The following afternoon, I have a thought. If the Master Clean Company bills haven’t been paid, I wonder how many others haven’t. How many others have got lost in the financial fog that hangs like the Iron Curtain in this establishment? So, I retrieve the folder containing all the physical invoices and pull up the corresponding spreadsheet from the inn’s bank details onto my screen. And check every single sheet against every item.
About an hour into my task, I begin to find some discrepancies. Items listed on the bank’s outgoings have no physical invoice. Now, one lost invoice or two, I can understand, but so far I’ve counted seven, all in the space of the last three months. And there are even more going back for an entire year.
Why would Mitchell want to hide purchases for the hotel? And, judging by the amounts spent, they weren’t small sums. Unless… they weren’t for the hotel and he’d… borrowed the money from his business? Oh God, please don’t let it be so. He’s already in enough trouble as it is. I need to give him a chance to explain. So I pick up the desk phone and dial his mobile.
‘Laura,’ he answers.
‘It’s Rosie…’
‘Hey… What’s up?’
He sounds more than pleased to hear from me. Dare I believe he’d forgive me if he knew about my secret mission? If I’d come clean upon arrival, it’d have been easier. But now? Not that easy.
‘Just a quick question. Do you use your business account for large purchases?’
Pregnant pause. ‘Define large.’
‘Five hundred pounds at a time. Every month for a year.’
I hear him whistle. ‘Jesus. No, but check the invoices in case.’
‘You don’t remember, offhand?’ That’s not good. How can he not keep such large expenses in mind?
‘Uh, no. Unless Diane bought stuff she forgot to itemise.’
Of course. It makes sense, being Mitchell’s wife and assistant manager. But that doesn’t account for the current withdrawals from the business account.
‘Is there any way you can check for sure?’ I ask. I don’t want to force him to have an uncomfortable conversation with the ex, but I’m determined to solve this.
Another pause. He’s not happy with the idea. ‘I’m heading back now anyway, so I’ll give you a hand.’
I hang up, the edginess of having made a faux pas regarding Diane compensated by the fact that I’ll see him shortly. It’s a nice, warm, fuzzy feeling I haven’t had in years. And I wonder: is there absolutely no way I can tell him who I am, without him hating me?
*
‘Mum, Mitchell wants to go to the Christmas movie in the village hall tonight, can we go?’ Danny says, bouncing into the back office, Mitchell on his heels.
I look up at the two, noticing the expectant, hopeful looks on their faces. Mitchell, who, contrary to Danny’s biological father, goes out of his way to spend time with him, is becoming more and more attached to him with every day that goes by. And I just know it’s going to be hard on Danny when we leave. All the harder, because Danny, like his mum, isn’t one to give his heart away so easily.
‘So can I, Mum? Please?’
Mitchell half-sits on my desk, leaning forward, his hands joined in a silent plea, working his huge spaniel eyes better than a four-year-old. ‘Come on. I’ll have a quick look at your papers while you two get ready. Plus there’s always tomorrow. We all need a break, don’t you think?’
As if I could deny either of them anything. In a short space of time, Mitchell alone has done wonders for my son’s confidence with the way he treats him, asking him for his opinion as if he was the most important person in the world to him. I am so grateful to the bloke, and conversely, I feel so guilty because of what I’m doing to him, that I have to literally fight the tears back down.
‘Oh, all right,’ I say in my fake grouchy-mum voice, keeping my head low so they won’t see my moist eyes.
‘Yay!’ Danny cheers, throwing his arms around me. ‘Thanks, Mum!’
Mitchell places a huge hand on my shoulder and suddenly I’m flooded with warmth. ‘Pick you up at seven? I mean, see you in the lobby at seven?’
I sit back, open-mouthed. ‘Me?’
Mitchell rolls his chocolate eyes. ‘You didn’t think we would go without you, did you?’
*
It’s twenty to seven and Danny is champing at the bit, while I’m having my umpteenth coronary crisis. I haven’t got anything decent to wear and I look like absolute crap. My hair has suddenly gone limper than usual and I look… pasty. With a rising sense of panic, I throw some make-up on, and just as I think I might actually get away with it, I poke my eye with the mascara wand, which brings tears to my eyes and guess what? I have to start all over again. Knowing I’ll never be ready in time now, I remove the whole shebang and settle for the faint traces of mascara that make my lashes look naturally dark rather than sophisticated. Fine by me – every time I make an effort, I end up looking like I’m trying too hard. I simply don’t know how to wear make-up. End of.
I pull on my best jeans and slip into a white shirt. I’d look pretty plain if it wasn’t for my super-cool silver belt that rests on my hips. But hey, shouldn’t I relax? It’s not a date. It’s just two adults taking a child to the movies. Nothing too involving, no promises being made, no questions asked. Right? Right. So why is my heart still hammering away?
‘Can I go downstairs, Mum?’
‘Not yet, darling, Mitchell’s finishing up some work and I don’t want you rushing him.’
Fifteen minutes still to go and I’m already sweating buckets. I remove my shirt and check the thermostat, flapping my arms to keep cool, but I’m only making it worse. I’m an absolute wreck.
‘Mum.’ Danny laughs. ‘Don’t worry, you look beautiful.’
‘Awh, thank you…’ See why I love my little man so much? At almost eight years of age, he’s my anchor, my solution to everything in life. He has this gift of tuning in to my feelings and thoughts and knows me inside out. But I have to be more careful round him. Mums are supposed to be the source of stability, not basket cases, right?
‘Anyway, Mitchell likes you, too,’ he adds.
I stop in the middle of the kitchenette. Now he’s really got my attention. ‘What? How do you know that?’
‘He said so.’
‘What? When?’
‘Yesterday, when we saw a woman in the street who looked like you. He said you were much prettier and much more ruinous than her. I looked it up, but it doesn’t make any sense.’
Ruinous? Oh, my God! Is that what he really thinks of me? Surely I deserve more than ‘ruinous’, for Christ’s sake? Danny has no idea of the turmoil he’s just thrown me into with his innocent comment. What does Mitchell mean by saying I’m ruinous? I came here to help.
‘Oh, Danny, don’t trouble yourself with that. He was only joking.’
He shrugs. ‘Okay, Mum. Can we go now?’ Danny says, pointing to his watch. ‘It’s seven o’clock.’
‘Oh, already?’
My heart would be in my mouth if it were in one piece, but shreds of it are dashing around inside me, in my ears, nose and throat. I can’t do this. I can’t be with Mitchell outside the frame of work, without a desk between us, or without work to talk about. Danny’s presence is going to offer me the last shred of dignity that I have, and stop me from continuously eyeing Mitchell as if he was the last man on earth.
*
As it turns out, I can relax, because Danny and Mitchell are entertaining each other with all sorts of stories and anecdotes, and all I have to do is offer a smile every now and then at the appropriate moments. But even that is proving to be difficult, when all I can see is Mitchell’s thick, corded forearms and hands caressing his thighs. I know that gesture. He’s nervous about something.
‘Right, Mum?’ Danny says.
I’m so absorbed by Mitchell’s presence that I have absolutely no idea what my own son has just said.
Mitchell lets out a hearty belly laugh, joined by Danny. I don’t get the joke, but I find this man’s laughter utterly sexy. I think at this stage I’d find him brushing his teeth sexy. Which means that the time has come for me to get a grip. I’m not a love-struck teenager anymore, and if I want to be precise, it’s behaviour like this that got me pregnant the first time. I’m an adult now, so it’s time I started acting like one.
As we climb into Mitchell’s jeep, he looks at me appreciatively. ‘You look nice, Rosie,’ he says simply, which throws me completely.
All I can think of to say is a measly, ‘Thank you.’
He looks good, too, actually. His beard keeps growing every day because he doesn’t bother to shave, but he’s made an effort to put on a proper jumper and not one of his old tatty fuzzy sweaters that irritate the crap out of me. Plus, he’s pulled back his hair into a man bun, which reveals features I’d never seen before. Finally, I can see that his forehead is broad and straight, and that his cheekbones are vertiginously high. He looks almost as if he’s actually trying.
And that’s when I realise we are staring at each other. Proper staring, like you see in the movies. And I can’t move or speak, I’m so enthralled. Luckily Danny is with us.
‘Mitchell, can you turn the engine on?’ Danny says, pulling me out of my reverie. ‘We’re going to be late.’
‘Oh. Yeah, of course, mate, of course. Seatbelt fastened?’
‘Yes,’ he answers.
Mitchell turns to me to acknowledge the black nylon slash across my coat, nods in satisfaction and we finally set off.
Along the way, Danny does all the talking, bless his soul. A week ago I’d have to have bribed him to speak in public but luckily he’s now enjoying partaking in the village activities. As we drive into town, many faces turn to wave at him and he waves back, his eager face stuck to the glass like an excited puppy’s, and a wave of tenderness mixed with guilt washes over me. This is mainly due to Jeremy and Mitchell taking him out around town. Everyone now knows the pale and quiet boy from London. Only he’s not that anymore. Now he’s a happy boy, coming out of his shell. And I have all these people to thank. People I must get to know. But what with my work schedule, how am I going to manage that? It’s important for me to know all of Danny’s new friends, young and old. I’ll have to think of a way.
The village hall has been decked out to the nines with Christmas decorations, the walls plastered in tinsel and posters made by the children from the Little Doves Primary School. I swear they can draw better than most artists I’ve seen, with a flair for the Christmas spirit that makes your heart want to sing Christmas carols from morning to night.
And that’s when I get my idea of how I’m going to become acquainted with everyone – all in one night. I decide to organise a carolling evening for the villagers. It’ll be on December 22nd. We’ll be leaving from the lobby at six p.m., when it’s dark enough to enjoy all the Christmas lights dotting the road into the village, picking up the villagers living on the outskirts, touring the hotspots and ending up back in the hotel dining room where we’ll be serving hot stew, freshly baked ciabatta and Christmas desserts. As Russell is averse to that kind of stuff – he calls cheesy because he only does ‘proper, gourmet meals’ – I’ll ask Laura and Alex to help me pull it off. Mitchell, on the other hand, will probably leave me to it, as he is, I know by now, not a very Christmassy kind of guy. Shame. I personally wish it was Christmas every day.
‘Can we get popcorn before the movie starts, Mum?’ Danny asks and I nod, pulling out my purse.
‘I’ll take care of it,’ Mitchell says, putting his hand on mine, and my skin literally fizzes at his touch. ‘You are my guests. Just sit back and relax.’
I look at him in surprise. ‘Oh? Okay. Thank you.’
How different he is from Mark, or what I remember of Mark. Who had always been selfish.
The relationship had always been about him, and never about us. When I used to go to the movies with him, on the rare occasion that he agreed to, I was the one who always paid for everything, from the tickets to the candy to the parking. And I was the one who would be queuing for it all. Sometimes I’d get in when the movie had already started, and when I asked what had happened, he would simply take the snacks off me and say, ‘Shush.’ No thank you, nothing. Not even a promise to do any of it himself the next time.
Our entire relationship, now that I think of it, was just like going to the movies – it rarely happened, I did all the legwork, paid for most of it and never got to enjoy any of it.
Mitchell smiles. ‘Coming, Danny?’
Does he even need to ask? My boy is so gaga over him it makes me worry. Is it right for Danny to fall for someone who won’t be in his life in a couple of weeks’ time? Isn’t it cruel to let him build a bond if he’ll be taken back home soon? I argue with myself that it is healthy for Danny to have male figures around him without necessarily looking for a father figure, but then I realise that he is of course searching for a father. And he literally adores the ground Mitchell walks on.
The sight of him slipping his hand into his, the way he looks up into Mitchell’s face, and the way Mitchell grins back at him makes me hate Mark even more than I already do. The man who should love me and Danny, as a matter of fact, doesn’t. And I’m so so grateful that Danny has never asked him to stay on his brief visits. On the contrary, he seems much happier the moment Mark leaves. If Danny misses having a father, I’m positive he doesn’t miss Mark per se. Which is a huge relief.
I wish that Danny could have what he deserves. He needs more than just me in his life. It’s not the poor kid’s fault that his father was an irresponsible jerk who knocked me up and left me like I was a huge mistake. Because that’s what Mark made me feel like. A mistake. And I never want my son to feel that he isn’t worthy of love. It makes me angry that Mark has put us in this position of tiptoeing through life when instead we should be strutting through it, because we, too, have a right to be here, whether we’re rich or not, whether there’s a man in our lives or not.
I’d cut out my heart for my son if I had to. And as I watch him and Mitchell head off for the food counter, I dash a hand across my eyes and wipe it on my jeans while no one’s looking. Besides, it’s not like I’m wearing any make-up.
The movie on schedule is It’s a Wonderful Life. Danny and I have seen it about a gazillion times, and it’s our absolute favourite. It always makes us grateful for everything we have, and I am especially appreciative of the fact that Danny really gets it, when instead he could simply look around and see that his friends wear designer clothes, have expensive sports equipment, and disappear to exotic countries for weeks on end, when he’s excited to spend a day at Chatsworth, picnicking by the river on mini Scotch eggs and sandwiches and cheese, feeding half of his lunch to the ducks and the sheep.
And even now, he’s happy, munching away on his popcorn, sitting between Mitchell and me. Every now and then he glances up at me, and I wonder what’s going inside that darling little head of his. Is he making up romantic movies about Mitchell and myself? He is if he’s my son, and if I know him at all. He’s asked me several times in the past why I didn’t have a boyfriend, when his friends’ mums were already on their third this year.
Mitchell, on the other hand, seems immersed in the movie, but every now and then, he’ll glance at Danny, and then his eyes will furtively dart to mine, as if to make sure I’m still there. He’s not a talker during movies, that’s for sure, but I can feel he appreciates our presence. I’d like to say something funny, but then I remember the way Mark used to shush me, even when we were sitting on our own in front of the telly, so I change my mind and huddle inside my coat, glad for my thick scarf. It’s not exactly the tropics in here.
When all is well again, Clarence earns his wings, and the curtains are drawn, everyone begins to file out of the town hall, anxious to get home to their own home fires. All except one.
‘Well, hello, Mitchell, who’s your little friend?’ comes a shrill voice from behind us. Mitchell turns around and grins. ‘Abby, hi! Please meet my buddy Danny, and this here is his mum, Rosie.’
‘Well!’ she chimes again, bending to Danny, but completely ignoring me. ‘Hello, little man!’
I make to proffer my hand, but she is oblivious as she straightens and gazes up into Mitchell’s eyes. She is older than me, maybe early forties, but she looks… confident. She is undoubtedly able to get any guy she wants, with her long black tresses and full, pomegranate mouth. Her dark eyes miss nothing, it seems, the way they size me up, and dismiss me altogether as innocuous.
‘How have you been, Abby?’ Mitchell says. ‘London seems to be doing you well.’
‘Not too bad, Mitchell. I just heard about Diane. I’m so sorry, love!’
Mitchell eyes me, and then shrugs. ‘It’s been a year. But I’m quite happy now, thanks, Abby.’
‘Well, when you want a real, home-cooked dinner, love, come on over, and we’ll see if we can’t get you sorted, hmm?’
‘Awh, thanks, Abby, that’s awfully kind of you, but I’m really busy this season.’
Abby shrugs. ‘Maybe I can swing by the inn, then. We can have a cup of coffee and catch up.’
‘Sure, why not? It was good seeing you. Night, Abby.’ And then he turns back to us. ‘Ready to go home?’
Danny and I nod in unison. Anything to get away from Abby who is now further away but still staring me down as if I was a repelling insect.
During the drive home, Danny and Mitchell comment on the movie and the wide variety of snacks available, while I sit in silence. Why do all women act like that around me when there’s a male in the vicinity? It’s not like I’m some sex bomb who will steal their man away from them. I am the furthest thing away from it, with my faded jeans and ponytail. Or maybe they detect my loneliness instead, and think what a loser I am. Which is most likely.
I don’t realise we’re home until I feel the crunch of gravel under the tyres, and as we walk to the entrance of the inn, Danny and Mitchell still prattling away about George Bailey’s luck, I suddenly become overwhelmed by the fact that we don’t belong here after all, and that this is not our home. It’s all temporary. For now, and a few more nights, we will call it that, but really, it isn’t. And the thought makes me miserable.
‘See you tomorrow, Mitchell,’ Danny says yawning when we reach the lobby. ‘And thanks for such a great night!’
‘Awh, bless you, mate, you too,’ Mitchell says, high-fiving him, and then stuffing his hands in his pockets to look at me.
I turn to Danny and give him the key to our room. ‘Here, love, go on. I’ll be right up.’
‘Okay,’ Danny says with a happy bounce as he bounds through the doors, not without turning to give us a quick glance. I swear that boy is tuned in to my feelings. I can only hope that he can’t read my insecurities. Imagine having to explain all of them to an almost eight-year-old boy.
And then it strikes me that that was the equivalent of saying, ‘Go on up, I want to be alone with Mitchell in case he decides to kiss me.’ Which is ridiculous. He has not indicated any real interest in me in a boy meets girl way. It’s just my imagination again, driven by eight years of loneliness. Well, almost nine, actually. Because now, having met Mitchell, I’ve started thinking about things like that again, and it’s like being on another planet.
Mitchell hovers, playing with his own keys. Textbook ‘I want to hang’ language. ‘Well, Rosie, thanks for the lovely evening.’
‘Thank you, Mitchell.’
He shrugs and chuckles to himself. ‘I guess that if this had been a date, I’d be giving you a goodnight kiss by now…’
I look up. His face is visibly much softer than it is during the day when we are tackling problems in the office. There is no furrow between his eyebrows and his mouth is upturned into an almost smile.
Is he asking to kiss me? What do I do? ‘I guess…’ Arrgh. Seriously? What does that mean: Yes, kiss me or… what am I, a teenager? Although, right now, I actually feel like one, with all the relative uncertainty. I’ve completely blown it, I know. But he doesn’t budge.
‘Danny had a good time, though…’ he offers, studying his feet.
‘Meaning you didn’t?’ I blurt out.
His eyes dart to mine. ‘What? No, of course not. I mean… I did. I had a great time. Danny is a true joy.’
‘Yes, he is.’ Can I think of nothing else to say? ‘Well, I’m glad you enjoyed his company.’
His face falls and he looks into my face. ‘Oh, I enjoyed yours, too, Rosie.’
‘You did?’
‘Of course. And I’d like to do it again.’
‘Danny would love that,’ I agree, and then curse myself. If ever Mitchell wanted to say something to me, he won’t do it with my son standing between us. Which is probably for the best, seeing as I still am The Spy.
But he grins. ‘Great. We’ll do it again, then. See you tomorrow, Rosie.’
That’s it? No doorstep, first kiss? Of course not. It wasn’t a date. Maybe that Abby woman is more his type? How am I supposed to know? I don’t know anything about him, really. I don’t know what he likes to do in his spare time, nor the kind of girl he likes. Because I can’t bring myself to make light conversation outside the topic of work.
I open the door to my suite to see Danny already in bed, reading another one of his horse magazines. He looks up and grins. ‘Did you have a good time, Mum?’
I put my bag down to sit on the edge of his bed and kiss his soft cheek. ‘I had a fantastic time, darling. And you?’
‘Mitchell is fun, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he is. He wants to take us out again, soon.’
Danny closes his magazine. ‘Mum, you guys go on your own next time.’
I eye him. ‘Nonsense. Mitchell wants you to come.’
He grins. ‘Mum. You and Mitchell need some time alone.’
I do a double take. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because when we went to get our snacks he asked me if it was okay if he asked you out to dinner one night.’
Dinner! ‘And… would you be okay with that?’
He tilts his head and looks at me. I swear, sometimes he acts like he’s eighteen, and not nearly eight. ‘Of course. You can’t spend all your time worrying about me. You’ve got to get yourself a life. I’m not a baby anymore, you know?’
Not a baby? Of course he is, and he’ll always be my baby. I want to sweep him up into a desperate embrace and cry into his hair, and beg him to never lose this childhood sweetness. But instead I smile. He needs his mama to be strong, not an absolute, teary-eyed mess.
‘Of course you’re not, love. You’re growing up quickly! But you still have a curfew. Now turn out your light, and get a good night’s sleep.’
‘You too, Mum.’
I kiss him again and pad into my own bedroom next door, leaving the door open as usual in case he needs me in the middle of the night.
But in Mitchell’s bed, I toss and turn. Dinner. He was going to ask me out to dinner, but then I blew it. The one time that he and I are alone together, and not talking about work, I decide to panic and push him away. Leaving him to the likes of the Abbys of this world. Sometimes I can be so stupid. I deserve to be alone.
Just as I’m drifting off to sleep, thinking of Mitchell’s lovely smile and large hands, my mobile pings with a missed call. Mark. I’d recognise that number anywhere, because I’ve spent years trying to forget it.