studio opposite. He knew she’d balk. He just hadn’t been sure what he’d do about it. ‘And?’

‘And aren’t you at the Haverton surgery today? Can you see if she’s outside, or something?’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake, I’ll see if I can find her.’ Patrick hung up and gestured to the waitress. ‘Two more espressos. I’ll be back in a minute.’

The ground floor of the Keeley Dance Studio housed a dancewear shop and a small café where a group of young girls in pale pink leotards were drinking Coke. Libby was staring at them, oblivious to his presence.

‘If you sit there for much longer you’ll get arrested for perving at underage girls.’ He sat next to her, elbowing her ribs. Despite the black streaks, make-up and chunky work boots, she looked cute huddled in her turquoise coat, her nose pinker than her hair from the cold. ‘What are you doing?’

After she’d explained, he took her arm and led her to the coffee shop. He sat her outside and ducked in to get the two espressos, as if he’d not had them premade, as if he’d not sat watching her for the last ten minutes.

‘You are going in there,’ he said.

‘What if…’

‘What if what? What’s the worst that can happen? You’ll get upset that you can’t dance professionally and cry? So cry, do some dancing and get over it.’

‘Wow, you’re so kind and compassionate. Why is it you don’t have a girlfriend?’ She sank half her coffee.

‘What are your options?’ he asked, trying to sound a little more understanding.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be castrating cows or something?’

‘Monday afternoons I have to work at our practice here.’ He pointed to the surgery down the road. ‘I hate it. It’s all small animal crap. I’d just dealt with another mangy mongrel when I saw you about to get arrested for weird behaviour. I’m glad of the chance to escape. So what are your options? How can you get ballet back into your life?’

‘Mangy mongrel? Do you actually like being a vet?’

‘You’re still avoiding my question.’ He downed his espresso in one.

‘Do you think Fee found out about Jonathan and Maggie, bumped her off then crippled with guilt, did herself in? Shame we’ll never know. Unless she told Jonathan. Zoë still won’t speak to him, but I bet she could torture him to find out if Fee confessed.’

‘And how would Fee kill Maggie? Push her down the stairs? Fee could barely walk most days. If it wasn’t her back, it was Xanax.’ He shook his head. ‘You are the queen of question avoidance.’

‘I shouldn’t be here. You know it’s the fell race on Saturday? I should be training.’

‘Stop changing the subject. Ballet. What can you do?’

Her brow furrowed in a tight knot as she sat on her hands, glancing longingly at the lad at the next table who’d lit a cigarette.

‘You’re not smoking.’

‘I’ve given up. Two whole weeks now.’

‘Well done. Ballet?’

‘I...’

‘Come on, Libs.’

‘I could dance for fun, just take the odd class, or I could teach, but I don’t know…’

‘Well, start simple. Go in there and say hello to Jane. Her and my mum are friends.’ He wanted to push the fringe out of the way and wipe off half the black make-up. ‘The kids call her Mrs Knightmare, but she’s very nice, not too fond of me though.’

‘Why?’

‘Bit of a fling with her daughter, Juliet, last year.’

‘Clara
and
Juliet? You really are appalling.’ She sank the last of her coffee.