The One You Really Want (51 page)

Biba said cheerfully, ‘Want to see him, then?'

Did he? Rennie nodded. For some reason he really did want to see this child who had, through no fault of its own, caused him such trouble.

Keeping her wet toes splayed, Biba carefully hauled herself upright and led the way through to the nursery. The baby lay in his ornately carved cot, asleep, with his chubby hands curled above his head.

‘Isn't he gorgeous?' This time Biba spoke with genuine pride. ‘I just love him to bits. Oops . . .'

At the sound of her voice the baby's eyes had snapped open. As he regarded them in silence for several seconds,

Rennie found himself, ridiculously, searching for some hint of a resemblance between this week-old infant and himself. How would he feel if this child had been his? How must it feel to have a child with someone you actually loved?

‘Want to hold him?' Biba offered. ‘Just for a few seconds, before he starts screaming the place down.'

Rennie lifted the baby out of the cot and held him in his arms. His heart swelled with emotion; it really was incredible, the ability babies had to make you feel—

‘Ha, you big softie, you're crying!' crowed Biba.

‘I am not.' Cursing himself, Rennie blinked furiously.

‘You wuss! Wait till I tell Jodie!'

Great, something to really look forward to.

‘You made me think I was a father,' Rennie told Biba. ‘And I'm not.'

‘Oh, cheer up, I thought you'd be thrilled to be off the hook.' Surveying him with amusement, Biba said, ‘Tell you what, I'll be getting him christened in a few months. You can be godfather if you like.'

‘No thanks.' As the baby opened his mouth to yell out in protest about the lack of food, Rennie passed him over to Biba. ‘He's a pretty good weight, isn't he? Doesn't look premature.'

Biba, her eyes dancing with mischief, said, ‘Now if you were selling your story to the paper, which would sound more exciting to you? Mother in labour rushed to hospital for emergency life-saving op? Or, mother turns up carrying suitcase, ready for pre-booked caesarean?' She shrugged. ‘Go on, pick one. Your choice.'

Of course. Why hadn't that occurred to him before?

Anyway, it was all over now. Deciding he was relieved, Rennie said, ‘Did Josie give you the parcel I brought to the hospital?'

‘That funny little cardigan-type thing?' Biba wrinkled her nose. ‘Was that meant to be some kind of joke?'

‘Didn't it fit?' Rennie thought of the amount of work that had gone into the outfit.

‘I've no idea, we didn't put it on him! Only the best designer gear for this one, thanks very much.' Patting her son's duck-egg blue romper suit, Biba said with pride, ‘Try Versace, if you want to buy him something else. Or Baby Dior.'

Rennie turned to leave. At the door he paused.

‘What's his name?'

‘Come on, you think I'm going to tell you that now?' Biba flashed him a triumphant smile. ‘Can't let the cat out of the bag yet, can we, babes?' This time, thankfully, the
babes
was directed at her son. ‘You'll have to wait and read all about it,' she told Rennie, ‘in next week's
Hi!
'

Rennie shook his head; he no longer had the energy to be angry. It was his own fault for tangling with a girl like Biba in the first place. He had no one to blame but himself.

‘Rennie? Can we still be friends?'

He looked over at Biba posing with her son beside the cot, supremely aware of the touching tableau they made. ‘I don't think so. After all, we never were.'

She kissed the baby's dark downy head, then hoisted him up to her shoulder.

‘Oh well, never mind. But you do understand why I did it, don't you? Going to the papers is money for old rope. I needed the money, so I gave them the rope.'

‘You certainly did that,' Rennie agreed.

‘But it's over now,' Biba said chirpily. ‘No harm done, babes. You can just carry on being you, having a ball and breaking hearts . . .'

No harm done
. For a moment he was almost tempted to tell her just how much harm had been done. And that the only heart to have been broken was his own.

But what would be the point of that?

‘Bye,' said Rennie.

‘He's miserable. He's been an idiot and he knows it. Dammit, he's making
my
life a misery,' Annie declared. ‘He's no fun any more. In fact I'll tell you how bad it's got. Who's the grumpiest, stroppiest, most irritable man you've ever met in your life?'

That was easy. ‘Grumpy Gus,' Carmen said promptly. Grumpy Gus, a frequent visitor to the shelter, was a foul-mouthed curmudgeon of truly heroic proportions.

‘Correct. Ten points to you. And last week even
he
told Nick to cheer up.'

‘Really?' Carmen looked sceptical.

‘Well, not really. His actual words were, “For fuck's sake, you miserable bastard, get a fucking grip on yourself and cheer the fuck up.”'

‘That sounds more like it.'

Annie grew serious. ‘But it's not funny, Carmen. Nick really is regretting what he did. He misses you terribly. That's why I had to see you today. I thought you might want to know.'

Carmen laced her fingers tightly round her cup of coffee. Hearing from Annie out of the blue after all these weeks had come as both a shock and a relief. Terrified that Annie despised her as much as Nick did, Carmen had been deeply touched by her former workmate's response.

‘You twit,' Annie had chortled down the phone. Not many people could chortle, but Annie could. ‘Of course I don't hate you!'

‘But you bought me those mugs for the flat . . .'

‘So?' Annie had retorted in disbelief. ‘I like buying presents for my friends. Look, meet me in Luigi's at six o'clock. And if it makes you feel any better, you can pay for the coffee and doughnuts.'

Now, ensconced with Annie in the steamy cafe a couple of streets away from the shelter, Carmen's stomach tightened as she wondered if she did want to know how much Nick was regretting what he'd done.

Except she did, of course she did. He'd made a mistake, he missed her terribly. She was vindicated.

‘So?' said Annie, licking sugar from her fingers and greedily eyeing her second toffee doughnut.

‘So what?'

‘Don't give me that! Do you miss him too?'

Carmen's heart began to gallop. She and Nick had been so happy together. Of course she'd missed him. And then the thing had happened with Rennie - the thing that had first begun to make itself felt on Christmas night, if she was honest - and that had remained uppermost in her mind. But she and Rennie had no future together, she knew that. And no two men could be more different than Rennie and Nick. Which had to mean something, surely?

‘He was the one who ended it,' said Carmen.

‘You were such a great couple.' Annie pushed up the baggy sleeve of her pink sweater. ‘Look, it's twenty past six. Nick will be leaving work in ten minutes. How about if I give him a ring?'

‘And say what?' Carmen began to scent a set-up.

‘That we're here, you berk!' Delving into her bag, Annie eagerly whipped out her phone. ‘That you'd like to see him again, and if he wants to drop by you could have a chat about . . . you know, stuff.'

‘Does he know you're meeting me?'

‘You're joking.' Vigorously Annie shook her head. ‘He'd have killed me. Anyway, you might not have wanted to see him and then he'd have been even grumpier.'

Picturing Nick with his dear familiar face, scruffy hair and lamentable taste in clothes, Carmen realised how much she did want to see him again. He was kind, caring and the most genuinely selfless man she'd ever known. And he would never deliberately hurt her.

She shook her head at Annie. ‘You know what? You're shameless.'

‘Is that a yes?'

Her stomach contracting with anticipation, Carmen said, ‘Go on then.'

 

So this was how it felt to be stood up. Having packed Annie off home forty minutes earlier because some reconciliations were definitely better carried out without an interested audience, Carmen had ordered a fresh coffee and waited. And waited.

When Annie had spoken to him on the phone Nick had agreed to join them at Luigi's. Clearly he'd had no intention of doing so.

It was almost seven o'clock. Nick wasn't coming and that was that. Wondering if anyone in London had a more disastrous love life than she did - the words,
what love life?
sprang to mind - Carmen said her goodbyes to Luigi and his son and left the cafe.

The way things were going, Luigi's effusive garlicky kisses and rib-crushing embrace were the nearest she was going to get to love for quite a while.

It was a warm evening. When she emerged from the stuffy tube station, Carmen took off her navy sweatshirt and tied it round her hips. From a newsagents she bought an
Evening Standard
and a Cornetto.

Five minutes later, rounding the corner into Fitzallen Square, the Cornetto slid from her hand and hit the pavement. Ahead of her, scarcely recognisable with his hair short but otherwise deeply familiar in his old green jumper and dilapidated jeans, stood Nick.

‘My God.' Carmen's hand flew to her mouth. She heard herself say stupidly, ‘You're here.'

‘I know.' Nick's smile was crooked, tentative. ‘Amazing, isn't it?'

‘I waited for you in the cafe.'

‘Sorry. I wanted us to talk properly. I couldn't do it in Luigi's, in front of bossy Annie.' With a self-conscious gesture he reached up to rub the back of his head. Close to, Carmen saw that it was actually a pretty terrible haircut.

‘I sent Annie away. She wouldn't even have been there. I thought you'd stood me up.'

‘I was nervous. And I wanted to impress you.' Ruefully Nick tugged at a stray asymmetric tuft of hair. ‘Should have gone to a proper barber, I guess.'

‘Who did it?'

‘Albert.'

‘Albert the chess Grand Master?' Carmen struggled to keep a straight face.

‘We were in the middle of a game when Annie rang. I happened to mention I'd be seeing you after work. That was when Albert asked me if I wanted to look my best and told me he used to be a hairdresser.'

‘And you believed him, obviously.'

‘He said he'd trained with Vidal Sassoon. Started talking about the parties him and Vidal used to go to with Twiggy and Mary Quant. They're real people,' Nick added defensively. ‘Even I've heard of them.'

‘So you let Albert cut your hair,' said Carmen.

Nick nodded bashfully. ‘With the kitchen scissors.'

‘I hope you didn't give him a tip.'

‘Oh God, is it really that terrible?'

‘Hey, it's only a haircut. Hair grows back. Or you could shave it all off.' Carmen realised she was babbling out of sheer nerves. This was ridiculous, why were they standing here talking about hair? Taking a deep breath she gestured towards number sixty-two and said, ‘That's where I live. Are you coming in?'

‘I rang the doorbell ten minutes ago. Your brother-in-law answered the door.' The expression on Nick's face indicated that he hadn't received the warmest of welcomes. ‘Could we talk out here instead?'

Feeling nervous, Carmen led the way across the road and into the garden square. When they'd reached the wooden seat and sat down she said, ‘Talk about what?'

‘Me being the world's biggest idiot.' Nick heaved a sigh, twisting an elastic band round his wrist and avoiding Carmen's gaze. ‘Me realising that I should never have said those things to you. Me having to listen to Annie going on and on about how unfair I'd been, and knowing she was right.' Bowing his head he went on awkwardly, ‘Me missing you more than I'd imagined possible.'

‘Have you?' A lump sprang into Carmen's throat.

‘Me wondering if you've missed me,' Nick continued. Round and round went the elastic band on his bony wrist.

Carmen nodded. ‘Of course I've missed you.'

‘Could you ever forgive me, d'you think? For behaving like a prize prat?'

‘Oh, I think so.' Managing a smile, she said, ‘Do you think you could forgive me for being filthy rich?'

Finally looking at her, Nick reached for her hand.

‘I wish you weren't, but I suppose I can tolerate it.' He gave Carmen's fingers a squeeze. ‘As long as it stays your money. If we're going to give things another go, you have to get your lawyer to draw up some kind of document for me to sign, stating that I never want a penny of it.'

‘You berk,' Carmen said happily. ‘I know you'd never do anything like that.'

‘But I want to sign something anyway. Nobody's ever going to accuse me of being a gold-digger.' Nick was pale but determined. ‘So d'you think we have a chance?' he said tentatively. ‘Can we start again?'

How many times had she dreamed of him saying this? And now it was actually happening. Throwing her arms round him, Carmen whispered, ‘Oh Nick . . .'

 

Rennie felt as though he'd been knifed in the stomach. Watching from his bedroom window, he experienced a surge of pain so acute it was almost physical, combined with more boiling jealousy than he'd known he possessed. That was it then. He had lost. And Nick had won, not because he had the looks and the money, but because he was a genuinely decent, easy-going,
thoroughly nice bloke
.

When Nick had rung the doorbell earlier asking for Carmen, Rennie had been tempted to punch him.