Some Girls Do (7 page)

‘Singing for my supper.’ He bent to kiss her again, but she turned her face away. ‘Come on, isn’t that what we’re here for?’

‘Wh-
what
? You think I—’

‘Hey, it’s cool,’ he said. ‘It’s okay to ask for what you want.’ He put a hand on the side of her face to make her look at him. ‘And it’s okay to want this.’ He leaned in again.

‘No!’ She stepped back, putting distance between them, one hand raised. She looked as if she wanted to hit him but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Oh, Christ! Luca froze. One look at her shocked face, the panic and upset in her eyes, and he knew he had read the situation all wrong. She really was just being kind when she’d brought him home with her. She had taken pity on him, fed him and offered him a bed for the night, and he had repaid her by groping her and insinuating that she had only brought him there because she wanted a fuck. He wished she
would
hit him. He deserved it, and it might make him feel better.

‘Sorry,’ he said, trying to catch her eye, but she wouldn’t look at him. Fuck! Now she’d throw him out and he’d have to spend another night being cold, wet and miserable, when he could have slept in that soft, warm bed if only he wasn’t such a monumental fuck-up. Maybe at least his boots would have dried out a bit by now. Hopefully she would let him retrieve them before throwing him out on the street.

‘Hey, I’m really sorry,’ he said, instinctively moving towards her, but she cringed away from him. He stopped in his tracks, sighing helplessly and holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. It was a bit late for that. The damage had already been done.

‘I’m so sorry. I would never have … I thought you …’ He gave a defeated sigh. He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make things worse.

Claire surreptitiously brushed away a tear and sidled past him to the door. ‘I’m going to bed now,’ she mumbled. ‘I have to get up early for work in the morning.’

She darted away before he could say anything more, leaving him standing dumbfounded in the middle of the room. He heard the door across the hall slam. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t kicked him out. She
should
have kicked him out, he thought, indignant on her behalf. He had abused her hospitality, insulted and offended her, and made her uncomfortable in her own home. And he had made her cry. She was probably sobbing herself to sleep across the landing right now, thanks to him – all because he couldn’t recognise a simple act of unselfish kindness. He wished he could go back and replay the whole night, do it differently. He could see she was lonely and a bit sad, and he could have been company for her, maybe lightened her load a little. Instead he had made her feel lonelier and sadder. If he had any decency he would leave. He could stay with Joseph and his wife – he knew they wouldn’t mind. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But he clearly didn’t have any decency because, even as he thought it, he was sitting on the bed, automatically pulling off his socks. The lure of the soft mattress and those downy pillows overcame his guilt. He got under the covers and his conscience had only a few seconds to bother him before he fell into a deep sleep.

Claire was not so lucky. She tossed and turned, her mind spinning. She should have slapped him. She should have told him to get out of her house. It was so unfair. Why could she only think of the right thing to say when the moment had passed? She replayed the scene over and over in her head, only this time she didn’t cry. She didn’t cower and cringe as if
she
had done something wrong. This time she kicked him out into the rain, and she didn’t even let him collect his boots first.

She hadn’t wanted to bring him home, she thought, tears of rage burning her eyes. The last thing she’d wanted after the bar was a stranger in the house. But she’d felt sorry for him, so
she had sacrificed a night of her precious solitude. And he’d thought she had brought him here for sex! He’d actually thought she expected it in return for dinner and a bed. Jesus! What an arsehole. She punched her pillow in fury.

Still, as her rage calmed, she couldn’t help remembering how nice his lips had felt. How he had smelled of her shower gel as he pulled her closer. How hard and warm his body had been in the instant before she’d pulled away. It was such a long time since anyone had kissed her. Then the tears started again.

Chapter Six

When Luca woke the next morning, he was momentarily baffled by the unfamiliar cosiness of his bed. Then he remembered where he was, as the events of the previous night came back to haunt him. Still, he couldn’t help smiling to himself as he took in his surroundings. He was toasty warm under the duvet in the little box room, the rain drumming heavily on the windows making him feel even more snug. He grabbed his watch from the nightstand and checked the time, surprised to see that it was just after ten. He didn’t usually sleep so late – but, then, he didn’t usually have such a comfortable bed.

At least Claire would have gone to work and he wouldn’t have to face her again. He threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. Then he pulled on a sweatshirt and went out onto the landing. He called Claire’s name, just to be on the safe side, but there was no reply. The house was silent as he made his way downstairs, feeling like an intruder but glad to have the place to himself.

He felt a fresh stab of guilt about his behaviour the previous night when he found his clothes folded neatly on the kitchen table, his boots, stuffed with newspaper, underneath. There was a yellow Post-it note on top of the clothes. It read:

Help yourself to anything you want from the kitchen.

No need to lock anything when you leave. Claire

He looked towards the window and sighed, not looking forward to going back out there. The rain was still bucketing down, and he didn’t want to undo all the benefit of the previous night by getting soaked again. Surely it had to stop some time.
He would hang out here for a while, and hopefully it would let up eventually. Then he would leave. Anyway, he reasoned, Claire wouldn’t be back until the evening, and it would make no difference to her if he left now or just before she came home. He figured that her bookshop would be open until at least six on a Saturday so there was plenty of time before he needed to clear out. In the meantime, he could enjoy the warmth and comfort of the house.

He opened the fridge, pleased to see how well stocked it was. He would make himself a proper cooked breakfast – bacon and eggs, lots of toast with lashings of butter. Then he would stand under the scalding shower for another half-hour or so. If it still hadn’t stopped raining, he might watch a bit of television, have some lunch and maybe even take an afternoon nap. He would leave around five, rain or no rain, and would be gone well before she got home. It would be like a little holiday.

At work, Claire was struggling to keep her eyes open.

‘You look rough,’ Tom had said, when she’d arrived. She had done her best with makeup and had bathed her eyes in lots of cold water, but she still looked like something out of
Night of the Living Dead
.

‘Thanks. I went to that party with Yvonne last night,’ she had told him by way of explanation.

Thankfully, Tom was satisfied with that, had smiled sympathetically and spent the rest of the morning plying her with tea and digestive biscuits. It was a good thing Yvonne wasn’t in today. She wouldn’t have been fobbed off so easily.

She felt worn out and frazzled, having had hardly a wink of sleep. Thanks to that bastard Luca, she had been awake most of the night, crying and fuming. That was what she got for trying to be nice to someone! She wished she had thrown him out instead of cowering in her room as if she was afraid of him.
But she hadn’t had the heart – or, if she was honest with herself, the nerve. And that only infuriated her more. Why was she such a bloody wimp? Why couldn’t she be more like her alter ego? NiceGirl wouldn’t have had any problem kicking him out. But then NiceGirl probably wouldn’t have wanted to. She would have met him halfway, and she would have given as good as she got. Claire was no NiceGirl and she knew it.

Maybe Luca knew it too, she thought, horrified at the idea that perhaps he could sense her loneliness and inexperience. Did it cling to her like some kind of aura? Maybe he had felt sorry for her, she thought, with a mixture of shame and indignation.

What was worse, she couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like if she had let it happen. Pitiable as it was, it was the best offer she’d had in a long time – the
only
offer she’d had in a long time. She wasn’t likely to see him again, so what did it matter what he thought of her? It would have been good to get in a bit of practice too, in case anything happened with Mark. She felt a little tingle of excitement at the thought that she would be meeting him for real. But she was nervous about it, too, because she really wanted him to like her – the real her, not the person he knew online. She wondered if there would still be the same spark between them …

But she knew she mustn’t let her imagination run away with her. Mark probably had a girlfriend and, even if he didn’t, their online flirtation probably wouldn’t translate into real life. She spent far too much time living in a fantasy world. She needed to wise up and get real, literally. It probably would have been disastrous with Luca. He would be used to much more experienced, savvy girls. It would have been awkward and embarrassing, and she’d have felt hopelessly inadequate. Besides, her own self-respect meant there was no way she could have let anything happen with him – not when he saw it as some sort of
transaction
.

She should just put the whole sorry episode behind her. Maybe
she could turn it into a sexy story for her blog. Luca would be gone tonight when she got home and she would have the house to herself again. She was looking forward to getting into her pyjamas and vegging out on the sofa with a takeaway. It was definitely a night for staying in by the fire, she thought, looking out of the window. The rain was still pouring down, rushing in rivers along the pavement. It was forecast to continue for the rest of the day, and there was already flooding in some parts of the city. She felt a pang of guilt as she thought of Luca going out into the downpour and returning to his cold, bleak flat. She couldn’t help thinking of the sad state of his boots when she had put them in the airing cupboard to dry. They were full of holes, the soles worn thin and one of them was completely separated from the upper. Still, he wasn’t her problem.

The day dragged on. It was quiet, the rain keeping most people away, and those customers who did turn up were narky and difficult. Claire dragged herself through until six in a haze of caffeine.

‘Any plans for tonight?’ Tom asked as they closed up.

‘No, just bath and bed,’ she said wearily. ‘On second thoughts, maybe just bed. I don’t think I have the energy for a bath.’

‘Well, enjoy!’

‘Thanks. You too.’ Almost there, she told herself as she made her way to the car, thinking longingly of her sofa and TV. But first she had to visit her mother.

‘Hello!’ Espie beamed when Claire walked into her private room at the nursing home in Blackrock. It was large and bright, pleasant enough as these places went. Great efforts had gone into making it cheery and welcoming, more like a hotel room than a hospital room. But there was no disguising the pall of sickness and infirmity that hung over the place.

Her mother was sitting up in bed, and Claire felt fleetingly reassured by how well she looked. But she knew her mother’s
robust appearance was just a cruel illusion. Even now it was sometimes hard to remember how ill she was when she seemed so unchanged in every way. Illness was supposed to alter people beyond recognition, but Espie Kennedy was as plump and rosy-cheeked as ever – except that now her complexion owed more to steroid flush than good health. She still had a mischievous glint in her eye, though, and a curve to her lips, which seemed always on the brink of laughter.

‘So how are you feeling?’

‘Fine. Bored, but fine. I missed you yesterday.’

‘I went to that party with Yvonne from work, remember?’ Claire said, as she took off her coat and sat in the chair by her mother’s bed. ‘I told you about it.’

‘Did you? I think that bloody anaesthetic’s knocked everything out of my head.’

‘Oh, sorry. I thought you knew. You must have been expecting me,’ Claire said, immediately feeling guilty.

‘It’s fine. I’d much rather you were out enjoying yourself. You don’t have to come every day. I know you’re tired after work.’

‘Did you have any other visitors yesterday?’

‘No.’ Espie sighed, putting on a childish pout. ‘I was bored out of my gigantic incontinence pants. No inner resources, that’s my problem.’

God, Claire thought. Couldn’t one of her brothers have made an effort, just
once
? She had purposely told them that she wouldn’t be able to make it yesterday in the hope that one of them would visit. Why did everything always fall to her?

‘I thought maybe Ronan or Neil would come in.’

‘Oh, they’re far too busy on weekdays. They have jobs, you know.’

‘True,’ Claire said. ‘Unlike the rest of us.’

Neil was a senior executive in a major insurance company and behaved as if he were the only person in the family who had to work, which let him out of all social and family obligations. Ronan, who was a solicitor, was well meaning but scatty, relying
on his wife, Liz, to organise his life. Claire sighed. She should have known they wouldn’t come.

‘And let’s not forget they’re very busy with the children,’ her mother said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

‘Like Michelle would ever let us forget.’ Claire rolled her eyes. Neil’s wife was just as self-important as her husband and acted like she was the only woman in the world who had ever given birth.

‘Anyway, don’t worry about me,’ Espie said. ‘At least I’ll be home in a few weeks. It’s the lifers in here I feel sorry for. Poor bastards. They treat them like children. They can’t make any decisions for themselves, and they have no privacy. Today someone brought in a dog for them to pet as a treat. If I ever get to that stage, just shoot me.’