Another half-dozen ducks joined in with the first one’s cackling. Bella wanted to tell them to shut up – this wasn’t the time for their frivolity.
‘Oh. Saul, I’m …’
‘Sorry.’ Saul supplied the word for her. ‘Yes, I know. Everyone is.’ His smile was a sad, half-sized one; he was doing that gentle, reassuring thing that people do when they’ve sprung the shock of death, as if it’s their responsibility to make the unaffected one feel better, rather than the other way round. ‘There’s nothing else you can say really, is there? We British don’t do death very well. It’s an embarrassment. So I’ll quickly tell you all the things that I’ll assume you’d want to ask, and get it over with.’
He took a deep breath. ‘It was a long time ago – coming up to six years. It’s just a depressingly ordinary and sadly too-frequent tale. Lucy found a lump; after a lot of to-ing and fro-ing for tests and everyone saying how extremely unlikely it was to be serious, it turned out to be breast cancer. She had a mastectomy, chemo, plenty of state-of-the-art treatment and even more assurance that it would all be all right. Except … it wasn’t; when you’re young, if it takes hold it really does gallop through your body. So that’s it really. She was thirty-nine when she died. Back at the beginning of her illness she’d joked about whether it was true that life began at forty, and if so, that could be very handy for her – Lucy always did have a terrific sense of irony!’
‘So young.’ Bella hated herself for stating the obvious, but as Saul had pointed out, there just wasn’t a right phrase.
‘Too young,’ Saul agreed. ‘And too awful a way to go, at any age.’
‘So now you’re …?’
‘On my own, yes. I live over that office you came to in Soho. I’ve managed to buy the whole building, bit by bit, over the years, and I like being in the busy, noisy centre of things. There’s a roof garden to escape to when I feel too city-bound, and I love it up there with my plants and the birds. I found after a while, and after some not-great attempts at thinking I should settle with someone else, that I’m quite good at living by myself. I like the space, the peace, the being able to shut off from a job that’s mostly waffling on about trivial and inconsequential things. Perhaps if I worked in news or current affairs I’d feel different, but often I’m faced with the certainty that the kind of programmes I’m making aren’t anything to do with a grown-up life. But, hey, OK I’ve told you about me, what about you?’ he asked her as the sandwiches arrived. ‘What happened to Mr Bella, or is he just away somewhere? Ah … was he the guy who’d upset you that first time we met?’ Something about the spark in Saul’s eyes told her that his opinion of James was somewhere on the ‘he’s a twat’ scale.
‘Yes – that was James. But we’re long divorced. Very long,’ Bella told him. ‘He went off to live in Edinburgh with someone who matched his manic standards of domestic hygiene but, well, recently he’s come back to the area – or “relocated”, as he’d put it – and is sticking his oar into the murky waters of my life wherever he can. If it were down to him, I’d be moving into sheltered accommodation any day soon, and eking out my remaining years in a sterile wipe-clean cage. He …’ she hesitated. Would Saul want to know any more? Did he need to? Probably not, but as he’d shared something so personal it seemed only fair.
‘He wants to … what he calls “realize the liquidity in our joint property”.’ She tried out James’s phrase, finding it no less ludicrous this second time she’d heard it.
Saul looked both puzzled and amused. ‘And in English that is …?’
‘He wants to sell the house and take half the cash. He hasn’t lived there for ten years. Oh …!’ She put her hands over her face, feeling deep and sudden gloom. ‘Look, I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear this. It’s so superficial compared with what you’ve just told me.’
‘No, go on … you can tell me. I’m always interested in how crazily humans tick. But you said he left, and that you’re long divorced. Surely that means he can’t just …’
‘Ah, well we left it all a bit muddy when it came to the house, because it was where the children were growing up and we didn’t want them to lose their home as well as their father,’ she told him. ‘And now they’re older he’s back to cash in his share, a bit like the bad fairy coming to put her evil long-ago spell into action. You know, honestly, I’ve loved getting involved in all this TV stuff, because just for a little while I don’t have to think about my crap life.’ She laughed. ‘Just lately far too much has gone a bit wrong.’ Appalled, she felt her eyes fill with tears. So much for thinking the worries about money, her quarter of a job, her shaky future and (grrr) bloody James were on hold. Scratch the surface … And this was the second time Saul had seen her all weepy – it was where they’d come in. He must think she was like a leaky tap.
‘Come out with me,’ Saul suddenly said, reaching across and taking her hand. ‘For dinner, I mean. One night soon, later this week?’
Bella smudged the back of her spare hand across her eyes. The wobbly moment evaporated quickly. She’d have to watch that – she’d never been one for over-emotional episodes. It was to be hoped that was a one-off, and surely not unconnected with what Saul had told her about his wife. It certainly put the ridiculous defection of New York Rick into perspective.
‘I’m sorry, that was a bit unexpected! I’m really not the instant-tears sort.’ Her voice was shaky and she felt slightly silly. How sweet of him though, to take pity on her so quickly and ask her out. But what to say now? If she said no, he’d think she didn’t like him enough even to go on a no-strings date, when of course she did. After all, she was out with him now, wasn’t she? But if she said yes, he’d be stuck with his very kind spur-of-the-moment impulse and have to spend an evening being close and social with her. Did he really want that?
‘Look, you don’t have to …’
‘I know. Hey, it’s not a mercy date I’m offering, just two unattached people having a friendly evening together. I’d like to spend some time with you, without the prickly presence of Daisy, Dominic and everyone else,’ he said simply. ‘So it would be a pleasure. If you’d like to, that is. Oh – and if you are unattached …?’ He looked serious, questioning. ‘Ah … my mistake, is it? You’re seeing someone. After all, why wouldn’t you be?’
Bella laughed. ‘Hell no. Quite the opposite, honestly. I’ve had a recent scalding in that department, so I think you could safely say I’m firmly out of the date market right now. So yes, yes I would love to have dinner with you. Thank you for asking me.’
It couldn’t have got round the sixth form faster if Aimee had stalked the corridors with a loudhailer or sprayed it in paint across the football pitch.
‘What did she do? Stick a poster up by the reception area? Write it in lippy on all the loo mirrors?’ Carly said to Molly as she drove the two of them home. ‘I mean, you’d think she’d want to keep it quiet, wouldn’t you, the mad, sad cow. Everyone knows. You can’t go past an open doorway without hearing “Ohmigod! Have you heard …?”’
Molly gripped the car door handle hard as Carly stood on the brakes to let a Volvo out of a side turning. It was great to have the occasional lift home like this, and the heavy school-run traffic meant it was bordering on comfortable to be stuck in a traffic jam, so Carly couldn’t whizz along chatting and half oblivious, giggling ‘whoops’ every time she missed a gear change. All the same, Carly still managed to do a lot of sudden things. Like tell her Aimee was pregnant, confirmed by a wee-on-stick test that very morning, in school and between, apparently, Maths and Design Tech. This was the first Molly had heard of it, even though everyone else seemed to be in on the news. But then she had been in the library for hours working on Hamlet (a very tedious and self-obsessed bloke, in her opinion).
‘Maybe she thinks it makes her some kind of big deal,’ Molly speculated. ‘You know what she’s like for being a drama queen. She’s keeping the baby, then? Is she going to be pram-pushing like Lisa Page? Shame really, because although Aimee’s a pain and a really mean slapper, she’s pretty clever. She was supposed to be applying for Cambridge.’ There was a sneaky bit of pleasure to be had from this news, Molly worked out. If Aimee really was pregnant, it might make her feel sick enough to be put off chasing other people’s boyfriends. It could, as her grandmother would say, clip her wings a bit. Also, did boys fancy pregnant girls? Or would they think that they might cop for the blame – or at least the responsibility if they started sleeping with her, even after the event? And what about if she got clingy with one and asked him to be her birth partner, or something? No – they’d mostly keep a safe distance now. Ha!
‘Um … don’t think she’s said about keeping it. It’s anyone’s guess. I’d have thought that if she wasn’t, then she’d have kept quiet and just slid off to some, like, clinic place, wouldn’t you?’
‘I think it’s a bit lame that she’s told the whole school before she tells her folks. Or maybe she sent her mum a text, soon as she got the result. Can you imagine that? “Hey mum am PG. L8ers”. Mine would have an epi.’
‘Mine too. Ballistic isn’t the word.’
‘So. Who’s the daddy, you think?’ Molly giggled. ‘Or is there a list?’
‘That’s another thing that’s anyone’s guess.’ Carly grinned. ‘I can’t imagine there are many who aren’t in the frame for this one, can you?’
‘Well, apart from Giles, no. I suppose not. But it’s probably not someone from school. Isn’t Aimee always showing off that she’s out clubbing at places up town where she can pull something a bit more sophisticated than teenage boys? I think she was just practising on the boys at school, like learning on the nursery slopes in skiing.’
‘Maybe it’s one of those older ones, then. Perhaps she’s got some rich old git on the go.’ Carly slammed on the brakes at the lights, having decided quite late that amber was very close to red and not really good for a gamble.
‘Rich, yes. But rich and careless!’ Molly laughed. ‘Pregnant! Wow, what an idiot!’
There seemed to be people everywhere. Saul dropped Bella off at her gate and left to go to a meeting at the Soho office. Bella had plans to go out later to do some much-needed food-shopping, but she’d have to get the two trucks blocking in her Mini to move out of the way first. The front door was wide open and cables trailed through the house. As she went into the kitchen she could see a couple of hefty young men manhandling a huge palm tree into place halfway along the side flower bed, supervised by Keith the cat, sitting on the fence looking furious at his territory being so invaded. Bella sympathized. The kitchen worktop was covered in coffee mugs and scattered with sugar, and she had a heart-sinking certainty that when she looked in the fridge there might still be a bottle of milk but it wouldn’t contain enough even for that one cup of tea that she craved.
Of Shirley and Molly there was no sign at all, which meant the house could have been open for hours for this crew of total strangers. Much as she liked Saul, just at this moment she could cheerfully have abandoned this whole mad project, thrown the lot of them out and slammed the door after them. So this was Saul’s idea of minimal disruption, was it? They’d be able to carry on living in the house, no problem? Right. Who was in charge here? Nick must be somewhere about – she wanted a word with him.
‘Sorry love, could you just move to your left a bit? I need to get to the kettle.’ A big bearded man in a sweat-stained T-shirt was suddenly blocking her view of the garden work.
‘“Love?”’ she snapped at him. ‘And who are you, if you don’t mind me asking, to be making free with my kitchen appliances?’
Ugh … she so wished she hadn’t said that. How snooty she sounded. She could imagine them all later, down at the riverside pub with pints of Wifebeater beer, laughing about her and her ‘eew lah-di-dah kitchen appliances!’ She wouldn’t blame them. For now, though, this poor man simply looked puzzled. ‘Um … I’m from Green Piece Garden Company … dressing in some plant life for the shoot? And you are …?’
‘I’m Bella. I live here. It’s my house. What happened to film catering? I didn’t expect to be feeding the five thousand.’
Nick came in from the hallway carrying a saw and a big screwdriver. ‘Hi Bella – sorry about this. It’ll all be clear in an hour, I promise. The catering only turns up for the actual shoot. But … we’ve come equipped!’
With a ta-da flourish, he opened the fridge and there were several bottles of milk, from full cream to organic skimmed. He then showed her new boxes of tea, bags of coffee and a tin of biscuits near the kettle.
‘All tastes catered for, from Dominic’s camomile tea to the sparks’s Nescafé,’ he said.
For the second time that day, Bella felt a bit tearful.
What’s the matter with me, she wondered. Maybe it was just about the way the house was being taken over. The upheaval was giving her a taste of how it would feel to be moving out. Half her kitchen furniture had gone, there were packing cases and strangers everywhere and she no longer felt there was a place in it – certainly not downstairs – for her. All she needed now was for James to come swanning in, hand her a cheque for a very slender amount and demand the house keys from her, and her day would be complete.
The burly garden bloke had, while she’d been pondering this, rinsed out half a dozen mugs and made tea.
‘I did one for you too, love,’ he said kindly. ‘You look like you need it.’
‘Thanks, I definitely do,’ she said, accepting a cup so strong that it looked as if, as James’s late mother used to say, you could ‘trot a mouse over it’. She accepted his offer of a couple of chocolate HobNobs too, feeling the need for the comfort of something sweet.
She took the tea upstairs to her study, shut the door and switched on her computer to look at emails and play a bit of Spider. Peace. At least up here all was as normal, even if she could still hear some shouts and bangs from below. What on earth were they still finding to do? Presumably something madly technical, though this morning it had all looked like a perfectly normal house to her and she’d thought they’d seemed happy enough with that. And why were they forever in and out of the downstairs loo? It was almost constantly flushing (which, given they were all men, was something, she supposed). She’d have to buy an industrial-size pack of loo roll at this rate, and charge it to the shoot.
Ideally she’d now go and have a calming bath and then lie on her bed, clothed in only body lotion and her silky robe, and watch something soothing like Escape to the Country, ogling beautiful houses in remote areas she would never want to live in, though she’d find herself a teeny bit tempted. But somehow, she would feel peculiarly vulnerable – shy, even – about indulging in such intimate pampering with a horde of unknown blokes crashing about downstairs. How could she possibly relax? Any second one of them could trail up the stairs and knock apologetically on the door to ask about the location of a fuse box or the garden tap.
‘Bella? Are you in there? They said you were up here somewhere.’
Well, at least this was a familiar and welcome voice. Jules tapped on the door and opened it a few cautious inches.
‘Hi Jules – come on in. Are you OK? Please don’t tell me you’re giving up on this as well. I couldn’t bear it to be just me and Dina. And Daisy would go into orbit.’
‘No, no it’s fine, I’m still resigned to crushing victimhood. I just came to see if you fancied coming over to mine for supper. My menfolk are all out at a footie match and I’ll be on my lonesome otherwise. And bring Shirley and Molly as well, of course. It would get you out of all this. It must be hell; though I have to admit I quite like that wifebeater vest and toolbelt look on those tech boys, myself.’
Jules came in and sat on the old wicker chair beside Bella’s desk and started making a tiny paper aeroplane out of a Post-it note.
‘You’re right, it’s not wonderful, not right now,’ Bella told her. ‘But I’ve only just got home and I’m feeling grouchy and tired. They say they’ll be gone soon, but the thought of cooking … and I haven’t been to the shops for any food, either. Oh God, I’m so chaotic. So, thanks, Jules – I’d love to take you up on that.’
‘Seems to me,’ Jules said, ‘that you’ve taken on a bit too much here. But hey, look, I’ll go now, leave you in peace. I only popped in to invite you – I was just on my way back from walking the dog. So – have a shower or something and then …’
‘Aaagh! Are you saying I’m all smelly and vile?’ She thought about Saul, how she’d been sharing his intimate car space less than an hour ago. He’d leaned across and kissed her goodbye, just briefly. How terrific to have had deodorant failure even before their date. How off-putting must that be? Not that she was thinking of it as a date. Definitely not – she’d said as much when he’d asked her. But all the same …
‘No of course not – I only meant it would de-stress you!’
‘Oh, right. OK – as soon as I hear that front door slam and the last of them going, I’ll get in the bath for a lovely soak. I don’t know where Molly or my mother are, but I expect they’ll turn up when they’re getting hungry. Family – they’re just like cats, aren’t they?’ She yawned and ran her hands through her hair. It felt slightly sticky and in need of a thorough wash. She wondered what Dominic had in mind for it, makeover-wise. She quite liked it as it was – floppy mid-blonde, a bit layered and hanging soft against her neck. The worst-case possibility was that he’d decide she needed a cute little urchin cut. Unless you had a neck as skinny as Audrey Hepburn’s and a face as elfin as Mia Farrow in her heyday (and who, past forty, did?), that was absolutely not a great look. She only hoped she’d have the strength to put up a fight if he got over-insistent.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Jules got up, flying her little paper plane down to the gardeners below. ‘See you later. It’s only chilli and stuff, nothing fancy, so come whenever you like.’
‘OK, thanks so much Jules, I will. And I’ll bring wine.’
It was amazing what twenty minutes lying in warm, scented water could do. Bella felt so much better as she towel-dried her hair and pulled some of her best underwear (Elle Macpherson, black lace on blue satin) out of the drawer. Then, only half conscious of what she was doing, she put it away again and pulled out some rather plainer – though still pretty (cream with pink dots) – Marks & Spencer kit.
‘Oh God, what am I thinking?’ She sat down abruptly on the bed, feeling shocked at herself. Whizzing uninvited through her head had been the idea of keeping the Elle Macpherson for the date with Saul. No! She didn’t do dates any more, and certainly not the sort where her underwear was likely to be on view. Going out with Saul didn’t mean she was going out with Saul. I must, she told herself, keep control over my inner slut. All the same, she decided that the cream and pink would work better under her pale blue and white spotty Banana Republic dress. If you were thinking slutty, she reasoned as she fastened her bra, there was nothing more tarty than having dark underwear showing through pale fabric, now was there?
‘Oh the peace and the bliss of a normal household!’ Bella said as Jules poured glasses of cold Pinot Grigio for the four of them. ‘I must have been mad to let them take over the house. There are cables and lighting stuff and big silver box things everywhere. The things we do for money.’
‘Well, if you call my place normal …’ Jules commented, stirring a huge vat of chilli con carne on the stove. Her glance swept across the big family kitchen-dining room. ‘This part seems to be a holding area for everything the male contingent lose interest in but might just want to pick up again when passing through.’ A guitar leaned against a sofa. A heap of scuffed trainers lay in hazard-formation by the doorway. On the dresser were computer cables, a Wii, a pile of CDs. But just in front of the table the doors to the garden were open and the sweet rich scent of night phlox out on the terrace was wafting in. At that end of the room all was order and the table was prettily laid with candles and pink napkins.
Jules’s husband and her teenage sons were out – gone to watch Chelsea play Manchester United at home, and not expected back till much later. Some early scoring looked promising for Chelsea’s victory, and a victory meant post-match celebration and a slow homecoming.
‘I thought we’d have it with jacket potatoes and sour cream – or crème fraiche if we’re supposed to be thinking about how the camera puts on ten pounds,’ Jules said, pulling a big bowl of salad out of the fridge and handing it to Bella to put on the table.
‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble,’ Shirley said.
‘No I haven’t. I made at least treble what we need, so I can freeze some for another night. So really, it’s nothing, honestly. Anyway I’m glad to see you all. I’d have had a lonely old evening, trawling the channels for makeover programmes and getting all nervous about how we’re going to be treated. I swear, if that Daisy woman insists that citrus brights really work with my red hair, I will walk out. I hope she isn’t going to turn us all into clones of her. We’ll look like a cageful of mad parrots.’
‘She’s pretty scary, isn’t she?’ Bella said. ‘If what you wear is about saying what sort of person you are, then no wonder Dominic hardly dares open his mouth.’
‘He’s madly in love with her,’ Shirley remarked. ‘Any fool can see that.’
‘What? Is he?’ Jules said.
‘I hadn’t noticed – what makes you say that?’ Bella asked.
‘I only saw them briefly when I was on my way out the other day, but it’s obvious. He watches her all the time. And wherever she is, he’s only a couple of steps away. You check, next time. I think she scares him as well, though.’
‘She walks all over him,’ Bella commented. ‘But we’re not going to let her do that to us, are we?’ She felt anxious, having another wave of certainty that this was a silly, time-wasting mistake, and would result in them all looking like a bunch of noodles on primetime TV.
‘No, we’re not.’ Jules backed her up. ‘I’m not wearing an egg cosy for anyone, even if it’s got a Prada label, and if she insists you wear a puffball skirt that makes your arse the size of a planet, I’ll slice it off you with a bread knife if I have to.’
‘Honestly,’ Shirley looked puzzled, ‘I don’t know why you two are getting so steamed up about it. First of all you could have just said no, but as you didn’t, then don’t fuss. After all, it’s only clothes. None of it really matters.’
‘It’s all right for you to say,’ Bella told her. ‘You are so confident about what you buy that even Daisy couldn’t make you wavery.’
‘Gran’s the one in the family who’s got total style,’ Molly said. ‘Everything you wear looks amazing, like designer?’
‘Well, I’ve learned to shop very carefully,’ Shirley replied. ‘And thank you darling, how sweet of you. I shall leave you all my money when I die.’
‘Yes, thanks Molly,’ Bella teased, ‘for making me feel like a no-hope frump.’
‘Oh you’re not. You’re OK. Just!’
‘Well, I’ve been to Rigby and Peller.’ Jules went to the fridge and took out a tomato salad. ‘And I’ve mortgaged my soul for underwear that hauls me in and flattens me down to the point where I won’t be able to eat a single thing because my digestive tract will be huddled in a teeny corner of my torso, completely unable to function. So, let Daisy and Dominic do their worst. Come on, let’s eat.’
‘I’ve got a free afternoon tomorrow,’ Molly told Bella as they sat down. ‘So do you mind if I hang out and watch them do the first bits of filming? Didn’t you say that’s when it starts? I won’t get in the way, I promise.’
‘You’ll make me nervous, watching me screw up and look silly,’ Bella joked. ‘Can’t you take your computer down to the library and do some work there instead? Or just stay up in your room? Though it might be noisy, I suppose.’
‘Oh let her join in. It’ll be educational.’ Shirley pleaded Molly’s case. ‘Don’t all young ones want to be in media these days? With any luck, seeing how it’s really done will put her off.’
‘I am here, you know,’ Molly said, spooning crème fraiche into her potato. ‘Oh yum, this smells so good.’
‘Well maybe you could watch, I suppose, if you don’t get in the way. Ask Saul. We’re on colour tomorrow; Daisy’s bringing someone in to tell us what suits us. Humiliation number one – we have to wear no make-up at all and have our hair shoved under a white hairband.’
‘I think it’s a really good idea,’ Shirley said. ‘At least when you know a bit more about colour, it’ll get you out of wearing black, Bella. If someone else tells you it makes you look washed out, perhaps you’ll believe them.’
‘Someone already did, thanks Mum.’ Bella laughed, thinking of the Carole-in-New-York moment. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve already got that message in my head.’
‘We mustn’t drink too much,’ Jules said, as she topped up Shirley and Bella’s glasses and then her own. It was just the three of them now; Molly had gone home to watch a must-see science fiction drama on TV. ‘It’s going to be bad enough being filmed all bare-skinned. A hangover face in the mix would make it even worse.’
‘Oh, a good dose of moisturizer will sort you out,’ Shirley advised. ‘And a dollop of that wonderful Clarins Beauty Flash Balm. That doesn’t count as make-up and it’ll tighten your skin up nicely. I swear by it.’
‘Thanks for the tip,’ Bella said, feeling suddenly dispirited at the thought of what lay ahead. ‘We’re mad. I hate the whole idea now. Though I did have a great day today at the props place with Saul.’
‘Ah – so, yes how did it go? He likes you!’ Jules teased, prodding her arm.
‘I like him; but not in that way.’
‘I think he likes you in that way,’ Jules giggled. ‘He doesn’t look at me or Dina the way he looks at you!’
‘You’re imagining it,’ Bella laughed, ‘and besides …’ She stopped. Their conversation at the pub seemed a long time ago, but the intimacy of the subject matter was still close in her mind.
‘Besides what? Is he married? Oh not another one,’ Jules groaned.
‘Another one?’ Shirley queried.
‘Don’t ask, Mum. It was yet another of my hopeless mistakes. No, Saul’s not married; well, he was … but she died. Years ago.’
‘And he hasn’t remarried? Wasn’t he happy?’ Shirley persisted.
‘Er … Well actually, I don’t think I should be talking about him like this. It feels wrong. He’s on his own, he says. Unattached. That’s all I know. He sounded like they were very happy, though.’
‘Hmm.’ Shirley was pensive. ‘It’s funny, you know, but over the years I’ve found that the ones who’ve been widowed but were really happily married tend to marry again, or at least settle with someone else, pretty soon after the loss of the first wife. If marriage has been a happy state, they’re keen to repeat it. Too many then rush into it with the first person who gets to them.’
‘But what if they have that feeling that no one could possibly match up to the first one? Wouldn’t that make them go the other way, to avoid getting involved because they’re so sure it’s going to be second best? And what about that feeling that they couldn’t bear to lose someone all over again?’ Bella asked.
‘Ah, but,’ Shirley said, ‘after the initial mourning and grief, the truly happy ones find it’s the actual marriage they miss as much as the person. The sharing and the laughs and the companionship …’
‘And the cooking and the laundry services and so on!’ Bella laughed.
‘And the sex,’ Jules contributed.
‘Oh, sex; well yes. An attractive man can get all the sex he wants, but to have the kind of sex where you don’t want to be on your own immediately after and wish that the partner could stay, rather than go home … that’s just worth so much.’
‘Well …’ Bella finished her wine. ‘I’ve no idea really, about Saul. All I know is … um … I’m having dinner with him on Thursday night but … What? Why are you looking at me like that?’
Silence. Two pairs of eyes were wide and staring across the table at her.
‘What is it? I’m just saying … it’s just friendly. To talk about the programme and stuff …’
‘You’re waffling, Bella!’ her mother said.
‘Wow, you’re a secretive one, aren’t you? Why didn’t you say something before? See how right I was?’ Jules was triumphant. ‘I told you he likes you!’