Thinking of You (5 page)

“You don't have to do this, you know.” Jem smiled at Davy Stokes, who had taken to dropping into the Royal Oak before closing time and walking her home after her shift.

“I know, but it's practically on my way.” Davy shrugged and said mildly, “Sorry, is it embarrassing? I won't do it if you'd rather I didn't.”

“Don't be daft. It's nice having someone to talk to. And when my boots are pinching my toes,” Jem added because her new boots were undoubtedly designed to be admired rather than worn to work in, “it means you can give me a piggyback.”

“In your dreams.” Grinning, Davy dodged out of the way before she could grab his shoulders and jump up. “Should've worn trainers like any normal barmaid.”

“But look at them! How could I leave them at home? They're so beautiful!” Jem's pointy pink cowboy boots were the new love of her life. “You're just jealous because you don't have a pair.”

Together they bickered their way along Guthrie Road, shivering as a cold drizzle began to fall. On impulse, Jem said, “Kerry and Dan are having a party tonight. D'you fancy coming along?”

Davy reluctantly shook his head. “Thanks, but I have to get home.”

Every Saturday after walking her to her door, he caught the bus back to Henbury. Feeling sorry for him, Jem urged, “Just this once. Come on, it'll be fun. Everyone's going. And you're welcome to crash at our place afterward.” What with Davy's continuing crush on Lucy, if this wasn't an incentive, she didn't know what was.

He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “I really can't. Mum'll be waiting up for me.”

“Davy, you're eighteen!”

Davy looked away. “I know, but she doesn't like to be on her own. Please don't start all this again. My mum isn't like your mum, OK?”

Jem slipped her arm through his and gave it a conciliatory squeeze. “OK, sorry. I'll shut up.”

He relaxed. “That'll be a first.”

“Anyway, I haven't told you about my mother's latest plan. I phoned her yesterday to tell her about my new boots,” said Jem. “And that's when she told me, she's getting a lodger!”

“Crikey. Who?”

“No idea, she hasn't found one yet. She's just finished redecorating the spare room. Next week she's going to put an ad in the local paper.”

“Wow. So how do you feel about that?”

“I think it's great. She wouldn't get anyone I didn't like, would she? Good for her, that's what I say.” Jem was proud of her mother. “She's getting on with her own life, doing something positive. Now that I'm not there anymore she could probably do with the company. You know, you should suggest it to your mum. Then you could move out without feeling guilty about leaving her on her own.”

Davy rolled his eyes. “You're doing it again.”

“Sorry, sorry, it just seems such a shame that—”

“And again!” They'd reached Jem's flat; Davy checked his watch. “I'd better make a move if I'm going to catch my bus. You enjoy your party.”

“I will. And thanks for walking me home. See you on Monday.” Jem waved as he headed off in the direction of Whiteladies Road, a lone figure in an oversized coat from Oxfam, on his way home to share cocoa and biscuits with his mother. No wonder other people made fun of him.

Poor Davy, what kind of life did he have?

Jem let herself into the flat expecting it to be empty. It was midnight and Rupert would be out at some trendy club somewhere. Lucy was already at Kerry and Dan's party. All she had to do was quickly change her clothes, slap on a bit more eye shadow, and re-spritz her hair, and she would be on her way. This time in footwear that didn't pinch like delinquent lobsters.

But when she pushed open the door to the living room, there was Rupert lying across the sofa watching TV and with an array of Chinese food in cartons spread out over the coffee table.

“Crikey, I thought you'd be out.”

Amused, Rupert mimicked her expression of surprise. “Crikey, but I'm not. I'm here.”

“Why? Are you ill? Where's Caro?” As she shrugged off her coat—the great thing about Rupert was he was never stingy with the central heating—it occurred to Jem that Caro hadn't been around for a few days now.

“Who knows? Who cares? We broke up.” He shrugged and reached for a dish of chicken sui mai.

“Oh, I didn't realize. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry on my account. She was boring. Spectacular to look at,” Rupert sighed, “but with about as much charisma as a soap on a rope.”

This was true, but Jem diplomatically didn't say so. In her experience, this was a surefire method of ensuring they'd be back together within a week, plus they'd then both hate your guts.

“So here I am, all alone, with more Chinese food than one person could ever eat. But now you're here too.” Patting the sofa, Rupert said, “So that's good. Come on, sit down and help yourself. I've got a stack of DVDs here. How was work this evening?”

Jem hesitated. He'd never asked her about work before. She suspected that Rupert was keen to have company and more upset about Caro than he was letting on.

“Um, actually I'm supposed to be meeting up with Lucy. At Kerry and Dan's party. Why don't you come along too?”

“Kerry the bossy hockey player? And carrot-top Dan the incredible hulk? I'd rather cut off my own feet. You don't really want to go there,” Rupert drawled. “All those noisy rugby types downing their own vast bodyweight in cheap beer. It's cold outside, it's starting to rain so you'd be drenched by the time you got there, and what would be the point of it all?”

He
was
lonely; it was obvious. And speaking of cutting off your own feet, hers were certainly killing her. Jem hesitated, picturing the party she'd be missing. She was starving, and the most anyone could hope for at Kerry and Dan's would be dry French bread and a bucket of garlic dip. Whereas Rupert didn't buy ordinary run-of-the-mill takeaways; he ordered from the smartest Chinese restaurant in Clifton, and all the food on the table looked and smelled like heaven.

“Maybe you're right.” Giving in to temptation, she sank down onto the sofa next to him.

Rupert grinned. “I'm always right. Want a hand with those?”

Jem tugged off her left boot and heaved a sigh of relief as her toes unscrunched themselves. Having helped her pull off the right one, Rupert held up the boot and sorrowfully shook his head. “You shouldn't wear these.”

What was he, a chiropodist?

“They're leather,” Jem told him. “They'll stretch.”

“That's beside the point; they'll still be horrible.”

“Excuse me!”

“But they are. How much did they cost?”

“They were a bargain. Twenty pounds in the sale.”

“Exactly.”

“Reduced from seventy-five!”

“
Exactly
. Who in their right mind would want them?”

“
I
would,” Jem protested, looking at her boots and wondering if he was right.

Smiling at the expression on her face, Rupert chucked them across the carpet. “OK, that's enough boot talk. Have some wine. And help yourself to food. Are you warm enough?”

The king prawns in tempura were sublime. Greedily, Jem tried the scallops with chili sauce. The white wine too was a cut above the kind of special-offer plonk she was used to. Closing her eyes and wriggling her toes, she said, “You know what? I'd rather be here.”

“Of course you would. Staying in is the new going out.” Wielding chopsticks like a pro, Rupert fed her a mouthful of lemon chicken. “Listen to the rain outside. We're here with everything we need. Turning up at some ropy old party just for the sake of it is what people do when they're too insecure to stay at home. They're just desperate.”

Swallowing the piece of chicken, Jem thought how much chattier Rupert was when it was just the two of them together. While he and Caro had been a couple, their attitude had always been… well, not stand-offish exactly, but distant. Now, taking a sip of wine, she realized he was showing definite signs of improvement. Wait until she told Lucy that super-posh Rupert might actually be human after all.

Actually, better text Lucy and tell her she was giving the party a miss.

By half-past one they'd finished two bottles of wine.
Gangs
of
New
York
wouldn't have been Jem's DVD of choice, but the food more than compensated. When the film ended, Rupert said, “Want to watch
The
Office
next?”

“Ooh yes.” Relaxed and pleasantly fuzzy, she beamed up at him. “You know what? I'm really glad I stayed in.”

“All the best people do it. Unlike that rabble,” said Rupert of a group of noisy revelers making their way along the road outside. “Listen to them, bunch of tossers.” Raising his voice, he repeated loudly, “
Tossers
.”

Jem giggled. “I don't think they can hear you.”

Rupert leaped up from the sofa and crossed the room. Flinging open the sash window, he bellowed, “TOSSERS!”

A chorus of shouting greeted this observation. Whistles and insults were flung up at him and a beer can made a tinny sound as it bounced off a wall.

“Close the window,” Jem protested as cold air blasted through the room.

“Are you kidding? They tried to throw a beer can at me.” Casting around the living room, Rupert searched for something to throw in return.

“No bottles.” Jem swiftly grabbed the empty wine bottle before he could reach it. Then she let out a shriek as he snatched up her boots and flung the first one out of the window. “Not my boots!”

 

“Wankers,” yelled Rupert, hurling the second boot before she could stop him, then slamming the window shut.

“Are you mad? Go and get them back! They're
my
boots.”

“Correction. They're horrible boots.” Amused, he reached out and grasped Jem's arms as she attempted to dart past him. “And it's too late now; they've run off with them.”

“You bastard! How dare you?”

“Hey, shhh, they've served their purpose. I'll buy you a new pair.”

“That was the last pair in the shop!” Jem struggled to break free.

“And they were cheap and nasty. You deserve better than that. I'll buy you some decent boots.” Rupert was laughing now. “Now there's an offer you can't turn down. OK, I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have just grabbed them like that, but I've done you a big favor. We'll go out tomorrow and find you a fabulous pair. That's a promise.”

Jem stared past him, lost for words. Her beautiful pointy pink cowboy boots, the bargain boots she'd been so proud of, gone, just like that.

Had they really been cheap and nasty? Davy had said they looked nice.

Then again, Davy wasn't exactly known for his unerring sense of style.

“Come on.” Rupert tilted her face up to look at him. “You know it makes sense.” His gaze softened as he stroked her cheek. “God, you're a pretty little thing.”

Jem knew he was going to kiss her. This wasn't something she had ever imagined happening. But now that it was, it seemed entirely natural. As his mouth brushed against hers, she felt warmth spread through her body. Rupert's fingers slid through her hair, then he drew her closer to him and kissed her properly.

It was great. Then he pulled away and cradled her face in his hands, his hazel eyes searching hers.

“What?” whispered Jem.

“Sorry, shouldn't have done that.” He smiled briefly. “I just couldn't help myself.”

Jem hesitated. Would it be too forward to suggest that he could do it again if he liked?

But Rupert was shaking his head now, looking regretful. “Probably not the best idea.”

This was his flat, she was his tenant. Maybe he was right. Not hugely experienced sexually, one part of Jem was relieved that he wasn't launching himself at her, employing all his seduction skills and doing his level best to inveigle her into his bedroom for a night of torrid passion.

The other part of her wondered why not and felt, frankly, a bit miffed. Wasn't she attractive enough?

“Come on, let's watch
The
Office
.” Rupert affectionately ruffled her hair before turning away to sort through the pile of DVDs.

And that was what they did. For the next hour, Jem sat next to him on the sofa gazing blindly at the TV, completely unable to concentrate on what was happening on screen. Her mind was in a whirl; all she could think about was that kiss and the way Rupert had looked at her. Why had he stopped? And wasn't he feeling anything now? Her whole body was fired up, awash with adrenaline, and he was acting as if nothing had happened between them.

Had the kiss put him off? Had she done it wrong? Was Rupert regretting it now or did it genuinely not mean anything to him at all?

One thing was for sure, she wasn't going to be the one to ask.

Jem's heart broke into a gallop as Rupert moved, reaching forward for the remote control. He switched off the DVD and the TV, yawned widely, and said, “That's it. Time for bed.”

Was that some kind of code? Hardly daring to breathe, she watched him stand up, yawn again, and stretch his shoulders. Turning briefly, he said, “Night then,” before heading for the door.

OK, not some kind of code after all.

“Night,” said Jem, confused and disappointed. All these months of sharing a flat with Rupert and she had honestly never thought of him in a romantic way, but that had been because he was so out of her league it had simply not occurred to her that anything could happen. Rupert's background, his gilded life and upper-class glamour, set him apart from the rest of them. He and Caro moved in elevated circles, whizzing up to London at weekends, staying with friends in country houses, and flying to Paris when the mood took them.

It was a different world. He'd kissed her.

And now he'd gone to bed.

Let's face it, nothing was going to happen. She'd been naive to even think it might.

***

Jem had been in bed for ten minutes when the knock came on her bedroom door. Before she had time to reply, the handle turned and the door opened.

Rupert stood framed in the doorway, wearing shorts and nothing else. “I can't stop thinking about you.”

“What?” It came out as a quivery whisper. Her pulse was going for some kind of world record.

“I think you heard.” It was dark but Rupert sounded as if he was smiling. “I can't sleep.” He tapped his head. “You're in here. I've tried to get you out but you won't go.”

Oh, that voice, that silky upper-class drawl.

Moving toward her in the darkness, he went on, “And I wondered if it was the same for you.”

Jem's tongue was stuck fast to the roof of her mouth. She couldn't say no; she couldn't say yes; she couldn't say anything at all.

“Room for one more in there?” Rupert tilted his head to one side. “Or would you rather be on your own? If I've just made a horrible mistake here, I'll go back to my room.”

Her fingers trembling, Jem reached for Barney Bear, the battered soft toy that had accompanied her to bed since she was five years old. Surreptitiously she dropped him down between the side of the bed and her chest of drawers, then lifted the duvet and pulled it back, moving over to make room for Rupert to join her.

“You're sure?” said Rupert as he slid into bed and took her into his arms.

“Yes,” Jem whispered into his ear. She'd never been more sure in her life.

***

At four o'clock, Rupert climbed out of bed and located his shorts.

Jem pushed herself up on one elbow. “What are you doing?”

“Being discreet. Better if Lucy doesn't know about this.” Combing his fingers through his hair, he said, “She might think three's a crowd, feel a bit of a third wheel. Easier all round if you don't tell her.”

He had a point. This was Rupert's flat, she and Lucy were his tenants, and it could cause awkwardness.

That made sense.

Except… did it mean what they'd just done was a one-off, nothing more than a meaningless shag?

Was that
it
?

“Hey, don't look at me like that.” Having pulled on his shorts, Rupert bent over and kissed her. “It'll be fun. Like having an affair without all the hassle of being married to other people. It's more exciting when no one else knows.”

Relieved, Jem wrapped her arms around his neck. “You're right. It's easier if we don't tell Lucy. It'll feel a bit funny, though. We tell each other everything.”

“Well, this time you're just going to have to stop yourself.” Straightening up, Rupert grinned. “We don't want this to be spoiled, do we? Trust me, some secrets are better kept.”