The Perfect Marriage

 

By

 

Debbie Viggiano

The Perfect Marriage © Debbie Viggiano 2014

 

Kindle Edition published worldwide 2014 © Debbie Viggiano

 

All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the Internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the author.

 

The moral right of Debbie Viggiano as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

 

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

 

www.debbieviggiano.com

http://debbieviggiano.blogspot.com/

 

 

Cover by Robert Coveney

 

Kindle formatting by Rebecca Emin

Foreword

 

This novel took a bit longer to write than usual, primarily because of health interruptions. So, before I go any further, I want to say a massive thank you to Dr Kamat and Dr Lalita Banerjee and their team at Darent Valley Hospital for all help and encouragement in getting me better again so I can carry on doing what I love – writing.

 

My website headlines ‘Addictive Madcap Romance’. After briefly stepping out of my comfort zone with The Ex Factor, I would like to assure those readers who prefer ‘chick lit’ that The Perfect Marriage is most definitely within this genre.

 

The Perfect Marriage features some rather black humour. This is not meant to be disrespectful to the dead, or people mourning the dead. The funeral scene within this novel has been written tongue-in-cheek. However, the fact remains that whilst it was written for a fictitious character, every single ‘disaster’ actually did happen at a number of real funerals all over the land. For the purposes of this novel, they have been amalgamated for the one funeral within these pages. Some folk who helped in my quest for black humour have, for sensitive reasons, asked to remain anonymous. Others are happy to go public saying the deceased would have had a good chuckle! So another big thank you to those who shall remain unnamed and to those who don’t mind being mentioned: Charlie Jones, Sarah Wilson, Melanie Mullan, Hugh Jones, Julie Dove, and Tony Bryant. And thank you to my fictitious character’s make-up artiste extraordinaire, Marie Coulter. She really does exist!

 

I would also like to thank the fabulous Rebecca Emin who has once again done a superb job converting The Perfect Marriage to both Kindle and paperback, the lovely Maureen Vincent-Northam for her professional proof reading services, and my wonderful son, Robert Coveney, for doing the necessary with the cover.

 

Lastly, I would like to thank you, my reader, for reading this novel. I hope you enjoy!

This one is for my husband, Joe Viggiano
You are my perfect marriage

 

Chapter One

 

Rosie was having a sensational dream. She was in bed with an utterly gorgeous guy. In sleep, she smiled. Fingers were trailing across her hip. Now they were circling her left buttock. Stroking. Ahhh, nice! Arousing. In Rosie’s dream, her hand burrowed under the duvet and crossed the short distance between bodies. She touched a toned chest and soft hair. Sexy! Dave, her husband, had a hairless chest. Like his head. Her brow furrowed. She didn’t want to think of Dave. Not yet. She wanted her thoughts to be of nothing but this Adonis. But…nooo! A part of her was swimming to the surface of wakefulness. Desperately, Rosie tried to hold the dream. Her mind back-peddled frantically. Oh, thank goodness! Sighing contentedly, she sank back to groggy depths. Lovely feelings were returning. Her hand moved across the hunk’s body. It felt so good. Greedily, she began to explore. Down. Down a bit more. Rosie paused. Something wasn’t right. Why would she dream about a man having a piercing? And there of all places? Rosie’s eyes pinged open. Grey gloom. The early hours were always like that. Rosie blinked rapidly and tried to focus on the features of the silhouette by her side.

‘Why have you stopped?’ asked an unfamiliar voice.

Rosie instantly released the piercing and the body part it was attached to.

‘Dave?’ she quavered.

There was a pause followed by the clicking of a bedside switch. The room flooded with lamplight. Rosie stared, bug-eyed, at the stranger beside her. He had hazel eyes and his tousled hair was the colour of dark chocolate. He looked exactly like the guy in her dream.

‘I’m not Dave,’ he said.

‘Christ Almighty!’ Rosie sat up, snatching the duvet to her chest.

‘I’m not Him either.’ The man sounded amused. He propped himself up on one elbow.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Rosie squeaked. Her heart was pounding. Head hammering. How had she ended up in bed with somebody she didn’t know? She thought she might vomit.

‘My name’s Matt. Matt Palmer. And you?’

‘Never mind who I am,’ Rosie spluttered. ‘Get out of my bed. Go on. Clear off.’

‘Well I would,’ Matt scratched his head thoughtfully, ‘except you’re actually in my bed.’

Rosie stared around the room. Her jaw dropped as she took in stark white walls and chic, minimalist furniture. The bed was vast. About an acre of tan leather headboard reared up to the ceiling, and the expensively understated duvet clutched to her thumping heart was definitely not from Primark. This place screamed Sexy Bachelor Pad. It was everything Rosie’s bedroom wasn’t. No dressing table covered in messy female stuff. No chair propped against the wall bearing a tottering pagoda of Dave’s clothes. No untidy piles of shoes due to Dave still not assembling the flat pack cupboard to shove everything into. Her eyes scanned the varnished floorboards. Not a festering pair of underpants in sight. Tell a lie. Her eye snagged on a scrap of lace languishing by the door. Female pants. Dear God. Surely they weren’t hers? Carefully, she inched some duvet away from her body and peeked downwards. She was totally starkers. Clasping the duvet back to her, she freed up a hand to clutch her throbbing head. A hangover. Possibly from hell. Or perhaps she’d died and gone to Hell? And suddenly memory began to flood back.

She’d been out with the girls. Lucy’s hen night. Lucy, who Rosie had known forever, was getting married next month. And Lucy had been determined to have a hen night they’d all remember. Or not quite remember, in Rosie’s case. Her last recollection had been dancing with the girls. Lucy had been shrieking with laughter. Egging everybody on. They’d all worn flashing pink Stetsons and been behaving outrageously. Rosie had shipped enough champagne to christen several cruise ships. Booze anaesthetised you. Made you forget about being trapped in a loveless marriage with a surly unemployed husband and exhausting toddler. And watching Lucy recently – excited, happy, apparently so-in-lurve – had reminded Rosie that her own marriage was a sham. But she had only herself to blame. And her widowed mother.

‘You’re the wrong side of thirty, my girl,’ Hester had exhorted. That had been true. At the time Rosie had been thirty-three. She’d also been nursing a shattered heart. Her previous long-term boyfriend, who she’d been crazy about, had cheated on her with an ex-friend. ‘Dave is a man with prospects,’ Hester’s voice had been relentless, like a dripping tap. ‘You could do a lot worse. He has an engineering degree! And he’s loyal.’

Loyal. That was the word that had finally persuaded Rosie to walk up the aisle four months later and stand before a congregation of two hundred guests to marry Dave Perfect. It was only when she was signing the register that she questioned whether she was truly in love.

Two years later, she definitely wasn’t in love. Dave had changed from a kind but boring bridegroom to a bad-tempered out-of-work husband who drank the housekeeping.

‘Drink up, Rosie!’ Lucy had roared over the music. Glittering lights had glanced off the champagne glasses as they’d toasted the future bride. Rosie had welcomed the high jinks and hilarity. Hell, it had been fun – something she’d not had for such a long time. Certainly not since marrying Dave and drowning in a sea of domestic drudgery, child rearing and financial hardship.

Rosie’s mind stumbled back to the present situation. Where were her clothes?

‘Er,’ Rosie gulped, ‘Mr Palmer. Could I trouble you to lean out of bed please and,’ Rosie put a hand on the mattress to steady herself, ‘pass me those pants. Over there.’ She pointed at the scrap of lace.

‘Sure,’ said Matt. He tossed his bit of duvet to one side and stood up.

‘No!’ Rosie screeched.

‘No?’ Matt swung round. Rosie instantly averted her eyes. She stared at the overhead light fitting. ‘I thought you wanted your pants?’

‘I do.’ There was a small cobweb on the light’s shade. Rosie concentrated hard on the silvery thread. ‘I just didn’t want to see you–’

‘Ah. Naked.’ Matt bent down and retrieved a hidden pair of boxers. ‘You can look now. I’m decent.’ He gathered up Rosie’s pants and chucked them at her.

‘Thank you.’ She snatched them up. A quick inspection of the floor didn’t reveal any further garments. ‘Where are the rest of my clothes?’

‘In the hallway,’ said Matt.

‘In the hall–?’

‘Yep. You couldn’t wait to get them off,’ Matt informed her. ‘Insisted on stripping as soon as your feet touched my Welcome mat.’

Rosie clapped a hand over her mouth. Please God don’t let her be sick. Not yet. Let her get out of here, wherever here was, and get home. Preferably with a damn good excuse for Dave. He’d not been happy about her going out, or being left with the son and heir.

‘Isn’t your mother looking after Luke?’ he’d asked, aghast.

Her mother? Hardly! Hester had made it very plain that she didn’t ‘do’ babies. On the one occasion Rosie had asked her mother to babysit so she could visit the hairdressers, Hester had vehemently shaken her head.

‘Oh no, Rosie. Been there, done that. And never again.’ Which was why Rosie had no siblings. ‘I look forward to bonding with Luke when he’s ready to go to school.’ Hester did occasionally visit her grandson, but always on an arm’s length basis. She would descend without warning – usually with several blue-rinsed cronies in tow – and expect Rosie to scamper about providing endless cups of tea and cake for them all.

Something landed on Rosie’s head.

‘Yours I think.’ Matt Palmer had retrieved her Little Black Dress. Little being the word. It barely covered her backside. The dress belonged to Lucy. Rosie couldn’t afford dresses like this one. These days she shopped at Oxfam or jumble sales, although she made sure she and Luke were always well turned out. Their clothes were always freshly laundered and pressed. Lucy worked in Media and earned a fortune. The contents of her wardrobe were expensive and, like their owner, spent a lot of time in the fast lane.

‘Could you–?’ Rosie gestured to the bedroom door.

‘Sure. I’ll leave you to get dressed. I’ll put some coffee on.’

Rosie had no intention of getting cosy with Matt Palmer over coffee. The moment he’d left the room, she rocketed out of bed. Shimmying into the dress, Rosie retrieved Lucy’s clutch bag from the bedside table, jammed her feet into Lucy’s six inch stilettos (how had she danced the night away in these?) and tottered into the hallway. A clock on the wall displayed the time of a little after six in the morning. Dave would go into orbit.

Stealthily, Rosie crept past an open door. The kitchen. Matt Palmer was peering into a vast American fridge. Reaching the front door, Rosie carefully eased back the bolts. So far, so good. The door cracked open. Instantly a cacophony of noise erupted. Rosie shrieked and clutched her heart. Matt Palmer shot into the hallway. He punched some numbers into a wall panel and the noise instantly ceased. Rosie’s hearing continued to ring like a tinnitus victim.

‘Off already?’ asked Matt.

‘Well, yes. Obviously.’ Rosie leant weakly against the wall, waiting for her heart rate to steady.

‘How are you getting home?’

‘Tube.’

‘This is Penshurst. There are no tubes.’

Rosie rubbed her eyes wearily. Another missing piece of memory slotted into place. Lucy’s hen ‘do’ had been at The Cavendish Club. This was a hot nightclub out in the sticks and frequented by footballers, rock stars, playboys and City millionaires. Thanks to Lucy’s contacts in the media industry, there had been VIP passes. The after-party plan had been to bed down at Goldhill Grange, a sumptuous luxury hotel and spa. However, Rosie had made it quite clear to Lucy that at midnight her pre-booked limo would be collecting her. In reality the limo was a battered Mondeo driven by Karen, Rosie’s kind neighbour. Karen had agreed to be taxi in exchange for Rosie doing some cleaning for her. Rosie was going to have a lot of apologising to do for wasting Karen’s time and petrol.

‘Okay, I’ll catch a bus,’ said Rosie.

‘The bus stop is over a mile away. It’s pretty rural here.’

‘Then I’ll walk,’ Rosie said in exasperation. She edged the door open. A bucolic scene of endless fields interspersed with formal gardens greeted her eyes. This apartment was some place. It appeared to be part of a vast country house conversion and set in private grounds that stretched as far as the eye could see. Despite briefly admiring the scenery, Rosie’s tired mind registered April showers in full pelt. She had no coat, nor sensible footwear. Stupid, stupid woman. She was meant to be a responsible person. She was a wife…a mother no less. She should have made her excuses to Lucy and stayed at home with Luke. A sudden vision of her infant son crying for Mummy brought hot tears to her eyes.

‘Look,’ said Matt, ‘you’re clearly in a pickle. Let me get some caffeine into my veins and then I’ll drive you home.’

‘I live in North London,’ Rosie sniffed. ‘It’s not exactly around the corner.’

‘It’s not the other end of the country either,’ said Matt.

‘Okay.’ Rosie nodded. She was aware she didn’t sound very grateful. ‘Thanks,’ she added. ‘Um, do you have a bathroom I could use?’

‘To your left,’ said Matt, ‘or there’s an en-suite in my bedroom. Take your pick. I’ll go and pour the coffee.’

Rosie pushed her way into the main bathroom and gasped. What she’d give for a bathroom like this. It was the size of her lounge. A vast tub was centrepiece. To her right was a double shower. To her left a low fitting toilet jutted out of the stonework. The loo was so contemporary it looked more like a giant fishbowl than a toilet. Everything was marble, porcelain and chrome. A bank of fluffy towels lay in fat rolls on an overhead shelf. The colours were cool and understated. The entirety of one wall was mirrored. For a moment Rosie failed to recognise the stricken blonde that stared back at her. Chalk white face. Black shadows under troubled grey eyes. She had a feeling those eyes would look a good deal more troubled before the day was done.

Chapter Two

 

Dave was awoken by two things. His ears heard Luke’s wails a split second before his nose registered the smell of Luke’s nappy. Dave rubbed his eyes and groaned. Crikey, what had happened to the mattress? It felt as hard as a floor. His sat up and blinked. Instead of an expanse of duvet, he was greeted by brown Axminster. Good heavens. He really was lying on the floor, and in Luke’s bedroom of all places! He sat up stiffly. Immediately his head began to thump. A wine bottle rolled away from him. Empty of course. He’d have to dispose of that before Rosie saw it. The wine had been a very robust red. Rocket fuel. He shouldn’t have drunk it all. Especially after drinking an entire bottle of rosé beforehand. These days he seemed to be drinking more and more. How many times did he open a bottle and tell himself, ‘Just the one glass, David. It’s good for the digestion.’ A mental picture of his protesting liver flashed before him. Irritably, Dave pushed the thought away. Luke, seeing his Daddy awake, stepped up the racket.

‘There, there. Hush, hush,’ Dave mumbled.

It was possibly the longest sentence he’d ever spoken to his son. Dave didn’t understand babies. Certainly he’d never planned to become a father. Luke had been an accident. A honeymoon baby. This was quite a feat considering he’d spent more time in the bar than in bed with his new wife. There wouldn’t be any more babies. Dave couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt passionate about Rosie. These days his love affair was booze. Not that Rosie complained about the lack of sex, which was just as well because Dave’s todger wasn’t up for it. In every sense. He’d read about alcohol affecting libido. He was absolutely determined to stop drinking – just as soon as he found another job. As yet, he wasn’t sure when that would be. Getting a glowing reference from his last employer wasn’t on the cards. Especially after that bit of trouble involving Health and Safety, and an awful lot of cider consumed in the lunch hour.

Dave hauled himself to his feet. The room briefly spun. He stumbled forward and crashed into Luke’s cot. The relentless grizzling instantly became ear-splitting howls.

‘Sorry! There, there, hush!’ Dave attempted to placate his baby son. The stench of Luke’s nappy made him heave. Sour wine hit the back of his throat. He couldn’t cope with this. ‘ROSIE!’ he bawled. As his headache revved up, he immediately regretted yelling. Where was his wife? And then Dave remembered Rosie had gone out last night. She’d promised to be home by half past midnight. Luke had been crying for her at that point, which was why Dave had given up drinking his wine in the lounge and taken both bottle and glass upstairs to Luke’s nursery. Luke had been so surprised to see a man-person leaning against the Peter Rabbit wallpaper, he’d shut up. Thinking that Luke might just want company, Dave had sat down on the carpet, poured himself another glass and waited for his wife. At some point he’d finished the wine, curled into the foetal position and gone to that safe dark place. The place where money didn’t matter, unemployment was irrelevant and you could drink as much as you liked without a wife nagging.

‘ROSIE!’ Dave yelled again. Luke was now so upset his breath was coming in great chuggy gasps, and his face had gone blotchy. And that wasn’t the only thing that was blotchy. Dave’s eyes widened in horror as he stared at Luke’s white romper suit. Brown patches were evident. The nappy was leaking, which was hardly surprising as it hadn’t been changed since Rosie had left the previous evening. But Dave absolutely could not, would not, change it. Just the thought of tackling the nappy’s shitty contents made his guts twist. The wine hit the back of his throat again. Clamping a hand over his mouth he fled to the bathroom.

Chapter Three

 

Matt accelerated along the A21 towards London. This stretch didn’t have speed cameras. He floored the BMW X5 M. In seconds the speedo hit ninety. One of the pleasures of driving a motor like this was the effortless ride – it felt as though the occupants were cruising at a mere forty. He gave a sideways glance at his passenger. He knew her name now. Rosie Perfect.

‘Feeling okay?’ he asked. She looked like death warmed up, and certainly nothing like the gorgeous, exuberant woman in Cavendish’s last night. She’d made a beeline for him, and tugged at his sleeve. Licking her lips lasciviously, she had sworn undying sex to him. Right there in front of his client.

‘I’ve felt better,’ Rosie whispered.

Matt overtook an Audi. He hadn’t had a Sunday morning like this one before. Typically he slept in. Then he’d doss about in front of the Sports channel, burnt out from the working week’s activities. Saturdays were better. He usually hit the gym or played five-a-side football with his buddies – hectic schedule permitting. And hectic it was. For Matt was ‘a fixer’. Somebody who streamlined companies. Sometimes the companies got sold off, usually for a filthy profit. When Matt was around, a proportion of people were always made redundant. Last night’s client was a rich industrialist originally from Yorkshire. Due to the recession, business was suffering. Gregory Tibor owned pet food factories. Tibor’s Tasty Titbits was right up there with the other top brands. However, pet owners were switching to cheaper varieties. Tibor shares had dropped alarmingly and right now the pet food chain’s industrial belt needed tightening. Matt had been assigned to sort the wheat from the chaff. During their business meeting, Gregory had asked to see the sights. When a client said those two words, he didn’t mean Buckingham Palace. Matt had more receipts from Spearmint Rhinos than Sainsbury’s. But last night Spearmint Rhinos had been a no-goer. Matt had been nearer to his own stomping ground visiting Gregory Tibor’s Kent-based factory, although the setting was Erith rather than Penshurst. Afterwards, it had been easier to whisk his client off to a good Italian restaurant followed by The Cavendish Club. The latter was known for its often famous clients. Gregory was agog at the possibility of bumping into Lewis Hamilton or Nicole Scherzinger. Matt wasn’t quite sure how Rosie and her gaggle of tanked-up friends had clinched their entrance wearing flashing pink Stetsons.

The BMW zipped along, merging onto the M25 and, a little while later, the A2. As the vehicle shot through the Blackwall Tunnel, Matt glanced at Rosie. ‘Not far to go now. You’ll soon be home and then you can sleep off your hangover.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Rosie rubbed her eyes. ‘My little boy will be needing me.’

‘You’re a mum?’ Matt couldn’t help being surprised. ‘You don’t look like one.’

‘Maybe not right now,’ Rosie pulled at the hem of her too-short dress. ‘But I will later. When I’m dressed in baggy joggers and covered in regurgitated spaghetti hoops.’ She gave the ghost of a smile.

Last night, when Rosie had lurched across the dance floor to him, her smile had been full on and seductive. Gregory Tibor’s ego had been mildly dented that Rosie had accosted Matt instead of him, but within seconds the hen in Rosie’s party had staggered over too. She’d linked arms with Gregory, who was badly out of sorts with chat up lines. Not knowing what to talk about he’d launched into business spiel about Tibor’s Tasty Titbits, whereupon the woman had laughed throatily and said she’d rather hear about Tibor’s Tasty Todger. Gregory’s eyes had glazed as the woman suggested Gregory join her and her friends at some swanky hotel. Gregory’s expression had been an open book – him and half a dozen naked women...Hugh Heffner eat your heart out. As Gregory was between marriages, he had been only too happy to put up a hand in farewell to Matt.

At that point Matt should have left The Cavendish Club and gone, belatedly, to a mate’s stag do. But the night had not been so young. Plus he had a seriously drunk woman to prop up – a woman whose friends had abandoned her. By this point Rosie had lapsed into incoherence. Rather than abandon her too, he’d taken her back to his place.

‘Take a left here,’ Rosie said.

Matt was soon negotiating residential roads lined with Victorian terraces. Some of the properties had upped and come. Others hadn’t. Like this one. Matt stared at Rosie’s house. Geez. It looked like it needed demolishing. Masonry was crumbling, and paintwork peeling. An ornamental stone cat by the front door stared balefully at him.

‘Do you want me to see you in?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Rosie unclipped her seat belt and swung the door open. She paused for a moment. ‘I’m very sorry about last night. Thank you so much for the lift, Mr Palmer.’

‘Please, it’s Matt. And you really don’t have to apologise. It was fun.’

Rosie flinched slightly. She hadn’t dared question Matt Palmer about what had happened in his bed. She didn’t want to know. If she didn’t know, then she wasn’t guilty. Rosie slid out from the BMW. She walked up the path, aware that Matt Palmer was watching her. She had noted his incredulous look when she’d pointed out her house – and how the incredulity had turned to horror. Last night Rosie had been in such a hurry to embrace freedom for a few hours, she’d left without her house key. Berating herself, she rapped her knuckles loudly on the front door. It was pointless ringing the bell. It didn’t work. Like Dave. Funny that he should have so much in common with a doorbell. She rapped again. She could hear Luke wailing. Rosie tried to peer through the frosted panes of glass. She could make out the shape of the hall table and coats hanging on pegs. A minute ticked by. Then two. Tension began to knot in her stomach. Where was Dave? Luke’s cries were really distressing. Behind her a car door clunked. Footsteps were coming up the path.

‘Is nobody in?’ asked Matt.

Rosie turned. ‘Yes, yes. My husband is home.’ Rosie suddenly felt gripped by panic. What if Dave hadn’t been able to cope after all? What if Rosie’s plans to force Dave to interact with their son had seriously back-fired? Mental pictures flashed through her mind. Scary images. Dave so appalled at having to pick up Luke, the shock had given him a heart attack. He might be prostrate on the floor – alive but unable to respond. Rosie knelt down and peered through the letterbox.

‘Dave?’ Her voice was shrill. No response. What if Dave’s heart attack had actually been fatal? And he couldn’t respond because he was dead? ‘DAVE! CAN YOU HEAR ME?’ Rosie bawled. Evidently Luke could because his cries redoubled. The letterbox clattered shut as Rosie stood up. She looked at Matt with fearful eyes. ‘S-something bad must have happened,’ she stammered. ‘I need to get inside – now.’

‘You want me to break in?’

Rosie looked stricken. ‘Yes. Yes, just get me inside. I need to get to my baby. Hurry. Please hurry.’

Matt didn’t hesitate. He picked up the stone cat and smashed it hard against one of the glass panes. The noise was awful. Carefully, he stuck his hand through the gaping hole and released the catch. The door swung open. Leaping over broken glass, Rosie flew up the stairs. Matt pounded up behind her. The baby’s cries were pitiful. As they crossed the landing, the stench of puke and shit hit their nostrils. Rosie was filled with foreboding. She raced into Luke’s bedroom. One moment she was rushing towards the cot, her arms outstretched, and the next she was flying through the air. She slammed into the Peter Rabbit wallpaper. Concussion stars and orange carrots exploded in her vision. An empty wine bottle clunked to a standstill against Luke’s cot. Matt watched, horrified, as Rosie slumped to the floor. Dear God. He wanted to rush to Rosie, but instead his feet propelled him over to the cot. Reaching down, he scooped up the distraught infant. The poor little chap was covered in crap and snot.

‘Okay, little fella, I’ve got you. Now let’s sort Mummy out.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said a voice. Matt spun round. A wild-eyed woman stood in the bedroom doorway. She was holding aloft the stone cat. ‘Put the baby back in the cot. One false move and I’ll bludgeon you to death.’

‘Who the hell are you?’ Matt asked.

‘Rosie’s neighbour. And I’m making a Citizen’s arrest, you murdering pervert.’

There was a groan from the far corner. Gingerly, Rosie put her hands to her temples. Her poor head. It wasn’t having a great day. First a hangover, now concussion.

‘Karen?’ Rosie hauled herself to her feet.

‘Get behind me, Rosie. Quick! I’ve got you covered.’

‘But Karen, you don’t understand. This is–’

‘JUST DO IT!’ Karen screeched. Rosie scuttled over to Karen. ‘You stay right there, arsehole,’ she waggled the cat at Matt. Luke immediately broke into a fresh round of wailing. ‘Now for the second time, put the baby down.’

‘Okay!’ Matt edged nervously round the cot, lowering Luke onto the mattress and making sure the whole thing was wedged firmly between him and the madwoman. ‘I meant no harm. I’m just somebody who has given Rosie a lift home.’

Karen paled. Her raised hand wavered. ‘You’re a taxi driver?’

‘He’s somebody I met last night,’ Rosie muttered. ‘I’m so sorry I failed to show up last night, Karen. Did you wait long for me?’

‘Geez, Rosie,’ Karen lowered her arm. ‘I didn’t wait at all. Your friend, Lucy, called me half way through the evening. She said she was dragging you off to Goldhill Grange whether you liked it or not.’ She put the stone cat down, relieved not to be splattering someone’s brains out on a Sunday morning. ‘So why did you break in? Did you forget your key?’

‘Yes.’ Rosie went to the cot, rubbing her forehead. Right now she could really use some painkillers and an ice-pack. ‘That and also the fact that Dave wasn’t answering the door. I was worried sick about Luke being on his own.’ She picked up her son, holding him tight. ‘Hush, darling. Mummy’s home. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed.’

‘Rosie, can you show me the bathroom please.’ Matt held out his hands. ‘I’d quite like to get cleaned up myself.’

‘Of course. It’s the door at the end of the landing.’

Karen sucked her stomach in as Matt went past. He was quite a looker. Not that she should be noticing, being a happily married woman twenty-three days of the month. For the remaining five days of the month she turned into a screaming banshee and told her husband, Mike, she was leaving him. Mike took no notice of Karen’s PMT and merely spent the time keeping a low profile. After Matt had disappeared to the bathroom, Karen felt faintly embarrassed at calling the guy a pervert. But then again, she was due on.

‘What’s the deal with him?’ she hissed as Rosie set about cleaning up Luke.

‘Oh, Karen, I’m so ashamed. But now isn’t the time,’ Rosie nodded her head meaningfully in the direction of the bathroom as she applied Sudocrem to Luke’s bottom. ‘I’m more concerned where Dave is. What sort of father leaves a baby unattended?’

‘A bloody useless one,’ Karen muttered. ‘It’s about time you got shot of him.’

‘I can’t leave him because I’ve nowhere else to go.’

‘So turf him out instead.’

‘I can’t do that either. This is his house. Dave’s parents left it to him in their Will.’

Karen made a sound of exasperation. ‘So where do you think Dave has got to?’

‘Ladies?’ Matt’s voice floated down the landing.

‘I’ll go,’ said Karen. ‘You have your hands full.’

Rosie nodded. Expertly she smoothed the tapes down on Luke’s clean nappy and snapped him into a fresh romper suit. Swinging Luke onto her hip, she went to see what Matt and Karen were doing. She pushed the bathroom door open. And froze.

Chapter Four

 

Rosie stood in the bathroom doorway clutching Luke tightly. Matt and Karen stared back at her anxiously. To the side of them was the toilet bowl. And there, with his head down the pan and snoring soporifically, was Dave.

‘He’s lucky not to have drowned.’ Matt was the first to speak.

‘Pity he didn’t,’ muttered Karen.

Rosie sighed. ‘Well at least he’s covered on the life insurance.’

‘Shall I push him in another couple of inches?’ Karen’s lips twitched.

Rosie gave a wan smile. ‘Thanks, but jail isn’t my next career move.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Karen shrugged, ‘in this marriage you’re already in a prison of sorts. Just think, you could escape from all this,’ she waved a hand expansively at the dilapidated bathroom, ‘and have a nice warm bed, three cooked meals a day, have time to go to the library, use a computer, learn a new career, and probably earn more pocket money than this layabout ever brings home.’

‘He can’t help being unemployed,’ Rosie pointed out.

‘Perhaps if he’d pulled his weight at work, he wouldn’t have been made redundant.’

‘Ladies,’ Matt interrupted, ‘I really think we ought to get this fella out of the bog.’

Karen wrinkled her nose distastefully. ‘Rather you than me.’

Matt nodded. Leaning over Dave, he grabbed him by the shoulders. Hauling Dave backwards, Matt settled him into the recovery position on the bathroom floor. ‘I think your husband could benefit from a shower.’

‘Yes,’ Rosie agreed, ‘but he’s a big boy and can do that himself – when he’s sober and awake. Right now I’m more concerned about my son and getting him fed.’ Rosie turned on her heel, and made her way across the landing and down the stairs. Right now she felt incredibly guilty. Guilty over last night, guilty over trusting Dave, and guilty for Luke not having his Mummy around. And there was another emotion now unhappily mixing with all this guilt. Humiliation. Humiliation that Matt Palmer probably thought her an irresponsible parent, and humiliation that Dave should be up there, spread-eagled on the bathroom floor, half comatose from booze, and all in front of both her neighbour and a stranger – the latter of whom, for some inexplicable reason, Rosie wanted to impress. Shame washed over her. She couldn’t impress her way out of a paper bag these days. Emotionally Dave had sapped her dry. Thanks to the enforced poverty they lived in, she wore second-hand clothes and hadn’t visited a hairdresser in over a year. Life was nothing but drudgery. Her days and nights were one long round of looking after her little boy and working her way through chores at home, while Dave went off to supposedly search for work. When Rosie had finished her chores, she would then strap Luke into his pushchair and go out to clean other people’s houses. It was the only way she could earn a living at the moment without paying for a babysitter. Rosie had looked into child-minding as a profession, but it simply wasn’t viable with the house in its current state. Who needed a power shower when the leaky roof let in a torrent of rain? When Rosie had finished cleaning for her clients and was back home, Dave would eventually turn up, demoralised at yet another day of fruitless interviews whilst attempting to hide a litre bottle of cider within the folds of his jacket.

Rosie sighed and shoved a pre-made bottle of milk into the microwave to warm through for Luke. Upstairs she could hear floorboards creaking as Matt presumably attended to Dave. Incoherent sounds suddenly filtered down the stairs. Was Dave finally waking up? Rosie groaned. She really wasn’t up for explanations of why she’d failed to come home last night. As the microwave pinged and Rosie removed the bottle, she nearly dropped it in fright. Above her, a terrible commotion had broken out.

‘You fucking bastard!’ Dave yelled. There was an ominous crash followed by the sound of Karen screaming.

Rosie grabbed the bottle and, hanging on to Luke for dear life, flew up the stairs and into the bathroom. Matt was lying horizontal on the floor with Karen hunkered over him. Dave was standing by the sink with his fists balled up.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ Rosie panted.

Karen turned a pale face to Rosie. ‘Dave punched Matt.’

‘Is he all right?’

Matt groaned by way of confirmation and attempted to sit up. ‘Never better.’

Rosie inwardly quaked. Had her husband found out she’d spent the night in bed with Matt? She looked at Dave with fearful eyes. ‘What did you do that for?’

Dave shot Rosie a look of contempt. Despite his groggy hangover, his face was suffused with anger. ‘I had to, don’t you see, Rosie? This person on our bathroom floor is responsible for everything that’s gone wrong in our lives.’ Rosie gaped at her husband uncomprehendingly. Dave enlightened her. ‘This is the man who made me redundant.’

Chapter Five

 

Matt was back in his car and driving down the A2, heading towards the greenery of Kent. It was only half past eight in the morning but the sun was up and shining away. Just like Matt’s eye. Matt grimaced. Dave Perfect might be a pisshead, but he couldn’t half pack a punch. But then again, Rosie’s husband had felt justified for his actions. Matt couldn’t remember the guy. But then why should he? He’d been hired, by the likes of many other Gregory Tibors, to go into factories and offices in all manner of industries in order to trim the fat and make a leaner, more efficient business. Rosie’s husband might have bleated that Matt was to blame for their current economic crisis, but Dave’s protests hadn’t rung true. The man was clearly in the grip of alcohol addiction and that didn’t happen overnight. Rosie’s mate, Karen, had been only too vocal about her disdain of the guy. And you only had to look at the threadbare carpets, lack of curtains and hotchpotch furniture to know in an instant that money had never flowed like a river through the Perfect coffers.

Matt overtook a lorry and cruised onwards. A sudden image of Rosie’s face filled his mind. How had a bloke like Dave Perfect landed a looker like her? Even with her troubled eyes and harassed expression, there was no denying that Rosie Perfect was a beauty. At the time of leaving the tatty Victorian terrace, Rosie had changed into clothing that looked like something you donated to third world countries. Judging by the way Rosie had neatly folded last night’s outfit into a bag and left it by the front door, Matt had deduced the shimmery dress, matching clutch and fuck me heels belonged to a pal. Whoever the girlfriend was, she must be loaded because everything had been Designer.

Karen had cleared up all the broken glass by the front door, and Matt had insisted Rosie take two hundred pounds in cash to cover the repair.

‘That’s far too much,’ she’d protested.

‘So keep the change and spend it on this little fella,’ Matt had smiled at Luke sitting on Rosie’s hip. The curly-haired tot had grinned gummily back at him. Matt had held up a hand to fend off Rosie’s further protests and let himself out of the house. As he’d walked down the path with its broken tiles and weeds poking through huge cracks, he’d felt strangely disconsolate.

Matt jumped as the Bluetooth connected with his mobile phone and shattered his thoughts. A shrill ring reverberated around the BMW’s cabin. The display announced that the calling number belonged to Terry, a reprobate friend and the stag no less of whom he should have been with last night after saying goodnight to Gregory Tibor. Matt’s thumb pushed the button on the steering wheel.

‘Terry, you old dog! Isn’t it a bit early for you to be up and about?’

‘I haven’t been to bed yet,’ Terry laughed. ‘I think I’ve drunk myself sober. Christ but that was one hell of a do. But before I crash out, I want to know what happened to you. Since when did Matt Palmer fail to show up for a mate’s stag night?’

‘I’m really sorry, Terry. I had every intention of joining you after I’d said good-bye to my client, but unfortunately this girl turned up and–’

‘I knew it!’ Terry crowed. ‘I said to the lads, “I bet Matt’s attention has been diverted by some leggy blonde. Or brunette. Or redhead.” You never could say no! Well I hope she was worth it. It’s a bloody good thing I’m the forgiving kind. But then that’s why you’re one of my ushers and not the best man – I can’t risk you getting distracted and leaving me standing on my Jack Jones at the altar.’

‘Honestly, Terry, it wasn’t quite like that. It was true damsel-in-distress stuff.’

‘Right, say no more – wink wink, nudge nudge. Well I hope to goodness you’re going to be available next Saturday afternoon for our house party. You still haven’t met my fiancée, and she’s absolutely insisting our mutual friends and family get together for a little soirée.’

‘A soirée? That’s a rather posh word for you, Terry.’

Laughter filled the car. ‘Yeah, but then I’m marrying a posh bird, aren’t I!’

Matt joined in with Terry’s guffaws. ‘Okay. Count me in. And I shall look forward to finally meeting your other half next weekend.’

‘And if last night’s shag is still on the scene, you’re welcome to bring her along.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind, although it will probably just be me.’

Terry chuckled again. ‘Typical Matt Palmer. Love ’em and leave ’em. Listen, matey, I’ve got to go. I have a bit of business to tend to before I crash out. Catch you later.’

‘You will indeed.’ Matt smiled and hung up. Hearing Terry talk about pillows and sleep suddenly had him yawning hugely. He might have a kip himself when he arrived home, just for a couple of hours. Thanks to Rosie Perfect being in his bed last night, sleep had been sorely lacking.

Chapter Six

 

Terry hung up the phone. For a moment he stood in the hallway of his beautiful mansion and simply soaked up the silence. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d listened to...nothing. Certainly not at work. As a City trader the place was a constantly seething mass of motion and emotion. Millions could be made or lost in seconds. But Terry had mostly made millions and he’d taken the huge bonuses to prove it.

He stared around the entrance hall to his home. It was the size of most people’s front rooms, if not bigger. A staircase was centrepiece and split off into two different directions. It was a feature of the house and always a talking point. In a minute he’d go upstairs, but for now he just wanted to mull over last night.

He and his buddies – all of them colleagues apart from Matt – had had a rollicking good time. And although things had naturally turned rowdy, it had to be said he’d behaved impeccably. The other lads were all either hitched or, like him, in the process of getting wed, but that wasn’t to say that one or two of them hadn’t been naughty boys and drifted off for a one-night stand. But not Terry. Why would he do that? He already had a great woman in his life. And in a month’s time he would be marrying her. Roll on the month of May! And Terry was no snitch on the boys. What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas, and all that jazz. Except they hadn’t been in Vegas. They’d been in London’s West End. The boys had trawled through pubs and clubs from dusk until dawn downing champagne, shots and God knows what. At one point things had got a little fuzzy. But as the sun had poked fingers of light through a skyline of office buildings, shops and chimney rooftops, Terry had felt himself sobering up and thinking about the other love in his life. Tracey. So secret that not even the boys knew of her. God forbid they should ever find out either. His street cred would be totally down the pan if the boys ever got a whiff of who Tracey really was. And as for his fiancée knowing – Terry shuddered at the mere thought.

 

*****

 

Tracey checked her reflection in the mirror and, for once, was pleased with what she saw. She’d taken great care with her make-up and was chuffed to bits with the new mascara from Superdrug. Her meagre eyelashes were now visible. For a second she’d been tempted by some super-dooper false eyelashes on special offer, but had shied away at the last moment. She didn’t want to look like a drag queen.

Tracey stood back from the mirror for the overall effect. A tall, angular woman gazed back. She had a strong jaw, big feet and matching hands. Surely God had been having a joke when He created her. But Tracey had put her heart and soul into looking her best for Terry. Soft smoky eye-shadow had been blended over the lids of her eyes. A rosy blusher softened the prominent cheekbones, and today she wore her hair long to promote her feminism. Dark waves tumbled over her shoulders and down the back of her frilly blouse. Okay, frills were a little old-fashioned these days, but Tracey loved them. And she loved the fabric too! Chiffon. It was so soft. Such textiles were somehow calming, and who didn’t want a bit of calm in their lives? Especially when life was so challenging, juggling so many balls, and trying to be so many things for so many people. At least she didn’t have to pretend with Terry. Terry accepted Tracey totally for what she was. He never questioned her motives, her actions, the way she dressed or spoke, who or what she was.

Tracey knew she was Terry’s secret and that he didn’t talk about her to his friends or family. Not even that fiancée of his. A part of Tracey was incredibly sad about this, but in her heart of hearts she respected Terry’s wishes to keep the secret. It was understandable. Well, to her it was understandable. But to others...no, they wouldn’t understand. Not one little bit. What if Terry’s friends found out, like that Matt Palmer for example? She’d seen Matt – not that he was aware of it. But he looked like a no-nonsense guy. A toughie. Somebody who only saw black and white, and never the shades of grey. Given the job Matt did, perhaps that was only fitting. Heaven only knew what Terry’s parents and sister would say if they knew about her. The parents would probably think Terry had lost his marbles, and the sister would be aghast. Tracey’s eyes momentarily watered. It was a shame she was such a pariah. But at least Terry didn’t think so. At the end of the day he was the only person who mattered. He loved her unconditionally. Tracey’s eyes watered again. Damn, there went a tear down her cheek, taking a stain of mascara with it. Just when she’d applied her foundation so beautifully! Carefully, Tracey patted the black line from her skin. Gone. Thank goodness. Sniffing a little, she blew her nose daintily and then squared up to her reflection.

‘You’re gorgeous,’ she told herself, ‘and highly desirable.’

Tracey continued staring at her reflection. A plain woman stared back. Deep down Tracey knew she wasn’t desired by other men. Thankfully Terry knew about her lack of self-esteem. He’d bought her the most gorgeous frothy floor-length nightgown. Later, Tracey would sleep in it and, when sleep came, her dreams would be full of her and Terry.

Chapter Seven

 

Fending off Dave’s questions about her whereabouts last night had been easier than Rosie had dared to hope. Karen had come to the rescue with a pack of lies about picking Rosie up from the club, and how they’d gone back to her place for a super-quick coffee.

‘Unfortunately,’ Karen had told Dave, ‘before Rosie could cross the short distance between our respective houses, she’d flaked out on my sofa.’

‘So why didn’t you come round and tell me?’ Dave had whined to Karen.

‘It was late, Dave. I thought you’d be asleep. And I most certainly didn’t want to disturb Luke by ringing the doorbell or telephone.’

‘You should have woken Rosie up!’ Dave had been belligerent.

‘She was worn out, and I thought she could use a well-deserved rest.’

‘A child should have its parent,’ Dave had fumed. ‘You deprived my son.’

‘You are a parent too,’ Karen had reminded Dave, ‘and it’s about time you took some responsibility!’

‘How dare you speak to me like this?’ Dave had glared at his neighbour. ‘I never did like you, Karen. I don’t know what Mike sees in you. You’ve a tongue like a harpy.’

‘You leave my husband out of this,’ Karen had narrowed her eyes, ‘and thank you very much but he loves what I do with my tongue.’

Rosie had stuck her hand up at that point to stop the pair of them going on to a full-scale row. ‘Enough! I have the headache from hell and don’t need you two bickering.’

‘Well you shouldn’t have been out on the town all night drinking for England,’ Dave had sniped.

‘My headache is due to smacking my head against Luke’s bedroom wall, no thanks to you leaving an empty bottle for me to trip over.’

‘Yes,’ Karen had butted in, ‘so don’t you dare patronise Rosie about drinking all night. Pot, kettle, black.’

‘Oh bugger off back next door,’ Dave had waved a hand at Karen, ‘I’m going out.’

‘Where to?’ Rosie had asked.

‘Somewhere with peace and quiet.’

He’d stomped off, banging the front door so hard it was lucky the one remaining glass pane hadn’t fallen out.

And now, while Rosie waited in for a glazier to repair the front door, she wondered where Dave was. Indeed, exactly where did her husband go every day? He said he was looking for work, but today was Sunday. Apart from anything else, he no longer dressed as if attending interviews. In the beginning he’d put on a suit and tie. But as the weeks had progressed, the tie had been omitted in favour for an open-necked shirt. At some point the suit jacket had been replaced with a fleece, and finally the trousers had been exchanged for scruffy jeans. When Dave returned, he was invariably stroppy and on the defensive. Apart from anything else, Rosie didn’t have the energy or inclination to question him. They were two people inhabiting two separate worlds. They just happened to live under the same roof.

The sound of the telephone ringing interrupted her thoughts.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh good, you’re in,’ said a plummy voice.

‘Hi, Mum.’ Rosie’s heart sank.

‘I’m with Catherine. You remember Catherine. She shares the flower rota at church with me. Charming gel.’ Catherine was eighty-two. ‘We’ve had a wonderful morning listening to the new vicar’s sermon.’

‘Jolly good.’

‘Usually we stay behind for refreshments, but unfortunately Gertrude – who was on tea and biscuits this week – had one of her forgetful moments and thought she was taking care of the collection. So everybody’s parched.’

‘Ah,’ Rosie knew what was coming.

‘So I thought we’d come over to you.’

‘It’s not actually a good moment, Mum,’ Rosie wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder and shifted Luke to her other hip. ‘Earlier on I broke one of the window panes in the front door. I’m currently waiting for a glazier.’

‘Honestly, Rosie, you are so accident-prone. How did I raise such a clumsy child?’

Rosie gritted her teeth. ‘Perhaps we can do a rain check and I’ll look forward to seeing Catherine and Gertrude another time.’

‘Nonsense,’ Hester protested, ‘we’re already on our way. Catherine has a car with one of those new-fangled Toothy things – incidentally it’s Catherine’s mobile phone connection that I’m talking to you on – so we’ll see you very soon.’

‘Marvellous,’ Rosie grimaced.

It seemed as though Rosie had barely hung up the phone before Hester was sweeping through the front door, for all the world as if Rosie’s dingy hallway were the entrance to the Savoy. Two elderly ladies followed in Hester’s wake.

‘What a dear little boy,’ said the woman Rosie knew as Catherine. She deduced the tiny pensioner bringing up the rear to be Gertrude.

Hester’s chest visibly swelled. ‘My handsome grandson. He gets his looks from me. Rosie, put Baby in his playpen so you can make us all a cup of tea.’

‘Mum, his name is Luke.’

‘And actually we’re all rather peckish,’ Hester ignored Rosie’s correction, ‘so we’ll have sandwiches rather than biscuits.’

‘Can you avoid putting anything chewy in mine?’ Gertrude lisped. ‘Only I can’t get on with my dentures at the moment and I’m giving my gums a rest.’

‘Right,’ said Rosie faintly. ‘Do go into the lounge and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll try not to be too long.’

As Rosie headed off to the kitchen, Hester’s words floated down the hallway. ‘I do apologise for the lack of curtains in here, but Rosie’s husband is in the process of doing the place up. Marvellous man. Very clever. He has a degree in Engineering.’

Rosie shut the kitchen door on their chatter. She didn’t understand why her mother spoke so highly of Dave. Perhaps it was because she felt guilt at pushing Rosie to marry him and consequently saddling her daughter with a useless prat, although Rosie knew Hester would never admit to that. Sighing, she popped Luke into his playpen and set about making ham sandwiches and mashing up boiled eggs for Gertrude’s sore gums. By the time she’d finished, Luke had fallen asleep whilst playing with his mobile. Rosie gently laid a crib blanket over him before loading up a huge tray and heading off down the hallway.

‘At last,’ Hester sighed. ‘Whatever took you so long? I was just telling the gels that you always used to come last in your school races. Your teacher used to call you Rosie Slowcoach.’

Rosie set the tray down. ‘Well I’m here now.’ She began pouring the tea. ‘One lump or two, Gertrude?’

‘Two please,’ Gertrude lisped. ‘Mmm. These egg sandwiches are lovely. Thank you, dear.’

‘I’m so pleased my dentures don’t give me problems,’ Catherine said.

‘Fortunately, I still have all my own teeth,’ said Hester smiling smugly.

‘That reminds me,’ said Gertrude, ‘I have some more of those Brazil nuts that you like.’ Gertrude put her sandwich down and reached inside a vast handbag at her feet. She pulled out a large paper bag and handed them to Hester.

‘Ooh, lovely!’ Hester said with delight. ‘I ate the last bag you gave me while I was watching Coronation Street. I’ll enjoy these tomorrow. But honestly, Gertrude, I can’t understand why your daughter keeps buying them for you if you don’t like them. Tell her to buy you chocolate instead.’

‘She does. She buys me chocolate Brazil nuts. I enjoy sucking all the chocolate off and then I put the nuts back in the bag for you.’

There was a stunned silence broken by the interruption of the doorbell.

Rosie hastily excused herself, not daring to look at her mother. ‘That will be my glazier.’

However, despite a man from Class Glass standing on her doorstep, the repair did not go ahead.

‘You have to show me the colour of your money first, love,’ said the man.

‘No problem. I’ll just get my bag.’

But when Rosie opened her purse, the two hundred pounds Matt Palmer had given her to pay for the repair was nowhere to be found.

Chapter Eight

 

Matt stirred. He’d dozed off in front of the television. Yawning, he checked his wristwatch. Half past seven. His stomach gave a noisy gurgle, grumbling about its lack of food. Standing up he stretched lazily, arms pushing up above his head, before taking the heels of his hands to his gritty eyes for a good rub. Instantly he winced. The black eye was sore as hell. Matt’s stomach gave another gurgle of complaint. Grub. Now.

Matt dropped his arms back to his sides and wandered off to the kitchen. After a rummage around in the fridge, he slotted bread into the toaster and cracked a couple of eggs into a pan. Turning the gas flame to low, he then returned to the fridge for butter and milk. In a minute he’d go over some paperwork regarding Tibor’s Tasty Titbits in readiness for tomorrow’s visit to the factory. Matt yawned again. He needed to be more alert. Right now coffee was not so much a requirement as a necessity. Flicking the kettle switch on, his thoughts wandered back to Rosie Perfect. Her coffee cup from this morning was upside down on the rack in the dishwasher. He wondered if her front door’s glass pane was now fixed. A mental image of the baby boy sitting on her hip floated through his brain. What a sweet little lad. He wouldn’t mind having a kid like that himself one day – if he ever found Mrs Right. So far she’d eluded him, despite having Mrs Perfect in his bed last night.

Matt transferred the eggs to his toast and sighed. It was at times like this that he noticed the lack of a significant other in his life. More and more Matt was envying his mates. No doubt they were all in the process of consuming a Sunday roast, before snuggling down in front of the telly with their fiancées or wives. What sort of a saddo was he to be munching his way through eggs on toast on a Sunday evening with the dining table covered in employee names and job descriptions?

A few minutes later Matt pushed his empty plate away and began scanning the factory employee list. Were all these staff really necessary? Redundancy wasn’t pleasant, but unfortunately often required. Matt had never suffered personal repercussion from such actions until this morning, when he met Dave Perfect. At the memory of Dave’s meaty fist connecting to Matt’s face, he automatically touched his eye. It was bloodshot, slightly swollen and suffused with a blue-purple colour. That would give the staff at Tibor’s Tasty Titbits something to gossip about tomorrow morning.

 

***

 

The first thing Matt noticed when he got out of his car at the factory’s car park was the smell. It had nothing to do with the gasworks across the road or the muddy banks of the nearby River Thames. Matt attempted to hold his breath whilst scanning the building. There appeared to be two entrances to the factory, one for the plant operators and one for the office staff. Matt took the door to the latter. Inside this part of the building, it was surprisingly plush. A coiffed receptionist with perfect make-up greeted him.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Yes, I’m here to see Gregory.’

‘Do take a seat.’ The receptionist indicated some squashy chairs. ‘Gregory won’t be a moment. Can I get you a coffee?’

‘Thanks. Milk, no sugar.’

Matt sat down. He watched the receptionist undulate off to a door marked ‘Private’. He presumed the door led to a staff kitchenette. Gregory’s office was to the right. Matt could see the closed door from where he was sitting. He could also hear voices coming from within. Gregory was laughing throatily. Now a woman was speaking and telling him he was a naughty boy for making her late to her own office.

‘If it’s an office you want, then stay at this one!’

‘But my work isn’t at this office,’ the woman was giggling. ‘It’s a good thing I’m more or less my own boss, or I’d now be in quite a bit of trouble.’

Inside his office, Gregory gazed at the woman before him. If anything, she was even more gorgeous than the night he’d met her at The Cavendish Club. ‘Stay,’ he pleaded.

‘I can’t,’ said Lucy, waggling a finger playfully at Gregory. ‘My taxi will be here any moment, and I absolutely have to be back in London for a meeting this afternoon. I can’t get out of it.’ She could pass the morning off to being with a potential client, but the company director would want a better explanation for an afternoon’s absence too.

‘You’re not going to walk out of my life are you?’

Lucy arched an eyebrow and smiled impishly. ‘Not if you don’t want me to.’

‘I definitely don’t. Give me your number. I’ll stick it in my mobile right now.’

Out in the reception area, Matt smiled to himself. Clearly Gregory had scored again! He wondered who the woman was. At that moment the receptionist reappeared with his coffee. He accepted it gratefully. She gave him a full-on beam and twisted a strand of hair around her index finger. Matt sipped the coffee and looked away. Now why had he done that? Here was an attractive woman giving him the eye. A few days ago and he would have struck up some banter, secured her number and probably had her in his bed later that night. Except...except...he couldn’t quite forget about the last woman who had occupied his bed.

The door to Gregory’s office opened and a dark haired beauty emerged. Matt felt a mild frisson of shock run up and down his spine. It was the hen from The Cavendish Club – the one Gregory had gone off with. She strolled past Matt without even a glance in his direction, but not before he’d clocked her expression. It was one of immense satisfaction.

‘Matthew!’ Gregory came out and pumped Matt’s hand. ‘I see you have a coffee, jolly good.’ Gregory turned to the receptionist. ‘Get one for me, Cheryl.’ He ushered Matt into his office. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. I had some unfinished business to attend.’

‘I saw,’ Matt smiled.

‘Now then, Matthew, no judgements please. I’m a free agent.’

‘I don’t think she is though.’

‘Course she is.’

‘But there’s a ring on her finger.’

‘She’s not married yet. And anyway, I seem to remember two rings on the finger of the lass who draped herself all over you last night.’

‘Touché.’

Gregory laughed. ‘Was it her husband who gave you the shiner you’re sporting?’

‘Yes.’

‘Say no more then! Right, let’s get down to factory business.’

Matt opened his briefcase and removed a sheaf of papers, one of which contained a full list of employees. ‘Do you really have a dog food taster?’

‘Absolutely. And I’m not making him redundant, so don’t even suggest it. Harold is worth his weight in gold. In fact I desperately need another like him, but it’s not a job many want. Tibor’s Tasty Titbits has a good reputation for food that’s fit for human consumption.’

‘Excellent,’ said Matt faintly. The thought of sitting down to a plate of Chum-like mixture wasn’t something he wanted to mull over at ten o’clock on a Monday morning. ‘In that case, I’d like to start with the names to the left of this sheet.’

But Gregory was staring out of the window, apparently lost in thought. His face bore a dreamy expression.

‘Er, Gregory?’

‘Sorry, what were you saying?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Sorry, mate, I can’t concentrate.’ Gregory rubbed a hand over his face before regarding Matt with a pensive look. ‘To answer your question, no, I don’t think I’m okay.’

‘Why? What’s the matter?’

‘I have a horrible feeling I’ve gone and fallen in love.’

Chapter Nine

 

Lucy pushed her way out of the double doors of Tibor’s Tasty Titbits just has her minicab pulled up. The cab’s window buzzed down.

‘Where are we going, love?’ asked the driver.

Lucy opened the rear passenger door. ‘Dartford Station, please.’ She sank down into the squashy depths of the saloon and, as the cab set off for the local railway station, reflected over the events of the weekend. She’d spent the entirety of Saturday and Sunday shagging a stranger.

Lucy glanced down at her engagement ring and twirled it anxiously around her ring finger. It was a two-carat jobbie that she’d wept over when her fiancé had placed it upon the third finger of her left hand. All Lucy had ever wanted was to get married and have children. She had a hazy childhood memory of sitting cross-legged on the school playing field with her best friend, a warm sun tickling pale arms and legs as the two girls had made daisy chains and gossiped.

‘I’m going to marry a pop star when I grow up,’ Rosie had said.

Lucy was never one to be outdone. ‘I’m going to marry a prince.’ And she’d plopped a crown of daisies on top of her head, determined that one day when she married she would indeed wear a crown. And now, all these years later, tucked away in her top drawer was the most beautiful tiara smothered in crystals and pearls.

As the years had gone by, Lucy’s prince had eluded her thanks to fierce competitiveness in her chosen career. There had, however, been a lot of frogs and she’d kissed them all. Unfortunately these men were the type who, upon receiving hints of long-term commitment, had legged it. At first Lucy had been hurt. But eventually she’d settled quite happily on a series of friends with benefits relationships. Such couplings meant she didn’t owe anybody anything. She certainly didn’t have to tidy up after them, and if they pissed her off she could always turf them out. But in the last year Lucy had been aware of the loud ticking of her biological clock. Her hormones were clamouring for her to get on with what her female body was programmed to do. Reproduce. To say Lucy felt broody was an understatement. Rosie’s darling little boy, Luke, was her godson. Much as she loved being a godmother, she wanted to drop that first syllable, and progress to mother. However, for that she needed a male – and preferably a man who also yearned to be a parent. Just when Lucy had despaired of ever finding such a man, he’d turned up in the local chippie of all places. They’d been standing in a long queue that had zig-zagged out of the shop and along the pavement. My Plaice wasn’t Lucy’s usual port of call after work, but on this particular occasion she’d worked late and knew the cupboards at home were bare. Her wristwatch had read half past eight. As her heels had clicked hollowly along the pavements, the enticing smell of fish and chips had mugged her senses. She’d decided to abandon a late night shop at Sainsbury’s and instead grab something wrapped in yesterday’s newspapers, except the shop had run out of fish just as she and the man in front of her had finally stood in front of the counter.

Lucy had been furious. And then, ridiculously, she’d started to cry. She’d had a crap day at work, and on top of everything else discovered that the men she’d slept with in the office had nicknamed her Lucy Lycra on account of how bendy she was between the sheets.

‘Don’t cry,’ the stranger had said, ‘a bit of fish isn’t worth bawling about.’

‘It’s just the last straw,’ she’d wailed.

The man had hesitated for a moment. ‘At the risk of sounding like I’m doing a number on you, there’s a lovely French bistro up the road. I’m game if you are.’

And that was how it had started. This time Lucy hadn’t invited the man back to her chic minimalist flat. She’d demurred. Romance had blossomed slowly. Lucy Lycra was nowhere to be found. Instead a coy, reserved Lucy had emerged. Even now she and her man didn’t properly co-habit. Instead Lucy alternated between her London apartment and her fiancé’s address.

When sex had finally taken place, Lucy had found it a monumental disappointment. Her future husband ticked all the boxes apart from stud. Which was puzzling, because recently Lucy had begun to suspect more and more that another woman was tickling her fiancé’s fancy. On her hen night, bevvied up and dressed like a siren, she’d felt wild and reckless, and incredibly rebellious. The booze had made her defiant. If she couldn’t get mad, maybe she could at least get even?

As she’d walked into The Cavendish Club, Lucy had been fully aware of the men eyeing her, and it had been nothing to do with her raucous behaviour or flashing pink Stetson. It was because she had looked and felt desirable. And when she’d clapped eyes on Gregory Tibor, a pulse had started in her loins. She’d simply had to have him. It was an all-consuming need, like not being able to function without food or water. They’d abandoned Goldhill Grange and instead gone to his place. Gregory had been mildly disappointed not to have the other hens joining them, but Lucy had forgiven him because she wasn’t looking for a faithful lover. She just wanted sex. The sort of sex her fiancé didn’t seem able to give her. She didn’t know if it was pre-wedding nerves or a whim for a last fling before a ring slid on her finger and bound her to a man she loved, but who didn’t set her knickers on fire.

Gregory had turned out to be an amazing lover and incredibly thoughtful too. And when they’d paused for breath between couplings, Lucy’s surroundings hadn’t failed to register through her diminishing hangover. One word described the place. Opulent. From the vast chandelier that graced the equally enormous hallway to the manicured grounds outside. It was a true country house in all its renovated splendour.

Never backward in coming forward, Lucy had been quite frank. ‘You must earn a packet to have a place like this.’

Gregory had shrugged and looked modest. ‘I do all right.’

‘What are you? A professional footballer?’ She’d fingered his six pack.

When Gregory had told her he made pet food, she’d been stunned. ‘I don’t believe you. Show me.’ And that was how she’d ended up going to the factory on Monday morning before taking the minicab to Dartford Station.

‘That will be fifteen quid, love,’ the driver interrupted her thoughts.

Lucy reached inside her little clutch for the money. Underneath her long classic coat she was still dressed in Saturday night’s glam dress. She hoped the train journey ahead wouldn’t take too long. She needed to peel off the party frock and slip into a power suit before hurrying off to the office. And while she was on the train she’d ring Rosie for a catch up. Heaven only knows what had happened to her best friend on Saturday night. Lucy felt mildly guilty for not keeping a closer eye on her. Rosie had been three sheets to the wind and propositioning a stranger when Lucy had last looked. Very un-Rosie like.

Lucy walked into the station, paid for her ticket and made her way over the connecting bridge to the platform. Five minutes later she was seated in the corner of a carriage. As the train picked up speed and rumbled towards the City, Lucy reached into her bag for her mobile. Seconds later she was talking to Rosie.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Rosie, it’s me.’

‘Hello, stranger. What happened to you on Saturday night?’

‘It’s a long story. What about you?’

‘Er, yes. The same.’

‘Did you get home all right?’

‘Um, eventually.’

‘You sound cagey.’

‘So do you.’

Lucy laughed. ‘Are you at my apartment?’

‘Yes. I’m halfway through the cleaning. Luke’s fast asleep in his buggy so I’d better get back to it before he wakes up and slows me down.’

‘I’ll be popping in, briefly, in about an hour, so I might see you.’

‘Okay, I’ll wait in that case.’

‘Good. We’ll have a quick coffee together.’

‘See you soon.’

‘Oh, and Rosie?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do me a favour. Can you change the sheets on my bed, please?’

‘I only did them a few days ago.’

‘Yes, I know. But I just fancy some fresh linen on the bed tonight.’

‘Okay, will do. Bye for now.’

Lucy disconnected the call. She wanted fresh linen on the bed because she was ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain she’d have a visitor tonight. And it wouldn’t be her fiancé.

Chapter Ten

 

Rosie had barely finished shoving Lucy’s stripped bedding into the washing machine when Luke let out a wail. Thank God Rosie’s cleaning jobs were for high-fliers like Lucy and her network of career girls. None of them minded Rosie bringing Luke’s buggy into their homes. Her little boy was perfectly content playing with his mobile or watching Mummy make bathrooms and kitchens shine. Sometimes Rosie would park Luke’s buggy in front of the television and let him watch the pre-school programmes, even though it was beyond his understanding of eight months. She’d scamper about with the duster while coloured teddies danced across the screen making Luke chortle. If he was popping a tooth and miserable, she’d invariably resort to having her young son sit on her hip while she pushed the vacuum cleaner around. In the main her baby boy was a placid child, and never complained when Rosie settled him into his pushchair and walked to various bus stops in order to clean half a dozen houses in North London.

Hurrying now, Rosie tipped liquid soap into the washing machine dispenser and selected a programme. Then she unstrapped Luke, gathered him up in her arms and went along the hallway to the airing cupboard. Pulling out fresh bedding, she then made her way into Lucy’s bedroom. Rosie shut the door after her and popped Luke down on the floor.

‘There we are, little man. You can practice your crawling while Mummy struggles with a six foot duvet and a Queen sized cover.’

As soon as Luke was down on the plush carpet, he immediately began bottom shuffling. One tiny pudgy hand extended behind his nappy while one foot propelled his body backwards. Minutes later he was down on his stomach, slithering and rolling around the room. A sock was discarded enroute to a chest of drawers in one corner. Rosie smiled at her son’s antics before getting on with the task in hand. She was just plumping pillows when she heard Lucy’s key in the door.

‘Yoo-hoo. I’m in here,’ Rosie called.

The bedroom door swung open. ‘Oooh!’ Lucy rushed over to Luke and scooped him up from the floor. ‘How’s my toy boy?’ She cuddled the baby tightly. ‘You are just the most scrumptious little chap in the whole wide world. When you grow up, I’m going to marry you!’

Rosie arched an eyebrow. ‘I thought you were already spoken for.’

Lucy gently put Luke back down on the floor. ‘Of course,’ she said lightly.

‘So who was the hunk you went off with on Saturday night?’

‘I’m surprised you can remember. You looked completely out of it when I last saw you.’

‘Admittedly I have black gaps of nothingness where your hen night is concerned. But don’t avoid the subject.’ Rosie started layering the bed with small decorative cushions. ‘What happened?’

Lucy shrugged off her coat and headed towards the walk-in dressing room. ‘Nothing. Just, you know, a dance, and a bit of a canoodle.’

‘That’s one long canoodle. You still have your party dress on – and yet I could have sworn it’s now Monday morning.’

‘Ah, rumbled by Detective Perfect. Okay, Guv, it’s a fair cop.’ Lucy roughly shoved her coat onto a hanger before selecting a severely tailored navy suit. ‘I shagged him. All weekend. And very nice it was too. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Rosie. Anyway you’re a fine one to judge.’

Rosie turned pale. ‘Why?’

Lucy extracted a no-nonsense white shirt from another rail. ‘What do you mean why? The last time I saw you, you were giving Gregory’s mate a tonsillectomy with your tongue.’

‘Yes, that’s the bit where a black gap kicked in.’

‘Hmm, convenient. When did the memory finally deem to return?’ Now it was Lucy’s turn to arch an eyebrow.

‘Um, early hours of Sunday morning.’

Lucy peeled off her dress and walked over to the chest of drawers. She extracted clean underwear and a pair of tights. ‘And?’

‘Oh, God, Luce,’ Rosie plonked herself down on the freshly made bed. ‘Can you keep a secret?’

‘You bet, because you’re going to keep my secret, right?’

Rosie nodded. ‘That goes without saying. Well, if you must know, I woke up in that guy’s bed.’

Lucy let out a long low whistle. ‘Nice work. He was a right cracker. Was he good?’

‘What do you mean?’

Lucy rolled her eyes as she stuck a foot through the leg hole of her knickers. ‘Was he good between the sheets?’ She pulled the briefs up and reached for her bra.

‘I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean you don’t know?’ Deftly hooking the bra’s clasps together, she began making a funnel for one leg with the tights.

‘I mean, I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything.’

Lucy paused, tights at half-mast. ‘Nothing? Nada?’

‘Zilch. Zero.’

‘Geez,’ Lucy sucked on her teeth and pulled up the tights. ‘So you get picked up by a hot guy, taken back to his place for rumpy-pumpy, and can’t remember whether you played Fifty Shades of Grey or Scrabble.’ Lucy reached for her shirt and skirt. ‘It could only happen to you, Rosie.’

Rosie eyed her friend miserably. ‘Well, there’s a part of me that’s glad I can’t remember. As far as I’m concerned, if I can’t remember then it didn’t happen.’

‘Does Dave know?’

‘Absolutely not!’

‘How did you manage to explain the small matter of your overnight absence? Did you tell him you stayed at Goldhill Grange after all?’

‘No. My neighbour – you remember Karen? – well she lied for me.’

‘I see. And are you meeting lover boy again?’

‘Most definitely not!’ Rosie watched Lucy shrug her way into the navy jacket. ‘You’re not seeing this Gregory chap again are you?’

‘It’s likely.’

Rosie stared at her friend, aghast. ‘But you’re getting married in a month!’

‘It’s only a dalliance.’

‘But why? You risk jeopardising everything. Don’t you feel guilty?’

‘Not especially.’ Lucy returned to her dressing room. Reaching up to a shelf, she selected a black leather handbag. ‘You see the thing is,’ she emerged, and began filling the bag up with lipstick, tissues, her purse and a cheque book, ‘I’ve caught my darling fiancé out.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Rosie spluttered. ‘The man worships the ground you walk on.

‘You think, eh? Except, quite by chance, I happened to come across a string of text messages on his mobile. They were from another woman.’

‘You went through his phone?’ Rosie looked astonished.

Lucy shrugged. ‘Don’t you go through your husband’s phone?’

‘He hasn’t got one. Not anymore. He says he lost it, and we can’t afford to replace it.’

‘Isn’t it about time you got shot of that loser?’

Rosie sighed. ‘I made a big mistake marrying Dave.’

‘Thanks to your overbearing mother.’

Rosie clicked her tongue. ‘Ultimately I can’t blame anybody apart from myself. Typical rebound. And anyway, I can’t leave Dave. I have nowhere to go.’

‘If things are that awful, can’t you go back to your mother? Surely Hester would love your company now that your pa is no longer of this world.’ Lucy raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Bless him.’

‘I don’t know what would be worse – living with Dave or living with my mother. Anyway, I know in my heart of hearts Mum wouldn’t put a roof over my head. Not with Luke. She’d tell me to get in the queue for a Council flat.’

‘Well then why don’t you?’

‘I don’t want to bring my baby up in a tower block. At least Dave’s house has a little garden for Luke to play in when he’s older. Also I have Karen next door. She’s not just my neighbour; she’s a good friend too and very supportive.’

‘Well I’d say move in here if you’re really stuck, but obviously the place will be sold after I’m married.’

‘Still going through with the nuptials then, despite meeting this Gregory?’

Lucy picked up her house keys and chucked them in her handbag. ‘Of course. I’m looking forward to my big day. I can’t wait to be Mrs Chandler.’

‘So what are you going to do about your fiancé’s ‘other woman’?’

Lucy gave Rosie a determined look. ‘Hunt her down, and see her off.’

Chapter Eleven

 

Matt had spent virtually all day at Tibor’s Tasty Titbits. By four o’clock he was in the car and on his way to London to see another business contact. Matt had left Gregory with an implementation plan containing timeframes, milestones, policies and responsibilities. Matt knew that staff would understandably feel insecure when made aware of the forthcoming changes, especially when it eventually came down to staff placement in the new structure. It was always the incompetent individuals who were the most vocal because they now ran an increased risk of being exposed. Individuals like Rosie’s husband, Dave Perfect.

Matt grimaced and touched his eye. It had been aching for the last half hour. He could do with some ibuprofen. As Matt drove along, he glanced from left to right looking for a pharmacy. As he threaded his way through North London, he realised he was only a few streets away from Rosie’s house. Matt dickered. He couldn’t deny that he’d like to see Rosie again – purely to see if she was okay and the front door had been fixed. He assured himself there was absolutely no ulterior motive. The woman was married after all. But perhaps he could ponce some painkillers? Decision made, he swung a left. Two minutes later his car was parked outside Rosie Perfect’s house. Matt glanced up at it. The front door hadn’t been fixed. Matt stared in disbelief. He hadn’t had Rosie down as the sort of girl who palmed two hundred quid.

Matt opened the driver’s door. He felt stiff after hours of sitting at Gregory’s office, followed by being cooped up in a car. Straightening up, he felt his body unkink slightly. He hoped Rosie was in. Of course, there was only one way to find out. He walked up the cracked path, dodging the weeds, and was just about to ring the doorbell when he remembered it was broken. Knocking on the one remaining glass pane, Matt stood back and waited. He turned slightly to take in the ordinary looking London road. A boy on a bicycle pedalled past, saw Matt looking and gave him a middle finger. Matt shook his head. What was that all about? There was movement behind the front door. Moments later Rosie stood before him, framed in the doorway. Baby Luke was welded to one hip, like a permanent fixture.

‘Oh!’ Rosie exclaimed. ‘I, er, gosh, I wasn’t expecting to see you again.’

Matt gave Rosie a curt nod. ‘Is that why you didn’t bother getting the door fixed?’

Rosie felt colour flood her face. Oh Lord, the man thought she’d taken the money for herself. ‘Of course not,’ Rosie could feel her blush turning beetroot. She hoped Matt Palmer didn’t interpret her flushing as guilt. In fact she was red from embarrassment. ‘The glazier turned up, asked for payment before the job started, but unfortunately the money you gave me was nowhere to be found.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes,’ Rosie’s eyes flashed. ‘It was a humiliating experience.’ Rosie cringed at the memory of asking her mother for a loan in front of her old cronies – and her mother refusing.

‘Good heavens no, Rosie,’ Hester had shrieked. ‘I don’t carry that sort of money on my person, and nor will I write a cheque. This sort of thing is for the man of the house to sort out, and I most certainly wouldn’t want to tread on Dave’s toes.’

Rosie had almost retorted that her mother could indeed tread on Dave’s toes and any other part of his anatomy if she so desired. Instead she’d bitten her tongue and returned to the glazier, who had overheard the conversation with her mother.

‘Tell you what, love, I’ll board it up for you,’ he’d said. ‘I can see you’re in a bit of a pickle. No charge.’

‘So where did the money go?’ asked Matt.

Rosie looked down and studied the floor for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ she mumbled. ‘However, I suspect my husband might have an inkling.’ When she looked up again, her eyes were very bright.

‘And where is Rambo today?’

‘I have absolutely no idea. He’s supposedly looking for work. Um, look, excuse me, but you haven’t said why you’re here?’

Matt raked a hand through his hair. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to knock on your door and have a pop at you. I was in the area, and happen to have a belting headache. Is there any chance I could pinch some painkillers from your medicine cupboard?’

Rosie momentarily looked nonplussed. ‘Of course. Would you like to come in? You’re welcome to have a cup of tea.’

‘That would be very kind,’ Matt followed Rosie down the hallway and into the kitchen, ‘and in return I insist you let me sort out the glazier for you.’

Rosie swung around. ‘Absolutely not. It’s bad enough that you’re out of pocket once on my behalf, never mind twice.’

‘Don’t be silly. You can pay me back if it bothers you so much.’

Rosie popped Luke into a playpen in the corner of the kitchen. Straightening up, she turned to Matt. ‘Look, I’ll be absolutely honest with you, Mr Palmer–’

‘I told you before. It’s Matt.’

‘Matt,’ Rosie reached for the kettle and blasted some water into it, ‘I can’t begin to pay back an amount like–’

‘Ten pence a week. Take as long as you like.’ Matt reached into his pocket for his iPhone and began looking up local glaziers. Seconds later he’d tapped in a number and was barking out instructions.

Rosie placed a cup of tea in front of him and set the sugar bowl down on the table. ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled. ‘And ten pence a week will be most agreeable.’

‘Good. Now while we’re waiting for the glazier, can I trouble you for those painkillers?’

‘Of course, give me two seconds.’

As Matt listened to Rosie hastening up the staircase, Luke hauled himself upright in his playpen. Clinging to the wooden bars, he stared at Matt.

‘Hello again, little fella,’ Matt smiled.

Luke let out a chuckle. It was the most delicious noise Matt had ever heard. Matt put his hands up to his ears and wiggled them about. Luke let out another gurgle of laughter. Matt laughed too and stood up. The little boy was irresistible. He simply had to have a cuddle.

Upstairs in the bathroom, Rosie rootled through a cabinet of toiletries and tampons looking for the tablets. She was uncomfortably aware of her heart banging away under her ribcage. She suspected it was nothing to do with the exertion of climbing the stairs and everything to do with the effect Matt Palmer’s presence was having on her. In the last ten minutes Rosie’s memory had, like knicker elastic, pinged back repeatedly to waking up in this man’s bed…seeing his naked body…running her fingertips over his skin…touching his...

The front door banged. Rosie jumped as Dave’s voice floated up the stairs.

‘Hello again, matey. I take it you’ve come back to have the other eye blacked?’

 

Chapter Twelve

 

Dave swayed down the hallway towards the kitchen. His face was screwed up in an expression of belligerence.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded of Matt.

Up in the bathroom, Rosie grabbed the painkillers before rushing back down the stairs. ‘Dave?’

‘Ah,’ Dave turned to acknowledge his wife, ‘yet again I come home after a busy day out looking for work, and what do I find? The missus cosying up with this traitor! What the bloody hell is going on here, eh?’ Dave belched softly. The kitchen was instantly filled with the aroma of bad digestion and whisky fumes.

‘Nothing’s going on,’ Rosie cried. ‘Matt just happened to be–’

‘Rosie, I think I can speak for myself.’ Matt put Luke back into his playpen and turned to face Dave. ‘You said you were looking for work.’

‘What’s it to you?’ Dave’s lip curled as he stared at Matt.

‘I happen to know where there’s a job going, and very well paid it is too.’

Rosie’s jaw dropped. What was Matt talking about?

‘And why would you be interested in getting me a job? I had a job until you came along and got me fired.’

Matt shrugged. ‘Well maybe my conscience has been pricking.’

‘That would figure, coming from a prick like you.’

Rosie gasped. ‘For God’s sake, Dave. Matt’s trying to help.’

Dave pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down heavily. ‘Go on then. Tell me all about it because I’m fresh out of dough. This morning I had two hundred pounds–’

‘You stole money from me?’ Rosie interrupted.

‘Borrowed, love, borrowed. And by this afternoon I had two thousand.’

Rosie’s hand fluttered to her mouth. ‘You’ve been gambling?’

‘You’ve been gambling?’ Dave mimicked in a falsetto voice. ‘For God’s sake, Rosie, grow up and join the real world. There hasn’t been any other way to get hold of big wads of cash has there?’

‘Congratulations on your win,’ said Matt.

‘Only trouble is,’ Dave hiccupped, ‘I now only have two pence.’

‘You lost all that money?’ Rosie had to lean against the worktop for support.

Dave laughed mirthlessly. ‘Yeah. Ruddy life. Shits all over you. But, hey! Thanks to Wonder Boy here, I’m going to re-join the great and the good – the army of employed people.’

‘Well you’ll have to have an interview and go through a proper procedure,’ Matt said, ‘but I happen to know for a fact there aren’t any other candidates.’

Dave squinted at Matt. ‘Oh yeah? Don’t tell me. It’s cleaning public toilets.’

‘Er, no. It’s testing dog food – as in tasting it.’

‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you!’

‘No. Straight up. The job is kosher. There’s a salary of twenty-eight grand a year.’

‘Dog food taster?’ Dave stared at Matt incredulously. ‘What the hell do you take me for, you–’

‘I’ll do it,’ Rosie piped up. There was a stunned silence as both men regarded her. ‘Please get me an interview.’

‘You’re round the bend,’ Dave stared at his wife, ‘barking mad.’ Suddenly his face creased up and his shoulders began to shake. ‘Barking mad, ah ha ha ha. Dog food, get it? Woof woof!’

Rosie ignored Dave. ‘I mean it,’ she looked at Matt. There was no hiding the desperation on her face. ‘If my husband isn’t interested, then I most definitely am.’ All Rosie could think about was that she might be able to rent a tiny place of her own with Luke, and make a break for freedom.’

‘Well, if you’re sure, Rosie. I’ll speak to Gregory and set up an interview straight away.’

‘Gregory?’

‘Yes. Gregory Tibor. He’s the owner of Tibor’s Tasty Titbits. He’s the guy I was with the night–’

‘Yes,’ Rosie cut Matt off mid-sentence. ‘I’ve heard of him.’ She flushed at the memory of Lucy telling her all about Gregory. And if Rosie was successful in securing an interview with this man, she would have to hope he didn’t recognise her, or remember her outrageous behaviour at The Cavendish Club.

‘Good,’ said Dave as he hauled himself to his feet. ‘I’m glad that’s sorted and Rosie will finally be able to properly contribute to household expenses.’ At that moment there was a loud rapping on the door. ‘What a busy house I have today. Will this be another superhero standing on my doorstep?’

Rosie gritted her teeth. ‘It will be the glazier.’

‘Don’t look to me to pay him,’ said Dave, ‘after all, you’re going to be the breadwinner from now on.’

‘I haven’t been offered the job yet,’ Rosie muttered as she pushed past her husband.

‘Wear a short skirt,’ Dave called after her, ‘that should do the trick. So,’ he turned to face Matt, ‘now that one member of this household is about to be employed thanks to you, I shall retire to the bathroom with yesterday’s newspaper that I fished out of somebody’s dustbin. And when I come back down again, I expect you to have slung your hook.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Matt smiled pleasantly, ‘I’m going.’

Dave staggered out of the kitchen leaving Matt staring after him. What a ghastly man. Not just a pisshead but a gambler too. From his playpen, Luke caught Matt’s eye and grinned. Matt smiled wanly back. Standing up, he palmed the ibuprofen Rosie had left on the table and swallowed them down with the cooling tea.

‘Look after your Mummy,’ Matt said softly to Luke. He had a sudden overwhelming desire to rescue Rosie and her baby from this life of poverty, broken doors and potential dog food tasting.

Out in the hallway, Rosie was speaking to the glazier. Matt pulled out his wallet and counted out ten twenty pound notes. He always carried that amount of cash on him for business purposes. Rosie stood there looking awkward. ‘When will I hear about the interview?’ she asked.

Matt pressed a business card into her hand. ‘Give me a call tomorrow afternoon. I should have some news for you then.’

Rosie’s fingers curled around the stiff card. A small window of opportunity had come along this afternoon, and Rosie was going to seize it. She gazed up at Matt. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, ‘for everything.’

For a second they both stood there, just staring at each other. The moment was broken by Dave.

‘Rosie!’ Dave’s voice filtered down the stairs. ‘I’ve blocked the loo and we’ve run out of toilet paper.’

Chapter Thirteen

 

For Rosie the week progressed with its usual mix of daily grind, broken nights and a drunken husband. Now that she knew Dave was gambling, Rosie had taken the added precaution of not leaving her purse lying around. There was no way she was letting Dave splash her hard earned cleaning cash on the horses. Or whatever else he’d been betting on. Matt had been as good as his word and arranged the interview. And now, this Friday morning, a little before lunchtime, Rosie was sitting in the reception of Tibor’s Tasty Titbits awaiting her interview with the man her best friend was having an affair with.

A door opened, and suddenly Gregory Tibor was coming towards her. Rosie instinctively stood up and held out a hand.

‘Hello, Rosie,’ Gregory took Rosie’s proffered hand and pumped it. He showed no sign of recognising her, which was hardly surprising. Rosie had scraped her hair into a severe bun and was wearing an old fashioned suit purchased for five pounds from Save the Children.

‘Hello, Mr Tibor,’ Rosie replied. A flurry of butterflies took off in her stomach. She wanted this job so badly.

‘Please, call me Gregory. Come on through,’ Gregory indicated his office, ‘and take a seat.’ He gestured to the seat opposite his desk, before moving around to the other side and sitting down in a huge executive chair. ‘Matt Palmer said you were very keen to take on this vacancy which, it has to be said, is not everybody’s cup of tea. Like your meat, do you?’

‘Er, well I’m not a vegetarian if that’s what you mean.’

‘Good, because there’s no way to pretty this up. The job description is product tester, which sounds very innocuous. However, as a dog food taster you will eat, sniff and evaluate dog food. Britain’s pooches can’t talk and tell me whether something tastes good or not. So that’s where you come in.’

Rosie gulped. ‘That’s fine. Do I need some sort of qualification to work for you? I have some A Levels.’

Gregory gave a brief smile. ‘The qualifications for this job are uniquely narrow. You just need to be willing to eat dog food.’

‘I am.’

‘Good,’ Gregory clapped his hands together and looked pleased. ‘Now what about commuting? Matt said you’re from North London. Isn’t that a bit of a pain? All my staff are local.’

‘No, it’s fine, just fine,’ Rosie gabbled. She’d commute to Timbuktu if it presented an opportunity of leaving Dave. ‘Apart from anything else, I hope to move shortly. In fact, Erith just happened to be top of my list.’

Gregory arched an eyebrow. ‘Really? This isn’t the prettiest of places.’

‘Where I live now isn’t exactly a picture postcard.’

‘And you have a little boy. A baby. Are you up for juggling motherhood and working?’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve spoken to my neighbour who is going to look after Luke for me. And once I’ve moved here, Luke will go to a local nursery.’

‘Okay. So you’ve thought everything through by the sound of it.’

‘Absolutely,’ Rosie nodded vigorously.

‘Good. Then only one thing remains,’ Gregory stood up. ‘Let me show you around the factory, introduce you to Harold – your future colleague – and give you a sample tasting. Ready?’

Rosie stood up. Please God don’t let her gag. ‘Ready.’

 

***

Matt arrived at Tibor’s Tasty Titbits just as Rosie was leaving. They almost physically bumped into each other as he wrenched open the door to Reception.

‘Gosh, I’m so sorry,’ Rosie said as she almost cannoned into Matt’s chest.

‘Hey, my fault for not looking properly. How did the interview go?’ Matt took in Rosie’s severe hair-do and dreadful suit and felt his heart squeeze with...what? Something. Just something.

‘The interview was successful,’ Rosie beamed, ‘all thanks to you. I start Monday.’

‘That’s fantastic, congratulations! I think you should celebrate. In fact, if you let me drop off these papers to Gregory first, I was just about to grab a bite to eat. Would you like to join me?’

Rosie hesitated. The thought of eating something right now wasn’t high on her list. The flavour of Tibor’s Tasty Titbits was still on her taste buds, although it would be nice to get rid of the tang. ‘Yes, okay, that would be good actually.’

‘Are you in a hurry?’

‘No. Karen – you remember my neighbour? – is looking after Luke, so there’s no rush. And I can catch the train back any time.’

‘Don’t worry about the train,’ Matt said. ‘I can drop you home afterwards. I have to be in London later.’ This wasn’t strictly true, but Matt couldn’t deny wanting to prolong his time with Rosie. His conscience prodded him, but he ignored it and told himself he was just being friendly. The lunch date was totally platonic. ‘Here,’ he reached into his jacket pocket for the car keys, ‘I’m parked over there. Go and get in the car and give me two minutes.’

Rosie smiled and took the keys. ‘Thanks. See you shortly then.’

‘That you will,’ Matt winked. As he went through the double doors to Reception, he suddenly had a spring in his step which had nothing to do with the coiffed receptionist looking at him hungrily.

Twenty minutes later Matt and Rosie were seated in a reasonable Chinese restaurant along the Bexley Road. Rosie had sipped quite a lot of water but her memory couldn’t quite shift the taste of dog food in her mouth. Hopefully a hefty dose of the sweet and sour she’d ordered would do the trick.

‘This is quite a nice restaurant,’ said Matt between sips of mineral water. ‘I’ve been here a couple of times before, so I hope you like it too.’

‘I’m sure it will be fine.’

‘After eating dog food, I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer a hot dog.’

Rosie grinned. ‘Very funny.’

‘And stop all that fidgeting in your seat, Rosie. Sit!’

‘Okay, okay,’ Rosie put her hands up, ‘that’s enough! And no jokes when the crispy duck comes along about wanting to go off and bury the bones.’

Matt laughed. ‘So what did the meaty chunks taste like?’

Rosie took a deep breath. ‘Well, it wasn’t quite as ghastly as I thought it would be. It was actually very bland, and the meat was quite hard.’

‘I can tell you now that Gregory is a straight-up kind of guy. All his meat is sourced from British farms and from animals passed fit for human consumption. You can also rest assured that his factories are independently inspected to the same standard as those used to produce human food.’

‘That’s a relief to know. Karen was teasing me before I left home. She told me I’d be eating dead cats and dogs.’

‘I can’t speak for other factories, but most certainly not at Tibor’s Tasty Titbits. It’s all chicken, turkey, beef and lamb.’

Matt took another sip of his mineral water. The chit-chat was easy enough, and at least he could tell himself it was innocent and totally professional. There was a pause while a waiter delivered a set of dishes to their table. Matt was just wondering how he could steer the conversation down a more intimate path, when Rosie did the job for him.

‘What happened in your bed last Saturday night?’

Chapter Fourteen

 

Rosie hadn’t planned on asking Matt Palmer about what action may or may not have taken place between his sheets. As far as she was concerned, if she couldn’t remember then nothing had happened. But now that she was sitting opposite this man – a man who was everything her husband wasn’t – she suddenly had a burning desire to know. How could she not have kept her hands off him? Currently he was suited and booted, but Rosie could still remember exactly what Matt’s body looked like underneath all that expensive tailoring. A part of her flushed at the memory. Quickly, she tossed some more mineral water down her neck.

‘Don’t you have any recollection of that night at all?’ Matt asked.

‘Not the bit in your apartment, no.’

Matt carefully put down his cutlery. ‘Okay. Well let’s just backtrack for a moment. At the club your friends had disappeared, and you were alone and very drunk.’

Rosie nodded. ‘So did you take advantage of me?’

Matt looked slightly affronted. ‘My dear lady, you were shouting your head off in front of everybody telling anybody who cared to listen that you were absolutely gagging for it and had found your stud for the night.’

‘So you did take advantage of me,’ Rosie dropped her fork as a hand fluttered to her mouth.

Matt looked astounded. ‘What sort of guy do you take me for?’

Rosie flinched. ‘I was naked in your bed. You were naked. What am I meant to deduce? We slept together.’

‘Yes,’ Matt raked his hair, ‘we slept together.’

Rosie’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh. My. God. I wish I hadn’t asked now. Do I need to take a pregnancy test? Or have a health check?’

Matt’s face darkened. ‘Rosie, we slept together. As in snoring. In your case, extremely loudly.’

Rosie blinked. ‘You mean nothing happened?’

‘Nothing happened.’

‘So why were we naked?’

‘I always sleep in my birthday suit. As for you, you were shedding clothes all down my hallway before jumping in my bed, whereupon you instantly assumed a comatose state.’

‘Honest?’

‘Honest.’

‘But when I woke up,’ Rosie reddened, ‘we were...doing things.’

‘No, you were doing things.’

Ah yes. A memory of holding a piercing flooded back. Rosie felt her blush turn to beetroot. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘Don’t be. Nothing was ever truly going to happen. I’m not in the habit of making love to women with socking great hangovers.’

‘Right,’ Rosie picked up her fork again. ‘I just want to apologise once more for my dreadful behaviour. Truly it was out of character.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘No, really.’

‘I believe you!’ Matt picked up his own cutlery. ‘Now shall we just forget about the whole thing?’

‘Yes.’ A part of Rosie was curious to know how someone as straight as Matt Palmer had permitted himself to have a piercing. Wasn’t that a bit kinky? Go on Rosie, ask him. No, she couldn’t. Yes, you can! You’ve just talked about being in bed together. Just do it! ‘Can I ask–’

‘Is everything all right with your meal, Sir?’ the waiter interrupted.

‘Very nice, thank you,’ Matt replied.

‘Would Sir like some wine?’

‘No, thank you, I’m driving. Rosie, are you sure you wouldn’t like a glass?’

‘Um, no. No thanks.’

By the time the waiter had faffed about taking away some empty terrines, the moment had been lost. Instead Matt took the conversation down a different path.

‘That bride-to-be you were with, is she a good friend of yours?’

‘She’s my best friend,’ Rosie nodded as she forked up a chicken ball. Thank goodness it was nothing like Tibor’s Tasty Titbits.

‘Is she still getting married?’

‘Yes. Why?’

Matt shrugged. He wasn’t going to spill the beans about Rosie’s friend bedding Gregory. ‘I just wondered.’

Rosie gave Matt a considering look. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’

‘Do you?’

‘You know, don’t you?’

‘Know what?’

‘Stop answering my questions with another question. I know that you know that my friend went off with your client.’

‘Well, yes. But what my client gets up to is none of my business.’

‘I think my friend is suffering pre-wedding nerves. It will blow over. She’s a nice girl, honest.’

Matt shrugged. ‘Gregory is very smitten with her. I hope she’s not going to hurt him, that’s all. He might be my client, but he’s a nice guy.’

‘If he’s such a nice guy,’ said Rosie archly, ‘why is he messing about with another man’s woman? It takes two, Matt.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Matt stiffly. Who was he to question Gregory’s motives when he himself had invited another man’s woman out to dinner? A married woman no less. At least Rosie’s friend hadn’t tied the knot, and didn’t have children. Unlike Rosie, with a ring on her finger and a little lad usually welded to one hip. ‘How’s Luke?’ he asked, changing the subject.

Rosie’s face instantly softened. ‘Gorgeous. He’s my whole reason for living. Once I have some wages under my belt, we’ll be off. I want Luke to have a better quality of life, so I’ll be leaving Dave and moving to Erith.’

Matt suddenly found himself going very still. ‘You’re leaving your husband?’

‘Absolutely. I’ve been plotting and planning how and when for some time.’

Matt forced himself to carry on eating. ‘Does your husband have any inkling about your plans?’

Rosie popped the last chicken ball in her mouth. Mmm. Absolute heaven. She looked up at Matt. ‘No, Dave has no idea. I’m sorry if that sounds rather mercenary, but you’ve met my husband. He has a drink problem – and that was in place long before his redundancy came along. Instead of sorting himself out and getting help and advice, it would seem he’s picked up another addiction. Gambling.’ Rosie’s eyes were suddenly very bright. She blinked rapidly. ‘I had the most horrendous experience with a debt collector banging on the door a couple of days ago. Dave was out. The debt collector was a very no-nonsense type, and told me to tell my husband to have the money next time he came calling.’

‘And what did Dave say?’

‘He told me to pay the man on his behalf – out of my new job’s wages.’

Matt carefully put his spoon and fork together. ‘Look, Rosie, what I’m about to say – I don’t want you getting the wrong idea or anything – but if you need a roof over your head, until you get sorted out,’ Matt hastily assured, ‘then you and Luke are more than welcome to stay at my place. I have a guest bedroom with its own en suite.’

Rosie stared at Matt in amazement. ‘That’s awfully kind of you, but we really couldn’t take advantage.’

‘You wouldn’t be, I promise.’ Matt could see Rosie wavering but refusing to give in. ‘Scout’s honour, it’s no big deal.’ He held up his right hand and did a three finger salute.

Rosie dithered. ‘I’m tempted. Sorely tempted. But there’s one small problem.’

‘Oh?’

‘You live in Penshurst. Gregory wants me to start work on Monday in Erith. I don’t have a car, and the journey from your apartment to the factory isn’t on a bus route.’

‘At the moment Gregory is my client and I’ll be in and out of his place for the next month. Quite apart from anything else, most of my business is in London, so it would be easy to drop you off and pick you up. And believe it or not, my cousin runs a nursery in Penshurst which just happens to have a superb OFSTED report. I could have a word with her and make sure Luke jumps to the top of the waiting list.’

‘Gosh, I really don’t know what to say.’

‘Say yes. Easy.’

‘You’d have to agree to me paying you rent.’

‘Ten pence a week all right? You can add it to the ten pence a week for the glazing loan.’

Rosie hesitated and then her whole face lit up. ‘That sounds very affordable. Well as long as you are one-hundred per cent sure, then...yes! Thank you very much.’

Suddenly tears were spurting out of Rosie’s eyes. She wasn’t used to having lucky breaks. And today she’d had not one lucky break, but three – a new job, the offer of temporary accommodation, and a nursery for Luke until she could find a little place for the two of them. The thought of finally getting away from Dave was such a relief, as if a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She dabbed at her eyes with the linen napkin while Matt signalled to the waiter for the bill.

‘I have to go to London now, so if it’s okay with you I’ll drop you back and you can do your packing. What about I pick you up at six?’

‘That’s fine,’ Rosie sniffed, ‘but what about Luke’s stuff? There’s his cot, and playpen. Will it fit in your car?’

‘We’ll make it fit, don’t you worry.’ Matt put some notes on the table and stood up. ‘Ready?’

‘Oh, but I owe you for my half of the Chinese.’

‘Stick it on the slate, Rosie. You’re now up to thirty pence a week.’

As Rosie scampered after Matt, she suddenly felt rather odd. As if life had gone skew-whiff. A part of her mind detached and watched the washed-out blonde in the cheap suit hastening after the handsome businessman who had not only helped her get an extremely well paid job, but who would – for a little while – be her flat-mate. Do you know what you’re doing, Rosie Perfect? her conscience shouted. You’ve known this man for all of five minutes. Your husband is going to go absolutely ape. And then Rosie’s mind crashed back into her body. Her heart was pounding away, dealing with buckets of adrenalin suddenly whooshing around her body. She was going to do it! At last she was leaving Dave! But never mind about his reaction – what the hell was her mother going to say?

Chapter Fifteen

 

When Dave staggered into his hallway in the early hours of the morning, he was not just drunk but frightened. He’d scuttled home as quickly as his sozzled brain had permitted, jumping at shadows in hedgerows, and gasping at imagined lurkers behind lampposts.

The illegal gambling club he’d stumbled upon a couple of months ago had initially seemed like a slice of heaven. But suddenly Pete’s Poker Parlour wasn’t such a cosy place. In the beginning Dave had won money – lots of money – and had a marvellous time blowing it on more bets, and champagne for the lovely ladies who flocked around him. But then suddenly his luck had run out. Dave was seriously starting to wonder whether luck had ever truly been with him. A part of his brain – a very small sensible bit – suspected he’d been set up all along. Allowed to win in other words.

The gambling had begun so innocently. He’d started off in the local internet café which had been illegally operating an online casino. In there, Dave had seen a few other desperate faces gambling away rent or mortgage money. Thanks to his parents leaving him their house in their Will, he didn’t have to stump up to a landlord or regularly find mortgage money. As Dave played roulette, slot machines, poker and keno, he told himself that spending his benefits money was harmless enough fun and he wasn’t hurting anybody. Okay, so it wasn’t helping put food on the table, but Rosie earned a tidy sum cleaning for her posh girlfriends. Nobody was going to starve, were they? But then some of the local residents had complained to the police about public intoxications and the loitering of gang members, not to mention fighting in public and generally being a nuisance. The internet café had been raided, and Dave had nearly cacked himself when he and thirty other patrons were detained while the authorities ran their names for warrants. He’d spluttered his innocence and protested he’d had no idea his actions were illegal. After searching one woman’s name and discovering a one-hundred-thousand-pounds narcotics warrant, the police had let him go – they had bigger fish to fry.

Dave had had every intention of staying away from gambling after that, and he would have done if it hadn’t been for a small weasel-like man sidling over to him and telling him about the poker parlour.

‘I win thousands in there,’ the man had boasted. ‘You should give it a try.’

So Dave had. Except this time the stakes hadn’t involved his dole cheque. Instead they’d been based on borrowing. In hindsight he supposed he should have been a little bit suspicious of the fact that the parlour plied patrons with free drinks whilst gambling. But at the time he’d just thought everybody was friendly – such lovely, lovely people.

They weren’t such lovely people now though. Not since Dave had amassed arrears of so many thousands he couldn’t begin to pay off the debt without selling his house. He wasn’t too sure what Rosie was going to say about being made homeless. Perhaps they could move in with Hester? Yes, good idea. The crafty old bird was worth a few quid. Perhaps Dave could persuade her to lend him five thousand pounds – just so he could have one really good win and resolve all this worry. Or, better still, perhaps they could quickly sell the house and simply run away? Yes – brilliant thinking!

Dave didn’t bother going into the lounge. If he had he’d have seen the Dear Dave note propped up on the mantelpiece in Rosie’s round handwriting. Instead he tugged off his shoes and tiptoed through the gloom and up the stairs. The house was unusually quiet. More often than not Rosie would be awake at this time, either giving Luke a feed or changing the child’s nappy. Dave shuddered at the thought of Luke’s nappies. How could something so small make such a noise and produce so much crap? Dave shook his head. The vagaries of babies were beyond his understanding. Still, Dave mused, it was good that Luke was apparently sleeping right now and not making a racket, the likes of which would have agitated the hangover nudging at his temples.

Dave pushed his way into the main bedroom, stubbing his toe on the bottom of the door. He swore softly. The last thing he wanted was to wake Rosie up and have questions fired at him about where he’d been or how he’d obtained enough money to smell like a brewery. He swayed unsteadily in the dark and held his breath lest the mound on the bed reared up and started a nagging interrogation. Exhaling slowly, Dave moved across the bedroom and perched carefully on the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, he peeled off his socks. He jumped as some loose change tumbled from his shirt pocket and jingled merrily across the floor. His heart skipped a few beats in fear, but another look at the shape on the bed assured him he’d got away with the disturbance. Dave had forgotten about the change in his pocket. He wondered how much it was. It had made enough racket, so possibly there might be as much as a fiver in change? Best pick it up now, then he could go down to the bookies first thing in the morning and place a potentially lifesaving bet.

Carefully, Dave reached out to flick on the bedside light. Fifteen seconds was all he needed to scoop up the coins, and then he’d quickly snap the lamp off and Rosie would carry on sleeping like the dead. The room was suddenly flooded with soft lamplight. In a trice Dave was down on his hands and knees gathering up the coins. Two pounds, three pounds and twenty pence. Oooh, another pound coin was over there, so that was…four pounds twenty…and…yes!…five…no, six!...six pounds twenty pence. Result! Sighing with relief, Dave pulled himself upright and was just making a long arm towards the lamp flex when he froze. For stretched out along the bed wasn’t Rosie sleeping like the dead, but something else. And it definitely wasn’t breathing.

Chapter Sixteen

 

Terry sighed with happiness. Tracey was so lovely. Never bossy. Never demanding. Unlike his gorgeous fiancée, Tracey never flew into a pre-menstrual rage about God only knew what. Sometimes Terry thought Tracey existed just for him. After all, he was her lord and master.

‘You look sensational,’ he told her.

Tracey smiled sadly. ‘You know that’s not true. I’m just a Plain Jane.’

‘Rubbish. To me you are the most beautiful woman in the world.’ And he meant it. But keeping Tracey lovely was a full-time job, although Terry did his utmost to help her. It took literally hours to help Tracey achieve the way she looked right now. It was hard work, and sometimes quite a bit of discomfort was involved. But when Terry took Tracey for a walk down the street, with her skirt so narrow at the knees it forced her heels to make rapid clicketty-clicks along the pavement, Terry would feel his heart expand with pride. It was such a great feeling to know that heads turned. The women would look and envy Tracey her wardrobe. The men would look and envy whoever she belonged to. Maybe they thought she didn’t belong to anybody, but they were wrong.

She belongs to me, Terry told himself. I'm the man whose hands run over her body...and I’m the man who touches her where only a lover is allowed to touch. Terry couldn’t deny that he took great pleasure from Tracey’s body. It was more than just sex, he knew that now. It took the place of sex. It was like a tingle throughout his whole body. He wondered if that was how sex felt to a woman.

‘Tell you what,’ said Terry, ‘I have a bit of time on my hands. How do you fancy me taking you out for some lunch?’

Tracey chewed her lip anxiously. ‘I don’t know. What if we bump into somebody you know? I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s such a lovely day; it would be a crime to hide away indoors. I know, let’s go to Knole Park. It’s only a fifteen minute drive away, and we can check out the deer and enjoy a lovely cream tea. I can’t imagine meeting anybody I know there. Go on,’ Terry smiled encouragingly, ‘say yes. Please? Pretty please?’

Tracey twiddled a piece of hair around an index finger while she thought. The temptation to go out, to act like any other normal person, was overwhelming. She took a deep breath and then looked Terry in the eye. ‘You’ll look after me won’t you?’

‘Darling girl,’ Terry said softly, ‘of course I will. Always and forever.’

‘Okay.’ Decision made, Tracey picked up her handbag. Taking a deep breath, she smiled shakily. ‘Let’s go.’

 

Walking through the showrooms created by Thomas Sackville, Tracey couldn’t stop marvelling at rooms still smouldering away centuries later with such intriguing beauty. There was no denying that coming out today was simply wonderful. Thrilling even.

‘You’re doing fabulously,’ Terry murmured in her ear.

Tracey smiled shyly. Thank God for a man like Terry – her rock. Her tummy gave a gurgling rumble. ‘Shall we indulge in that promised cream tea?’

‘Absolutely,’ Terry nodded. ‘I’ve heard the scones here are out of this world.’

Wandering into The Brewhouse, Tracey found a table near a family and sat down. Her original desire for a scone wavered as she considered a porcelain plate covered in syrupy flapjacks.

‘Have both,’ said Terry, ‘don’t worry about your figure.’

‘No, that would be greedy.’

‘Tell you what then, let’s share.’

Tracey beamed. ‘You smooth talker.’

Time passed and Tracey felt herself relaxing. She sipped her tea and took a huge bite of the scone. Mmm, it was Godly. Nobody had taken any notice of her at all. But just as she was tucking into her share of the flapjack, her eyes snagged on the family sitting nearby. The two young children, a boy and girl, kept staring at Tracey. She smiled at them shyly. They stared back at her with wide eyes. Tracey fidgeted in her seat uncomfortably. She was starting to feel self-conscious.

Terry noticed Tracey’s unease. ‘Is everything all right, darling?’

Tracey nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her eyes darted to the children again. The little girl was tugging at her mother’s sleeve. Now she was cupping a hand around her mother’s ear and whispering. Moments later the mother’s eyes had swivelled over to Tracey. She stared, shock momentarily registering on her features, before giving Tracey a filthy look. Tracey’s eyes skittered away. With her hand shaking slightly, she picked up her teacup and took a sip. Rattling the cup back into its saucer, she looked up again to see that the mother was now whispering to her husband. Tracey could feel her heart rate picking up speed.

‘Are you sure everything’s all right?’ Terry frowned.

Tracey shook her head. ‘The people at the next table,’ she whispered, ‘they’re staring at me.’

Terry glanced at the family. The mother was brushing crumbs from her fingers and telling the children to leave the remnants of their cream cakes. Now she was gathering them up and pulling them from their chairs, all the while giving darting furtive glances at Tracey. Terry pursed his lips in fury. What the hell was the matter with the stupid bitch? The way she was carrying on you’d have thought Tracey had two heads and a machine gun sticking out of her handbag. And now the father’s brows were knitting together. He was wiping his lips with a napkin and looked like he might be intent on exchanging a few words. Terry stared at him defiantly.

‘What are you staring at, mate?’ the man asked.

‘I’m staring at you staring at me.’

‘I don’t know what your game is, but you must be some sort of sicko to act out your fantasies in a place like Knole Park.’

Terry’s face darkened. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? I’m doing nothing wrong other than sitting in a tearoom trying to enjoy a day out with–’

‘You’re upsetting folk, and rightly so. There’s a name for people like you.’

‘I can think of a few choice names for you too, you ignorant arsehole.’

‘Don’t you call me an arsehole, you weirdo. You should be bloody ashamed of yourself upsetting women and small children. I’m going to report you to the staff.’

‘For what?’ Terry asked mildly. ‘Having a cup of tea and a scone?’

The man leant across the divide between his table and Terry’s. ‘No, for being a pervert.’

Tracey jumped up. Her whole body was now visibly shaking. ‘I can’t take any more of this abuse,’ she said to Terry, ‘I privately wondered if it would end in tears, and I was right.’ Picking up her handbag, she slung it over one shoulder before giving the man a hurt look. ‘I hope your children grow up healthy and happy and never have the sort of problems I’ve had to endure, because you don’t seem like a very sympathetic person.’

‘That’s because I’m not,’ snarled the man, ‘so piss off, freak.’

Terry was in two minds whether to punch the man’s lights out, but Tracey was already fleeing across the tearoom with a small stunned audience staring after her. He had no choice but to go after her. Dear God, what a catastrophe. He shouldn’t have forced Tracey’s hand to come out. He felt terrible on her behalf.

‘Tracey!’ he called.

‘Leave me alone.’

‘I can’t leave you alone,’ he said hurrying along and matching her stride for stride, ‘you know that’s impossible. Come here,’ Terry put an arm around her and tried to give her a hug. ‘Don’t take any notice of idiots like them.’

But Tracey was crying now. ‘Just get me to the car. Please Terry. And make it quick.’

‘Okay, okay,’ he sighed. ‘Let’s get you home.’

‘Please,’ Tracey sniffed.

In no time at all Terry had the car cruising along the A21, with the nightmare scene in the tearoom firmly behind them. He touched Tracey’s knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.

‘Feeling better, darling?

Tracey nodded. ‘A little. It was just a bit of a shock having that happen in a rather public place. Especially being called a freak.’

Terry signalled and overtook a lorry. ‘The guy was probably jealous. Did you see the state of his wife? A total dog.’

Tracey giggled. ‘She was a bit. Two inch black roots and dried-out peroxide hair. Certainly no Cinderella.’

‘More like one of the ugly sisters. There, you’re laughing now.’

‘That’s because you’ve cheered me up.’

They spent the rest of the car journey travelling in companionable silence. Later, when Terry was saying good-bye to Tracey, she put her arms around him and held him tight.

‘When will I see you again?’ she whispered.

‘I don’t know,’ Terry said sadly. ‘I’ll text you.’

When Terry greeted his fiancée later that day, the only clue that he’d been near another woman was the faint smell of a floral perfume on his skin.

Chapter Seventeen

 

When Rosie first awoke she had trouble remembering where she was. She glanced around the swish bedroom which was nothing like the room she’d shared with Dave. Luke’s cot was in the corner. Her baby was still fast asleep and it was nearly nine o’clock – that was a record. Stretching blissfully, Rosie sought out her mobile phone and decided to bring her mother up to date.

‘You’ve done WHAT?’ shrieked Hester.

Rosie held the phone away from her ear. ‘I’ve left Dave and–’

‘Actually, I did hear you the first time,’ Hester ranted, ‘I just can’t quite believe what you said about moving in with another man. My God, Rosie, what will the gels say? I won’t be able to hold my head up in church again. Only three weeks ago Sonya Baggins’ daughter took off with the postman and the gossip was horrendous. All sorts of innuendo about the size of his letterbox.’

‘Mum, will you listen to me,’ Rosie hissed into her mobile. ‘I am not, repeat not, co-habiting. This is a temporary arrangement. In fact, as we speak, I have Dartford’s local paper on my bedside table with a number of circled properties appropriate to rent.’

‘Why on earth have you left Dave? The poor, poor man.’

‘Yes, he is a poor man, Mum, you’re quite right. Poor because he doesn’t work and–’

‘Rosie, there is a recession going on! Do you think it is either fair or right to walk out on a husband simply because he’s lost his job? What sort of a wife are you!’

‘Mum, he’s a lazy layabout. An alcoholic. And to top it all off, he has a gambling addiction which I strongly suspect has spiralled out of control because–’

‘Nonsense! He’s been suffering depression from being out of work, and there’s nothing wrong with a little drinkie every once in a while, or a tiny flutter on the gee-gees to cheer oneself up.’

Rosie gritted her teeth. ‘Mum, you have no idea what it was like being married to Dave. If you have so much sympathy for him, you give him a shoulder to cry on.’

‘Oh no, Rosie, I can’t do that. That would be interfering. And that is something I never do.’

Not much, thought Rosie. If it hadn’t have been for your interference, I’d never have married the man in the first place. ‘Well I just thought I’d let you know where I am for now so that you don’t worry.’

‘Worry? The only person I’m worried about is dear Dave. Shame on you, Rosie, shame on you.’

‘Well, really I–’

‘Sorry, Rosie, but I have to end this call. I’m suddenly not feeling very well and need to lie down. This is just too upsetting.’

‘Right,’ Rosie sighed, ‘I hope you feel better soon, Mum.’

‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Hester snapped.

Rosie ended the call. She only had a small amount of credit left, so texted Lucy and her cleaning clients to bring them up to date on her impending new job. Lucy immediately texted back.

You’ve made your break for freedom – well done, Rosie! Now don’t forget about my little gathering later today. If you can’t get a babysitter, bring Luke xx

Rosie stared in dismay at Lucy’s text. There was no way she could bus it from Penshurst with Luke and then back to Matt’s again, not with the distance involved. She presumed Lucy wouldn’t be staying in her North London apartment Saturday night, otherwise she could have slept in Lucy’s spare room. No, she quite simply wouldn’t be able to go. Rosie instantly texted her friend back.

So sorry, but going to have to pass. Travel problems. But have a fabulous time and hopefully we’ll see each other again soon xx

Lucy texted back her disappointment and wished Rosie a lovely weekend, adding that Rosie should keep her updated about any ‘Matt developments’. Rosie rolled her eyes and tossed the mobile into her handbag. Unlike her friend, Rosie wasn’t about to embark on any relationship with another man. From now on she wanted a simple life. Just her and Luke. And the sooner she sorted out alternative living accommodation, the better.

At that moment Luke stirred in his cot. Rosie hopped out of bed, wrapped herself in her dressing gown and scooped up her little boy.

‘Good morning, my darling.’ She cradled Luke in her arms. Her son rewarded her with a grin before frowning and filling his nappy. ‘Clever boy,’ Rosie grinned before settling down to the task of topping and tailing. ‘Now, I think it’s time for some breakfast, don’t you?’ Gathering up the knotted nappy sack, Rosie ambled off to the kitchen.

Matt was seated at the breakfast table with a steaming cup of coffee. A newspaper was spread across the table’s polished wood. He looked up as Rosie wandered in. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Yes, thanks. Like the proverbial log – apart from Luke waking up a couple of times. I think he’s popping another tooth. I hope he didn’t disturb you.’

‘Not at all,’ Matt assured.

‘Um, is it all right to dump this in your bin?’ Rosie held the nappy sack aloft.

‘Of course. While you’re staying here, treat the place as your own, okay?’

‘Right,’ Rosie nodded. ‘And, er, thanks.’

‘Coffee?’

‘Yes, please, that would be lovely.’

‘There’s some in the pot on the worktop.’

‘I’ll just feed Luke first,’ Rosie popped her son into his highchair before delving in a cupboard Matt had cleared for her the previous evening. The shelf was lined with Heinz baby food and formula milk.

‘Here, I’ll do that,’ Matt stood up. ‘You have your breakfast.’

‘Oh, it’s no trouble,’ Rosie protested, ‘I’m quite used to seeing to Luke first.’

‘I want to help,’ Matt said, ‘so let me.’

‘Okay,’ said Rosie uncertainly. She wasn’t used to help where Luke was concerned. As Matt settled down to the task of feeding Luke and making aeroplane noises whilst whizzing the spoon through the air, Rosie couldn’t help smiling. She pulled out some bread from the fridge and slotted two slices into the toaster. ‘You’ll make a very good dad one day,’ she said.

‘Maybe.’

‘Don’t you want children?’

‘Of course. I think most men want to know that one day they’ll have a son and heir. Or a daughter of course. Certainly somebody to take over the family business, or to carry on the gene pool. It’s the way human beings are programmed.’

‘Do you have a serious girlfriend?’ Rosie ventured.

‘That’s a very personal question at half past nine in the morning,’ Matt smiled as he spooned puréed muesli off Luke’s lower lip.

Rosie reddened. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosey. I was just, you know, making conversation.’

Matt made a sound like a fighter pilot and banked the spoon sideways. Luke squealed with laughter. ‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘there’s no significant other.’

Rosie nodded. Now why had her heart expanded with joy upon hearing those words? She set about buttering her toast.

‘Although not having a girlfriend is sometimes a bit of a nuisance,’ Matt admitted.

‘Oh?’

‘It means that I’m very often roped in to be the ‘spare man’ when it comes to dinner parties and such like.’

‘I’ve never had that problem.’

‘Well you wouldn’t, being married.’

‘No, I meant the social life thing. My social life is usually zero. Last weekend – the hen night – was pretty much a first. Although,’ Rosie screwed up her face as she considered, ‘I do have a wedding in three weeks. I’m Maid of Honour. It will be nice to dress up and have a bit of a dance.’

‘Ah, yes, weddings. It’s that time of year, isn’t it! I have a mate who’s getting married – he’s the guy whose stag do I should have attended last week, before you waylaid me at your friend’s hen night.’

‘I’ve said I’m sorry,’ Rosie mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

‘I’m just teasing you,’ Matt grinned. ‘However, the stag in question is having a bit of a do this afternoon. He’s asked me to go along. You’re very welcome to come with me.’

‘That’s very kind, but I couldn’t possibly gate-crash somebody’s private event.’

‘You wouldn’t be gate-crashing. I’m inviting you.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll pass.’

‘Can I ask why?’

‘Well apart from anything else, there’s Luke to consider. I don’t have a babysitter.’

‘So we take him along. It’s not going to be a late night. We can have him home and in bed at a perfectly decent hour. Come on, Rosie, it will do you good to get out. What other plans did you have for Saturday?’

‘Well, I was going to carry on checking out property. There’s a few suitable for viewing.’

‘You do realise you’re going to need a deposit when you find somewhere – usually a month’s rent in advance,’ Matt put down the spoon and reached for a muslin on the back of Luke’s highchair.

‘Ah. I’d overlooked that matter.’

Matt wiped Luke’s mouth before tossing the muslin in the sink. He was aware that he could easily have lent a deposit to Rosie. But having her in his apartment with Luke felt strangely right, and he didn’t want them leaving. Not yet anyway. ‘So can I suggest you work a month or two at Gregory’s factory, get some savings under your belt, and reconsider moving at a later date?’

‘As long as you’re sure you don’t mind me here while I’m saving up. I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

‘I’m sure, and you’re not a nuisance. So, now that we’ve sorted that out, will you think about coming out with me later?’

Rosie considered for a moment, and then her whole face lit up. ‘Why not? You’re on!’

‘Good,’ Matt smiled.

 

At three o’clock, Rosie was sitting in Matt’s passenger seat. Luke was strapped into his baby seat behind her. She’d had a long, leisurely bath and was wearing an ancient little black dress which had stood the test of time quite well. She felt presentable.

When Matt had seen Rosie emerge from her bedroom all dressed up, he’d momentarily felt the breath whoosh out of him. She didn’t look like the vamp of last Saturday night, but she was still utterly ravishing. Her newly washed hair tumbled fetchingly over her shoulders and she’d applied a bit of make-up which brought out the colour of her eyes and accentuated the full mouth. Matt had had an overwhelming desire to sweep her into his arms and thoroughly kiss all the lipstick off. Instead he’d taken Luke off her hip and picked up a small holdall stuffed with baby paraphernalia, before getting acquainted with the safety straps on Luke’s baby seat in the car.

And now the big BMW was zipping through Kent countryside. Before long the car was bouncing between gateposts topped with roaring lions. As a mansion came into view, Rosie let out a sigh. ‘What a blissful place. My best friend’s fiancé lives in something like this. I’ve never been to his house, but from the way Lucy talks, it’s on a similar scale.’

‘My mate is a City trader. He earns a fortune,’ Matt smiled.

‘What a coincidence,’ said Rosie. ‘Lucy’s fiancé is a trader too.’

When the front door opened, Rosie and Matt could feel their jaws being overcome by gravity.

‘Matthew!’ greeted a tall strapping man. ‘About bloody time, my friend. Come in, come in! You can introduce me to your delectable lady in two seconds, just as soon as I’ve introduced you to mine. Come here, darling,’ the man beckoned to a dark-haired beauty greeting another guest, ‘I want you to meet my oldest friend, Matthew. Matt, I’m absolutely delighted to introduce my fiancée. Meet Lucy.’

Chapter Eighteen

 

There was an appalled moment where Lucy and Matt stared at each other. Lucy’s face momentarily bore the resemblance of a frightened rabbit trapped in headlights. Matt’s expression hardened. Politeness forced him to extend a hand, rather than kiss Lucy on both cheeks. Terry clocked the strained atmosphere between his fiancée and best friend. He stood there, a puzzled expression knitting his brow. Rosie was the first to speak.

‘Lucy! I was able to come after all.’

Lucy recovered her poise and hugged Rosie hard. ‘I’m so glad. Now then, you’ve met Terry before.’

‘Of course,’ Rosie pecked her best friend’s fiancé on the cheek.

‘A pleasure to meet you again,’ Terry grinned. He couldn’t keep up with Lucy’s huge social circle and stared after Rosie vaguely. Was this woman with Matt, or was it a coincidence that they’d simply turned up on the doorstep at the same time? ‘Do go through to the drawing room. There are some waitresses circling with drinks and canapés, and everyone’s getting rather merry. Lots of wedding talk going on, naturally.’

‘Rosie, darling,’ Lucy took her friend by the hand, ‘you and Luke simply must meet Polly,’ Lucy led Rosie up a sweeping staircase, ‘she’s pregnant, puking up and terrified. I want you to give her some first-hand reassurance of what motherhood is all about.’

‘Oh dear, the poor lady. Yes, of course I will.’ Rosie shifted Luke’s weight on her hip and looked back down the stairs at Matt. He was staring after both her and Lucy, his expression unreadable. Moments later Terry had ushered Matt into the drawing room and was introducing him to a predatory looking female. Rosie looked away and followed Lucy along the landing. A second later she was being led into a bedroom with the most heavenly soft furnishings, and curtains so grand it was like stepping into the pages of a posh interior design magazine.

Lucy shut the door after them and leant back against the wood panelling, eyes closed.

‘Bloody hell,’ she sighed. ‘I know it’s a small world, but sometimes just how small beggars belief.’

Rosie sighed and put Luke down on the plush carpet. ‘By which I presume you are referring to Matt being a good friend of Terry’s. Has Terry never introduced you to him before?’

‘No!’ Lucy pushed herself away from the door. ‘Dear bloody God. Not only does the wretched man know my fiancé, but he knows my lover too!’ Lucy began pacing the floor in agitation.

‘Where’s this Polly person you wanted me to meet?’

‘Along the landing with her head down the loo. Pregnancy sickness,’ Lucy explained. ‘But never mind her for a moment. Can your boyfriend be trusted to keep his gob shut?’

‘He’s not my boyfriend! He’s simply helping me out.’

‘Whatever,’ Lucy made a flapping gesture with one hand. ‘I just don’t want your Mr Helpful turning into Mr Big Mouth where my future is concerned.’

‘I don’t know Matt well enough to say whether he’d spill the beans. Why don’t you talk to him yourself?’

‘Yes, I will,’ Lucy stopped pacing momentarily and turned to face Rosie. ‘Apart from anything else, as Matt is such a good friend of Terry’s he might possibly know this woman Terry’s having an affair with.’

Rosie sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Luce, forget talking to Matt for a minute. Don’t you think you should be talking to Terry? Why don’t you simply ask your fiancé yourself about this so-called other woman. It might be perfectly innocent. Currently you’re mucking about with Gregory Tibor and risking a golden future with Terry, all because of wanting revenge for some unconfirmed suspicion. What if you’ve got the wrong end of the stick?’

Lucy moved over to a drawer, rummaged under some cotton garments and extracted a mobile phone. ‘Look what I found,’ she said quietly, waggling the phone at Rosie. ‘Terry doesn’t know I’ve seen it. It’s not his regular mobile. This,’ she stared at the BlackBerry while choosing her words carefully, ‘is an alternative phone.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This BlackBerry is strictly for communicating with Tracey. She clearly doesn’t have his regular mobile number – the one I speak to Terry on, along with all his mates and colleagues. I would imagine this woman doesn’t have Terry’s landline number either.’ Lucy’s eyes flicked over to the bedroom door. ‘Lock the door for me, Rosie, while I switch this phone on. I’ll show you the sort of conversation that’s been winging backwards and forwards, and then you can deduce for yourself whether I’m imagining things.’

Rosie stood up and made her way over to the bedroom door. In the background the merry tinkle of a phone coming to life blended with the key driving the door’s lock home. Rosie turned back to see Lucy’s fingers moving deftly over the phone’s keys.

‘Here,’ she held out the phone to Rosie. ‘Get a load of this.’

Rosie took the phone and sat back down on the bed. Slowly she began scrolling through the conversation thread.

Darling Tracey, you caused me untold havoc at work today. My mind should have been on prices and executing trades in equities, bonds, commodities and foreign exchange. Instead all I could think about were your lovely long legs.

Oh dear. Rosie nibbled her lip. This wasn’t looking good. But then again, daydreaming about a woman’s legs didn’t constitute adultery.

Dearest Terry, you say such lovely things and instil me with confidence. My so-called lovely long legs ache to wrap themselves around you.

Okay, maybe a woman’s legs could be guilty of adultery.

Sweet Terry, do you like this photograph of me? Hold it close to your heart and never stop loving me xx

Rosie stared at a picture message. The angle of the photograph meant there wasn’t a clear shot of the woman’s face. A lot of brunette waves were cascading over an ample bosom covered in fussy lace and bows. Whoever the woman was, she had God-awful dress sense.

Tracey, seeing you today filled me with such joy and arousal. I’m not ashamed to confess that right now I’m looking at your photograph and masturbating...

Rosie skimmed through a few more messages. All were equally damning.

‘Seen enough?’ Lucy asked.

Rosie sighed and held the phone out to her friend. ‘Okay, you’re right. It doesn’t look good. You two really do need to talk.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Lucy sneered and snatched up the phone, ‘and what answers do you truly think I’m going to get. When cornered, men are the greatest liars on earth. Terry will probably give me a cock-and-bull story about pre-wedding nerves, and a flirtation that never amounted to anything other than cheeky texting. I have a much better idea.’

‘Go on.’

‘I’m going to send this Tracey person a text myself.’

‘Don’t do that. You’ll send her to ground.’

‘No I won’t. I’m going to send the text supposedly from Terry. And Terry is going to suggest meeting up somewhere incredibly romantic – a candle-lit dinner in a top restaurant for example – except it won’t be him turning up. It will be me. And then I’ll demand a full explanation for exactly what’s been going on.’

‘Lucy, you can’t go into a top restaurant with all guns blazing.’

‘I shall behave like a lady at all times,’ Lucy smiled sweetly. ‘Now then,’ her fingers pressed the message icon, ‘how to lure Tantalising Tracey and her chuffing long legs into my lair? I know.’ Lucy’s fingers flew across the keypad. Sweet Tracey, words cannot express how much I’m missing you right now. Are you available for a secret romantic lunch tomorrow? Meet me at Mona Lisa’s on the Dock Road at noon. Your ever loving Terry xx

Lucy hit send and was surprised to find herself shaking slightly. She looked at Rosie, her eyes suddenly full of tears. ‘Oh God, I hope I’ve done the right thing.’

Rosie stood up and put her arms around her friend. ‘I do wish you’d listen to me. At the risk of sounding like a stuck record, I still think the two of you should do some straight talking – and preferably without Gregory Tibor in the equation.’

Lucy sniffed. ‘Oh Gregory’s a whole new ball game, Rosie. You know, I do love Terry, but I’m starting to think it’s more like the way you’d love a brother. I can’t even remember the last time we had sex, and here we are with a honeymoon booked in Bali. What the hell are we going to do for a fortnight if we’re not bonking like bunnies? It’s ridiculous! Whereas Gregory,’ Lucy’s eyes softened, ‘is the most amazing lover I’ve ever had. And to top it all off, he’s both gorgeous and loaded.’

‘So why don’t you end it with Terry and give it a shot with Gregory instead?’

Lucy snorted. ‘I don’t think Gregory is good marriage material. He already has two ex-wives. Not a brilliant track record is it?’

Rosie shrugged. ‘I’ve just ended Marriage Number One. Doesn’t mean I’m a philandering man-eater. Some of us just have rotten luck. Does Gregory have any kids?’

‘No,’ Lucy sighed, ‘so I’m assuming he’s not father material either. And more than anything else, you know how much I want kids.’

‘Well marrying Terry isn’t necessarily going to make that wish happen, is it?’ Rosie reasoned. ‘Not if he’s averse to rumpy-pumpy – something of a necessity when it comes to creating a little person.’

Lucy was just about to reply when Terry’s mobile phone emitted a tinkling tune. The two women froze and stared at each other. The only noise came from Luke who had discovered that the legs to the dressing table were an excellent teething post.

‘A text,’ Lucy whispered. Her hands grabbed the mobile. Pressing the envelope icon, her eyes scanned the text message.

Who the hell are you?

Chapter Nineteen

 

Dave was having a terrible weekend. A part of him wondered if his life had stumbled into a remake of The Godfather. On Friday night, instead of discovering Rosie lying next to him, he’d found a pig’s carcass stretched out on his wife’s side of the bed. He’d emitted a scream so bloodcurdling that Karen next door had despatched her husband round to investigate.

‘It’s okay,’ Mike had said while studying the carcass, ‘it’s not been killed to specifically frighten you. It’s straight out of a butcher’s shop.’

‘Is that meant to make me feel better?’ Dave had spluttered. ‘The fact of the matter is that some bastard has gained entry into my house and left a sinister message. Do you think they’ve kidnapped Rosie and Luke?’

‘Er,’ Mike had looked embarrassed, ‘I think your imagination is running away with you, Dave. Did you not know that Rosie has left you?’

‘Left me?’ Dave had stared blankly at Mike. ‘How come you know about my wife’s movements?’

Mike shrugged helplessly. ‘Sorry, mate. Rosie was at our place earlier. She came to say good-bye. Apparently she left you a note.’

‘Did she now?’ Dave’s mouth had become a thin line. ‘I suppose she’s gone to her mother’s. A woman always runs home to her mother at some point in a marriage, eh?’

Mike didn’t know about that. Karen had never trotted home to her mother in all the years she’d been married to him. He, on the other hand, had been known to occasionally flee to his parents’ place when Karen’s PMT had gone stellar.

‘I think you should call the police, mate.’

‘No,’ Dave’s response had been sharp. ‘I know who did this – well, who’s behind it. Got myself into a spot of bother, you see. I owe money.’

‘Oh,’ Mike had sucked on his teeth. ‘I can lend you a few quid if it helps.’

‘Really?’ Dave had looked at his neighbour hopefully. ‘How much?’

‘Would a couple of hundred see you all right?’

Dave had nodded. ‘Yes, Michael. But only if that figure has three zeroes on the end.’

Mike’s eyes had widened. ‘You owe somebody two hundred grand?’

Dave had nodded. ‘Ah, so what,’ he’d belched, ‘it’s only money.’ And then he’d started to laugh, a high-pitched mirthless noise that, moments later, had turned to tears. Is this what his life had amounted to? Out of control drinking? Gambling debts to loan sharks that he couldn’t begin to pay off? Mike had patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

‘I’d best be getting home. Can I do anything before I go?’

‘Yeah,’ Dave had sniffed, ‘take this ruddy pig off my hands. Give it to Karen and tell her she owes me a bacon sandwich.’

And now, late Saturday afternoon, Dave was wandering the streets. He’d spent last night’s dropped coins on scratch cards, and was currently reduced to searching for more dropped coins on the pavements. He didn’t want to go home because he was too frightened who might turn up. A stiff breeze lifted the collar on his thin jacket. Inside the breast pocket was Rosie’s letter. Bloody bitch. She’d left him for another man! Of all the potential lovers to pick, she’d shacked up with Matt Palmer. The bastard. Rosie had carefully chosen her words to suit her purpose, and written some nonsense about the guy merely helping her out, and that living in Penshurst was only a temporary arrangement. Yeah, right! And pigs might fly. Dave shuddered as a sudden image of the pig carcass flashed into his mind. What sort of cryptic message was that? A warning that he’d end up dead too?

The wind was picking up. It ruffled Dave’s hair, and tugged at his thin jacket. He pulled the front flaps together and zippered it up. It might be April, but a typical British Spring meant the weather was cool and frequently wet. A gust stirred up some rubbish on the side of the pavement. A lone beer can rattled off the kerb and bounced into the road. But what was that? Dave stopped and stared, hardly daring to believe his luck. Next to a pile of McDonald’s detritus, a twenty-pound-note was fluttering helplessly, caught between the burger carton and paper bag. Dave looked around furtively before stooping down. He snatched the bill up and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Straightening up, he resumed walking, at a faster pace now, his heels clicking along the deserted street. What a stroke of good fortune! The only dilemma now was how to spend it – the bookies, or the off-licence?

Dave decided to keep walking and let fate choose for him. If he came across a betting shop first, then he’d spend the twenty in there. If, however, he came across an off-licence, then he’d opt for the booze. He didn’t have long to wait. Ahead was Patel’s Corner Shop which sold everything from cheese and bread to lightbulbs and shoelaces – and lots and lots of alcohol. Two minutes later, Dave had exited the shop with a bottle of whisky in a brown paper bag. He moved into a side alley before breaking the seal on the bottle. His only thought now was to seek oblivion. Just for a little while. And then he’d seriously think about sorting his life out. Tomorrow. Or the day after. But definitely next week.

He tossed some whisky down his neck, relishing the fire in his gullet and belly. Already the harsh corners of reality were receding. And look! Just across the road was a park with some of society’s other misunderstood souls having a little get-together. They were sitting on a bench cuddling cans of super strength lager and bottles of cider. Dave could use some company. He’d go and say hello. Necking some more of the whisky, he staggered between a parked hatchback and a large transit van and made to cross the road.

The black cab seemed to come from nowhere. But by the time Dave had registered the vehicle’s presence, he was under its front wheels. His last thought was that he probably wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore. There was a squeal of tyres, and a thud. Moments later a broken bottle of whisky leaked its contents into spilt blood puddling across the tarmac.

Chapter Twenty

 

Lucy and Rosie huddled over Terry’s BlackBerry, staring at the text message from Tracey.

‘She doesn’t know who sent the message,’ Rosie exhaled slowly, ‘which means…I don’t understand how… but perhaps she doesn’t really know Terry after all.’

Lucy shook her head in bewilderment. ‘Nonsense! They’ve both signed off their previous text messages with their names. This is getting more and more curious. I don’t–’

At that moment the bedroom door’s handle rattled making both women jump.

‘Lucy?’ Terry’s voice sounded muffled on the other side of the wooden panels. ‘What are you doing, darling? Can you let me in please?’

‘Just a mo.’ Lucy’s fingers fluttered over the BlackBerry as she switched it off. ‘Rosie’s with me and is just trying on her bridesmaid dress. Two more ticks.’ She jerked her head at Rosie who immediately began making slamming noises with the wardrobe door while Lucy returned the mobile phone to its hiding place. ‘Coming.’ She scuttled over to the door and let Terry in while Rosie pantomimed straightening her dress and smoothing down the hemline. ‘Sorry, just checking Rosie’s dress alterations were perfect.’

Terry stepped into the room. His face was very pale. ‘Have you been in the bedroom long?’

‘No, in fact I couldn’t get in here to begin with. Somebody else was in here and the door was locked.’

‘Really? Do you know who it was?’

‘Sorry, no. Is it important?’ When Terry didn’t answer, Lucy ploughed on. ‘Is everything all right, honey? You look a bit wan.’

Terry forced a smile. ‘Fine. I’m fine. I’m missing you, darling. Come downstairs now and circulate. I’d like you to get to know Matt properly. He’s a really good friend, although lethal where women are concerned, so don’t go falling for him!’ Terry attempted humour to hide his anxiety. Too late he noticed his fiancée’s friend flinch. ‘Oh, sorry, you’re not by any chance the shag, er, I mean the cause of him failing to turn up for my stag do, are you?’

Rosie gave Terry a cool look. ‘I’m afraid I am the reason. Sincere apologies. Unfortunately Matt isn’t the only one who is lethal to the opposite sex. You see, I’m the same. I accosted your friend in broad daylight in Waitrose. I was stroking the cucumbers and happened to notice him fondling the melons. It only took a second to deduce that he, like me, had a food fetish. We went slightly berserk, bought several aubergines and a bunch of bananas, drove back to his place and a jolly good time was had by all. I’ve written a book on the subject. It’s called Fifty Ways with Fruit and Veg.’

‘Excellent,’ Terry laughed nervously. ‘Well, er, I’ll get back to mingling.’ He gave Lucy an imploring look. ‘See you downstairs, darling.’

As the door banged shut, Lucy stared at Rosie. ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’

‘Nor me,’ said Rosie. ‘I think suddenly being single has liberated me.’

‘Geez,’ said Lucy, ‘well for God’s sake stay away from Polly when she finally gets out of the bog. She’s a very conservative girl. She still thinks the G-spot is a brand of mouth freshener.’

 

Downstairs, Matt had extricated himself from the predatory woman, but had now been button-holed by Terry’s Aunty Pauline.

‘A dear boy, my nephew,’ she was saying, ‘And now he’s met a lovely girl. Do you know Lucy well?’

‘Not yet, but I’m certainly hoping to chat to her properly before the end of today.’

‘Ah, talk of the devil,’ Aunty Pauline nodded, ‘she’s coming over to us.’

‘Hello, Aunty,’ Lucy kissed Terry’s aunt on both cheeks, ‘I love your pink dress. Are you looking forward to the wedding?’

‘That I am, dear, that I am. Now I mustn’t hog you, because I know this young man here is very keen to get to know you better.’

Lucy turned to Matt and shook his hand. ‘An absolute pleasure.’

‘I’ll leave you to it, dear,’ said Aunty Pauline, ‘I must go and talk to Polly who has finally come out of the bathroom. She’s looking very pale, poor love.’

As soon as Aunty Pauline was out of ear-shot, Lucy turned her attention back to Matt. ‘I think we need to talk.’

Matt smiled pleasantly. ‘What would you like to natter about? Cuckolding my best friend, or cuckolding my client?’

‘Neither. Tell me about Tracey?’

Matt looked at Lucy blankly. ‘Tracey who?’

Lucy gave a tinkle of laughter. ‘I thought so. You men all stick together, don’t you?’

‘I truly don’t know who or what you are talking about.’

‘Ten out of ten for being a very convincing liar.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to enlighten me.’

‘Sure. Tracey is my fiancé’s mistress.’

Matt stared at Lucy incredulously. ‘Terry is marrying you in three weeks’ time. There’s no way on this earth he’s having an affair with a female called Tracey, or anyone else for that matter. The guy is as straight as a die.’

‘Well that’s where you’re wrong,’ Lucy said icily. ‘I have evidence.’

‘I don’t believe you. If Terry was playing away, he’d have told me.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself that you’re privy to his secrets. I’ve discovered a string of damning text messages between him and this other woman.’

Matt shook his head. ‘Then all I can say is that I’m truly shocked. I honestly can’t believe Terry would do such a thing. He’s crazy about you, which is why I was so pissed off when I saw you with Gregory Tibor.’

‘Quick to judge aren’t you, Matt?’

‘Two wrongs don’t make a right. Is that why you’re having a fling with Gregory – to punish Terry?’

‘Never mind about my private life, Matt. You worry about your own.’

‘The difference between you and me, Lucy, is that I’m a single guy. I’m not hurting anybody.’

‘No?’ Lucy’s lip curled. ‘And yet you had a married woman in your bed last week and – surprise, surprise – she’s now moved into your apartment. Neat work for somebody with an untroubled conscience.’

‘Nothing is going on between Rosie and me.’

‘That’s not what she told Terry ten minutes ago. Just giving you the heads up if he asks about your melons. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must talk to my other guests.’

Matt watched Lucy stalk off with a sense of incredulity. Was she for real? And what the hell had Rosie told Terry? He didn’t have long to find out. Rosie was coming towards him, Luke on her hip.’

‘Have you been getting to know Lucy?’ she smiled.

‘You could say that,’ Matt nodded. ‘I can’t say I particularly like the girl.’

Rosie bristled slightly. ‘Ditto Terry. He rather carelessly referred to me as your shag.’

Matt sighed. ‘Regrettably Terry can be a bit course at times. It’s not personal.’

‘Oh well,’ Rosie said acidly, ‘I guess that makes it all right then, eh?’

‘Matthew!’ Terry was heading towards them both. A pregnant woman trailed in his wake. ‘You are a dark horse, my friend.’

‘Are you Rosie?’ the pregnant woman piped up.

‘Yes. You must be Polly,’ Rosie smiled. ‘Lucy was talking about you earlier.’

‘Oh, the relief of finding somebody here who has a baby, and who has been through the whole horrid pregnancy thing.’

‘Are you having a rough time?’

‘You could say that. I can’t stop puking from the moment I open my eyes.’

‘Eat something plain and dry as soon as you wake up. Ginger biscuits or crackers are perfect.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Terry nudged Matt, ‘I hear Rosie is a bit of a food expert. Or should I say sexpert?’

‘Does this have something to do with melons?’ Matt asked cautiously.

‘Ah ha, you old dog! I didn’t have you down for being so kinky.’ Terry turned to Polly. ‘Rosie and Matt do things,’ he stage whispered, ‘with fruit and vegetables.’

Polly looked confused. ‘As in cook them, surely?’

‘Not from what I’ve heard.’

‘What are you talking about, Terry?’ asked Matt.

‘Oh, that’s all right, old chap, your secret is safe with us. If you want to bonk a banana, you carry on. Gives a whole new meaning to having your five a day, eh!’

There was a stunned silence. Polly was the first to break it. ‘What exactly do you do for a living, Rosie?’

‘Funny stuff with food,’ Terry winked.

‘I’m a product tester,’ Rosie replied.

‘Is that what you call yourself,’ Terry guffawed. ‘What do you do then? Strap a pair of pineapples onto your chest before launching yourself off a wardrobe?’

‘I’m fritefly sorry,’ said Polly, ‘but I’m not following this conversation at all.’

Rosie gave Terry a chilly smile before turning to Polly. ‘I test dog food.’

Polly’s brow furrowed. ‘What, as in sniffing it?’

‘Yes, I do sniff it, but more specifically, I eat it.’

Terry stopped grinning and Polly instantly clutched at her mouth. ‘Excuse me,’ she made to shove her way through the group, ‘but I think I’m going to be sick again.’

‘Excuse me too,’ said Rosie demurely, ‘but all this talk of bananas and pineapples has made me a little hot and bothered.’ Rosie turned to Matt, her eyes very wide. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen, investigating the fruit bowl.’

Matt stared after Rosie before turning to Terry. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’ve all been talking about. Care to inform me?’

‘Er, not really, matey. Not sure if I haven’t perhaps got the wrong end of the stick.’

‘Easily done,’ Matt nodded. ‘In fact, talking of muddles, I need to ask you something, Terry.’

‘Fire away,’ Terry rubbed his hands together, ‘what do you want to know?’

‘A little bird told me that you’re playing away.’

Terry frowned. ‘Playing away? What are we talking here? Rugby? Football?’

Matt put his head on one side. ‘Come on, mate. Fess up. This is me you’re talking to. I’m referring to your bit on the side. Crumpet.’

Terry’s eyes nearly shot off his forehead. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Whatever gave you that idea?’

Matt looked Terry in the eye. ‘I know about Tracey.’

Chapter Twenty-One

 

Terry paled. ‘How the heck do you know about–?’

‘Terry, please tell me it’s not true,’ Matt looked appalled.

‘It’s not quite what you think, I swear,’ Terry looked mortified. ‘I’m not a bad person.’ A fine sweat had broken out on his upper lip. ‘Were you at Knole Park? Is that how you found out?’

Matt touched his friend’s arm. ‘Don’t distress yourself. I’m not going to say anything to anyone.’

‘Promise?’

‘You have my word.’

Terry nodded and exhaled shakily. ‘I feel so embarrassed…and ashamed. But, it’s like an addiction Matt – a drug.’

‘Hey, your personal life is that. Private. But be careful, eh? You wouldn’t want Lucy finding out. Are you getting cold feet about the wedding?’

‘No!’ Terry gasped. ‘Absolutely not. I love Lucy with all my heart. Look, I will give Tracey up. You have my word. I’ll see her one more time, and then that will be it. No more.’

‘Sure. Just, you know, be discreet.’

‘Yes, yes of course. No more outings like Knole Park. And, er, I won’t say anything about your little fetish. You know…the bananas.’

Matt put his head on one side and considered. ‘The bananas,’ he said slowly. ‘Okay. That’s fine by me.’

‘We have a deal then?’ Terry’s voice shook slightly.

‘We have a deal. And don’t upset yourself. It’s nothing. A lot of guys do it, especially before they get hitched.’

‘Really?’ Terry looked puzzled.

‘Absolutely. Just don’t let it spoil things – you know, between you and Lucy.’

‘No, of course not. I’d die of shame if she found out. And you absolutely promise not to tell her?’

‘Scout’s honour.’

Terry nodded. ‘Excuse me for a minute, Matt. I just need to be alone for a moment, you know, to collect my thoughts.’

Matt patted Terry on the shoulder. ‘Sure. See you in a bit.’

Terry nodded and stumbled away. He looked a broken man. On the other side of the room, Lucy caught Matt’s eye and made her way over.

‘Did you find anything out about Tracey?’ she asked.

Matt took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think the woman in question will be on the scene from now on. Put it down to pre-wedding nerves.’

Lucy’s eyes flashed. ‘Likewise with Gregory Tibor.’

Matt gave Lucy a curt nod and headed off towards the kitchen to find Rosie. She was sitting at the table with Luke on her lap, spooning mashed banana into his mouth. Matt pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.

‘Did the fruit bowl come up trumps?’ Matt nodded at Luke’s sloppy meal.

Rosie grinned. ‘Sorry about that, but I think your friend Terry is a bit of a berk. He just brought out the worst in me. I hope I haven’t embarrassed you.’

‘No. I think Terry has things on his mind right now, so don’t hold it against him. Do you want to be heading home soon?’

Home. The word brought Rosie up short. Matt’s place wasn’t home. It was a stop gap. But despite living in the place for all of five minutes, it certainly felt like home. The apartment had a lovely, peaceful atmosphere, and because it was situated on the ground floor, it felt more like a house. Big French doors issued out of almost every room. A flagstone terrace ran the length of the apartment. In one corner a set of feature steps led directly into the gardens. All forty acres of it. Rosie sighed and thought how much Luke would love running around that when he was older.

‘Rosie?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I asked if you wanted us to leave shortly.’

‘Sorry, I was miles away. Yes, okay. Luke has nearly finished, and then I’ll find Lucy and say good-bye to her and the oh-so-charming Terry.’

 

When Rosie fell into bed that night, almost immediately she drifted down the corridors of sleep. However, instead of her slumber being restful, she found herself in a tense dream with Dave. She was back in North London, hiding her purse and fending off debt collectors. The doorbell was ringing and ringing, and an angry man was shouting through the letterbox. ‘Open up! Your husband owes me two billion pounds and you’re the one who has to settle up. So how are you going to pay me?’ The dream turned into a nightmare with Luke wailing loudly. ‘No,’ Rosie screamed, ‘please, I’ll find the money somehow. I promise.’ The wails turned to full-on howls. The pounding was relentless. Suddenly the door gave way and the man burst into the hallway. As he came towards her, Rosie screamed again and shoved the man with all her might. Instead she lashed out at the mattress. Shocked, she rocketed upwards, heart pounding. Luke was crying in his cot, and Matt was knocking on her bedroom door.

‘Rosie? Rosie, wake up! Can you hear me?’

‘Yes, just a minute.’ Rosie swung her legs out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown and picked up Luke. ‘There, there, it’s all right. Mummy’s here.’

‘Hurry up, Rosie,’ Matt called from the other side of the door. ‘We have visitors.’

Rosie clutched her dressing gown about her. She felt bug-eyed and befuddled. The digital clock on the bedside table read half past three in the morning. Who on earth would want to talk to her at such a ridiculous hour? Was she still dreaming? She opened the bedroom door. Matt was standing in the hallway, his face grim. Behind him were two police officers. Rosie’s heart lurched. Had she done something wrong? Was she in trouble with the law because she hadn’t paid Dave’s debt collector?

‘What is it?’ Rosie whispered.

‘Rosie, darling,’ Matt said softly, ‘come into the lounge.’ He led her into the vast main room of the apartment. At this hour it felt cold and not so welcoming. Rosie shivered. ‘Sit down. The police need to talk to you.’

‘What is it?’ Rosie repeated, her eyes huge and fearful.

‘Mrs Perfect?’ said one of the policemen.

‘Yes?’

‘There is no easy way to tell you this. I’m very sorry to have to inform you that your husband is dead.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

Lucy stretched luxuriously. She was in Terry’s bed, and it was a little after nine on what promised to be a warm Sunday morning. Golden sunlight was streaming through gaps in the curtains, haloing her fiancé’s outline, while his gentle snores bore testament to a peaceful slumber. She turned to gaze at the man she would marry in three weeks’ time. Like Gregory Tibor, Terry was a good looking man with a great physique. Lucy edged closer. Her hand burrowed under the duvet and she let her fingers flutter across Terry’s chest, trailing over the smattering of soft hair. Terry stirred and sighed contentedly. Lucy began to work her way down, confident her hand would soon be grasping a huge erection which would end the recent drought in their sex life. Suddenly an arm wound its way around her shoulders and she found herself being pulled into Terry’s side. Lucy snuggled into the curves of Terry’s body and carried on working her magic. She gave a little moan of anticipation just as her fingers curled around Terry’s penis. It was as flaccid as a deflated balloon. He turned his head slightly and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

‘What do you fancy doing today, sweetheart?’

Lucy removed her hand and rolled onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling, desperately trying to hide a mix of disappointment and anger. ‘I was kind of hoping my future husband was going to make love to me,’ she said lightly.

‘There’s more to a relationship than sex, Luce,’ Terry replied. ‘What’s wrong with companionship and cuddles, hugs and holding hands?’

‘Nothing,’ Lucy shrugged, ‘nothing at all. That’s lovely.’

‘It is lovely,’ Terry sighed happily. ‘It’s the loveliest thing ever.’

Lucy nodded. ‘I agree. But sometimes it’s also nice to get physical. You know, as in having a roll around, getting the sheets all in a tangle, breaking out in a sweat and making lots of noise,’ she gave a tinkle of laughter, attempting humour. ‘I’d really love you to get a bit rough with me, make me moan and groan and reduce me to a gibbering wreck as I climax.’ She gave Terry a side-long glance. His eyes were closed. She stared at him in disbelief. Had he nodded off? When he failed to respond, she pushed herself upright. Bloody man. What was the matter with him? Was he impotent? Well, no, hardly. Not if this ruddy Tracey woman was on the scene. Perhaps she’d bonked him so hard, he was all bonked out. ‘Terry?’ Her voice came out harsher than she meant it to.

‘Yes, poppet?’

‘Do you love me?’

Terry sat up and looked at her incredulously. ‘Of course I love you. Why on earth do you ask such a question?’

Lucy folded her arms across her chest, grumpy now. ‘Because you don’t show it.’

‘Don’t be silly, darling. Come here! Let me show you how much I love you.’ Suddenly Lucy was enfolded in a huge bear hug, so tight she could hardly breathe. Moments later Terry planted a noisy smacker on her mouth. ‘There, that’s how much I love you, you silly goose. Happy now?’

Lucy was so stunned she didn’t know how to reply. Her initiation for sex had been politely but firmly rejected. For a moment she wanted to burst into tears. She felt a sexual failure with Terry. Quite clearly she just didn’t turn him on. Once again her thoughts strayed to Tracey. One way or another, she simply had to track this female down, then Lucy would confront Terry and...showdown time! Because there was no way on this earth she was walking down the aisle until she’d got to the bottom of this mystery woman.

‘I thought I might do some shopping today. You know, last minute bridal stuff.’

‘Excellent. Do you want me to come with you?’

‘No, you’d be bored in five minutes.’

Lucy slipped out of bed and padded off to the en-suite. Moments later she was in the shower, hoping the powerful spray would blast away the feelings of humiliation and resentment. Okay, she’d been no angel shagging Gregory Tibor, but affairs didn’t happen without just cause. In her case she’d suffered major neglect. And why? Because of this other woman. So who was the guilty party here – her or Terry? In Lucy’s book, it was a no-brainer. Reaching for a towel, she briskly dried herself off and walked, naked, into the master bedroom. Maybe, just maybe, Terry’s eyes would fall upon her luscious curves and he’d fling back the duvet, bound over to her, then pounce and – cave man style – drag her back to the bed before pinning her wrists to the mattress and making hot passionate love to her. Instead Terry was sending a text message to somebody. Lucy’s eyes narrowed. It was the BlackBerry she’d found hidden away in the drawer.

‘Who are you texting?’ she asked.

‘Just a business contact.’

‘That’s not your usual phone.’ Lucy tried to sound casual, but it came out as an accusation.

‘This is my old mobile. I keep it as a spare and like to put it through its paces every once in a while.’

Always an answer for everything, and so blithely delivered. Unbelievable! Lucy stepped into her jeans and pulled a tee over her head. She couldn’t be bothered with make-up, or breakfast. ‘I’ll see you later.’ She slung her bag over one shoulder and stalked off.

‘No kiss good-bye?’ Terry called after her.

For a split second Lucy hesitated. And then she carried on walking. ‘No,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘I’ll leave you to work out why.’

Terry put the BlackBerry down and stared after his fiancée’s rigid back. Now what was the matter with her? Not more pre-menstrual tension surely? He sighed and contemplated on how to fill the time until Lucy was home. He knew she’d be gone for hours. His mind slid backwards, to his conversation with Matt yesterday. Oh God, the shame. Fancy Matt of all people finding out about Tracey. Terry rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He didn’t want to jeopardise his marriage to Lucy. Besides, he’d given Matt his word. And if nothing else, Terry was an honourable man. A promise was a promise. It was time to give Tracey up. Terry had never attempted this before, and knew it would be both difficult and painful. He would probably cry. Tracey would definitely be in floods – the poor love would be devastated. Terry swallowed the lump in his throat and flung back the bed covers. He’d see her one more time. And it would be the last time.

Chapter Twenty-Three

 

Rosie had spent the entirety of Sunday so far feeling most odd. Her movements were jerky, like one of those remote control toy cars. Earlier she’d bathed Luke, changed a nappy and spooned food into his mouth, feeling as though somebody else was pressing the necessary buttons to make her move forward, step back or swing her son onto her hip. A detached part of her had recognised she was just going through the motions.

Having a policeman inform her she was now a widow had felt bizarre. What, her drunken, gambling, useless husband was gone? Don’t be silly! Despite all Dave’s faults, she hadn’t ever wished him dead. Oh, she’d wanted to be free of him all right, but not via the Grim Reaper. Rosie had been convinced the policeman was wrong, and there had been some terrible mistake. Her persistent disbelief was partly why she’d agreed to see the body – not so much to formally identify her husband, but to bring home the shocking reality that Dave was most definitely no more.

Matt had driven her to Karen’s house. Rosie’s neighbour, white-faced and appalled, had taken Luke off her hands for a few hours. From there, a police liaison officer had taken Matt and Rosie to the hospital morgue. They’d gone into a little room, just like a normal hospital waiting room, nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. Rosie had been perturbed by that – the seemingly everyday normalities in a day that was most definitely not bog standard. She’d not known what to expect. The police liaison officer had said that Dave had some bruising around his face.

And now, as Rosie stood with Matt viewing Dave’s body, the full enormity of what had happened began to sink in. She felt herself starting to tremble. Poor Luke. He would grow up never knowing his Daddy. Amazingly, Dave didn’t look awful. Apart from the contusion on his forehead in various shades of blue and black, he could have simply been sleeping. He was covered up to his neck with a sheet. One hand had been left out for Rosie to hold.

She felt a fraud. ‘We’d separated,’ she said to nobody in particular, and gestured at Dave’s hand. ‘We were getting divorced.’

The police liaison officer nodded, his expression benign. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, but I feel very cold,’ Rosie replied as her body’s tremors turned to full-on shivering.

Matt took off his jacket and draped it around Rosie’s shoulders. She stood rigidly next to him. Matt knew Rosie was in shock.

‘Do you think, maybe–?’ Matt trailed off.

Rosie nodded slowly before looking at the police liaison officer. ‘What happens now?’ she whispered. ‘Sorry to sound vague, but I don’t know what to do.’

‘That’s okay. Come with me and I’ll get you a hot, sweet tea and talk you through the formalities.’

 

By the time Rosie left the hospital, she only had a hazy idea of what would happen next. Something about a post-mortem and a police investigation. Or was it an inquest? Or both? Rosie sat in the passenger seat of Matt’s car and hunched deeper into the jacket still about her shoulders. She stared vacantly through the passenger window. She would apparently be advised when the body – the body! – would be released to a funeral director of her choice. Rosie hadn’t a clue which undertaker to use. She didn’t even know how much a funeral cost or, for that matter, how she was going to pay for it. Dear God, even in death her husband was bleeding her dry. And then Rosie was overcome with guilt at such a thought.

Matt pulled into Rosie’s road. His eyes scanned up and down the street, seeking a gap between the many cars lining the pavement. Ah, there was one! Just in front of a black Audi, perfect! Matt slowed the X5 down. The space was a bit tight. He glanced at the Audi. The driver was sitting behind the wheel, apparently reading a newspaper. Matt tooted his horn. The newspaper lowered slightly, revealing a pair of bushy eyebrows and suspicious eyes.

‘Are you going?’ Matt mouthed, while one hand pantomimed pulling out.

The driver shook his head and disappeared behind his newspaper again.

Matt sighed. Ah, well. The Beamer had parking sensors. He set about manoeuvring the vehicle backwards. Almost instantly the bleepers began to shriek. Shunting the gear into Drive, he carefully edged forward.

Rosie sat silently as Matt shoe-horned the Beamer into place. She gazed past him at Karen’s house and, next door, her own home. Except it had never felt like home. Suddenly Rosie felt as though her throat was constricting. She couldn’t breathe. Gasping, she found herself choking up. Frantically she stuffed a fist in her mouth, but it was too late. The dam burst and suddenly she was crying her eyes out.

Matt’s arms were around her in a trice. ‘It’s okay,’ he soothed, ‘it’s all right to cry. You’ve just been widowed, Rosie. Bawl all you like. Let it out.’

Rosie found herself sobbing even harder. How the hell could she explain that the catalyst for her tears wasn’t her husband being dead, but simply the monumental worry about paying for a funeral? She mentally berated herself. Where’s your sense of decency, Rosie? Dave is the father of your son. And then she rallied, took the giant Kleenex Matt was offering and blew her nose. For all Dave’s faults, he’d given her Luke, her darling baby boy, and for that Rosie thanked Dave from the bottom of her heart. So she would put aside issues about money. There must be loans available. She could pay for the funeral in instalments. And then Rosie remembered something that made her gasp with relief. There was life insurance! It was something Rosie had insisted she and Dave take out when Luke was born.

‘What if something awful happened to either of us,’ she’d said to Dave. ‘It’s important the survivor has a lump sum to assist with raising our child.’

Dave had been most reluctant to spend twenty pounds a month on the policy, and the thought of raising Luke himself, single-handed, had filled him with horror. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Rosie,’ he’d protested, ‘we’re both young. What the devil do you want to waste twenty quid a month for?’

But Rosie had been adamant. Thank God for small mercies.

Feeling slightly calmer, Rosie unfastened her seatbelt. ‘I can see Karen looking at us from the window. Shall we go in?’

‘Of course. She’ll want to know what’s been happening.’

‘And you know, tomorrow, I think I’ll pack my stuff up from your apartment and come home. With Dave gone, there’s no reason for me not to live here now.’

‘Rosie, I don’t think you should be on your own at the moment.’

‘I’m not on my own. I have Luke.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘It’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to impinge on your hospitality any longer than is necessary.’

‘You’re not. I’ve told you that. Look, Rosie, why don’t you just leave it a few days. There’s no rush. At least wait until after the funeral, eh? Come on. Let’s go and have a cup of tea with your neighbours.’

As Rosie and Matt walked up the path to Karen’s house, the front door flew open.

‘Thank God you’re back,’ Karen ushered them in, her eyes quickly scanning the street, before darting back inside the hallway.

Rosie’s heart picked up speed. ‘Is Luke all right?’

‘Yes, he’s fine. He’s with Mike in the kitchen.’ Karen shut the door firmly behind them and then leant back on it. She exhaled shakily.

Rosie stared at her neighbour. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

Karen took a deep breath. ‘You’ve had a visitor.’

Rosie paled. ‘Oh God, not my mother? I haven’t even told her yet about–’

‘No, not Hester. Mike will tell you what’s been happening.’

‘Hello, love,’ Mike stood in the kitchen doorway, Luke in his arms. He pecked Rosie on the cheek as, gratefully, she took Luke from him. Mike turned to Matt. ‘Hello, matey, good to meet you, even though the circumstances could be happier.’

‘And you,’ Matt shook Mike’s hand, before following him into the kitchen. Mike indicated they should both sit down at the table, and pulled out chairs for them, while Karen flapped about putting the kettle on and rattling cups into saucers. ‘Rosie, before Dave died, he told me about a bit of bother he’d gotten himself into,’ he gave her a frank look, ‘over some illegal gambling. From what he told me, he was in a pickle with some rather unsavoury people.’

‘That would explain the recent visit by a charmless debt collector who nearly bashed the front door down,’ Rosie jiggled Luke on her lap as she listened to Mike.

‘Well, that charmless debt collector came back on Friday – while Dave was out. The person managed to let themselves into the house and out again undetected.’

Rosie gaped at Mike. ‘Were they looking for money?’

‘Possibly. But they left a calling card.’

‘Which was?’

‘A dead pig. On the bed.’

Rosie’s eyes widened. ‘A pig?’

‘A carcass. I’m sorry to be telling you this, Rosie, when you have so much on your plate right now. But this person has been back. This time they posted a note through our letterbox. It’s addressed to you.’

‘Me?’ Rosie squeaked.

‘Well, Mrs David Perfect.’ Mike fished a folded piece of paper from his back trouser pocket. He smoothed it out and pushed it across the table to Rosie.

Rosie took the piece of paper and quickly scanned it. Typed, not handwritten.

I’ve heard about your husband’s demise. Condolences. Unfortunately he owes me a lot of money. Call this number to conclude the matter. Don’t involve the police or the current debt figure will increase by an arm and a leg.

The note ended with a mobile number, but no name or signature.

‘Let me see that,’ Matt took the piece of paper from Rosie. His lips disappeared into a thin line as he read. ‘Well that’s settled it. You’re definitely not staying next door – not until this piece of nasty business is cleared up.’

Karen set the teas on the table before flopping into a chair. ‘You see this sort of thing as a plot in telly dramas, but why do people who have nothing to do with a gambler’s debt end up being threatened? If word got out that this loan shark hurt you or your family, surely nobody would ever do business with him again?’

‘People doing business with loan sharks, darling,’ said Mike, ‘aren’t exactly going to be Googling to see what their reputation is. They do it through addiction or desperation, not as a considered financial decision.’

Matt put down the note. ‘In the UK, gambling debts are not enforceable by the law. They die with the bettor. Any debt Dave had is therefore cancelled.’

‘Hmm,’ Mike rubbed his chin, ‘It doesn’t look like this unsavoury character is seeing it the same way.’

‘Well I’m not having Rosie threatened,’ said Matt. ‘This letter is going to the police.’

Rosie snatched up the note. ‘No, it’s staying with me. Didn’t you read that last line? It’s clearly a threat. I’m not going to the police and risking midnight visits with more dead animals being deposited around the house, or some maniac threatening to cut off one of my arms or legs. I shall call this number right now and resolve the matter.’

At that moment Rosie’s mobile phone shrieked into life, making everybody jump. Clasping Luke tightly to her chest, Rosie leant down and fumbled in the depths of her handbag. One look at the caller display had her paling. Before Rosie could even speak, Hester’s voice was squawking out of the ear piece.

‘My God, Rosie, when were you going to tell me?’ Hester ranted.

‘Mum, I’ve been with the police and not long since come back from the hosp–’

‘Why can’t my own daughter be bothered to tell me about poor Dave’s terrible demise?’ Hester wailed. ‘Instead I have Marjory Johnson, two doors down, regaling me with all the gory details because her daughter happened to be coming out of Patel’s Corner Shop and saw a taxi roar out of nowhere and flatten dear Dave.’ Hester briefly broke off to trumpet into a hanky. ‘I hope you’re going to sue that taxi driver for mowing down a man in his prime, Rosie, and I hope he goes to prison and,’ more noisy trumpeting, ‘ROTS BEHIND BARS!’

‘Mum, it was an accident. Dave had been drinking. He didn’t look before crossing the road.’

‘Huh, drinking! And why?’ Hester demanded. The combination of a great connection and the volume of Hester’s voice meant everybody was up to speed with the conversation. ‘I’ll tell you why, my girl. It’s because you left him! He was a broken man. This is all your fault, Rosie.’

‘Mum, I–’

Suddenly the phone was whipped out of Rosie’s hand.

‘Hello? This is Matt. That’s right, I’m the reprobate that Rosie is staying with at the moment. Your daughter is in a highly distressed state and...sorry, I’m not interested in your distress...you should be supporting Rosie and offering consolation. I see. Actually I couldn’t care less what Marjory Johnson thinks. Yes, I will be taking Rosie back to my love nest. Who do I think I am? Somebody who cares, Hester. Good-bye.’ Matt disconnected the call and handed the mobile back to Rosie. ‘Sorry, but I’m not having you bullied by anybody, and especially not your mother.’

Rosie smiled weakly. ‘At this rate I don’t think my mother is ever going to speak to me again.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Karen snorted, ‘I’m not sure Marjory Johnson would approve of such a thing.’

‘For some bizarre reason,’ Rosie explained to Matt, ‘my mother thought the sun shone out of Dave’s bottom.’

Karen shook her head. ‘Does Hester have any inkling about the mess her son-in-law has left you in?’

‘I did try talking to her about it a little while ago, but she pooh-poohed everything I said. Anyway,’ Rosie gave a resigned sigh, ‘I’ll sort this debt business out myself.’

‘Listen, love,’ Karen touched Rosie’s arm gently, ‘you’re not in the right frame of mind right now. You’re tired and overwrought. Apart from anything else, how the devil would you settle Dave’s debt? Rob a bank?’

‘No need,’ Rosie gave a thin smile that was little more than a grimace. ‘Dave’s life was insured. I’m going to cash in the policy. It’s worth about a hundred thousand pounds.’ She glanced around the table. Three stunned faces looked back at her. ‘And I don’t want anyone trying to stop me.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

Lucy had spent the last four hours trailing around all the department stores. She’d bought everything for the Big Day ages ago, including underwear, but was currently standing at the check-out of an outrageously expensive lingerie shop. On a whim she’d ended up buying a very virginal looking basque. With such a lack of sexual action with Terry, it seemed quite apposite. She’d been unable to resist the lacy corset and felt, in turn, that Terry would be unable to resist her when he saw her in it. Perhaps she’d stay over at his place for one more night and wear it for him later on. Although she had to confess, a part of her had been slightly relieved at Terry’s lack of interest earlier on. She wondered why. Was it because she had lost a little bit of her heart to Gregory Tibor?

Lucy gasped at the very idea. Reaching into her purse for her credit card, she firmly pushed the thought away. Gregory Tibor was bad news. He’d already notched up two marriages, and she’d dared not ask how many relationships he’d had in between. So enough of that. Instead she would continue with her long-term plan to marry the man of her dreams in three weeks. All would be well. She would make it well. Taking her receipt and dropping it into the store’s posh carrier bag, she swung out of the shop door and headed, through the main mall, to the car parking area.

Twenty minutes later, Lucy was sitting in a queue of traffic at a set of red traffic lights. She was only a couple of minutes away from Terry’s place. As she waited for the lights to change, she drummed her fingernails impatiently against the steering wheel, and gazed at the cars in the line ahead. And then her finger tips froze mid-drum. For there, six vehicles in front of her, was Terry’s car. It was idling on a curve in the road, but it wasn’t her fiancé sitting behind the wheel. Instead a woman was in the driver’s seat. Lucy leant forward, straining her eyes to see if she could make out the woman’s features in the driver’s wing mirror. All she could glimpse was a lock of wavy brunette hair. Her eyes shifted to the back of the woman’s head. The hair looked very bouffant, and there was an awful lot of it. Part of it was cascading over the woman’s shoulder, before flowing under the angle of the seat belt. It was the same hair as the woman photographed on Terry’s BlackBerry! Lucy felt her heart rate pick up. Who was this female? And what the devil was she doing driving Terry’s car? And then Lucy had a horrible thought. What if Terry was in the car too and sitting right next to this woman? She craned her neck to see, but the passenger side remained obscured by the other queuing vehicles. Well she’d soon find out if he was in the car because…because she’d follow them! And even if Terry wasn’t in the car, she’d follow this bitch anyway! It was confrontation time. Lucy felt her bowels lurch slightly. Oh God, this was awful, but she simply had to know who her love rival was.

The lights changed and the line started to creep forward. Lucy rammed the car into gear. Oh come on everybody! The last thing she wanted was for the lights to swing back to red. Terry’s car came out of the curve in the road revealing itself in its entirety. Lucy could see the whole number plate now, and it was her fiancé’s car. But he wasn’t in it! And then Lucy found herself slamming the brakes on. The driver in front of her had stalled his Micra. Lucy groaned. Oh no, a learner. For heaven’s sake, why did learners have to practice their clutch control on a Sunday? Why couldn’t they stick to snarling up the rush-hour on a Monday morning, along with all the mums on the school run? Lucy ground her teeth as the learner bunny-hopped forward, just as the lights flicked back to red. She was left with no choice but to watch the brunette sail through the lights and disappear from sight.

 

Terry had had a marvellous few hours while Lucy had been out shopping. After Lucy had stropped out of his house, he’d barely waited a full minute before getting in touch with Tracey. The darling girl had been overjoyed to hear that she should get herself ready for him.

‘You haven’t given me much time, Terry. I’ve only just got out of bed. You know I don’t like you seeing me without make-up.’

‘Don’t be silly, sweetheart. You’re gorgeous to me with or without all that stuff on your face.’

‘Well at least give me ten minutes to put a brush through my hair, and put some lippy on.’

‘Make it five. I want to spend every precious moment with you, angel. You see, I need to talk to you about something…something I’d been hoping to avoid. Unfortunately circumstances mean–’

Tracey gasped. ‘Don’t! I know what you’re going to say. This is going to be the last time, isn’t it?’

Terry had paused, his heart heavy. ‘I can’t lie to you, darling girl, you know I can’t. You know me inside out. I can only ever be honest with you.’

‘Can’t you be like other men? Have your cake and eat it?’

Terry flinched. He didn’t want to be lumped into the same category as those who messed their other halves about. ‘Angel, listen, it’s not what I want. You know that. But I’m getting married in three weeks and, much as I’d love to keep seeing you, I don’t want to get caught out. As it is, Matt saw us at Knole Park.’

Tracey gasped in horror. ‘No! I’m so sorry, darling. Can you depend upon his discretion?’

Terry nodded. ‘I think so. But I don’t want all this ducking and diving anymore. I want to say good-bye to you properly. Lovingly. Memorably. Because I will never, ever, forget you. Do you understand?’

Tracey had started to choke up. ‘Yes,’ she sniffed, ‘of course I understand. Just get yourself over to me. And hurry.’

‘I’m on my way.’

But instead of picking up his car keys, Terry had instead taken himself off to another part of the house. It was one of the many spare rooms in his sprawling home, except this particular bedroom was little more than a box room. He’d paused outside the door for a moment, before gently knocking.

‘Is it okay to come in, darling?’

His question was initially met with silence. And then Tracey replied.

‘What are you waiting for?’

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

Matt was sitting in an interview room at Holloway Police Station. To his left was Rosie. Seated opposite was a bored looking police officer by the name of PC Plummer. It was almost six o’clock on a Sunday evening, and the copper wanted to go home. Instead he was listening to a sketchy story about a dead husband and a pig carcass. Spread out on the table before them, was the note demanding the deceased’s debt be repaid.

‘What exactly do you expect the police to do, Mr Palmer?’

‘Find the author of this message!’ Matt cried. Good heavens, what was the matter with this cop? He had about as much energy and enthusiasm as a bored shelf stacker at the local Tesco. Although judging by the buttons straining on the cop’s jacket, Matt reckoned the guy spent more time pushing paper around a desk than legging it after criminals.

‘There isn’t an address on it. How can we go and make an arrest?’

‘But you have a phone number,’ Matt stabbed an index finger at the note, ‘right here. Isn’t that something to go on?’

PC Plummer studied the number. ‘The chances are this is a Pay As You Go sim card, which means we won’t be able to trace the person. I’m happy to ring the number myself and see if anybody answers.’

Rosie twitched violently. ‘I don’t want this person knowing we’ve gone to the police.’ She looked at PC Plummer with troubled eyes. ‘It wasn’t my idea to come here. I wanted to handle this my way.’

PC Plummer steepled his fingers together. ‘I don’t think you should let this person intimidate you. If you let me speak to him, he’ll be the one to be intimidated instead. I will also inform him that any debts are cancelled. Those debts ceased when your husband went under the wheels of that taxi.’

‘I don’t think this person gives a fig about the law,’ Rosie said grimly, ‘he wants what he considers to be rightfully his.’

‘And apart from anything else,’ Matt said, ‘there is the threat of violence.’ Matt picked up the note and waggled it about. ‘It says quite clearly if Rosie doesn’t repay the debt, it will increase by an arm and a leg – and I don’t think the author of this note is wanting donations of gloves and legwarmers. It’s quite obvious he means business.’

‘So I’ll ask again, Mr Palmer. Other than what I’ve suggested, what else do you expect the police to do?’

‘You could start with providing Rosie with the assurance of police protection.’

‘What, like a bodyguard?’

‘Why not!’

‘Mr Palmer, our police resources are stretched to breaking point. With the greatest respect, Mrs Perfect is not a celebrity. And I strongly suspect that if anybody was truly going to get nasty, they’d have done it straight away, without popping a joint of pork under the duvet.’

‘So you’re not going to attempt to flush him out, Officer Plummer?’

There was an uneasy moment while the copper looked at Matt with narrowed eyes. Rosie was the first to break the silence. ‘Look, Matt, we’ve done this your way and it’s quite apparent there is nothing the police can do.’ She scraped back her chair and stood up wearily.

‘I think it’s a poor show when a vulnerable young woman, with a little kid, is left to deal with a thuggish loan shark,’ said Matt. He followed Rosie’s lead and stood up too.

PC Plummer shrugged. ‘The only other thing I can recommend is that you get in touch with the Illegal Money Lending Team.’

‘Who are they?’ Rosie asked.

‘They’re a specialist Trading Standards group set up to combat loan sharks, but as I said,’ PC Plummer hauled himself up and scratched his bottom absent-mindedly, ‘our hands are tied.’

‘Thanks for the tip,’ said Matt. ‘We’ll get in touch with them.’ He put a guiding hand around Rosie’s shoulders and steered her towards the exit.

‘Good luck,’ said PC Plummer as they made their way down the corridor and back into the main reception area of the police station. ‘But don’t go doing anything heroic, eh?’

Matt gave the cop a thin smile. His brain was already forming a plan. But first, he needed to drive Rosie back to Karen’s and collect baby Luke.

A quarter of an hour later and Matt’s BMW once again turned into Rosie’s street. As Matt signalled and pulled over into a space, he glimpsed Karen peering anxiously out of a downstairs bay window. Her face looked white and strained. She moved away from the bay, and seconds later the front door opened. Karen glanced anxiously up and down the street as Rosie pushed open the garden gate and walked up the path.

‘Is everything all right?’ asked Rosie. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Not a ghost,’ Karen muttered, ‘but something just as scary.’

Rosie’s brow knitted together. ‘Is Luke okay?’

‘Yes, he’s fine. Fast asleep on the sofa,’ Karen assured, ‘and there’s loads of pillows around him so don’t worry, he can’t fall off. Just hurry up and come in,’ she ushered them both into the hall.

‘What’s happened now?’ asked Matt, wiping his feet and shutting the door behind him.

Mike appeared in the hallway. ‘Hello, guys. The shark has paid another visit.’

Matt stopped dead in his tracks. ‘He’s been in here?’

‘Not inside, but he posted this through our letterbox.’ Mike held up a piece of paper. ‘He must have been watching your place earlier, Rosie, and seen you come in here. The note isn’t in an envelope, so we’ve read it. Evidently he followed you from here to the police station and then hot footed back here with this note, because he knows you’ve been talking to the Old Bill.’ Mike’s face looked grim. ‘And Mr Shark isn’t happy.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

 

No more than ten minutes had elapsed since Lucy had seen the mysterious brunette. She shot through the gates to Terry’s place and bounced along the lengthy, meandering driveway. Ahead she could see Terry’s car. It had been parked, almost carelessly, outside the house. Nobody appeared to be in the vehicle. Lucy screeched to a halt, tyres spraying gravel everywhere. Wrenching the key fob from the ignition, she grabbed her handbag and shopping before flinging open the driver’s door. That woman couldn’t be far away, and Lucy was going to find her!

Hastening to the front door, Lucy leant on the doorbell. Terry had never given her a key to his house, and now Lucy understood why. Clearly her fiancé hadn’t wanted to take the chance that she might turn up out of the blue, let herself into the house and surprise Terry while he was with his floozy. Huh! Well, key or no key, she’d caught him out. Lucy’s heart seemed to have relocated to her ears. It was beating so loudly she couldn’t hear the door chimes ringing inside the house. She removed her hand from the doorbell and instead took to the doorknocker.

‘Let me in, Terry!’ she screeched. Lucy bludgeoned the door with the knocker. Her raps were so hard, a part of her wondered if the door panels would cave in. ‘I know you’re in there, you bastard, so OPEN UP!’

Lucy was just filling her lungs for another verbal onslaught when the knocker flew out of her grasp as the door opened inward. She tripped over the doorsill stubbing her big toe and tumbled into the vast entrance, landing painfully on her knees.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Terry bent over her, his face white and anxious. Helping Lucy to her feet, he retrieved her handbag and picked up the posh carrier bag.

‘Where is she?’ Lucy snarled.

Terry gaped at her uncomprehendingly. He looked almost clownish standing there with his mouth hanging open, handbag in one hand and a dainty bag of underwear in the other. ‘Where’s who?’

‘Don’t you play the innocent with me!’ Lucy narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. ‘And what the hell are you doing in your dressing gown at this hour?’ she spat. ‘It’s not exactly bedtime.’

‘I was in the shower.’

‘I see,’ Lucy sneered, ‘washing off her perfume were you?’

‘Lucy, darling, I’ve been on my own all day. I was in the bathroom and didn’t so much hear the doorknocker as felt it. For a moment I thought there was a freak earthquake!’

‘You’re gabbling, Terry.’

‘And you’re making no sense, Lucy! Why don’t you tell me what’s upset–’

But he was talking to thin air. He watched Lucy take the stairs two at a time.

‘You’ve got a woman in here, Terry,’ she yelled over her shoulder, ‘and I’m going to find her!’

Terry stared after her, confounded. What on earth had gotten into his fiancée? He knew she’d been pissy this morning, but put it down to hormones. However, this outburst was really taking the biscuit. He set Lucy’s handbag and shopping down and, slowly, followed in her wake. As he reached the first wide landing, he could hear Lucy in the master bedroom. Doors to the bank of wardrobes along one wall were noisily opening and closing. He peered cautiously into the room to see Lucy now down on her hands and knees peering under the bed. She reversed out and straightened up.

‘I know she’s here somewhere!’

‘Right,’ Terry nodded his head in bewilderment. ‘Well, let me know when you’ve found her.’

‘Get out of my way.’ Lucy barged past Terry.

Other doors were opening and closing now. More banging could be heard as Lucy systematically worked her way through the number of other rooms, and the many closets within. Terry sighed wearily and waited for the noise to stop. A few minutes later Lucy stomped out of the last searched room. Her face was pink, and she was slightly breathless from exertion.

‘Found anything?’

‘Not yet,’ Lucy glared at Terry, ‘but you’re guilty as hell.’

‘Guilty of what!’ he cried.

Lucy’s lips disappeared into a thin line. ‘I saw her, Terry.’

‘Saw who?’ Terry howled.

‘Unfortunately I didn’t have the opportunity to flag her down and ask her to introduce herself,’ Lucy shouted.

‘Flag her–?’

‘Yes! She was driving your car!’

Terry stared at Lucy. His expression changed from confusion to horror. Frantically he fought to control his body language. But it was too late.

‘Ah, got your attention now, haven’t I!’ Lucy roared. ‘Just look at you. Your face is a dead giveaway. I suspected you were seeing another woman. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I found myself sitting a few cars behind her at the traffic lights on my way back here. Talk about bold as bloody brass! So are you going to tell me where you’re hiding her?’

‘There is no woman in this house,’ Terry said quietly, ‘other than the one standing before me.’

‘Liar!’

Terry shrugged. ‘You’ve searched everywhere and found nothing.’

Lucy folded her arms across her chest and regarded her fiancé coolly. True. She’d ransacked every bedroom. And then a lightbulb went off in her head.

‘But I haven’t looked up there.’ She pointed to the small staircase tucked into the corner of the landing.

‘There’s nothing up there,’ Terry sighed. ‘It’s just an attic room used to store a few bits and pieces. You know that.’

Lucy tilted her head on one side. ‘Yeah,’ she said softly, ‘except this time I think it also has your fancy piece in there.’

‘This is absurd.’

‘Then you won’t mind me looking, will you?’

Terry shrugged. ‘If you insist.’

‘I do.’

For a moment they stood there, glaring at each other, and then Lucy brushed past Terry. Unlike the glorious feature staircase leading to the first floor, this particular flight of steps was very different. Huddling in a darkened corner of the landing, it was narrow and uninviting. She flicked the switch on the wall and, for a moment, a light shone on the tiny upstairs landing. And then the bulb spluttered and went out. Lucy hesitated for a moment, anxious about losing her footing. Then she pushed the thought away, and put one foot on the first step. Slowly she made her way up into the darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

Gregory Tibor reclined back on the Captain’s chair in his study and stared out of the window. Not that there was much to see. The immaculate garden, manicured to perfection by a weekly visiting gardener, was shrouded in evening darkness. Only the courtesy lights on the side of the house lit up a limited view – that of the flag-stoned terrace directly outside this particular window. Gregory yawned. Scattered across his vast, leather topped desk was the dossier from Matt. He’d studied the set of business solutions and had an idea what to do next. Who to fire. Who to hire. He was relieved to have Rosie Perfect starting work at the Erith factory tomorrow morning. There weren’t many who wanted to sup dog food for a living.

Gregory rubbed his eyes. He’d spent the whole day reviewing strategies and cost cutting exercises instead of chilling out. He sighed. Not that there was anybody to chill out with. Gregory’s life was barren in that department. Two marriages had cost him dearly, and he’d been lucky to hang on to his lovely house in Sevenoaks. He’d given the Leeds property to Heather, his first wife, and bought himself a small apartment in the City, just as a base for when he was popping in and out of the Northern factory. Gregory stared at the report before him. Matt had suggested closing that particular factory and working out of one site, ideally Erith. Gregory puffed out his cheeks. There was a lot to think about. But for the last couple of hours he’d lost concentration. A woman kept invading his thoughts. A dark-haired beauty. Lucy. A vision of her face floated through his mind. But despite taking Lucy to his bed and rogering her senseless, she wasn’t his. She belonged to another man. Okay, she wasn’t married but, as Matt had pointed out, there was a ring on her finger. A flippin’ big one too. Whoever her fiancé was, he clearly wasn’t short of a bob or two. Gregory wondered what sort of bloke he’d become to do that to another man. He’d never behaved dishonourably before. And then he wondered what sort of a woman Lucy must be to so casually betray a man she was just a few weeks away from marrying. Well clearly the woman was a cow. A hard-nosed, uncaring cow. She’d danced up to him, as bold as brass, and basically said, ‘I’m all yours.’ Well she wasn’t all his. She was a two-timing callous bitch. Fact! And he never wanted to see her again.

Gregory rubbed his eyes and stood up. His stomach rumbled. Blearily, he made his way out to the kitchen to see what delights might be buried deep in the American fridge freezer. Gregory knew he wasn’t being honest with himself. He did want to see Lucy again. He’d never felt this way about a woman so quickly. And it wasn’t just lust. Gregory was sure of that. There was something else about Lucy that made his heart sing. She was witty, intelligent and an achiever. Unlike his two exes, Lucy was not a leech. She had let it be known to him that she was financially solvent, had a high-earning job, her own London pad and was her own person. All very admirable. Apart from the fact that she was going to wed another man. She was definitely a bitch! And she wasn’t just a bitch, she was a witch! A witch for putting a spell on him!

Gregory withdrew a box of battered cod from the freezer and a packet of oven chips. Why was his love life like this? Why had his first two marriages failed? Wasn’t he a nice enough person? He thought so. His first wife, Heather, had disagreed.

‘You’re a total bore. All you can talk about is work,’ she’d complained. ‘What about me?’

After they’d married, Gregory had hoped the babies would come along. It was what they had both wanted. However, Mother Nature had had other ideas. If Heather had popped a sprog or two, she’d have been up to her eyeballs in dirty nappies and broken nights, and not had time to complain about him being boring. After the last failed IVF attempt, she’d settled on having a chocolate Labrador instead. Barney had been beautiful but highly undisciplined. A stint at dog training classes had followed. And suddenly Heather had acute mentionitis about the dog trainer. All her sentences had begun with ‘Tom’. It had been Tom this and Tom that and Tom says. And then one day, ‘Tom loves me and I love him.’ Apparently Barney had loved him too, because he’d skipped off at Heather’s heels and Gregory had seen neither of them since.

A couple of years had gone by and then Corinne had come along. Gregory had thought her shy and fragile, and she’d brought out the protective side of him. The ink was hardly dry on the marriage certificate before she’d turned into a Sergeant Major, instantly giving up her job so she could jack-boot full time all over him. The only thing she was interested in was spending his money. She would disappear off to the Caribbean with a gaggle of girlfriends, or take umpteen spa breaks. When Gregory had suggested they start a family, she’d looked at him like he’d sprouted two heads.

‘Children?’ she’d shrieked. ‘Never! I’m not ruining my figure. Not now. Not ever!’ And then, like Heather, she’d found somebody else. Except this guy was a Jamaican who wanted to set up a string of beach bars. And thanks to Corinne’s hefty divorce settlement, he’d no doubt managed to achieve that with his new girlfriend’s pay-off.

Gregory placed two pieces of cod on a baking tray and shook out a few chips. He’d stop seeing Lucy. He wasn’t getting suckered into a messy love triangle. He’d had his first two wives do that to him, and he didn’t wish that on anybody. In fact, he was ashamed at his behaviour. Taking Lucy to his bed made him just as bad as Heather and Corinne! No, he wouldn’t see her again. He felt his stomach knot at the thought.

‘Stop it,’ he chastised himself. He shoved the baking tray into the oven. ‘It’s better to have a bit of pain now, than a whole heap of it later on. The woman is trouble. And a bitch,’ he reminded himself. ‘A witch bitch. And you don’t need the aggro.’

Gregory slammed the oven door shut and straightened up. From now on he was done with women. They were nothing but trouble. He’d concentrate on the business only. Setting the timer on the oven, he wandered back into his study. He was just easing himself down in the Captain’s chair when the mobile phone, left on his desk, began to ring. Glancing at the caller display, he felt his heart twist.

‘Hello?’ he croaked.

‘Gregory,’ Lucy sobbed, ‘something has happened, and I need to see you. Right now.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

Lucy couldn’t believe how the course of one’s life could change in a nanosecond. One minute she was the fiancée of Terry Chandler, a rich City trader with a glorious mansion, the next she was back to being a singleton.

Lucy gripped the steering wheel and peered through the windscreen into the dark night. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Angrily, she rubbed them away. She tried to analyse her feelings. Was she really so devastated at losing Terry? Or was her sorrow simply because of the humiliation of why the relationship had so abruptly ended? Lucy shuddered at the raw memory of discovering who that woman – Tracey – really was. She couldn’t bear the thought of her family finding out and gasping with horror. Or her girlfriends’ reactions – their eyes like saucers as they covered gaping mouths with fluttering hands. A part of Lucy was cynical enough to suspect that behind those hands her girlfriends would be sniggering. She didn’t even feel able to confide in her best friend. Rosie would be incredulous. And Lucy didn’t want everybody whispering about her glorious wedding day turning to ashes. She sniffed. That was the crux of it all. Kissing good-bye to her meticulously planned nuptials. Not to mention her beautiful bridal gown. Oh, the pain! And then Lucy felt ashamed. What sort of dreadful woman was she to be heartbroken about a lost wedding? She should be mourning the loss of her fiancé for goodness sake!

Approaching a roundabout, she slowed the vehicle, trying to get her bearings. A sign pointed the way to Sevenoaks. Signalling, she took the second exit at a roundabout and then put her foot on the accelerator. All she wanted now was Gregory. She’d known the guy for two minutes, so he was remote enough from her everyday life to confide in. As she hurtled along winding semi-rural roads, her mind replayed the moment she’d climbed the narrow staircase to the upper floor of Terry’s house.

The landing had been in darkness thanks to the single lightbulb blowing. Terry had been right behind her and, as she’d put her hand on the door in front of her, for a moment she’d felt frightened. Panicked, she’d twisted the handle and almost fallen into the only room on this topmost floor. Fumbling blindly, she’d found the light switch. A harsh overhead light had instantly flooded the room and, for a moment, she’d squinted. Terry had pushed his way in behind her.

‘See?’ he’d cried. ‘There’s nobody here.’

Lucy had cast a swift eye over the room. Terry was right. It was just the two of them in there. But then she’d looked again. What was that? A large wardrobe, like the forbidden entrance to Narnia, stood against one wall. The door was shut, but something had caught between the door jamb. And then her eyes had widened. She could see a sizeable chunk of long hair – brunette hair! And it was wavy! Dear God. Clearly the brunette she’d seen driving Terry’s car was now hiding in the wardrobe.

She’d given Terry a contemptuous look before striding over to the wardrobe.

‘Lucy,’ he’d warned, ‘don’t open–’

But Lucy hadn’t heeded Terry’s warning. Defiant and furious, she’d yanked the door open and promptly screamed as a mass of tumbling tresses had fallen at her feet.

‘What the–?’

Bending down, she’d picked the wig up, frowning in puzzlement. A quick glance at Terry had revealed her fiancé with both hands covering his face, as if he didn’t want to acknowledge what Lucy was seeing. She’d turned her attention back to the wardrobe. It was full of female clothing. Pretty awful clothing at that. She’d reached an arm up and swished some of the hangers along the rail. There had been an abundance of lace, froth, frills, tiny buttons and bows. It was the sort of stuff her grandma would wear – if her grandma happened to be built like a tank. The garments were huge. On the floor of the wardrobe was a shoe rack containing a collection of fussy footwear. Somebody had enormous feet. And then Lucy spotted the make-up box next to the shoes. Crouching down, she released the catch and opened it up. Inside were tubes of bright lipsticks, garish eye shadows, a number of different foundation bottles – even false eyelashes. And then she spotted something else. Tucked into the side of the shoe rack was a carrier bag – with a bra peeping out. Grabbing the bag, she peered within. It was full of frothy lingerie. But that wasn’t all. Lucy had gasped. There, amongst billowing satin cups, were two sizeable silicon inserts. She’d rocked back on her heels in shock as the penny had slowly dropped. All these extra-large female garments didn’t belong to another woman. Realisation washed over her as she turned to look up at Terry. The contents of this wardrobe belonged to her fiancé!

‘You are Tracey?’ she’d croaked.

Terry’s face had been grey. And slowly he’d nodded.

‘You’ve been impersonating a female?’ Lucy had demanded. ‘Why? Are you gay?’

‘Of course I’m not gay,’ Terry had snapped.

Slowly, Lucy had stood up. ‘So, if you’re not gay, what the hell are you?’

‘A transvestite.’ Terry had flushed the colour of beetroot. ‘But nobody knows,’ he’d assured, ‘apart from Matt and he promised–’

‘Matt? You mean Matt Palmer, the guy who has been welded to my friend Rosie of late?’

‘Yes, Matt Palmer, but “Discretion” is his middle name, and he won’t–’

‘Of course he’ll tell Rosie! And Rosie will tell everyone, and everyone will know my future husband is a cross-dresser.’

‘Is it really so bad?’ Terry had looked hurt. ‘I’m still me. I’m still a regular guy.’

Lucy had lost her temper. ‘No you’re not!’ she’d shouted. ‘You’re a freak!’ And then she’d burst into tears and shoved past Terry, clattering across the tiny landing and down the stairs.

And now Lucy gripped the steering wheel and let out a shaky sigh. She couldn’t marry a transvestite. She just couldn’t. Signalling, she turned into Gregory’s road. Thank God for Gregory.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

Rosie and Matt were seated at Karen’s kitchen table. Mike had given the loan shark’s new message to Matt. In the lounge, baby Luke slept peacefully on, undisturbed by the recent drama of his father’s death or the one that was now unfolding in the kitchen. Matt spread the note flat on the table. This time it was handwritten.

I thought I told you not to go to the police? You’ve really pissed me off. I hope you value your kneecaps, Mrs Perfect, because they are in grave danger right now. Stop fucking about and call me. And it’s worth remembering, the longer you leave it, the greater the debt becomes. By the way, Mrs Perfect, you have a cute little boy.

Rosie thought she was going to start hyperventilating. How dare the shark mention Luke! Dear God, she would kill the man with her bare hands if he so much as touched one hair on her precious son’s head.

‘Matt, I can’t stand it,’ Rosie gasped. ‘I want to know who this man is and how much money he’s owed. I’ll have more than enough to pay him when I cash in Dave’s life insurance policy. I’m calling this person. He indirectly referred to Luke, and I’m not having–’

‘I agree,’ Matt said.

‘You do?’ Rosie asked, surprised.

‘For what my opinion is worth,’ Mike interrupted, ‘I think the shark is possibly full of bullshit. After all, why didn’t he just approach the two of you earlier when you left here for the police station? He could have waylaid you there and then, and threatened you with a knife, or a gun, and he didn’t. Personally, I’d hang fire on doing anything at all. Let this trading standards group sort it out. What are they called again?’

‘The Illegal Money Lending Organisation,’ said Matt. ‘But I want this shark to know he’s got me to contend with too,’ said Matt.

‘Thanks,’ Rosie gave Matt a grateful smile. ‘I’ll call his number now, and assure him he will get his money.’

‘The shark can take a running jump as far as the debt is concerned,’ said Matt defiantly. ‘We’ll let the Illegal Money Lending team deal with that side of things. I just want to get a feel for what we’re dealing with.’ He looked around the table. Three pensive faces gazed back. ‘Right,’ Matt produced his mobile phone, ‘let’s get acquainted.’

As Matt tapped out the shark’s number, it seemed as though there was a collective holding of breath. Matt switched the phone to loudspeaker. The silence was immediately broken by a metallic ring tone. Two rings. Three. Rosie could feel herself breathing in time to the rhythm. Four rings. Five. Karen pursed her lips and began to massage her temples. Six rings. Seven. Mike gave an imperceptible shake of his head. Eight rings. Nine. Matt slowly exhaled. The bugger wasn’t going to pick up. Ten rings, eleven.

And then somebody answered.

There was an audible intake of breath as four tense people in an innocuous North London kitchen listened for a voice. The silence stretched on, and on. Rosie’s nerves were starting to frazzle. She glanced at Matt questioningly. He put a finger to his lips indicating she should remain quiet. It was almost a full minute before a male voice finally spoke.

‘Do you have nothing to say, Mrs Perfect?’

Rosie began to tremble. Karen leant across the table and took her hand.

‘You are the only person in possession of this number, Mrs Perfect, so I know it’s you calling.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ said Matt.

There was a pause. ‘Are you a member of Her Majesty’s boys in blue?’

‘Never mind who I am,’ said Matt. ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’

‘Ah. Not a copper after all. So, you must be Captain Marvel, hell bent on rescuing his damsel in distress. My congratulations. Swift work getting off with a woman whose husband is barely cold.’

‘You assume too much, which brings me to the subject of your note. You won’t be getting a penny out of Mrs Perfect.’

‘A debt is a debt. It needs repaying. I’ll take whatever is Mrs Perfect’s preferred option. Money. Kneecaps. A baby.’

An anguished squeak escaped Rosie’s lips.

‘Ah, Mrs Perfect! You are there! I thought so. Now don’t distress yourself. I’d really rather not go to all the bother of finding your son an untraceable new home elsewhere in the world, even if such a task pays handsomely. Likewise, I don’t really want the nuisance of coming over and shooting your pretty legs. I just want what is mine. Your husband owes me a lot of money.’

‘The debt was cancelled when Dave Perfect died,’ Matt interrupted.

‘In the eyes of the law, Captain Marvel. But I don’t deal with the law. I deal with honour and a man’s word being his bond. And your husband, Mrs Perfect, gave me his word. Whether he’s gone to the grave or not, the debt still stands. So how do you want to pay? Money, kneecaps, or kid?’

‘I have no idea who you are,’ Matt spoke up again, ‘but anybody can write a note demanding cash. You haven’t even told us what Dave Perfect specifically owed you money for.’

‘Gambling, Captain Marvel.’

‘Dave Perfect was out of work. He didn’t have funds to support a gambling habit.’

‘I know that.’

‘Then more fool you! You knowingly loaned money to somebody out of work with no income to repay you.’

‘Don’t call me a fool, Captain Marvel, or you might find yourself having to flex your superhero muscles against me. You think I’m stupid? Of course not! Dave Perfect gambled against the worth of his house. I have the key to your front door, Mrs Perfect, to prove it.’

‘So that’s how you gained entry to deposit a dead pig. Well I have news for you matey. Locks can be changed.’

‘And windows can be broken. And letterboxes are marvellous for posting petrol bombs. Do you really want all the aggro?’

‘You’re crazy.’

‘No, Captain Marvel, not crazy. Just utterly pissed off. So let’s cut the crap and talk business. I’ll ask again. And I’m not talking to you, Captain Marvel, I’m talking to Mrs Perfect. Or can I call you Rosie, my dear?’

Rosie’s stomach was in knots. ‘I’ll pay Dave’s debt,’ she croaked, ‘I want a peaceful life. I don’t want dead pigs, or threats of petrol bombs, or–’ she put up a hand to silence Matt who was frantically signalling her to be quiet, ‘or fear of you snatching my son. If I play ball with you, do you promise to leave us alone?’

‘Of course! I like you, Rosie. You’re my kind of girl. Sensible.’

Rosie shuddered at the shark’s reference to her being his kind of girl. ‘Okay. And while we’re talking, civilly, as you know my name perhaps you’d be so kind as to give me yours?’

The kitchen was filled with the sound of laughter. ‘Nice one, Rosie. A little gem of information to pass on to the police, eh?’

‘I’m just being polite. Up until now I’ve been thinking of you as Mr Shark. Which is surely disrespectful.’

‘On the contrary – I love it! So, Rosie, tell Mr Shark whether you have a secret stash of money, or whether you are going to sell your house to pay me off?’

‘There’s no need to sell my house,’ Rosie asserted, ‘because I have a life policy to cash in. I will pay you with that.’

‘A life policy! How thrilling! And how much is that worth?’

‘One hundred thousand pounds,’ said Rosie triumphantly.

‘Ah. There’s one small snag.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Dave Perfect owes me two hundred thousand pounds.’

Rosie gulped. ‘Okay. I’ll sell the house. It’s not a problem.’

‘Good girl. The only thing is, Rosie, the debt is no longer two hundred thousand.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Bless you for your innocence. There is daily interest accruing. I’m afraid the debt is now two hundred and ten thousand.’

‘But surely–’

‘The debt is increasing by one thousand pounds per day. So you need to get your house on the market and find a buyer very quickly. But at least you have that life policy to fall back on.’

‘Now you listen here–’ Matt interrupted.

‘No, Captain Marvel, I’m done with talking to you. Rosie, give me a call back when you’ve sorted out an estate agent and spoken to your insurer. I’ll be waiting. And don’t leave it too long. I’d hate to take your son as an interim payment.’

Rosie gasped. ‘I’ll do it, I promise, please, you don’t need–’

But she was talking to nobody. Mr Shark had hung up.

Chapter Thirty

 

Gregory pressed the disconnect button on his mobile phone and rubbed his eyes. Dear God, but some people did have a rotten time. Matt had just called with a bio update on Gregory’s new employee, Rosie Perfect. In the last twenty-four hours, Mrs Perfect’s status had apparently gone from ‘newly separated’ to ‘widow’. Needless to say, she wouldn’t be starting work tomorrow. Gregory had then spoken to Rosie Perfect who, clearly due to her distress, hadn’t been lucid. The woman had given a garbled explanation about arranging a funeral with a shark. Matt had then taken the phone off Rosie and concluded the conversation. Before ringing off, Gregory had asked Matt how he happened to be spending a Sunday with a future employee of Tibor’s Tasty Titbits.

‘Ah, yes. Well, the lady I recommended for the dog food interview happens to be the same lady I met in The Cavendish Club.’

There had been a stunned silence while Gregory tried to reconcile the interview image of a washed-out woman wearing a cheap suit and sitting nervously in his office, with the glamorous but very drunk blonde demanding Matt take her back to his place for nookie. Good heavens, this surely meant...

‘So it’s my future employee’s husband who blacked your eye?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well at least he’s not around to do that anymore. What exactly happened to him?’

‘I’ll tell you about it properly tomorrow afternoon. I’ll swing by to discuss the Leeds factory.’

‘Sure. But, going back to my future employee; that means Rosie knows Lucy.’

‘Yes. In fact, I believe they’re best friends.’

‘That must be why Lucy was so distraught when she rang me earlier.’

‘Lucy was distraught?’

‘Yeah, she said something awful had happened. She’s on her way over to me. In fact,’ Gregory glanced out the window as a car’s lights lit up his driveway, ‘she’s here. I must go. See you tomorrow, and my condolences again to Rosie. She can take all of this week off and, if she has to, all of next week as well.’

‘Cheers, Gregory.’

 

Lucy’s car screeched to a standstill. Flinging open the driver’s door, she stumbled out of the vehicle and hastened towards Gregory’s front door. It opened before she had a chance to press the doorbell. Suddenly Lucy was engulfed in the biggest bear hug.

‘It’s all right, Lucy,’ Gregory assured, ‘I’ve heard what happened.’

Lucy disentangled herself. ‘You did?’

‘Matt told me. He’s been on the phone. And I’ve spoken to Rosie too.’

Bloody hell! She’d only been single for five minutes and already the jungle drums of gossip were in full swing.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Lucy sniffed, her eyes brimming with a fresh round of tears. ‘Yesterday the future was all mapped out. Today it’s like a ship heading out into unchartered waters. I feel all over the place.’

‘Of course you do, darling.’ Gregory enfolded Lucy back into his arms. Despite the tragic circumstances, he couldn’t help but relish being of comfort to Lucy. She must have been awfully fond of Rosie’s husband to be so upset. ‘Did you…did you care about him a lot?’

‘Oh God, Gregory, this is going to sound so awful. I don’t want you thinking less of me if I tell you.’

‘Of course I won’t.’

‘There was a time when I thought I loved him.’

Gregory froze. See! Straight from the horse’s mouth! Lucy was clearly a nymphomaniac. Not only was she bonking him while engaged to another man, she was also hankering after her best friend’s dead husband. Why was it that whenever his love life perked up, it came with a million complications?

‘I see,’ Gregory nodded. He didn’t see at all. ‘Did you… you know… do it?’

‘Do it?’

‘Yes. The deed.’ Gregory gave a nod and a wink. Lucy appeared baffled. Clearly there was a need to clarify. Gregory released Lucy and cleared his throat. ‘Did you go to bed with him?’

‘Well obviously.’

‘Oh.’

‘What did you expect me to say?’

‘I was hoping it was nothing more than a flirtation.’

Lucy gave him an incredulous look. ‘Hardly.’ And then Lucy registered the distressed look on Gregory’s face. ‘If it’s any consolation, we didn’t have sex very often, and certainly there has been no action at all since I met you.’

‘Well,’ Gregory gave a small smile, ‘I suppose I should be flattered. And what about Rosie? Didn’t she mind?’

‘Of course not! I rather suspect Rosie couldn’t stand the man.’

‘It’s still pretty magnanimous of her – letting you bonk her husband.’

Lucy stared at Gregory. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about Dave Perfect. That’s why you’re distraught, isn’t it?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘Gregory, I’m upset because my fiancé and I are no long an item. The wedding is off.’

Gregory’s jaw dropped. ‘What? Why?’

‘Because I suspected he was having an affair with another woman – Tracey. However, Tracey turned out to be Terry’s alter ego.’ When Gregory continued to look puzzled, Lucy couldn’t help but give a ghost of a smile. ‘Do I have to spell it out? Terry is a transvestite. And I’m not marrying a cross-dresser.’

‘Blimey,’ Gregory realised he was gawping. He shut his mouth. ‘Lucy, I’m so sorry.’ He pulled her into his arms again.

‘Not as sorry as me,’ Lucy snuffled into Gregory’s shoulder. ‘I have umpteen people to notify, a million wedding presents to send back, a zillion bridesmaids dresses gone to waste, not to mention a wedding dress that cost three grand which I’ll never ever wear.’

‘Did you love him very much?’

Lucy looked up. She had the grace to look shame-faced. ‘Honestly? No. Don’t get me wrong. I’m very fond of Terry. But I cared more about the getting married bit, and knowing he was rich enough for me to give up work and settle down to have some babies before the biological alarm clock went off. I don’t suppose I’ll ever have any kids now either. Life is getting peachier by the second,’ Lucy sighed. ‘And anyway, thinking about it realistically, it would never have worked. You see,’ she looked Terry in the eye, ‘I realise now that I’m totally in love with somebody else.’

Gregory’s heart rate began to pick up. ‘Really?’ he croaked.

‘Really.’

‘And, do you mind me asking who this person is?’

Lucy hesitated. She didn’t want to send Gregory running a hundred miles in the opposite direction. He’d been married before, after all. Twice no less. The poor man probably just wanted – at most – a no-strings attached, sex only, relationship. Well, if that’s what he wanted, she was up for it. But she had to tell him how she felt. This time she needed to be true to herself. ‘The man I’m in love with is…you.’

And suddenly she was being squashed into Gregory’s broad chest and could hardly breathe.

‘Oh, Lucy, you’ve just made me the happiest bloke on this planet.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I think I fell in love with you the minute you propositioned me in The Cavendish Club.’

‘Hmm, I seem to remember you being devastated it wasn’t me and a bunch of hens!’

‘I only had eyes for you,’ Gregory assured. ‘Come on,’ he took her by the hand and led her into the kitchen. ‘I think we should celebrate. There’s a bottle of champagne in the fridge somewhere.’

Lucy pulled out a tall stool and perched, elbows leaning on the immaculate granite worktop. What a day. As she watched Gregory crack open the champagne, she felt a plethora of emotions wash over her. She’d lost her fiancé, but found true love. There was a pang of sorrow about Terry and the lost wedding, but actually the overriding emotion was one of relief. And as she gazed at Gregory pouring ice-cold champagne into two flutes, she felt her whole being light up. This was what euphoria felt like!

‘This is my perfect moment,’ she smiled, accepting a glass of bubbly.

‘To us. To perfectness!’

Lucy giggled. ‘Talking of things that are perfect, I must ring Rosie. She isn’t going to believe this! Which reminds me. What on earth was that misunderstanding over Dave Perfect all about? And why did Rosie and Matt call you?’

Gregory’s face fell. ‘Oh, my goodness. You don’t know, do you?’

‘Know what?’

‘I’m so sorry, Lucy, but I have some bad news.’

Chapter Thirty-One

 

Rosie plunged the cleaning brush into one of Luke’s milk bottles and gave it a good swish. She should have been starting work at Gregory Tibor’s factory today. Instead she was standing at Matt Palmer’s kitchen sink. In fact, if things had gone to plan, at this precise moment she probably would have been rolling a chunk of dog food around her mouth. Thank heavens Gregory Tibor had been so understanding, and the dog food taster job was still hers.

Rinsing the bottle under the hot tap, Rosie’s thoughts turned to Lucy. They’d spoken at length last night; both of them shrieking and squawking as they’d shared their respective tragedies of a dead husband and a cross-dressing fiancé, a murderous loan shark and a cancelled wedding. Still, it wasn’t all bad news. Lucy had run true to form and moved on at the speed of light. Gregory Tibor was her new love interest. Rosie sighed. She hoped it all worked out for her friend. Meanwhile there was a funeral to arrange.

Rosie transferred six bottles to the sterilising machine. Luke was gurgling happily in his playpen, two chubby fists tightly gripping a plastic car. Matt’s voice drifted down the hallway. Rosie could hear him talking to the Illegal Money Lending Team. As soon as he was off the phone, she’d get the ball rolling on the life insurance policy and then speak to the undertakers to progress the funeral arrangements. Rosie supposed she’d better ring her mother too. She switched on the sterilising machine, then reached for the kettle. A strong coffee was required in order to deal with the mere thought of talking to Hester.

Matt wandered into the kitchen. ‘If you’re making, I’ll have one too.’ He nodded at the kettle.

‘Sure.’ Rosie reached for two mugs from the cupboard. She was finding herself ridiculously at home, already knowing where everything was kept. Don’t get too comfortable, Rosie. As soon as this loan shark business is sorted out, it’s back to North London for you. Although she supposed she’d sell Dave’s house once normal life was resumed. There was nothing to keep her there. Apart from Karen. If she moved, Rosie would miss her lovely neighbour. Matt interrupted her thoughts.

‘The Money Lending Team is up to speed with everything. I spoke to a chap called Phil Warner. He has Mr Shark’s number and is going to run some checks on it. He works with an informant, and it might be that the informant recognises the mobile number. Phil Warner is currently assisting another gambling victim who lives close to your London address. Apparently he owes a similar amount of money to Dave. This chap has told Phil he was playing high stakes at an illegal club. It was known as ‘Pete’s Poker Parlour’. Seemingly the club was busted, and Pete has gone to ground. Phil has a description of this Pete chap. Phil is also going to talk to this other victim and see if he recognises your husband’s name. If so, it starts to dramatically narrow things down. Meanwhile, Phil’s team have put together an identity sketch which has been passed on to the police. It would be very neat if this turns out to be the same guy who has been hassling you.’

Rosie looked thoughtful as she placed two coffees on the kitchen table. ‘Did you tell Phil Warner I want to pay Mr Shark off?’

‘Yes, and he said absolutely no way do you even consider doing such a thing. The guy was illegally operating – no licence. He also reiterated that gambling debts ceased on Dave’s death.’

‘And what about Mr Shark wanting Luke? I can’t just sit back and risk my son being abducted.’

‘The advice is to do nothing, and just sit tight. After all, Mr Shark doesn’t know where you are right now. You’re not at work, and you’re not in North London. You’ve gone to ground – just like him.’

Rosie took a sip of her coffee. ‘I’ll feel a lot better when this man is caught.’

‘And he will be – soon.’ Matt swallowed his coffee down. ‘I’m going to have to get to work. Will you be all right?’

‘Yes. I have a list of things to do, starting with telephoning the undertaker. I suppose I also,’ Rosie heaved a sigh, ‘better give my mother an update.’

‘Ah. Good luck with that,’ Matt smiled. ‘Send Hester my best wishes.’

‘Hmm. I think not. She’d probably have a coronary, and then I’d be arranging two funerals.’

Matt rubbed his hands together mischievously. ‘Ooh, buy one, get one free.’

‘Very droll.’

‘Made you smile though, didn’t it!’

Rosie’s grin broadened, and Matt thought how lovely she looked. A man could get lost in that smile. Pack it in, Matt, and go and find your briefcase.

Luke began to grizzle. Rosie put her coffee down, and scooped up the little boy.

‘Are you popping another tooth?’ She jiggled him on her hip. ‘Let’s see Matt off and then we’ll give you some pain relief for those naughty gums.’ Rosie followed Matt out to the apartment’s hallway.

‘You’ll be safe here.’ Matt picked up his briefcase. ‘Just make yourself at home. Stay in, and relax.’ He pulled open the front door. Warm sunlight spilled into the hallway.

‘It looks like a beautiful day,’ said Rosie. ‘I might take Luke out later, and have a stroll around the grounds.’

‘Some fresh air will do the pair of you good. The whole place is walled and there are electric gates. Anybody coming in and out needs the code.’

Rosie nodded. ‘We’ll be fine.’

Matt nodded and stepped out into the sunshine. He had a ridiculous urge to kiss Rosie good-bye, like a husband would with his wife. He smiled at Luke, and blew him a kiss instead.

‘See you later.’

Rosie took Luke’s hand and waggled it up and down. ‘Bye-bye, say bye-bye, Luke.’ Oh to have had that kiss directed at her. She made Luke’s hand do a final wave and then closed the door. Right, to work. Luke’s grizzling turned into a full scale howl. Okay, liquid Paracetamol first, and then to work.

 

Two hours later and Rosie was feeling slightly frazzled. Luke had been very fractious and it had taken a while for the sugary pain relief to kick in. She’d pushed his buggy around forty acres of communal gardens and not come across a single human being. Clearly many of the apartment conversions here were lock-up-and-leaves. Rosie let herself back into Matt’s apartment, grateful it was on the ground floor and that she didn’t have to cart the pushchair up a flight of stairs. Luke had finally quietened down and looked ready for a nap. Good. She’d be able to ring the undertaker without a baby shrieking his head off.

Walking into their bedroom, she lay Luke down in his cot. The room was south facing and had the full blast of the beautiful Spring sunshine. Rosie drew the curtains, but decided to open the window and let in some fresh air. When she turned around, Luke was fast asleep. Exhaling with relief, she tiptoed from the room.

Picking up the phone, Rosie wandered into the lounge. Both calls turned out to be relatively straightforward. It transpired that while she’d been running away from loan sharks, the wheels of administration had been silently turning in the background. The death had been registered, paperwork completed, and Dave’s body had been released by the police to the funeral parlour. There were no suspicious circumstances. His demise was an accident. Half an hour later, she put the phone down with a slightly shaking hand. Sighing with relief, she sank down into the depths of one of Matt’s sofas. Regarding the life policy, she simply needed to provide a copy of the death certificate. As far as the funeral fees were concerned, the director was happy to invoice her and await payment following release of the life policy funds. Thank God for that. The funeral was scheduled for Friday. Rosie thought she’d better speak to Hester. She made herself pause, and took some deep breaths. Forcing herself not to hyperventilate, she distracted herself by letting her eyes travel around Matt’s tasteful lounge, briefly admiring the vast ornamental mirror hanging over the fireplace. Feeling calmer, she picked up the phone.

‘Hello, Mum?’

‘Oh,’ Hester sniffed, ‘it’s you.’

‘How are you?’ Rosie gritted her teeth. Surely it should be her mother enquiring after her?

‘Doing my best to bear up under the circumstances. Are you still with that awful man?’

Rosie could feel her hackles going up. ‘Listen, Mum, that awful man has been an absolute rock. I don’t know what Luke or I would have done without him. Not only has he helped me get a decent job, he’s sorted out some really unsavoury mess that Dave left behind. And thanks to him, your grandson and I are currently living in a safe haven.’

‘A safe haven!’ Hester snorted. ‘Is that what you call your love nest? I haven’t told the gels what you’ve been up to. Goodness knows what it could do to Gertrude. Probably cause her to have a stroke. And it would play havoc with Catherine’s angina.’

‘Mum, for the last time I’m not having an affair with–’

‘I refuse to discuss it,’ Hester interrupted. ‘So, what’s this wonderful new job?’

‘I’m working as a product tester at–’

‘A product tester!’ Hester gasped. ‘That actually sounds very respectable. Better than being a charlady anyway. I suppose you’re testing cosmetics.’

‘No, actually, it’s–’

‘Perfume. That’s fine, Rosie. Nothing to be ashamed of. And I expect you’ll get free samples and massive discounts.’

‘Only if you’re a dog.’

‘Well really, Rosie, there’s no need to be rude. Although Marjory Jones at the local WI is a total and utter bitch, and most definitely off my Christmas card list. Did I tell you about the time we all made jam, and she said mine was okay if you liked syrup?’

‘Yes, many times over, Mum. Can we just get back on track for a minute? I need to talk to you about Dave’s funeral.’

At the mention of Dave’s name, Hester let out a squawk of distress. ‘Oh, Dave! Poor, poor, Dave. I cannot believe my lovely son-in-law is sitting in a mortuary.’

‘He’s not. He’s lying in a Chapel of Rest. The funeral is this Friday.’

‘So soon?’

‘There was a cancellation.’ Rosie had got slightly giggly when the funeral director had told her that. “Was the client not dead after all? Ah ha ha ha!” There had been a stunned pause before the director had replied, “I believe the family of the deceased chose a more convenient location.” Rosie cringed at the memory. Recently she’d caught herself laughing a few times at things that weren’t remotely funny. She assumed it was stress.

‘Well I hope you’ve booked a car for me to travel in.’

‘You can travel with me, Mum.’

‘And the gels. They’ll want to come. Gertrude and Catherine thought Dave was marvellous.’

Rosie couldn’t remember a time when Gertrude or Catherine had ever properly even met Dave. Unless you counted the time Dave had lurched home, blotto, walked into the bathroom where the gels had been dabbing lavender water behind their ears, and proceeded to drunkenly relieve himself in front of them both. He’d then zipped up, staggered out of the bathroom and passed out on the landing. Hester hadn’t been remotely fazed. “Dear Dave has been working so hard, he’s absolutely exhausted.”

‘Now what about flowers? I think roses. Red of course. So graceful.’

‘The funeral parlour works in partnership with a florist. It’s all in hand.’

‘And make sure there is a really super high tea afterwards, Rosie. Remember, for people like myself and the gels, this is a day out.’

‘Yes, Mum.’ Rosie gritted her teeth and let her eyes return to the vast ornamental mirror hanging over the fireplace. ‘Right, much to do, so I must go.’

‘Me too. All this talk about funerals has made me feel most depressed. I’m going to have to lie down.’

‘Good-bye, Mum.’ Rosie disconnected the call. She wondered whether to watch a bit of television. Jeremy Kyle was probably on. There was always somebody in a television studio worse off than yourself. Spotting the remote control at her feet, she leant forward and picked it up. Rosie pointed it at the television, but nothing happened. Ah, hang on. Perhaps you had to press the button on top of the telly first? She stood up to walk over to the television, but was distracted by a reflection in the ornamental mirror. But instead of seeing just herself, there was a second person standing in the doorway behind her. A swarthy looking man. And he was holding Luke.

Chapter Thirty-Two

 

Terry glanced at his wristwatch. Eleven in the morning. He was usually behind his London desk before seven. By now he was typically working on adrenalin, the morning rushing by in a blur as he used his investment bank’s funds to take bets on which way he thought the price of a product was going. Terry had all sorts of futures contracts lined up. In fast-changing markets, profits could be wiped out in seconds. It was a stressful job. One wrong move and your reputation could be destroyed, and your job gone. Sometimes the back office had thought a position too risky and told Terry to close it, but generally his calculations paid off. He’d made millions all round, and picked up vast bonuses on top of his half-a-million-pounds a-year salary. Terry had always had Lady Luck on his side. He’d considered Tracey to be his Lady Luck. Except now his luck had run out.

Terry hadn’t gone to work today. He’d spent yesterday evening talking to a colleague about taking over his desk for today. There was no way he could have gone to the bank and carried on like nothing had happened. His concentration was shot to pieces. Losing his fiancée was a blow. But having his beloved Tracey exposed was like being blasted in the solar plexus. He just hadn’t been ready for it!

Heaving a sigh, Terry made his way up to the loft room. He could hear Tracey calling to him. Pushing open the door, he went into the room. Tracey’s room.

‘Are we going out today?’ she asked.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘I know what’s happened, Terry.’

‘There’s no hiding anything from you, is there, my darling!’

‘And if you want my opinion–’

‘I don’t.’

‘Well I’m going to give it to you anyway. I’m glad Lucy knows.’

‘I’ve lost my fiancée.’

‘Sure. But you’ve also gained freedom.’

‘How do you work that out?’

‘Because she’ll blabber. Lucy will confide in so-and-so who will tell what’s-her-name, and she’ll tell her best friend who will tell her mother who will tell her neighbour–’

‘Yes, I get the picture,’ Terry snapped.

‘Let gossip take its course,’ said Tracey gently, ‘although you can be discreet in whom you privately tell. But personally I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of.’

‘Tracey,’ Terry sighed heavily, ‘there’s such a word as discretion.’

‘Pah!’ Tracey snorted. ‘What century are you living in? People are “coming out” all the time. Olympic divers. Female actresses.’

‘Yeah – gay guys and girls, not bloody trannies. I can’t exactly waltz you into work with a handbag on my arm, can I?’

Tracey winced. ‘I’m not asking you to do that.’

‘Well what are you suggesting then? Because I’m fresh out of ideas!’

‘Just be yourself. Terry Chandler. A man who just happens to be in touch with his feminine side.’

Terry sank down on the floor and put his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know what to do. I can’t give you up.’

‘Then don’t. You’ve invested so much emotional energy in me…dressing me up…acting me out. And then there’s the sexual side–’

‘Which is simply masturbating,’ Terry cut in angrily.

‘Actually it’s more than that, Terry, and you know it. You don’t have the inconvenience of dealing with a real woman who might provide you with a failure, or some disconfirmation of your masculine identity.’

‘Whoa, now you’re talking gobbledegook to me.’

‘I read about it on-line somewhere.’

‘Right.’ Terry rubbed his hands over his face, as if to rub away the conversation going on in his head.

‘It was fun doing the play acting with the texting between us.’

‘Now that was a risk,’ Terry sighed. ‘It’s obvious it was Lucy who sent that text message. She must have found my other mobile phone. Ah well. The secret’s out now, eh? But, actually, I’m starting not to care. After all, I’m not a criminal. What I’m doing isn’t hurting anybody.’

‘Of course not!’

‘In fact,’ Terry hauled himself up and squared his shoulders, ‘sod ‘em! Sod the lot of them!’

‘Yay! Amen to all that.’

‘Let’s celebrate.’

‘Absolutely!’

‘Shall we go out?’

‘I thought you’d never ask!’

Chapter Thirty-Three

 

When Matt walked into Gregory’s office, he had a rehearsed pep talk outlining all the reasons why Gregory should close the Leeds factory. He was anticipating his client being in despair over the suggestion. Instead Gregory was sitting at his desk with a stupid grin on his face.

‘Matthew! Come in, come in. Sit down,’ Gregory indicated the chair by his desk. ‘What a weekend, eh! Have you recovered from yours?’

‘It’s been a bit of a stinker, what with Rosie’s husband meeting his maker and leaving her with one unholy mess to clear up. It’s not really my place to elaborate, but that girl has a lot on her plate at the moment.’

‘Well she doesn’t have to worry about the job. It will still be here waiting for her.’

‘That’s very good of you, Gregory.’

‘And it’s very good of you,’ Gregory opened his eyes wide, feigning innocence, ‘to take Rosie under your protective wing.’

Matt gave Gregory an even look. ‘She’s got problems. I’m simply helping out.’

‘Of course you are.’

‘A bit like you, eh?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. I gather you’re giving Lucy a pair of broad shoulders to weep all over.’

‘Her relationship breakdown is nothing to do with me,’ said Gregory looking indignant.

‘You’re a very likeable chap, Gregory, but at the end of the day you’ve lured away the fiancée of one of my best mates.’

‘Nonsense! The guy had this thing going on with Tracey.’

‘Oh that!’ Matt gave a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘It was a dalliance. He promised me he was going to see her one more time – presumably to tell her it was all over – and then he’d be giving her up for good.’

Gregory gave Matt an odd look. ‘You knew about Tracey?’

‘Well, not properly. Lucy had a bee in her bonnet about another woman being on the scene, and I said I’d have a discreet word with Terry. It was probably just pre-wedding nerves. A final fling.’

‘A fling? I’d be more inclined to call it a fetish. What a weirdo.’

Matt paused and looked at Gregory. ‘What’s weird about it? Lots of guys do it. Especially before they get married.’

Gregory made a pfft noise. ‘I’ve been married twice before, mate. Trust me, prior to my weddings I never took to shoving my size tens into a pair of Louboutins and driving around in a frilly dress.’

Matt stared incredulously at Gregory. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Tracey! She was – and still is – Terry’s alter ego.’

‘Alter–?’

‘He’s a transvestite. Tracey the Tranny!’

Matt stared at Gregory, gobsmacked. In his mind he found himself flipping back through pages of memory, to the soirée at Terry’s house. Of promising Lucy he would have a discreet word with Terry about a woman called Tracey. And of Terry paling and looking mortified. “Were you at Knole Park? Is that how you found out?” And Matt touching his friend’s arm and telling him not to distress himself. “I feel so embarrassed. And ashamed. But it’s like an addiction, Matt. A drug.”

Terry must have gone out to Knole Park and got sussed. Matt would have to ring him up. Poor guy. On top of losing his fiancée, he now had the indignity of deeply personal stuff being made public. Matt shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.

‘I think Terry’s private life is exactly that. Private.’ He referred to the papers before him, indicating the subject was at a close. ‘Let’s review the proposals for the factory in Leeds.’

 

An hour later, Matt was in his BMW and heading back to Penshurst. Gregory had accepted every commercial solution with no protest. The guy’s mind had been elsewhere. Clearly Terry’s loss was Gregory’s gain. Matt sighed. It was none of his business. However, Terry was a good mate. He wondered how on earth the man was bearing up.

Matt touched the BMW’s voice command.

‘Call Terry Chandler.’

Seconds later the sound of a ring tone filled the cabin.

‘Hello?’

‘Tel. It’s Matt.’

‘How’re you doing, buddy?’

‘Yeah, so-so. Listen, I’m not going to beat about the bush. I hear the wedding’s off. Are you okay?’

Terry let out a sigh. ‘Surprisingly, I don’t feel too bad. A bit sad I suppose. After all, I cared a lot about Lucy.’

‘Cared? Isn’t that a bit of a wishy-washy word for the woman you are meant to love and adore?’

‘I guess so,’ said Terry bleakly. ‘I did love her, Matt, but not enough to change and be the person she wanted me to be. I can’t give Tracey up. And if you really love someone, then you’ll go that extra half mile for them. And I’m not prepared to. I like dressing up as a woman, Matt. I still like being a man, don’t get me wrong. I don’t feel like I’m trapped in the wrong body or anything like that. The bottom line is I happen to get comfort out of it. And I’m not hurting anybody.’

‘Mate, I couldn’t care less if you dress up as a gorilla or a Smurf. As long as you still like a beer, that’s good enough for me.’

‘Oh I do, Matt, I do,’ Terry said perking up. ‘Shall we have a jar together soon?’

‘Sounds like a plan. Listen, Tel, I have to go. Rosie’s ringing in.’

‘Ah, yes, Rosie. The woman who likes doing strange things with bowls of fruit. You see! I’m not alone.’

Matt grinned. ‘I think we need to have a chat about that at some point. I’ll catch you later, mate.’ He ended the call and accepted the incoming one. Matt felt his heart lift with the anticipation of hearing Rosie’s voice. He imagined her saying, “Hi, darling. I was just calling to see what time you’d be home. You see, I’m missing you.” That’s enough of that, Matthew. Stop daydreaming.

‘Hi, Rosie. How’s it going?’

There was a pause. And then the caller spoke.

‘It’s going just fine, Captain Marvel.’

Matt nearly drove up the backside of a lorry.
 

Chapter Thirty-Four

 

Rosie was in a state of terror. From the moment she’d encountered the swarthy looking man holding her son, her heart rate had gone berserk. Buckets of adrenalin had been whooshing around her body for what seemed like an eternity. She had alternated from sweating to shaking, to feeling petrified and impotent. Every part of her being cried out to attack the man with one of the many lamps dotted around Matt’s lounge, but she didn’t dare risk it for fear of the man harming Luke. Her mind darted back to the moment she’d discovered she wasn’t alone.

‘Thanks for leaving a window open in your bedroom, Rosie. It makes debt collecting so much easier when I can gain access.’ The shark had nodded at Luke in his arms. ‘This is such a lovely little boy you have.’

‘I beg you, don’t hurt him,’ Rosie had pleaded.

‘Hurt him? Why would I hurt him? He’s worth money. Nobody wants damaged goods, do they?’

‘Give him to me, please.’ Rosie, still clutching the remote control in one hand, had held her arms out.

‘No, Rosie. No, you may not have him. However, keep holding your arms up. Yes, like that. Reach out for your son, Rosie.’

‘What is this? Some sick mind game?’

‘Maybe. You see, I’m wondering whether to break your arms, Rosie. You won’t be able to hold your son then, will you? What should it be? Arms, or legs?’

Rosie had instantly dropped her arms and backed away. Slowly the man had started to edge towards her. She’d positioned herself so that an armchair was between the two of them. Luke, sensing tension, had started to grizzle.

‘Please, put my son down. He’s teething and miserable at the moment. He needs his mummy.’

‘I have a new mummy all lined up for him. Your boy is coming with me. This evening he’ll be on a plane to America. I have a courier all set to deliver him, false passport, the works.’

At that point Rosie had started screaming. She’d not been able to help herself. She’d had no idea if anybody would hear, given that so many of these apartments were second homes and the occupants seemed to be elsewhere. Even though a voice in her head had implored her to be quiet because she wasn’t helping the situation, the fact remained that, unlike the remote control, she didn’t have a stop button. Her shrieks and cries of distress had reverberated around the lounge, thoroughly unsettling Luke so that he’d joined in the cacophony. The shark had dropped him like a hot coal, and the little boy had tumbled down into the armchair between Rosie and her tormentor. In a flash, the shark had produced a gun.

‘Shut the fuck up, bitch, or I’ll silence you forever.’

Rosie had clamped both hands and the remote control over her mouth.

‘Now pick up that screaming brat of yours and make him quiet.’

Trembling violently, her eyes not leaving the shark’s face, she’d craned forward and grabbed Luke, before smartly leaping back again. Luke had instantly quietened.

‘That’s better. Now listen to me, Rosie, and listen carefully. Your dearly departed hubby owed me a lot of money. I don’t give a shit if the law says the debt died with him. I’m out of pocket, and I’m looking to you to reimburse me. And swiftly. Got it?’

‘I-I told you,’ Rosie had stuttered, ‘there’s a life policy. I spoke to the insurance company today. It’s in hand. I can give you a cheque–’

‘I don’t do cheques, you stupid cow,’ the shark had roared, ‘I do cash. Hard cash.’

‘O-okay. I will give you the cash. I will draw it all out.’

‘But when, Rosie? These things take time. Too much time.’

‘I-I’ll tell the insurance company it’s an emergency.’

‘And what about your house?’

Rosie had looked blankly at the shark.

‘Have you yet instructed an estate agent about the sale of your house, Rosie?’ The shark had noted Rosie’s stricken face. ‘Ah, I thought not. Where’s the sense of urgency, Rosie? Did you have no intention of putting the house on the market? Did you think I’d go away now that you’ve been in touch with the police?’

‘I-it’s only Monday,’ Rosie stammered, ‘I-I’ve had an awful lot to deal with – like arranging a funeral.’

‘I appreciate that. But, with respect, that’s not my problem. This is a nice pad you’re staying in. I take it the place belongs to Captain Marvel? Your boyfriend is clearly worth a few quid, Rosie. I think he’s perfectly able to make an interim payment, don’t you?’

‘H-he’s not my boy–’

‘Shut up. I need to do some thinking. I feel stressed.’ The shark had raked his hair with one hand, but had thankfully put the gun away. ‘Let’s wait for your boyfriend to come home. Meanwhile, put the telly on.’

Rosie had darted over to the television and pressed the on button, before stabbing the remote control. The shark had made himself comfortable on a sofa, while Rosie repositioned herself with the armchair, like a shield, in front of her. The shark had refused her permission to leave the room. Luke had grizzled and complained at missing his dinner, and finally nodded off again on her shoulder. The remainder of the afternoon had passed in a surreal state with an old Christmas special of Only Fools and Horses playing on the screen. As the signature tune kicked in and the titles came up, the shark turned to Rosie.

‘Turn it off.’

Rosie did as she was told. The telephone handset, which Rosie had abandoned earlier after her phone call to Hester, was still on the sofa and next to the shark. He picked it up.

‘What’s your boyfriend’s number? I want to speak to him.’

And now, all Rosie could do was listen to the shark giving his orders to Matt. From the conversation this end, she could only hazard a guess at what Matt was saying.

‘It was a piece of cake finding you, Captain Marvel. You see, men like you might think you are superheroes, but you’re not. You believe you’ve got brains, but you haven’t. You rushed off to the police, without even checking your rear view mirror as to who might be following you. And then you zoomed down here, thinking you were safe, when what you actually did was show me where you live. I know so much about you, Captain Marvel. Where you work. Who you visit. Even where some of your friends live. You’re worth a fortune, pal. So is that geyser mate of yours over in Sevenoaks. The one that likes tootling around in a frock. What’s that all about? Actually, don’t tell me, I’m not interested. I just want my money. Let’s call it a nice round two hundred-and-fifty grand and then I promise I’ll go away and leave you two lovebirds in peace.’ There was a pause. When the shark spoke again his voice was harsh. ‘What do you mean you don’t have that sort of money? Of course you can get your hands on it, Captain Marvel. You’ve probably got a Swiss bank account with a tidy sum tucked away. And I’ll bet that doggy dinner factory you drive to every day has more than ten pounds in the petty cash box, not to mention financial assistance from your weird mate, Mrs Doubtfire. I’m sure he – or should I say she? – will help a pal out. Who knows what other secrets are hidden in her bloomers…maybe a key to a safe? Now what I suggest is that I take Rosie’s dear little lad with me for insurance and–’

Rosie could feel her knees buckling. She couldn’t take much more of this. As she sank down to the floor, Luke still in her arms, she vowed she would do everything in her power to stop this vile man from taking her son.

‘Oh dear, Captain Marvel, it seems as though your girlfriend is swooning, but for all the wrong reasons.’

Upon hearing the shark’s words, a light bulb went on in Rosie’s head. As she hit the carpet, she curled herself over Luke and made sure the hand holding the remote control was flung outwards across the carpet. She was ninety-nine per cent sure the shark wouldn’t shoot either her or Luke. He wanted his money – and he wanted Luke for insurance.

‘Keep your cape on, Captain Marvel. She’s simply fainted. Hang on a minute, I need to take that baby off her.’

The shark walked over to Rosie and nudged her with his foot. Rosie allowed her torso to roll away from Luke. Keeping her eyelashes lowered, she watched as the shark bent down to pick up her son – and in that moment Rosie turned into a lioness protecting her cub. Gripping the remote control, she brought up her arm and smashed the gadget with all her might against the back of the shark’s head.

The shark grunted in pain. ‘You fucking little–’

Rosie didn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence. She smashed the remote control against his head again, and sprang to her feet. Now she had the advantage – she was standing over him. The shark abandoned trying to pick Luke up and instead twisted around. An arm shot out as he tried to grab her ankle in an attempt to pull her over. Rosie jumped smartly out of the way and aimed a hard kick up the shark’s backside. Her foot connected with soft parts and the shark bellowed with pain, both hands shooting down to clutch his vitals. As he writhed in agony, Rosie danced around him, moving back up to his head. Leaning over him she rained down more blows with the remote control. Such was her force, the remote control’s back came off and the batteries flew out. Luke was now screaming his head off at all the commotion. But Rosie couldn’t pick him up. Not yet. She had a shark to dispose of. She bashed, and bashed, and bashed some more. Now she’d broken skin on the shark’s forehead. Blood was pouring into his hair.

Rosie was panting with exertion, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t dare. Even though the shark was no longer moving.

Chapter Thirty-Five

 

Matt was driving as fast as he dared. The BMW shot off the A21 and joined the Bidborough Ridge. He was only three or four minutes from home now. What a nightmare journey. One moment the shark had been coldly demanding money and instructing Matt to obtain it by any means available – even calling upon friends like Terry if need be – and in the next all hell had broken loose.

‘Rosie? Rosie? For God’s sake, Rosie, talk to me!’

All Matt could hear was Luke’s background screams which were punctuated by the closer grunting noises of Rosie and thwack, thwack, thwack. Matt dithered. He didn’t know whether to stay on the line and wait for the shark to possibly speak to him again, or hang up and phone the police. If he hung up, he’d risk losing a connection to the shark and keeping track of where he was. He opted to stay connected.

Matt was outside the grounds to his apartment now. He waited impatiently for the electric gates to slowly swing back on their hinges. As soon as the aperture was wide enough, he hit the accelerator. The back wheels spewed shingle as the vehicle shot forward. Slinging the steering wheel to the left, Matt let the vehicle bounce down the gravel track towards his apartment block.

Abandoning the car, Matt raced along the shrub-lined pathways that took him up to his apartment’s front door. Rosie’s bedroom window faced this side, towards him...and it was wide open. Matt skidded to a halt outside. The curtain was flapping gently in the down draft. He paused to listen, but all he could hear was his own heart banging away in his eardrums. A part of him now wished he had called the police. Just what the hell was he going to find in there? Matt hesitated. Maybe the shark was lying in wait for him, for the moment when the sound of a key slid into the front door’s barrel lock, in which case perhaps he should surprise the shark by silently entering the apartment through the bedroom window? Matt made his decision. Leaning in, he grabbed hold of the curtain and stuck one leg over the windowsill. His foot connected with the ground and, jiggling about, he carefully lifted his other leg in. However, he didn’t get very far. The trouser material had caught on something. Matt hopped about trying to free his raised leg. Ouch! The fabric must have caught on a small nail. Geez. If the shark came in the bedroom right now and found him like this, he’d be very vulnerable. He made his decision – sod the suit. Clutching the curtain for dear life, Matt did his best to shake off the nail. There was a ripping sound as fabric began to tear, and finally a small pop as the nail released. But Matt’s balance was upset. As he wobbled about on one leg trying to get his other leg through the window, he found himself staggering backwards. There was a moment where the curtain went taut and he almost recovered his footing, but then the rail broke away from its fixings and once again he was flailing about. As he toppled backwards, engulfed in metres of damask, the curtain pole bounced off the window sill making enough noise to wake the dead.

Horrified, Matt fought his way out of the curtains and hastily crawled on all fours to Luke’s empty cot. Ducking down, he almost curled into a ball. Peering through the underside of the cot, he half expected to see a pair of male legs appear in the bedroom doorway. Matt was now dripping in sweat while his heart seemed to be doing gymnastics against his ribcage. He held his breath, with the sensation that the apartment was doing likewise, to see what, if anything, happened next. A minute passed. And then two. He made himself wait until a full three minutes had elapsed.

Slowly, Matt straightened up. There was nobody here. The apartment was empty. Indeed, the silence was so profound, it almost hurt his ears. He let out a shaky breath. Right, no more messing about. He’d do a quick recce of the apartment, and then call the police. At the end of the day Mr Shark had clearly broken into the apartment – the open window told him that much – and dragged Rosie and Luke off with him. Matt’s guts twisted at the thought of Rosie and Luke being in the shark’s clutches. There wasn’t another moment to lose. To hell with this man trying to wreck their lives! As Matt strode towards the open bedroom door, his foot connected with an unseen plastic toy car. It squashed into the carpet letting out a comical beep. Matt stooped to pick it up. If that shark had harmed Luke in any way, Matt would personally seek him out and inflict serious damage. For a moment he was surprised at the fierce wave of protectiveness that engulfed him. He could totally identify with parents who aimed they would harm someone to protect their child.

Matt stepped into the hallway, and in the split second that followed, he realised he’d severely underestimated a potential opponent. His last thought, as the floor rushed up to greet him, was one of shocked surprise.

Chapter Thirty-Six

 

As Matt fell at her feet, Rosie jumped back in horror. She dropped the remote control and sank to her knees.

‘Matt? Oh, dear God, please don’t let Matt die too.’

Rosie was shaking like an aspen. She couldn’t take any more of this. A dead pig, a dead husband, a dead loan shark, and now a dead landlord. How was she going to explain everything to the police? Rosie stuffed a fist into her mouth. She’d go to prison for this. Luke would be taken away from her. And her mother would go berserk and demand how she would ever be able to hold her head up high in front of the gels again.

‘Ahhh,’ Matt groaned and stirred.

‘Oh, thank you, God, thank you,’ Rosie gibbered.

‘I’m not God.’ Matt touched his head and squinted at her. ‘I’ve told you that before.’

‘I was thanking God that you’re not dead,’ said Rosie, looking at Matt with huge frightened eyes.

Matt hauled himself upright. ‘And happily neither are you. What did you belt me for?’

‘I thought you were something to do with Mr Shark. Reinforcements perhaps.’

‘Reinforcements?’

‘Yes. You know, another member of his horrible gang.’

‘I think he’s a sole operator, Rosie. Sorry if I frightened you. I was trying to be clever and take him by surprise, hence coming through the window rather than the front door. I just made a total hash of it. Where’s Luke?’

‘He’s in his playpen, in the kitchen. He’s safe. I shut the door so that he didn’t have to look at Mr Shark’s body. And I’ve given him a whole box of rusks to keep him quiet. Luke, that is, not Mr Shark. Because he missed his dinner. Luke again, not Mr Shark. But Mr Shark couldn’t have dinner anyway, because he’s dead. He made us watch Only Fools and Horses you see – when he was alive obviously, he couldn’t watch it dead after all,’ Rosie gave a shrill laugh, ‘and Luke was hungry, so–’

‘Rosie, stop! You’re talking gibberish. Where’s the shark gone?’

‘Nowhere. He’s in the lounge.’

‘In the lounge?’ Matt repeated, confused.

‘Yes. I keep trying to tell you. He’s in the lounge. Dead.’

Matt gave the back of his head another rub before properly taking in Rosie’s sweating chalk-like pallor. For a moment there was silence while he digested what she’d said. Then he brushed past her and disappeared down the hallway. Rosie remained rooted to the spot, unsure what to do next. She supposed she’d better phone the police and turn herself in.

‘Get in here,’ Matt shouted.

Rosie scampered down the hallway and into the lounge. Matt was crouched over the shark.

‘He’s not dead, he’s just out cold.’

Relief washed over Rosie. She grabbed the back of a sofa to steady herself. ‘Are you sure? There’s an awful lot of blood.’

‘It’s just broken skin. He’ll have a hell of a headache when he comes round – which could be any minute.’ Matt stood up and hastened over to the large picture windows. Hurriedly, he released the curtains from their decorative tie-backs. Palming the cords, he darted back to the unconscious man. Crouching down, he wrestled the shark’s arms behind his back, and indicated Rosie should assist. ‘Hold his hands together for me. Like this. That’s it.’ In no time at all the shark’s wrists and ankles were tightly bound. Matt leant back on his heels and surveyed his handiwork. ‘He won’t get out of that! He’s a strapping great bloke. How on earth did you knock him out?’

‘I just went berserk with the remote control.’

‘You can say that again,’ Matt touched the back of his own head, ‘I had no idea you could pack such a wallop.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Rosie’s eyes welled. ‘I’ve had the most terrible afternoon. He was so intimidating, and threatening all sorts. By the way, he’s got a gun in his pocket. At one point he aimed it at me. And he said Luke had new parents waiting for him in America. I just took the first opportunity I had to take him out of action.’

At that point the shark let out a loud moan and retched. ‘Oh, my chuffing head. You bitch. I’ll have you for this.’

Matt leant over the shark. ‘Welcome back! This is Captain Marvel speaking, and that little lady over there is Wonder Woman. Take it from me, pal, what she wants to do right now is kick Supervillain butt, so if I were you I’d strongly desist from making threats.’

Looking down at the helpless shark, Rosie suddenly felt empowered. She moved round to the shark’s head and bent down, so he could see her. ‘I would just like to say,’ she began sweetly, ‘that before the police arrive, I want to kick you in the balls one more time.’

The shark paled. ‘No! Please! Why don’t we talk?’ he wheedled. ‘This whole thing is a major misunderstanding. Let’s be civilised and have a nice chat. One day we’ll probably all joke about this!’

‘Save your breath,’ Matt interrupted, ‘the only joke a superhero likes is the punch line.’

Chapter Thirty-Seven

 

Rosie’s eyes fluttered open. Luke was still asleep in his cot, thankfully untroubled by yesterday’s drama. Rosie let out a great, shuddering sigh of relief. She wondered what time it was. Judging by the pale grey light peeking through the curtains, it was still very early.

Matt had fixed the curtain pole and the beautiful drapes were none the worse for wear. Despite the shark’s bloody injury, nothing had spilt on the lounge carpet. The apartment remained as gracefully dressed as it had been before the shark made his illegal entry. Calmness pervaded throughout the place, for which Rosie was very grateful. She stretched luxuriously, happy to know the shark – or Peter Manchester to now give him his correct name – was under arrest and languishing in a police cell.

Phil Warner, from the Illegal Money Lending Team, had been tremendously busy behind the scenes. His informant had confirmed that the mobile number Rosie had been given by the shark, had been used before – when hassling another gambling victim who just happened to live close to the Perfect household. The victim had been interviewed. It transpired that he recognised Dave Perfect’s photograph from the several times Dave had also gambled at ‘Pete’s Poker Parlour’. From descriptions of the proprietor, it hadn’t taken Phil Warner long to link Rosie’s statement with that of the gambling victim and the informant. The police computer had brought up Peter Manchester’s details, which the informant had verified. The team had then raided the shark’s home late last night, arresting his wife, Lorna Manchester, in the process. They’d also seized nearly three-hundred-thousand pounds in cash from his home, as well as a knuckle duster and baseball bat that he’d used to threaten gambling patrons. They estimated that Peter Manchester had made at least two-and-a-half-million through his illegal businesses.

Meanwhile the local police had arrested Peter Manchester in Matt’s apartment. The shark had been screaming blue murder, demanding a lawyer, threatening to sue Rosie for assault, and prosecute Matt for holding him against his will, not to mention taking action against the police for not honouring his ‘human rights’.

‘Shut up,’ one of the cops had barked. ‘As far as we’re concerned, the moment you hopped over the sill of that open window and invaded this home, you gave up your rights. And the fact that you threatened Mrs Perfect with a gun, and were all set to do some human trafficking with her baby, means you’re going down for a very long time.’

A kindly policewoman had given Rosie a number to ring for counselling. Rosie had thanked her, somewhat mechanically, and pocketed the card. She’d recognised that she’d been in shock. Everything had suddenly seemed terribly surreal. All she’d actually wanted was for everybody to go away and leave her alone with her baby. At that point she’d felt as though she’d never be able to let Luke out of her sight again. Matt had been absolutely brilliant. In her eyes he was indeed Captain Marvel. Ultimately, he’d rescued her and Luke.

Last night she’d expected sleep to evade her. Her eyes had kept pinging open and staring at the curtained window, half expecting a thug to appear. Matt had been very alive to her anxiety. He’d knocked on her bedroom door, and stepped into the room bearing hot milk laced with brandy.

‘Just relax,’ Matt had smiled. ‘Everything is fine. It’s all over.’

Rosie had propped herself up against the pillows. Matt had handed her the drink and then perched on the edge of the bed. He’d gazed fondly at Luke slumbering in his cot. ‘The little fella seems to have taken it all in his stride.’

‘Thank God he’s too young to have memories of it.’

Matt had taken her free hand and squeezed it. Rosie had had such a jolt of electricity she’d nearly dropped her mug of hot milk in her lap.

‘You’re still very jumpy,’ Matt had said, ‘but time will heal all this, Rosie. The awful memories will fade.’

‘I’m not sure they will. I keep seeing myself bludgeoning that guy until he stopped moving. I was convinced I’d killed him. You read about have-a-go victims having the law turn on them, so they inadvertently end up in the very jail with the criminals who so casually break the law.’ Rosie’s voice had wobbled as she ploughed on. ‘All I kept thinking about was my baby – having Luke taken away from me. First by the shark, and then – if I’d committed murder – by Social Services.’

‘You were defending both yourself and your child.’

‘I couldn’t stop, Matt. It was awful. It was like somebody had hijacked my body and was working my arm with that remote control in it. I was just filled with this unbelievable surge of strength.’

‘Adrenalin. It’s the fight or flight thing.’

‘In that moment I reckon I would have taken Mike Tyson down.’

‘Who knows, maybe you could have done! You were a mother lion protecting her cub. Any parent will identify with your actions.’

‘But what if he’d died and–’

‘Ssh. Your mind is travelling in circles. Drink your milk.’

So Rosie had drunk her milk and Matt had continued to hold her hand. Every now and again his fingers had reached up and stroked the underside of her wrist. She’d found it both comforting and faintly erotic. Feeling suddenly very self-conscious, she’d thrown the milk down her neck, banging her front tooth on the mug in the process. But Matt hadn’t let go of her hand. So she’d just lain there, propped up against the pillows, feeling faintly ridiculous as his fingers caressed her skin. And Rosie hadn’t known whether it was the brandy in the milk, the strangely intimate wrist stroking, or the tantalising closeness of Matt, but suddenly she’d felt a whoosh of desire shoot through her body.

‘Rosie?’ Matt had whispered huskily.

Her stomach had promptly leapt into her mouth, suddenly making her tongue feel too big. She’d ended up poking it out between her teeth, to give it a bit of room.

‘Yeth?’

A part of her brain had been thinking that if he didn’t stop the wrist stroking, she wouldn’t be accountable for her actions. Surely his fingers must have felt her galloping pulse rate? She’d had an overwhelming urge to whip her hand away from Matt and throw both her arms around his neck. Thank goodness Luke had been in the room, otherwise Matt would have been on the receiving end of not just her lips, but her tonsils too. Instead she’d done her damnedest to keep still, be patient and wait, for heaven’s sake, to see what this gorgeous Adonis had wanted to say.

‘Don’t think me presumptuous–’

‘I won’th, I won’th,’ she’d assured.

‘But you look incredibly–’

‘Yeth?’

‘Hot–’

‘Oh!’

‘–and bothered. So I’ll leave you to get some sleep.’

Disappointment had washed over her. ‘Yeth. Okay.’

‘Oh, and Rosie?’

‘Yeth?’

‘You’ve got a milk moustache.’

And then, just when she was ready to die of embarrassment, he’d leant across her and dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead. Her skin had sizzled all night long.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

 

Slinging back the covers, Rosie got out of bed. She’d drifted back to sleep and had some very strange dreams. Matt had been dressed up as Captain Marvel and she’d been hanging onto his cape and flying all over the universe. And then, he’d taken her to Venus where, bizarrely, he’d transformed into Dave.

‘Whatever are you doing here?’ she’d asked incredulously.

‘I’m your husband, Rosie,’ Dave had said piously. ‘Or have you forgotten that? Even though I’m on the other side of the veil, I’m still your spouse. And I don’t think much of your crush on Matt Palmer.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’ve only just finished sorting out the unspeakable mess you left me in. So how dare you come out with such–’

‘That’s it, Rosie! Get all pink in the face! You always blushed as red as a beetroot when you had something to hide. Fancy him do you? Does he turn you on?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I must confess, Rosie, on Earth you never particularly turned me on. It must be something about the Venus air that is actually now making me feel quite romantic towards you.’

‘Oh, please,’ Rosie had seethed, ‘you wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.’

‘Of course I do,’ Dave had taken a step towards her, ‘let me think of something lovely to tell you,’ his brow had puckered in thought.

Could you just–’ Rosie had made a shooing gesture.

‘Boobs.’

‘Is that meant to be romantic?’

‘Okay. Candlelight boobs.’

‘For God’s sake, just go away!’

‘Aw, come on, Rosie. After all, I’m trying my breast,’ Dave had snickered.

Thankfully she’d woken up at that point. Having a beyond-the-grave grapple with her dead husband was not something Rosie wanted to dwell upon.

Wrapping her dressing gown around her, she padded across the carpet and peered inside the cot. Luke beamed up at her.

‘Hello, darling,’ Rosie cooed. ‘Shall we get you some breakfast?’

Five minutes later Rosie was warming a bottle of milk in the microwave, her mind a million miles away, when Matt came into the kitchen.

‘Morning!’

Rosie nearly took off. ‘Sorry, you made me jump.’

‘Yes, I can see that. Well, it’s hardly surprising given yesterday’s events.’ Matt watched as Rosie took the bottle from the microwave, shook it gently and then tested the temperature on her wrist. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Clearly jittery,’ Rosie sighed. ‘I’m sure my nerves will settle down eventually.’ She lifted Luke out of his playpen and pulled out a chair. Sitting down, she settled the baby into the crook of one arm and let his chubby fingers hold the bottle with her. Thank goodness she was cradling her child, and not some strange woman on the other side of the world. Rosie took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Time would ease the anxieties. It was an old cliché, but nonetheless true.

‘While you’re seeing to Luke, shall I make you a cup of tea and some toast?’

‘Please.’

Matt picked up the kettle and stuck it under the tap. He had the beginnings of an idea forming in his head. Snapping the lid down on the kettle, he flicked the switch and then turned to face Rosie. ‘Listen, I don’t have a busy day today. The work I have can be done from home. I need to check in with a couple of clients, but the rest of the day I can call my own. What about we go somewhere? I think it would do you and Luke good to get out of the apartment.’

Rosie looked up and gave one of her mega-watt grins. Matt felt his stomach constrict. Even sitting there in a tatty old dressing gown, her face devoid of make-up, that smile just lit up the room and transformed her. Stop thinking like that. Get the bread into the toaster.

‘As long as we’re not putting you to any trouble, that would be perfect.’

‘In that case, I shall make sure Mrs and Master Perfect both have the perfect day.’

‘Thank you,’ Rosie inclined her head graciously. ‘Although less of the Mrs Perfect. From now on I want to be known as Ms Perfect. After all,’ she raised an eyebrow, ‘I was separated – albeit briefly – before being widowed.’ Rosie raised her eyes to the ceiling. And wherever you are, Dave, I hope you just took that on board. She frowned. Oh, Lord. I’m talking to a dead person. Perhaps I need some counselling. Maybe I should ring that number the policewoman gave me?

‘Why are you frowning?’

Rosie’s features instantly cleared. ‘No reason.’

‘Good.’ Matt reached for some mugs and slopped some boiling water into them. A minute later the toast popped up. He set about buttering it while Rosie put Luke over her shoulder and gently rubbed the baby’s back. ‘Peanut butter or Marmite?’

‘Marmite please, and lashings of it.’

‘A lady after my own heart,’ Matt smiled as he dipped a knife into the jar. ‘My last girlfriend couldn’t stand the stuff.’

Rosie’s curiosity was piqued. Despite knowing it was none of her business, nosiness got the better of her. ‘Why did you split up?’

Matt turned his attention to the tea and slopped some milk into the mugs. ‘She wanted to get married, and I didn’t.’

‘Oh. Was she very upset?’

‘One could say she was…a little vocal,’ Matt nodded. He removed the teabags from the mugs and chucked them in the bin.

‘Why didn’t you want to marry her?’ Rosie knew she was asking incredibly personal questions now, but she couldn’t stop.

‘It would never have worked.’ Matt turned his attention back to the toast and cut the slices in half. ‘You see, she didn’t like Marmite.’

‘Ah!’ Rosie nodded, and then felt herself colouring up. Whereas she did like Marmite. Was there something unspoken going on here? Surely not! She suddenly felt flustered. ‘Why do you never hear a Marmite joke?’ she blurted.

‘I don’t know,’ said Matt, setting the toast and tea before her, ‘why do you never hear a Marmite joke?’

‘Because they never get mould.’

Matt shook his head sadly. ‘That’s not in the yeast bit funny.’

Rosie grinned. That was better. Get some banter going. And tell your overactive imagination to settle down. ‘Okay, try this one. I made a shopping list once. It started out as butter, jam, and Marmite. That’s when I realised it had changed into a spreadsheet.’

‘A small improvement. You’ll be a comedienne yet, Ms Perfect. Enjoy your breakfast. I’m going to take mine off with me while I make some calls. Let me know when you and Luke are ready. It’s a lovely day out there, and I think a trip to Brighton might be nice.’

‘Sounds good,’ said Rosie, before sinking her teeth into the Marmite toast.

Matt picked up his own breakfast plate and mug of tea and made to the kitchen door. He hesitated a moment, and then turned back to face Rosie. ‘There was another reason I couldn’t marry her,’ he added as an afterthought.

Rosie looked startled. ‘Oh?’

‘I wasn’t in love.’

There was a pause, and then Rosie said, ‘Have you ever been in love?’

Suddenly there was a highly charged silence. Matt bit his lip. ‘Possibly,’ he finally said, ‘just the once.’

Rosie’s hand froze over her Marmite toast. Something strange was going on here. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. ‘Didn’t this…other person… love you?’

‘I never discussed it with her.’

‘Why not?’ Rosie whispered.

Matt gave her an unfathomable look before answering. ‘The timing wasn’t right.’

And then he disappeared through the doorway, leaving Rosie staring after him.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

 

Matt and Rosie arrived in a warm and sunny Brighton just in time for lunch. While Rosie faffed about getting Luke and a vast baby holdall out of the car, Matt busied himself with sorting out the pushchair. Rosie emerged from the car, Luke in her arms, and strapped him into the buggy. Straightening up, she inhaled deeply.

‘Ooh, smell that sea air!’ She closed her eyes, and took a greedy lungful.

‘It’s the best. What would you like to do first?’

Luke immediately began to wail.

‘He’s hungry,’ said Rosie.

‘Then let’s get some grub. I know a lovely restaurant here that does the best fish and chips. It’s even served on greaseproof paper with fake news all over it!’

Fifteen minutes later, a waitress was placing two platters in front of them containing the biggest pieces of battered cod Rosie had ever seen.

‘Can I get you another glass of wine?’ the waitress asked.

‘We’re fine, thanks,’ said Rosie.

Luke was happier now, having guzzled an entire bottle of milk, and was eagerly holding out his little hands for some chips. Matt blew on one several times, before giving it to Luke.

‘Aww. Aren’t you a good daddy,’ the waitress beamed, ‘and what a little smasher!’ She leaned in to Luke and waggled a playful finger. ‘You’re the spitting image of your daddy!’

Rosie went a bit pink, although Matt didn’t correct the waitress. He just smiled and thanked her for their meals.

‘Enjoy,’ she beamed, before turning her attention to another table of patrons.

For a moment Rosie couldn’t think of a thing to say. She felt faintly embarrassed at the waitress thinking Matt was Luke’s father – especially over the resemblance bit.

Although…Rosie glanced at Luke…it was fair to say there were similarities in that they had the same hair and eye colouring. Certainly Luke looked nothing like Dave. Rosie wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or not. At least she wasn’t reminded of her feckless husband every time she looked at their son.

Rosie swallowed some fish and cleared her throat. ‘You know, now that Mr Shark has been arrested–’

‘Ah, yes, Peter Manchester.’

‘Yes, him. Now that he’s under lock and key, there isn’t actually any need for me and Luke to be staying in your apartment.’

‘I thought we’d already had this conversation?’

‘Yes, we did, but that was before Peter Manchester was caught. I’m just very aware that we’re still taking your hospitality and I don’t want us outstaying our welcome.’

‘You’re not. Sell your house, sort out where you’re living next, and above all else don’t rush into anything. Besides,’ Matt blew on a piece of mashed cod for Luke, ‘I like having you both around.’

Matt’s last sentence was said casually enough, but it still made Rosie’s stomach do a flip-flop. Matt liked having her around! Did that mean that Matt liked her as in liked liked? As in fancied her? Oh, for heaven’s sake, Rosie, what are you like? He’s just a kind man helping out a widow with a little boy. And it’s not just you he likes having around, it’s Luke too! Matt just likes our company. So stop reading hidden messages into innocent conversation. Apart from anything else, you haven’t even buried your husband.

Rosie stared at her fish, appalled. What sort of cold-hearted woman was she? The sooner she got the funeral over and done with, the sooner she could get on with her life and get out of Matt’s hair.

‘Well, I don’t want to take advantage any longer than necessary,’ she mumbled.

‘You’re not. Oh, that reminds me, my cousin rang earlier. She has a space at her nursery and, as she owes me a favour, she’s giving you first refusal. You’d better check the nursery out. And if you’re happy with it, you can start work at Tibor’s Tasty Titbits knowing your little lad is in good hands.’

‘That is tremendously kind of her.’ Rosie put her knife and fork down. ‘So many people have been so sympathetic and concerned about Luke and me – Karen and Mike…Lucy…the police…and the Illegal Money Lending Team. But ultimately you are the one who has been the most thoughtful. I don’t know what we would have done without you.’ Rosie’s eyes welled. ‘Two weeks ago I didn’t know you and here you are looking out for us as well as looking after us, whereas my own mother hasn’t been in the least bit interested in how I’m coping. She’s shown no compassion whatsoever, not even offering to put up her own daughter and grandson.’

‘Don’t dwell on it, Rosie. Some parents are just not that into their kids. I suspect Hester is one of them.’

‘But it’s wrong!’ Rosie cried. ‘My goodness, if Luke ever gets married and has children, I want to be a hands-on Granny. I’ll be offering my services for babysitting twenty-four-seven.’

‘And probably vying with your daughter-in-law’s mother to do the very same thing,’ Matt laughed.

Rosie paled. ‘Oh heavens, I never thought of that. Well I’ll just have to insist that my grandchildren have two babysitters.’

‘Well said, Ms Perfect. Now eat up your lunch before it gets cold.’

‘Yes, but before I do, I just want to say one more thing, Matt.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I absolutely insist you let me pick up the tab for this meal. It’s my way of saying thank you.’

‘That’s very sweet of you, but how are you going to pay? With fresh air?’

‘I’m getting a cheque for a hundred-thousand-pounds very shortly from Dave’s life insurance. I think, in the interim, my bank overdraft can withstand a meal of fish and chips.’

Matt put down his knife and fork. ‘That is so very sweet of you, Rosie,’ he reached across the table and took her hand, ‘but the answer is no. However, if you want to make a contribution of ten pence, that would be just fine.’ He gave her hand a squeeze before picking up his knife again.

Rosie felt momentarily paralysed from Matt’s touch. That was the second time in twenty-four hours his handholding had nearly put her into giddy meltdown. Pull yourself together, Rosie.

‘Right,’ she croaked. Picking up her glass, she slung some more wine down her neck. ‘Ten pence it is. For now. I seem to owe you an awful lot of ten pences, what with glaziers, and rent, and meals.’

Matt winked. ‘We’ll divvy it all up later. Now, let me get that waitress’s attention. Luke and I are almost ready for some ice-cream.’

 

After lunch they strolled along the pier, bought a coffee on the go, stuck their heads through funny picture boards for a photo, and checked out the funfair where Matt won a soft toy duck on one of the side stalls. He gave it to Luke, who fell asleep cuddling it.

‘Do you like doughnuts?’ Matt asked.

‘I do.’

‘Then let’s grab ourselves a deckchair, sit back, relax, and share a bag.’

‘I won’t be able to move after all this food,’ Rosie protested.

‘Eat, drink, and be merry,’ Matt said, ‘for tomorrow you may die.’

‘Indeed,’ Rosie said. She was only too aware how you could be here one minute and gone in the next. Life was fragile, and yet so taken for granted.

Matt went off to a kiosk that was emitting pleasant smells of sugary cooking, while Rosie found a couple of empty deckchairs. She lowered her bottom onto the stripy material and waited for Matt to return. All around her people were getting on with their lives. Taking time out from their jobs, or possibly just enjoying a late lunch break from the office where they worked. There were plenty of tourists milling about too. She wondered what went on in all these people’s lives – whether they, like her, currently appeared calm and happy on the outside, but inwardly had been immersed in their own private hells.

‘Here,’ Matt dropped a bag of warm doughnuts in her lap before sitting down beside her. ‘Let’s play a game. You have to eat your doughnut without getting any sugar on your lips.’

Rosie laughed. ‘In that case I’ll lose. There’s so much sugar on them it will probably end up stuck to my cheeks as well as my lips.’

‘Have one of these.’ He passed her a paper serviette and then watched as she took an enormous bite. Sure enough, Rosie’s lips were covered in white granules. Matt had an overwhelming urge to lean across and kiss all the sugar off.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, working their way through the doughnuts.

‘Are you familiar with Brighton?’ Rosie eventually asked.

‘Pretty much. When I was a kid, my parents had a caravan down here. It was a place they liked to retreat to after a busy week working in London. We’d spend more or less every weekend here from spring to late autumn. I have some very happy memories of my sister and me paddling in the sea, or swimming in the freezing waters of Saltdean Lido.’

‘It sounds like a wonderful childhood. Do your parents still have the caravan?’

‘No,’ Matt brushed some sugar off his jeans, ‘it was sold when I was about fifteen or sixteen years old. I wanted to hang out with mates in London and pick up girls, not pebbles on the beach. Although,’ he looked wistful, ‘I’d give almost anything to return to those days.’

‘I stayed in a caravan once,’ said Rosie. ‘It belonged to Lucy’s parents. They used to tow it up to the Lakes for holidays. One year I was invited along.’

‘Did you enjoy the experience?’

‘Yes,’ Rosie rubbed her hands together to loosen off sugar crumbs, ‘and I always have a warm glow when I remember that holiday. It was up in the Lakes that I had my first kiss!’

Matt grinned. ‘Do tell.’

‘Lucy and I were both fifteen years old. There was a disco on the camp site and we met a couple of lads. They took us for a snog behind a caravan. And then, coming up for air…as you do…I saw two tiny faces watching us through the caravan window.’

Matt burst out laughing. ‘Outrageous!’

‘Can you remember your first kiss?’

‘Yes, but for all the wrong reasons. She was eating chewing gum at the time, and it ended up in my mouth. But that’s not the worst part. I choked on it, and totally killed the moment.’

Rosie snorted with laughter. ‘Happy days.’

Matt nodded in agreement. ‘And such innocent days too.’

 

They arrived back in Penshurst late afternoon. Rosie was feeling remarkably chilled-out. Clearly a day by the sea was just what the doctor ordered. Of course, it helped enormously when your companion was great company and drop-dead gorgeous.

Rosie busied herself sorting out Luke’s holdall, soaking empty milk bottles, and then bathing her little son, while Matt rustled up some pasta for them both. They ate dinner companionably all together and then Rosie put Luke to bed. And much later still, whilst curled up in an armchair, Matt poured them both a large nightcap.

‘Thank you,’ said Rosie gratefully accepting the brandy balloon. She set about warming it in her hands.

Matt bypassed an armchair, instead opting to sit down beside her. ‘Did you enjoy today?’

‘Very much and, once again, thank you.’ Rosie nodded, and took a sip of the fire water. ‘Luke and I really appreciated you taking the day off work and spending it in Brighton with us. It was perfect.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, Ms Perfect.’ Matt inclined his head and raised his glass to her. They let the balloons gently clink together. Swilling the liquid around the glass, he looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘I won’t be around for the next couple of days.’

‘Oh?’

‘I have to be up and out early tomorrow morning. I have some meetings scheduled in Leeds and Manchester, but I’ll be back in time for the funeral.’

‘You don’t have to trouble yourself with that. I’m a big girl after all.’

‘I know, but I’d like to support you. I think the day might be more difficult than you realise.’

‘You do appreciate that when my mother sees you, she will eat you alive.’

‘And I’m a big boy. I can look after myself, no worries.’ Matt took a sip of his brandy. ‘It was nice to see you looking so carefree today, Rosie.’ He reclined against the sofa and stretched an arm along its back.

‘It was brilliant. For a little while I forgot all about the upset and terror of the last few days.’ Rosie was very aware that Matt’s hand was within touching distance of her neck. For a moment her concentration fragmented. What was Matt now saying?’

‘…was hoping for. We’ll have to do it again – if only for those scrumptious fish and chips!’

‘Mmm. That meal was delicious.’ Rosie swilled her brandy, appearing to choose her words carefully. ‘Sorry about the waitress mistaking you for being Luke’s Dad. I hope it didn’t make you feel awkward.’

‘Not at all. I quite liked it as it happens. It’s good practice for when I become a dad one day.’

Rosie looked surprised. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really! Why do you look so astonished?’

‘No reason, as such. I suppose it’s because you don’t really look…dadsy.’

‘Dadsy? What sort of a word is that!’ Matt shifted on the sofa, his body turning in towards Rosie.

‘You know…old faded cord trousers and a bobbly sweater,’ Rosie grinned. ‘You’re usually suited and booted or,’ she waved a hand at Matt’s designer jeans and casual shirt that had once sported a not-so-casual price tag, ‘looking like you’re a male model.’

Matt threw back his head and laughed. ‘What…these old things?’ he mocked. ‘I promise that when the time comes I’ll make sure my wardrobe contains faded cord trousers and bobbly sweaters. ’ Matt took another sip of brandy and then gave Rosie a considering look. ‘Did you ever plan on having more kids with Dave?’

Rosie gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Good heavens, no. You saw what he was like. Dave didn’t know Luke’s top from his tail. And anyway, even if I had wanted more children, it would have been impossible. That side of our marriage had long since ceased.’

‘You stopped having sex?’

Rosie blushed. How had the conversation gone from talking about Brighton to her non-existent sex life? She looked at Matt, but didn’t immediately answer. Was it her imagination, or was he sitting a bit closer?

‘Um, yes. Nothing went on in that department.’

‘Mind telling me why?’

Rosie stared at her brandy. ‘I didn’t love him. And for me, love and sex go hand in hand.’

‘Fair answer. And what about Dave? Didn’t he mind? After all, most blokes would be…well…a tad put out.’

‘Luke was a honeymoon baby. And to be honest it’s quite a feat that he was conceived at all, because Dave spent more time drinking the bar dry than…you know. The ink had barely dried on our marriage certificate when I realised I’d made a monumental mistake. And Dave never really felt passionate about me. I think he only married because he wanted someone to look after him. He wanted a mother, not a wife.’

‘So why did you marry him?’ And then Matt caught the expression on Rosie’s face. ‘Oh, no. Don’t tell me. Your mother? You cannot be serious!’

Rosie didn’t know if it was the amount of brandy she’d consumed, or whether it was just a release of emotions after everything that had been going on in her life recently, but suddenly her face crumpled. Matt whipped away their brandy balloons, and his arms were around her in a trice.

‘Whoa! Don’t cry, Rosie, please don’t cry.’ He hugged her tight. ‘I’m so sorry. This is my fault for asking such personal questions. Please, just ignore me.’

‘N-no, it’s okay. I’m crying more from shame and embarrassment than anything else.’

‘You have nothing to be ashamed of.’

Rosie gave a shaky laugh. ‘You don’t think? What adult woman doesn’t take responsibility on deciding who she is or isn’t going to marry! I only married Dave to please my mother. He wasn’t so bad when we were dating – a courtship that lasted all of five minutes, so I never truly got to know him. And I married him because it was a boost to my self-esteem after my previous boyfriend – who I was crazy about – had a fling with my best friend.’

‘Lucy?’ Matt asked, shocked.

‘No!’ Rosie gave a rueful smile. ‘An ex best friend.’

‘Ah!’

‘I just panicked, heard the biological clock ticking, saw the date on my best before label, and thought, “Why not marry Dave? He seems kind. He says he has good prospects and your mother is chomping at the bit to buy a wedding suit. He’ll do.” What an irresponsible and immature attitude.’

‘You aren’t the first to do such a thing, and you won’t be the last. It’s called rebound.’

‘Yes, you’re right.’

She was acutely aware of the glorious proximity of Matt’s body. His arms were still around her, and it felt so right. She looked up at him, suddenly solemn. He was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite work out. She gazed at him, and tried to read his face. It was serious, but also caring. But it was his eyes that had her mesmerised. They looked so…tender. Yes, that was it, his eyes looked almost as if they were full of…love light. They sat there, frozen in a moment, just staring at each other, and not saying anything. Was it her imagination, or was Matt’s mouth getting closer to hers? Rosie had a horrible urge to launch herself at him and get down to some serious lip locking. And then Matt’s last word echoed around her head. Rebound. Christ! That was the last thing she needed. Apart from anything else, Rosie realised it was her moving in to him, not the other way around. She leapt up, flustered, knocking over the balloons that Matt had placed at their feet. Dribbles of brandy blobbed onto the floor.

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I don’t think the glasses are broken. Let me–’

‘Leave it.’ Matt stood up, his face suddenly a mask. ‘I’ll clear it up. Go to bed, Rosie. You’re tired.’

‘Yes. Yes, I will.’ Rosie wiped her damp palms down the front of her legs. She felt self-conscious and foolish. ‘Um, goodnight.’ Turning on her heel, she almost fled to the sanctuary of her bedroom. She’d been two seconds away from making a prize idiot of herself. How on earth would she be able to look Matt in the eye over the cornflakes tomorrow morning?

But when Rosie woke up, Matt had gone.

Chapter Forty

 

Matt stared through the windscreen of the BMW. It wasn’t yet six in the morning and he’d been driving for over an hour. He’d hardly slept a wink last night. After tossing and turning from four o’clock onwards, he’d decided to get up, have a shower and hit the road. At least he’d make Manchester in good time. Although at this rate he’d be knocking on his client’s office doors before the staff turned up.

Matt eased his foot off the accelerator, and manoeuvred from the outside lane to the middle. He waited for a lorry to struggle past and then moved again, this time into the inside lane. There was no need to rush. At the start of the journey, every fibre of his being had screamed to put as much distance between Rosie and himself as possible. He’d rocketed out of Penshurst like a bat out of hell. His mind kept playing and replaying last night’s scenario as the two of them had sat side by side on the couch sipping brandy. They’d both been relaxed. Too relaxed. He pursed his lips. He should have sat in one of the armchairs. Made sure there was plenty of space between them. Instead he’d been presumptuous and assumed, after a family day in Brighton, there was some sort of intimacy between them. Thank God he’d not kissed her! But it had been a close call.

Just because you both shared details of your first kiss didn’t mean there was intimacy between the two of you. The closeness was something you misread, you silly fool. You were simply sitting too near her. And just because she burst into tears and allowed you to put your arms around her, again didn’t warrant intimacy. You berk, Matthew Palmer! You moron! All that playing happy families yesterday went to your head. And even though some well-meaning waitress mistook you for Luke’s dad, it doesn’t mean you are. Rosie is NOT your wife, and Luke is NOT your son!

Matt felt his heart wrench, for that was the crux of it all – his conscience had hit the nail on the head. Rosie might not be his wife, but by golly she felt like she should be. And as for Luke…Matt smiled at the thought of the little chap grabbing his hair with tiny fists and chuckling so deliciously when his tummy was tickled. He was far too fond of the baby. He could oh-so-easily be a father to Luke. His mind wandered back to the waitress in the Brighton restaurant saying that Luke was the spitting image of him. Matt could admit it to himself here, in the privacy of his car. He’d been pleased – secretly proud and delighted to be mistaken for Luke’s father. And that was wrong. Everything was wrong. It was wrong that he was feeling this way about a tiny boy who was nothing to do with him. And it was wrong that he was feeling so strongly about a woman who had crashed into his life in some club, crashed out in his bed, gone on to have her life crash all around her and, in so doing, caused him to crash head-over-heels in–

Matt’s jaw dropped open. He’d slowed down so much the BMW was barely doing forty miles per hour. What had he been about to say to himself? Don’t be ridiculous, Matthew. You’re behaving like a love-struck schoolboy. Two weeks ago you hadn’t even met Rosie Perfect – and you’ve never been in love in your life! You’ve gone soft! Thirty-four years old and you’re behaving like some woman with her biological clock ticking. Wanting to settle down. Wanting to be a father. And then along comes a pretty face with legs up to her armpits and a cute little baby, and you’re behaving like some hormonal dipstick. What you need, Matthew, is a damn good shag. Matt instantly had a vision of Rosie, gloriously naked in his bed and drunkenly demanding sex before passing out. He batted the image away. No, not Rosie. You need a no-strings romp with…a light bulb went on in Matt’s head. Yes! The receptionist at Gregory Tibor’s Erith factory. What was her name? Cheryl! Every time she offered him coffee and asked if he’d like one lump or two, she’d thrust her chest out. And a pretty damned impressive chest it was too, if he remembered rightly. Sorted! He’d ask Cheryl out for dinner just as soon as Rosie Perfect had buried her husband. In fact, why wait. He’d ring Cheryl later on today and see if she was available this Saturday! He’d wine her, dine her, and then take her back to hers for some therapeutic rumpy-pumpy. That’s better, Matthew. Now you’re behaving like the insensitive bastard your mates all believe you to be. Good. Normal service has been resumed. Feeling slightly happier, Matt hit the accelerator. He signalled and cruised back out into the fast lane.

Six hours and one telephone call later, his Saturday night arrangements were complete.

Chapter Forty-One

 

Rosie spooned some dinner into Luke’s mouth.

‘There we are, darling,’ she cooed to the baby, ‘nice gloopy Mr Heinz for you to gobble up.’

Luke beamed and a second later some of the mixture dribbled down his chin.

‘Mmmm,’ Rosie rolled her eyes and made an ecstatic face, ‘isn’t that just the yummiest thing you’ve ever tasted?’

Thank goodness for her little boy. Right now he was absorbing every moment of her attention. Talking mindless babble to Luke ensured there was no opportunity to think about Matt Palmer and that excruciating moment where she’d leant in towards his gorgeous, handsome face, and that beautiful, inviting mouth, or wanted to fling her arms around his strong, muscular shoulders and–

Out in the hallway, the phone let out a series of shrill rings. She smiled wryly to herself. So much for Luke’s mushy lunch blocking mushy connotations of Matt Palmer. As it was Matt’s phone, Rosie let it ring until the answering machine kicked in. Seconds later, Hester’s squawking filled the apartment.

‘I rang your mobile, Rosie, but you didn’t pick up. Have you any idea how annoying it is when you don’t answer? What is the point of having a mobile phone if you can’t be bothered to speak to anybody on it! And because you haven’t answered your mobile, now you’ve forced me to ring that ghastly man’s landline number. So why aren’t you picking up his phone? Are you trying to avoid me, Rosie? Just because I don’t approve of you taking a lover while your husband isn’t even cold, doesn’t mean you should punish me with a wall of silence. And talking of poor Dave, that’s why I’m phoning. He wouldn’t want to be hanging around in some funeral parlour. So I’ve been in touch with the director and arranged for a home funeral. Obviously it would have been better for him to leave from the marital home, but as you are no longer there and shacked up in a love nest in Penshurst, I’ve told the director to bring Dave to me. I think it’s much nicer that he can rest in front of the telly until Friday morning…’

Rosie nearly dropped Luke’s jar of Mr Heinz. Frantically she began unstrapping Luke so she could intercept her mother’s call.

‘…and obviously Dave won’t be here until the director has…erm…you know…seen to various bits and pieces. It’s all a bit delicate apparently, but nonetheless increasingly popular. Certainly the gels are looking forward to seeing Dave. Gertrude has even cancelled a hot date with a charming gentleman in order to be there. She’s joined a senior dating agency you know, although I don’t know if she’ll get her money’s worth with some of them. The last candidate was ninety-seven and passed away before they even met. Anyway, I digress. We shall all have a sherry or two before the hearse arrives to take Dave on his last journey. Oh dear, I’m starting to cry. This is all too distressing.’ There was a pause followed by some noisy nose blowing.

Hoiking Luke out of the highchair and onto her hip, Rosie hastened into the hallway. Breathlessly, she snatched up the handset. ‘What the devil do you think you’re playing at, Mum?’

‘Oh, you are there,’ Hester said accusingly.

‘Yes, of course I’m here,’ Rosie cried, ‘I was giving your grandson his lunch.’

‘Couldn’t you have done that whilst talking to me at the same time on the phone?’

‘The handset was out in the hallway, and Luke was strapped into his highchair in the kitchen. But not to worry,’ Rosie said through gritted teeth, ‘I shall now put Luke back in his highchair and give him the rest of his lunch whilst talking to you.’

‘That’s awfully good of you,’ said Hester sarcastically.

Rosie cupped her shoulder to the handset whilst once again wrestling with the highchair straps. ‘Can you please tell me, Mum, why you are interfering with the funeral arrangements?’ Rosie slumped back down on her own kitchen chair and picked up Luke’s plastic spoon. She suddenly felt exhausted.

‘Interfering? How dare you! I’m following Dave’s wishes.’

‘What wishes?’

‘The wishes he once made perfectly clear to me, Rosie. It was not long before he died. In fact it was just after that window to your front door was broken. He told me that he suspected you were having an affair with that awful man.’

‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’

‘He said, “Rosie doesn’t love me anymore. If I die, Hester, it will be of a broken heart. Promise me you’ll give me a great send off, and make sure it’s from your place.” I said it was the very least I could do for him. The poor boy was distraught.’

For a moment Rosie was speechless. ‘Mum,’ she hissed into the handset, ‘I don’t care what Dave said. The funeral arrangements have been–’

‘–changed, Rosie. They’ve been changed. So I will see you – preferably without that ghastly man – on Friday morning, ten o’clock prompt. Good-bye.’

Rosie disconnected the call and immediately burst into tears. Luke took one look at his mummy crying, and started to bawl too. For a moment the kitchen reverberated to the howls of mother and child. Reaching for some kitchen towel, Rosie blew her nose. Ripping off a fresh sheet, she dabbed at Luke’s face.

‘There, there, darling. Let’s not cry, eh? We’re both behaving like a pair of babies. Which is fine in your case, but Mummy should know better, shouldn’t she? So let’s dry our tears and have a nice cuddle.’ Rosie leant forward and once again released Luke from the highchair. Lifting him towards her, she snuggled the little boy into her chest and kissed the top of his head. Luke immediately stopped crying. ‘What we need is another day out in Brighton!’

Oh, to have Matt here. He’d have given Hester short shrift over her interference. But she mustn’t think of Matt. For now, he was miles away, and just as well. Rosie would now have to ring the undertaker to re-arrange Hester’s re-arrangements. She reached for the phone, but as she did so, she had a sudden vision of Hester similarly doing the same thing moments after she’d finished the call. At this rate Dave would be yo-yoing from the funeral parlour to her mother’s house and back again. Exhaustion washed over Rosie. Did it really matter if Dave left from her mother’s house? The outcome would remain the same – he was still going to end up six feet under. To hell with it. Let her mother have it her way.

Rosie jumped as the phone began to ring in her hand.

‘Hello?’ she answered cautiously.

‘It’s me,’ said Lucy. ‘How are you?’

Rosie exhaled. ‘Fed up.’

‘I’ll bet. Are you in a hell of a state and endlessly crying with grief?’

‘Yes, but not the sort of grief you’re thinking.’

Lucy chuckled. ‘Fe-fi-fo-fum, I smell the scent of Horrendous Hester-Mum.’

‘Uncanny.’

‘What’s your ma been doing now? Spit it out. Tell all to Aunty Lucy.’

‘Oh, never mind my woes. How are you? Have the screaming heebie-jeebies caught up with you after discovering your fiancé is a cross-dresser?’

‘Nope. I should be ashamed to admit it, but actually I’m not. I feel absolutely fine. I’m madly in love with Gregory, and he with me. I don’t care what opinions people might have, or how they want to judge. It’s none of their business.’

‘I wish I could have a layer of your thick skin.’

‘Why? Ooh, don’t tell me. The gorgeous Matthew is causing havoc with your hormones!’

Rosie felt her cheeks redden. ‘Lucy, don’t. You sound like my mother. She’s been perfectly vile, even accusing me of having him as a lover.’

‘Take no notice of her. Anyway, you can tell her quite truthfully that he’s spoken for.’

Rosie frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s dating Gregory’s receptionist.’

There was a pause while Rosie digested Lucy’s throw-away comment. Surely she must have misheard? ‘Sorry, what did you say, Lucy? It’s not a very good line.’

‘I said you can tell that busybody mother of yours that Matt does indeed have a lover, but it’s not you. It’s the woman who mans the phones at Tibor’s Tasty Titbits. Cheryl.’

Rosie felt like she’d been slapped around the face. ‘Are you sure? Matt never said anything about it. In fact, I’m positive he’s single at the moment. He talked a little bit about his last girlfriend and why they split up.’

‘Oh? Who was she?’

‘He didn’t tell me her name. He just laughed and said they weren’t compatible because she didn’t like Marmite.’

‘Well I don’t know whether Cheryl likes Marmite, but he’s definitely keen on her.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Rosie in a small voice.

‘I’m ringing you from Gregory’s office. Gregory’s on walkabout around the factory and I’ve been sitting on his computer scrolling through Facebook. The office door was open when Matt’s call came through to Cheryl. I couldn’t help overhearing. She was calling him ‘Naughty Matthew’ and making her voice sound all seductive and yucky-poo. I stuck my head out of Gregory’s office to hear better, and saw her sitting there twiddling some hair around one finger and arching her back. Stupid cow looked like she was having sex with her typing stool. Apparently they’re going out this Saturday evening.’

‘Good.’ Rosie’s voice was unnaturally high. ‘I’ll be sure to tell my mother.’

‘You do that,’ Lucy chuckled. ‘Hey, are you all right? You’ve gone a bit quiet.’

Rosie puffed out her cheeks. ‘The last few days have been horrendous. I think everything is just starting to catch up with me.’

‘You need wine, kiddo. How about I come over to yours this evening? If Matt’s away I could stay the night and keep you company. Gregory won’t mind. In fact I think his todger would welcome a break from me. Poor love is exhausted.’

‘Spare me the details,’ Rosie shuddered. ‘If Gregory doesn’t mind, it would be lovely to see you – and the wine will be most welcome.’

‘Sorted. Catch you later.’

‘See you.’

Rosie put the handset down and stared up at the ceiling. So Matt had an impending hot date with Cheryl? Well good luck to him. And her. They were probably very suited, especially if they both liked Marmite. Rosie had a sudden vision of them rolling around in bed together, covering themselves in Marmite before licking it off. For God’s sake, Rosie Perfect, think of something else.

She couldn’t wait to see Lucy and have some female company – and wine. In fact all Rosie really wanted to do now was get rip-roaringly drunk.

Chapter Forty-Two

 

Lucy had tucked her legs under her and was snuggled into Matt’s sofa.

‘The lad has a nice pad,’ she observed, before taking a sip of her wine.

‘That rhymes,’ Rosie giggled.

It wasn’t far off midnight and she was on her fourth – or was it fifth? – glass of something pink and fruity. She had no idea what the wine was called, just that it was going down very nicely. On the coffee table in front of them was their third bottle of vino. The previous two were now languishing in the recycling box. Luke was fast asleep and – for now – all was peaceful. Rosie let out a long sigh. The wine had hit all the right places. Her shoulders had unkinked and she was slumped in an armchair, legs sprawled out in front of her.

‘So,’ said Lucy, ‘this evening you’ve told me the most incredible tale of marital upheaval, death, lethal loan sharks and a mother on the funeral warpath.’ She looked at Rosie thoughtfully. ‘And Matt Palmer is an ongoing fixture who – to quote Mr Shark – really does sound like Captain Marvel! How does he truly figure in the grand scheme of all this?’

Rosie began twirling the long stem of the wine glass between her fingers. ‘You know perfectly well how he fits in. He’s been a good friend. A mate.’

‘Indeed. The fact that you’ve known this mate barely a fortnight is, you have to concede, quite astonishing. Don’t tell me there’s not some sort of chemistry between the two of you. I saw the way you both looked at each other on my hen night. It’s a wonder your knickers didn’t self-combust.’

‘Lucy, I can hardly remember your hen night thanks to drinking a gallon of champagne.’

‘And what about my recent soirée at Terry’s place? Matt was most attentive.’

‘I think that’s just the way the guy is.’ Rosie leant forward and topped up her wine glass. ‘Anyway, both you and my mother are barking up the wrong tree,’ she put the wine bottle down and wiped a drip off the coffee table with her sleeve, ‘because quite apart from the fact that I’m newly widowed with a husband still waiting to be buried, Matt has got himself a date with Cheryl Big Boobs this Saturday.’

‘Ooh, that’s a bit catty,’ Lucy grinned, ‘and don’t put the stopper back in that wine bottle. You can top me up too.’ She put her glass on the coffee table next to Rosie’s. ‘Has Cheryl Big Boobs touched a nerve with you?’

‘I really couldn’t care less about the wretched woman.’

‘Ah-ha! She has!’

Rosie tutted crossly. ‘I’m thrilled to bits,’ she said, sounding anything but, ‘that Matt is taking another woman out. He’s had a horrendous time with Luke and me impacting on his life…taking over his apartment,’ she flung an arm expansively about, ‘and having the place invaded by some thug…not to mention having his work schedule disrupted.’ She really didn’t want to talk about Matt or how she felt about him. Especially with her brain full of alcohol and her tongue looser than she’d like.

‘Is he going to the funeral?’

‘Yes. I told him there was no need, but he won’t hear of not coming.’

‘He’ll need to have his Captain Marvel cape on to deal with Hester.’

‘I think we’ll all have to put our superhero costumes on to deal with my mother.’

‘Will the gels be there too?’

‘Definitely. Apparently Gertrude is looking forward to it so much, she’s even postponed a hot date.’

‘A date? With a man?’

‘Indeed. Seemingly she’s joined some golden oldies dating agency.’

‘You’re kidding. She’s got to be…how old...eighty-five?’

‘Give or take half a decade. She’s very frail. I’m surprised she’s got the energy to even think about dating. And she’s not exactly looking her best at the moment. The last time I saw her she had a mouth like a dog’s bum due to giving her gums a rest from dentures.’

Lucy tittered. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh.’

‘No, you shouldn’t,’ Rosie waggled a finger playfully, ‘after all, we’ll be like that one day.’

‘Well, if my sex drive is anything like it is now, I suppose it’s something to be considered.’

‘I wonder what Gertrude’s dating profile says,’ Rosie mused.

‘How about,’ Lucy paused to glug some wine, ‘Blue-haired beauty, eighties, slim, five feet four inches (used to be five foot seven) seeks sharp-dressing companion. Matching white shoes and belt a plus.’

Rosie gave a snort which turned into a cough as the wine went down the wrong way. ‘Or what about,’ she dabbed her watering eyes, ‘Super spinster, can usually remember Monday through to Thursday. If you can remember Friday to Sunday, let’s put our heads together.’

They laughed companionably.

‘Here’s one for Hester! Grandmother with original teeth and a winning smile seeks dedicated flossier to share rare steaks, corn on the cob and caramel candy.’

‘Not bad. What about…Groovy hen (once a groovy chick), likes cruising on a Saturday night on her mobility scooter and sometimes playing rock songs on her guitar, looking for a like-minded guy to listen to her eight-track tapes.’

‘Ooh, ooh, I’ve got a better one,’ Lucy waved her arms about excitedly, slopping wine down her front, ‘Serene spinster who’s into solitude, long walks, sunrises, the ocean, yoga and meditation, seeks the silent type. Let’s get together, take out our hearing aids and enjoy quiet times.’

Rosie snorted into her hand. ‘I can better that…recent widow who has just buried her fourth husband, is looking for someone to round out a six-unit plot. Dizziness, fainting and shortness of breath isn’t a problem.’

‘Ooh, yes, that’s a good one, and maybe this would be an okay response: Male, nineteen-thirty-two model, high mileage, good condition, some hair, many new parts including hips, knees, and cornea, isn’t in running condition, but walks well.’

The two women clapped their hands together and hooted with amusement. For Rosie, an evening of poking gentle fun at her mother and the gels was just what the doctor ordered.

‘Which brings us back to Matt,’ said Lucy. ‘I know you like him. It’s obvious.’

‘Of course I like him,’ said Rosie carefully, ‘I’ve already told you, he’s a mate.’

‘If you say so,’ Lucy sniffed, ‘and if you want my opinion–’

‘Which I don’t!’

‘–you’ll see off Cheryl Big Boobs and make yourself available.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Rosie spluttered.

‘Life’s too short. No, listen to me, Rosie.’ Lucy shifted forward on the sofa and gave her best friend a no-nonsense look. ‘You once had a boyfriend who bonked your mate and wrecked your self-esteem in the process. You were in a highly vulnerable state and, thanks to your mother chipping away another layer of self-esteem, you boomeranged off on the rebound and married the first dipstick that came along. And then look what happened. You ended up with an out-of-work drunk who gambled away almost everything, without a care for you or Luke. The best thing Dave did was accidentally taking that highway to heaven – no, don’t look at me like that, Rosie. His demise has resolved all your problems. After a bit of aggro, you’ve got your life back and will soon have a tidy sum of money behind you. And it just so happens that you’re currently sharing a luxury apartment with a wealthy businessman who is drop-dead gorgeous and looks at you like you’re God’s gift. I don’t care what anybody thinks, if it feels right, Rosie, then go for it.’

Rosie stared through bloodshot eyes at her best friend. Suddenly she felt tremendously tired. The wine had caught up with her. ‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ she mumbled.

‘No I haven’t.’

‘And anyway,’ she waved a hand carelessly, ‘Matt likes Cheryl.’

‘You’re not going to be defeated by a woman with a bust size almost as big as her ego are you? I’m telling you, Rosie, she can’t hold a candle to you. He’s yours for the taking. He just needs you to give him the green light.’

Rosie grimaced. What? Like the other night? When she’d so nearly zoomed in on him and almost pushed him down against the very sofa Lucy was now sitting on? She couldn’t tell her best friend about that. She just couldn’t. It was too embarrassing. Abruptly, Rosie stood up, swaying slightly.

‘I’m going to bed. I’ll get you a spare duvet.’

Ten minutes later both women were fast asleep. In the lounge, on the sofa, Lucy dreamt of marrying Gregory. In her bed, next to Luke’s cot, Rosie dreamt of Brighton and walking hand in hand along the pebble beach with a man whose face she couldn’t quite see.

Chapter Forty-Three

 

Nursing a hangover, Rosie climbed out of Lucy’s car. Reaching for the rear passenger door handle, she leant inside to release Luke from his safety straps. There was the sound of the driver’s door clunking and a second later Lucy was standing by her side.

‘Let me give you a hand with that car seat.’

‘Thanks. I’m looking forward to the day when I don’t have so much baby paraphernalia to cart around everywhere.’

‘As soon as you cash in that life insurance cheque, you’ll be able to buy your own set of wheels and this side of life will be less of a struggle.’

‘Indeed,’ Rosie grunted as she swung Luke onto her hip and manhandled a baby holdall onto her free shoulder. She walked around the rear of the car and stood on the pavement. She was outside her old house.

‘Are you going to Karen’s first?’ Lucy asked.

‘Yes, she’s looking after Luke while I see the estate agent.’ Rosie stared up at her house and cast an eye over the peeling paintwork and rotting windows. Hopefully there were some prospective buyers out there looking for a project. ‘I’d better make sure the place looks as presentable as possible for the photographs – not that you can make a silk purse out of a pig’s ear.’

‘And talking of pigs, I take it the one that graced the marital bed has long gone.’

‘Yes,’ Rosie wrinkled her nose, ‘but I need to strip beds and do some serious chucking out. There’s a roll of thick black sacks in Luke’s holdall that I mustn’t forget to take out. A house clearance company is coming in later, so there’s quite a bit to oversee today. I’ll just be glad when I’m shot of this place.’ She turned to Lucy and gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘Thanks for the lift and keeping me company last night.’

‘The pleasure was all mine. I’m now going to enjoy a few days off work and just chilling out.’

‘When are you going back to the office?’

‘Monday. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it. No doubt one or two of the men will be thrilled to bits to hear my imminent wedding day has gone down the tubes. If any of them start calling me Lucy Lycra again, I’ll swing for them. Meanwhile, see you tomorrow. If you don’t mind, I’ll skip the bit at Hester’s house for squeamish reasons.’

‘That’s totally understandable,’ Rosie grimaced. ‘I’m not exactly thrilled to bits to know Dave will be laid out in my mother’s front room.’

Lucy gave Rosie’s hand a final squeeze before climbing back into the driver’s seat. Starting the engine, she buzzed down the window. ‘See you at the church. Take care until then.’ With a toot and a wave, she was gone.

At that moment Karen opened her front door. She hastened down the garden path to help Rosie with the car seat.

‘Hello, hello!’ she gave Luke a big kiss and then hugged Rosie. ‘Ooh, you look a bit peaky. Hardly surprising though, given everything that’s been happening lately.’

‘Drinking a bucket of wine with Lucy last night didn’t help,’ Rosie smiled ruefully.

‘Ah, that one knows how to put it away,’ Karen nodded sagely, ‘whereas you’re not so good at it. Come on in. I’ll make you a nice strong coffee before the estate agent arrives.’

‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all the help you give me with Luke.’ Rosie followed Karen into the hallway. ‘And especially regarding tomorrow. I know Dave is Luke’s father, but I don’t feel comfortable taking a baby to a funeral.’

‘Listen,’ Karen reached out and took Luke from Rosie, ‘where this young man is concerned, nothing is any trouble at all.’ She gave Luke another resounding kiss on a chubby cheek and made him chuckle out loud. She went through to the kitchen, Rosie trailing behind. ‘You put the kettle on, Rosie, while I have a cuddle with my favourite little person.’ She hugged the baby to her and did a little dance around the kitchen, making Luke chortle again. ‘I know people do sometimes take babies to funerals, but I personally think it should be avoided. Luke will be absolutely fine here with me, and you can say your farewells to Dave without a wailing child and disruption. I wish I could be with you and support you. Will you be all right?’

‘Yes. Lucy will be there.’ Rosie set about spooning coffee into mugs. ‘And Matt,’ she added casually. Why did mentioning Matt’s name make her flush as if guilty of something?

‘Ah, yes, Matt. That one is quite the Prince Charming.’ Karen plonked herself down on a kitchen chair, Luke on her lap. Glancing up, she gave Rosie a shrewd look. ‘If I weren’t mistaken, I’d think the guy had a huge soft spot for you.’

‘Well, you are mistaken.’ Rosie added boiling water and milk before giving the coffees a brisk stir. Turning, she walked over to the table and set the mugs down. ‘My wretched mother keeps referring to Matt as my ‘lover’ and makes snide comments about the pair of us bonking for Britain.’

‘And you’re not?’ asked Karen slyly.

‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ Rosie cried, ‘not you too! What sort of person does everybody think I am? And anyway, as I said to Lucy, Matt has a girlfriend.’

‘Really?’ Karen’s eyebrows nearly shot off her forehead. ‘You do surprise me. She must be incredibly tolerant knowing that her man is living with a gorgeous blonde damsel in distress and fighting off nasty baddies for her too.’

‘She’s a new girlfriend,’ Rosie emphasised before taking a sip of her coffee.

‘I can’t see her lasting five minutes when she discovers you’re ensconced in his apartment.’ Karen stretched an arm sideways for her coffee. Keeping the cup well away from Luke, she took a few noisy slurps, and then looked contemplative. ‘So you have both Lucy and Matt looking after you tomorrow. You’ll definitely be okay?’

‘I’m sure everything will go like clockwork.’

Which showed how much Rosie knew.

Chapter Forty-Four

 

Matt stirred. Half his duvet was hanging off the bed and trailing over the floor. What a restless night’s sleep. He glanced at the clock-radio. Not quite seven.

He’d arrived back from Manchester late last night, just as Rosie was getting ready to turn in for the night. Matt had been determined to put the awkwardness of Tuesday night behind them and carry on as if nothing had happened. No near kiss, no near miss, and absolutely no imagined sexual tension. He’d found Rosie in the kitchen making herself a bedtime cocoa, and greeted her with what he’d hoped was a balance between enthusiasm and indifference. She’d jumped like a scalded cat, practically flattening herself against the wall as she’d edged past him to her bedroom. Poor woman. He’d be sure to mention Cheryl at the earliest opportunity, then Rosie could relax, safe in the knowledge that Matt didn’t have any feelings for her at all. And then Tuesday night’s buzz-in-the-air would be put down to imagination heightened by brandy.

Matt swung his legs out of bed and wandered off to the en-suite bathroom. He’d have a super-quick shower, and then see if Rosie needed any help with Luke so she could have her own shower in peace. Matt stepped into the huge cubicle. Seconds later, hot water was blasting over him. He had a sudden image of Rosie standing next to him, head back and laughing, her long blonde hair turning the colour of wet sand as water slicked it to her back, tendrils trailing over her shoulders and down over her…That’s enough of that, Matthew Palmer. Grimacing, Matt turned the shower dial to cold.

 

Rosie spooned the last of the baby cereal into Luke’s mouth. She could hear Matt up and about. Wardrobe doors were now opening and closing. Half a minute later and he was standing in the kitchen doorway. His hair was still wet from the shower. A dressing gown was knotted loosely around his midriff. Rosie wondered if it was just bare skin underneath that robe or whether he had some boxer shorts on. Pack it in, Rosie Perfect. She felt herself redden. That was another thing. All she seemed to do now was blush in Matt’s company. She forced herself to momentarily think dreary thoughts about the Chancellor of the Exchequer and whether Sam Cam minded having a drag queen brother. The colour subsided from her cheeks.

‘Hi,’ she smiled brightly.

‘Hey, how’re you feeling?’ Matt leant against the doorframe. ‘Big day today.’

‘Yeah.’ Rosie reached for a muslin and wiped Luke’s mouth. ‘I’ll get through it.’ She unstrapped Luke from the highchair and lifted him out.

‘Want me to take him?’ Matt held out his arms and walked over to her. For a horrible moment it looked as though he was going to embrace Rosie. She held Luke out in front of her, like a shield. Matt took the baby and placed him on his hip. ‘There we are, young man. Let us have a bit of bloke time together while Mummy gets herself ready.’

Rosie hesitated. ‘Well, that would be great, but I need to clear up our breakfast stuff and wipe the highchair down and–’

‘Leave it to me.’ Matt went to a cupboard and pulled out a pack of anti-bacterial wipes. ‘You want to see how to clean your chair?’ he asked Luke. The baby grinned, revealing two pearl-like bottom teeth. ‘Of course you do! Let’s get to work. And Rosie?’ Matt swung round to face her. ‘You sort yourself out quietly and without interruption. Go on. Take as long as you like. Although,’ he looked at the clock on the oven, ‘perhaps not too long. Are you okay to leave for Karen’s in half an hour?’

‘Sure. That would be perfect.’

‘No problem, Ms Perfect.’

Rosie manoeuvred past the highchair and hastened off to her room. She wanted to make some sort of effort with her appearance. Not for Matt, but for her mother. The last thing she wanted was Hester loudly berating her in front of an audience and saying something like, ‘Honestly, Rosie, a bottle of milk has more colour than you.’

Rosie stepped into the shower. Today she was going to knock ’em dead…which was quite apposite considering it was a funeral.

 

Matt turned the Beamer into Hester’s road. He glanced at Rosie. She looked pale but very beautiful. Outwardly she was composed, but he had no idea how she was feeling on the inside. She’d not said a word since leaving Luke with Karen a quarter of an hour ago. Signalling, he edged the BMW behind a brand new hatchback with a massive dent in its rear.

‘Oh, that’s Catherine’s car,’ said Rosie with concern. ‘She’s one of my mother’s friends. Mum refers to all her old cronies as the gels. Catherine is in her eighties. Her eyesight isn’t great, and judging by the size of that smack, she’s been driving without her glasses again.’

‘Perhaps I should park somewhere else,’ Matt said nervously.

‘The road is choc-a-bloc. Just give her car as wide a berth as possible.’

‘Will do.’

Matt finished straightening up and switched off the engine. Swinging open the driver’s door, he walked to the other side of the Beamer. As he did so, he took in Hester’s neat semi-detached house with postage stamp front lawn. Every blade of grass was standing to attention. Flowerbeds stuffed with spring flowers edged the lawn. Matt noticed the earth was neatly turned. Not one weed dared to blemish the display. He opened the passenger door for Rosie.

‘Thanks,’ she said. Matt tried not to notice Rosie’s long, perfectly shaped legs unfolding from the depths of the car.

‘Here,’ he stepped forward and offered his elbow.

‘Now if I take your arm, my mother really will think we’re an item.’

‘That’s fine by me,’ Matt gave her a mischievous smile.

‘Ah, but would Cheryl approve?’ Rosie twinkled back.

Matt looked startled. ‘How do you know about her?’

‘Lucy told me. I’m very pleased for you both.’

‘It’s just a date,’ Matt said lightly, ‘not a marriage announcement.’

‘You never know,’ Rosie teased, ‘this relationship might be the one that ticks all the boxes.’

‘I doubt it. And anyway, it’s not a relationship,’ said Matt firmly.

‘Well, I’m just pleased you’re having a night out without a widow and her baby hampering you.’

Matt looked non-plussed. ‘You and Luke don’t hamper me. It’s a pleasure having you both around.’ He took Rosie’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I mean that.’

A short distance in front of them net curtains twitched violently.

‘Uh-oh. My mother has just seen you touching me. There will be no stopping her now.’

Matt released Rosie’s hand and gazed up at a large bay window. On the other side of the window pane, Hester was glaring balefully back. Matt gave a cheery wave prompting Hester’s mouth to purse like a dog’s bum. The net curtain dropped back in place and Hester disappeared from sight. As Matt and Rosie walked up to the semi, the front door opened.

‘Good morning, Rosie,’ Hester greeted her daughter coolly. ‘Of all the days to parade your lover, I don’t think it’s appropriate to do so today.’

‘Stop it, Mum,’ said Rosie wearily.

‘Good morning, Hester,’ Matt said pleasantly.

‘Don’t you good morning me,’ Hester hissed, ‘because it’s not a good morning. As far as I’m concerned you’re the person that drove poor Dave into an early grave. If you hadn’t sacked him he’d be sitting behind his desk at work right now, instead of lying in my front room waiting for a hearse to take him to the cemetery.’

‘Mum, please,’ Rosie implored.

‘Perhaps when this is all over,’ Matt lowered his voice discreetly, ‘the two of us can have a heart to heart and start again, afresh.’

‘I don’t think so, Mr Palmer. Oooh,’ she broke off to trumpet into a handkerchief, ‘this is all too much for me. Just too distressing.’

‘Can we get off the doorstep, Mum?’

‘Yes,’ Hester dabbed her eyes and moved out of the way, ‘come in, come in,’ she ushered her daughter into the hallway, ‘and if you must, then you too, Mr Palmer.’ She gave her eyes a last theatrical pat before crumpling the tissue and shoving it up one sleeve of her black jumper. ‘Go into the front room. We’re all in here,’ she pushed down a door handle and Rosie and Matt were instantly engulfed in what seemed to be an octogenarians’ tea party. Except instead of drinking tea, about eight women with blue rinses were making free with a decanter of sherry and talking at the top of their voices. In the centre of the room and lying on what looked like a beauty therapist’s couch, was Dave. Apart from the bruising on his face, he looked as if he’d simply decided to take five minutes out of the party for a snooze. Rosie’s hand flew to her mouth. Things were starting to feel very weird.

Hester clapped her hands. ‘Gels!’ her voice rang out. ‘Please welcome dear Dave’s distraught widow – my daughter, Rosie.’

For an awful moment Rosie thought they were all going to give her a round of applause. Instead one old dear raised her glass.

‘Cheers, Rosie. Here’s to you, you poor little duck.’

‘To Rosie,’ the rest of them chorused, raising their glasses.

Rosie found a tumbler of sherry being pressed into her hands. Hester, ever wanting to be the centre of attention, raised her own glass to Rosie in a second toast.

‘Rosie is a very courageous daughter. A toast to bravery!’

‘To bravery,’ they trilled again.

Seconds later the sherry was being knocked back. The decanter was once again passed around.

‘Harriet,’ Hester admonished one of the octogenarians moving over to Rosie and Matt, ‘go easy, dear. You know how alcohol upsets your gout.’

‘The gout can chuff off,’ said Harriet defiantly. ‘Today I’m going to enjoy myself. At my time of life, funerals are the only events I get invited to. But never mind that, Hester, tell me who this charming young man is?’ Harriet’s eyes glinted behind her spectacles as she peered at Matt.

Rosie opened her mouth to speak, but Hester was quicker. ‘This is Matthew Palmer, Rosie’s Financial Advisor,’ she nodded her head vigorously and gave both Rosie and Matt a look that dared to question otherwise. ‘After all, dear Dave was a man of means, and Rosie is now a very wealthy young lady. She has a large London property and a vast lump sum, thanks to dear Dave paying a hefty amount of money every month on life insurance. Mr Palmer is going to advise her how to invest in shares and blue chip companies.’

‘Is he now?’ Harriet gave Matt a shrewd look. ‘Well my Albert, God rest his soul, invested in a couple of funeral homes. Oh, don’t look like that, Mr Palmer,’ Harriet prodded Matt playfully in the chest, ‘you won’t make a deadly mistake putting your money there. After all, it’s not a dying trade,’ she gave a screech of laughter. ‘And if you invest long enough, you’ll get your own funeral costs discounted and a free bouquet of flowers on the day. I’m really looking forward to my funeral,’ Harriet nodded, ‘and having a lovely send off.’

‘Gosh,’ Rosie smiled and wondered what on earth she could possibly add to the conversation. ‘That sounds…super.’

‘Quite,’ Matt smiled. ‘I will certainly give it some thought, Harriet.’

A toothless lady with a small stoop tugged at Rosie’s sleeve. ‘Hello, dear. Thorry for your loth,’ she lisped.

‘Gertrude!’ Rosie bent down and kissed the old lady’s floury cheek. ‘How lovely to see you. I’m sorry it’s not a happier occasion.’

‘Oh, I’m very happy, dear,’ Gertrude rested a hand on Rosie’s forearm to steady herself. ‘We’re all having a marvellouth time reminithing about the funerals of our own huthbands. I say, you are the only man here, Mr Palmer, apart from the thstar of the show,’ Gertrude waved a hand expansively at Dave.

‘I’m lucky to have the company of so many lovely ladies,’ Matt replied gallantly.

‘Hester!’ bawled a woman who was the double of Dot Cotton. ‘We’ve run out of sherry. Is it okay if I open the gin?’

‘Yes, of course. I think we all need some Dutch courage on this occasion. Pour me a glass too, Ruby – and make it a big one.’

‘Ooh, I do love a big one,’ said Catherine butting in, ‘I have a big one every night. When my husband was alive, I didn’t need it so much, but now I can’t do without it.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Matt with very wide eyes.

‘What happened to your car?’ Rosie asked Catherine. ‘It has a large prang in it.’

Catherine pondered the matter and rubbed her chin. ‘A ruddy great wall came out of nowhere and hit my back end.’

‘Are you driving later?’ Rosie asked nervously as Ruby handed Catherine a vast gin with only a dash of tonic.

‘Yes, but I’ll be fine,’ Catherine nodded. ‘If not, I’ll borrow your husband’s couch when he’s finished with it, and sleep the booze off for a bit.’

‘Er, right.’

By the time the octogenarians had downed their triple gins, the room was starting to smell like a pub. Noise levels were at a crescendo, and the gels were swaying like trees in a stiff breeze. Ruby, very much the worse for wear, tripped over one leg of the beauty therapist couch and nose-dived into Dave’s crotch.

‘That’s the most intimate you’ve been with a man for twenty years,’ cackled a little apple dumpling of a lady by the name of Mabel.

Rosie stared around the room in disbelief. Without a shadow of doubt, the gels were plastered. All of them were sporting flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. Even her mother had sunk into an armchair and was having trouble talking coherently. And then, in the midst of the babble, the doorbell shrieked into life.

‘I’ll get it,’ said Matt.

‘I’ll come with you,’ muttered Rosie.

Standing on the doorstep was an undertaker dressed like something out of the Middle Ages. He took off a top hat and bowed his head respectfully.

‘Mrs Prefect?’

‘Perfect,’ Rosie corrected.

‘That’s the ticket, stiff upper lip and all that.’ The undertaker put his hat back on. ‘We’ve come for David.’

‘Yes, he’s, er, well he’s in there,’ Rosie stepped back and indicated the door to the front room. ‘Please, come in.’

‘Thank you very much.’

The undertaker paused before stepping into the hallway. Looking back over his shoulder, he gave a signal to two colleagues indicating he would be a couple of minutes. As he walked past Rosie and Matt into the front room, the octogenarians let out collective squeals of delight.

‘Ain’t ’e ’andsome,’ squawked Mabel.

‘My Ernest looked a bit like you,’ Ruby could be heard simpering. ‘We’ll have to have a dance later.’

‘It’s a funeral, you daft ninny,’ Hester’s voice rose to the fore, ‘not a wedding.’

‘Dear God,’ Rosie glanced up at Matt. ‘They’re all drunk. This is a shambles.’

‘No, it’s not. The cavalry are here and will take charge now. All will be well.’

But in fact, things were only just starting to go wrong.

Chapter Forty-Five

 

‘Ladies, please!’ the undertaker, clearly flustered, raised his voice. ‘Can we have a bit of decorum? This is a solemn occasion after all.’

‘Gels!’ Hester hauled herself up from the depths of her chair. Staggering, she clapped her hands for attention. ‘It’s time to give dear Dave his send off. Let’s make it memorable, please.’

The undertaker gave Hester a grateful look before moving over to the couch. Giving Dave an appraising look, he removed an empty sherry tumbler off his chest.

‘Oh, thank you,’ Gertrude snatched the glass from the undertaker’s hand. ‘I was wondering what I’d done with that.’

The undertaker turned to face his small audience. ‘Could you all file past David and say your final good-byes. My colleagues are in the process of bringing the coffin into the house.’

The party atmosphere immediately changed to one of respectful silence. The octogenarians formed an orderly line behind Hester. Rosie melted into the back of the queue with Matt behind her. He leant forward and whispered into her ear.

‘Everything will go like clockwork now, you’ll see.’

‘I certainly hope so,’ Rosie murmured.

In front of her some sobbing had broken out. Rosie could see Hester delicately dabbing her eyes. It was, she thought guiltily, quite something when your mother was more upset about your husband’s demise than yourself. She shuffled forward until it was finally her turn to stand next to the couch. Hands folded in front of her, she down looked at the body of her husband. Luke’s daddy. Her only sadness was that their little boy wouldn’t grow up knowing his father. A single tear welled into the corner of one eye and rolled down her cheek. Good-bye, Dave. No hard feelings. And I’ll be sure to tell Luke you were the best father in the world, even if you and I know differently. She moved to the side allowing space for the two funeral directors who were coming into the room with the coffin. They placed it carefully on the floor, while the first undertaker pumped a foot pedal and lowered the couch. There was a pause while Dave was transferred into the coffin, and then the coffin was lifted back onto the couch ready to be sealed.

‘Oh dear,’ Hester quavered.

‘Oh dear,’ Gertrude echoed.

‘Bleedin’ Nora,’ said Mabel.

‘Ladies, please,’ said the lead undertaker, ‘I’m sure this is just a technical hitch.’

Rosie stared in disbelief. She wasn’t quite sure whether her husband’s protruding ankles could be described as a technical hitch.

‘The coffin is too small,’ said Catherine, stating the obvious.

‘It can’t be!’ said Matt.

‘I’m afraid it is,’ said one of the undertakers.

‘You’ve got the measurements wrong!’ Hester fumed. ‘What sort of funeral parlour makes such an appalling error?’

The lead undertaker held up a silencing hand. ‘Nobody has made any measurement errors,’ he assured. ‘However, I suspect there has been – ahem – an administration error, and this coffin belongs to Mrs Chadwick. Which means Mrs Chadwick has Mr Prefect’s coffin.’

‘Perfect,’ Hester snapped.

‘There’s no need for sarcasm,’ the undertaker puffed out his cheeks. ‘Now if I could just ask you all to be patient for two minutes while I make a call to another colleague. Please be assured this situation will be remedied.’ The undertaker whipped off his hat and, with much bowing and scraping, hastened out of the lounge to make his urgent phone call.

‘I told you to use the Co-Op,’ said Ruby to Hester. ‘They do a smashing funeral. My Ernest had a lovely send off.’

‘I’m sorry, Ruby, but there’s no way I could permit dear Dave to be driven off on his last journey in a car with a number plate like theirs. It’s bad form.’

‘What did the number plate read?’ asked Mabel.

‘TO 45T.’

‘Toast!’ Catherine crowed.

‘Well I thought it was very fitting,’ Ruby tossed her grey curls defiantly, ‘especially as Ernest was going to the crematorium.’

At that moment the undertaker returned. His pallor was as grey as Dave’s.

‘I’m very sorry, but at this precise moment Mrs Chadwick is being lowered into a six foot plot at Saint Michael’s and it just isn’t possible to swap the coffins.’

‘What are we going to do?’ wailed Hester.

‘Unfortunately we are going to have to make the deceased fit into this coffin.’

‘And how do you propose to do that?’ Catherine put her hands on her ample hips. ‘It will be like fitting a round peg into a square.’

‘Er, it’s a little unorthodox, but there are guidelines for emergency situations such as this.’

‘Which are?’ Hester demanded.

‘We are going to sit very hard on the deceased’s legs,’ said the undertaker.

The octogenarians immediately broke into indignant chuntering. Rosie gasped and Hester looked as if she was going to faint.

‘Ladies, please listen to my colleague,’ said the second funeral director, ‘they are words of sound advice, especially as we are now running half an hour behind schedule.’

‘This is outrageous,’ said Mabel.

‘Preposterous,’ said Catherine.

‘Nobody sat on Ernest at the Co-Op,’ said Ruby smugly.

‘Oh, do be quiet, Ruby,’ Hester waved a hand irritably. She turned to all three funeral directors. ‘Could you just hurry up and do whatever is required so my son-in-law can have some dignity.’

‘Of course,’ said the first undertaker. ‘Lads?’ he signalled to his two colleagues. The men gave a nod of understanding and moved down to Dave’s protruding legs. The three men stood together, side by side. ‘Ready?’ asked the first undertaker. ‘Go!’

And with that, the three men sat down very hard on Dave’s body. There was a horrible cracking noise, but when the undertakers moved away, Dave’s legs were inside the coffin.

‘Thank God,’ Rosie murmured to Matt.

‘Okay, ladies,’ said the first undertaker, ‘if I can ask you to let me and my colleagues through. Mrs Prefect,’ the undertaker turned to Rosie, ‘you’ll be travelling in the limo behind the hearse.’

‘Perfect,’ said Rosie.

‘You’re very welcome,’ said the undertaker.

‘No, she won’t,’ Hester squared her shoulders. ‘I’m the mother-in-law of dear Dave, so that is my privilege.’

‘And you’ll have to budge up to let us all sit with you,’ said Catherine. ‘After all, we’ve been drinking, and I’m in no fit state to drive.’

‘You go ahead,’ Matt said to Hester, ‘It would be my pleasure to drive Rosie,’ he looked at the octogenarians, ‘and anybody else who would like a ride.’

‘Steady,’ sniggered Mabel.

Ten minutes later Rosie and Matt were following the funeral cortège.

‘We seem to going along at quite a pace,’ Rosie observed. ‘I thought an undertaker was meant to walk in front of the hearse for a minute or two as a mark of respect for the deceased.’

‘I think all funeral etiquette has gone out the window,’ said Matt. ‘After all, we’re now forty-five minutes late. The gels look like they’re having a bumpy ride.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Rosie, gripping the door handle. ‘The driver is slinging the hearse around corners almost on two wheels.’

‘We’ll be on the dual carriageway in a minute. Hopefully both the journey and the funeral will now run a little more smoothly.’

‘Please, God.’

But unfortunately God wasn’t listening.

Chapter Forty-Six

 

So many funerals seem to take place in appalling weather, as if the angels in Heaven want to share the sorrow and shed their tears as rain. As the hearse slowed to a more decorous pace and purred through the church gates, an army of grey clouds gathered. Within seconds, a cold spring shower was in full pelt.

In the car park, Rosie got out of the BMW and buttoned up her coat. Pulling an umbrella from her handbag, she popped it open. Spotting Lucy and Gregory Tibor getting out of a parked car, she waved a hand in greeting.

‘Hello, darling,’ Lucy teetered over in black high heels. Stooping under Rosie’s brolley, she hugged her best friend. ‘I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought Gregory along. Funerals give me the collywobbles, and I need a strong hand to hold.’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Rosie kissed Lucy on the cheek, before stepping back and greeting her new boss. ‘Mr Tibor, it’s very good of you to support Lucy.’

‘Not at all, Rosie, and I’m here for you too. My shoulders are broad to weep all over! And please, let’s drop the formalities. I know I’m your employer, but I absolutely insist you call me Gregory.’

Rosie gave a small smile. ‘Okay, Gregory it is. And I just want you to know that I’m very much looking forward to starting my new job on Monday. I will be there bright and early.’

Gregory looked startled. ‘See how you feel, lass. There’s no rush. The dog food ain’t going nowhere. You’re the first taster I’ve employed who can’t wait to start.’

‘I just want today over so I can get back to normality. Eating dog food will be a doddle after the events of the last fortnight.’

‘Good on you, love. Ah, Matthew,’ Gregory greeted Matt. ‘I’m glad you’re looking after my employee today.’

‘Indeed,’ Matt tucked his car keys into a pocket and shook Gregory’s hand. ‘And please tell your factory chefs to make the food extra appetising for Rosie next week.’

‘Tibor’s Tasty Titbits always produces superb doggy cuisine, Matthew.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘I say, who are all the old fogeys?’ Lucy whispered.

Rosie turned to look at Hester and her cronies falling out of their limo.

‘Well, obviously you know my mother,’ Rosie murmured sotto voce, ‘but the others are her friends. They didn’t know Dave particularly well, but apparently they like attending funerals.’

‘Good heavens,’ Lucy giggled, ‘professional mourners.’ She paused and frowned. ‘Are they drunk?’

‘Just a bit.’

Everybody stood, huddled under umbrellas, as Dave’s coffin was removed from the hearse. The chief undertaker motioned everybody to go into the church. A vicar, a vision in a pink cassock, materialised in the arched doorway.

‘Excuse me, Rosie,’ said Hester pushing past, ‘but before we begin, I must have a word with his Holy Highness.’

Lucy gave a snort of laughter. ‘Holy who?’

Rosie looked disconcerted. ‘That’s not the Reverend David Pearson.’

Hester greeted the vicar like a long lost friend. ‘Oh, Clive, it’s so good to see you again. Such a sad day.’

‘Indeed. But come on in and Clive will do his best to make it all ticketty boo.’

‘You are such a dear,’ Hester simpered. ‘Now then, you haven’t met my daughter, have you! Rosie? Over here! Don’t dawdle, child. I do apologise, Clive. Despite God giving her legs as long as a giraffe, He gave her the speed of a snail.’

‘Mother?’ Rosie stood anxiously next to Hester. ‘Where is Reverend Pearson?’

‘On Sabbatical,’ Clive interrupted. ‘He had a sudden desire to go to India. Said he needed to find himself. I told the silly fool that he wasn’t lost, and we were together in North London. Personally – just between toi and moi – I think he was having a holy crisis. You don’t need to go all the way to India to seek God. He is right here,’ Clive flapped a limp wrist at his heart. ‘Know what I mean?’

‘Um, yes. I suppose.’

‘So today you’ve got me,’ Clive beamed.

‘And very grateful we are too,’ Hester said in her best Margaret Thatcher voice.

‘It’s an absolute pleasure. Now do go in, Hester. Take a pew, ah ha ha ha! Ooh, I say, pleased to meet you,’ Clive batted his eyelashes at Matt. ‘Please follow Mrs Prefect to the front of the church.’

‘Perfect,’ Matt corrected.

‘Well it will be when this horrible shower stops.’

‘Mother,’ Rosie hissed, as she scampered after Hester, ‘why on earth didn’t you tell me that the Reverend Pearson wouldn’t be here?’

‘Details, details,’ Hester waved a hand dismissively. ‘Actually, no, Rosie, don’t sit next to me. I need to keep an eye on the gels. Sit behind me. And buck up. The undertakers are getting ready to walk down the aisle.’

‘Well I don’t think much of the vicar,’ Rosie seethed.

‘He’s an absolute sweetie,’ Hester smiled indulgently. ‘And very eligible. Play your cards right, my gel, and you could have him as your next husband.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mother. Firstly, I have no desire to ever get married again, and secondly that vicar is camper than a row of tents.’

‘Do be quiet, child. I’ll talk to you later. Oh, I say, there’s Catherine looking lost. She’s not wearing her glasses. Yoo hoo! Catherine! Over here.’ Hester stood up and waved her arms like an aircraft marshal signalling a pilot. ‘Keep going, keep going, and now turn left. That’s it. Come and sit here with me, dear.’

‘Awful toilets in this place,’ Catherine lamented as she pushed past Rosie and sat down heavily on the wooden pew. ‘The loo paper is rock hard. It’s okay to use for wiping your backside, but not your lady parts. And mine are very delicate.’

‘I’ll be sure to mention it to Clive afterwards,’ Hester assured.

‘Rosie!’ a voice called from two rows behind, ‘come and sit here with us.’

By the time Rosie had fought her way through the rest of the fussing and squawking gels, and hastened over towards Lucy, Gregory and Matt, the organist was playing the opening bars of Abide With Me. Rosie squeezed her way along the pew, banging her shin painfully against a decorative finial. As she collapsed into her seat, she found herself taking a deep breath. The last time Dave had been in this church he’d been stationed near the altar, awaiting his bride. Rosie had glided down this very aisle, swathed in silk and clutching a bouquet as if her life had depended upon it. Instead she now found herself clutching the funeral service sheet. Glancing around, the small crowd was indicative that Dave’s life had been one sorely lacking in friends. His parents were deceased, so they weren’t here, and he had no siblings or even a cousin to wave him off. When Rosie had wed Dave, the gathering in the church had been smallish in number, but decent enough. She realised now that every guest had been either her own friends or family members. The music came to a pounding finale. As the last note rang out, there was a dramatic pause before Clive finally spoke.

‘Dear hearts, we meet here today to honour and pay tribute to the life of David Prefect.’

‘Perfect,’ Hester stage-whispered.

Clive inclined his head graciously. ‘Thank you,’ he mouthed.

Rosie felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around and came face to face with a woman she’d never met before. And who were all these people turning up late and hastily filing into the pews? Rosie’s eyes widened. Were these people perhaps colleagues of her husband whose consciences had suddenly pricked?

‘Yes?’ she asked the stranger.

‘Is this the funeral of Thomas John Tullett?’

‘No. It’s the funeral of my husband, David Perfect.’

‘Dear Lord. I’m at the wrong church,’ said the woman. She stood up and signalled to the vicar. ‘So sorry to interrupt,’ she called, ‘very sorry. Everybody out,’ she ushered to the occupants of the next three aisles, ‘this isn’t St John’s.’

‘That’s two blocks down,’ said Clive helpfully.

Rosie sat, speechless, as about thirty people made a hasty dash for the church door. Could this day get any worse?

Chapter Forty-Seven

 

By the time the funeral directors were ready to carry the coffin from the church to the graveside, the sun had chased the clouds away and a warm breeze was ruffling the hems of the gels’ tweedy skirts. Rosie watched the funeral directors settle the coffin on batons, and tried not to peg her high heels in the soft grass.

A few yards away, an elderly gentleman was meandering along the pathway between the graves, an ancient Labrador in tow. Rosie watched as they drew closer, the dog sniffing here and there. Suddenly the leash went taut and the dog refused to walk another step. The Lab’s nose was now checking out a granite headstone two graves away. Rosie could just about read the faded words:

Time was I stood where thou dost now

and viewed the dead as thou dost me

before long you’ll be as low as me

while others stand and gaze at thee

The old man caught Rosie’s eye just as the dog lifted a stiff leg and aimed a stream of urine over the stone.

‘Buster always stops at this headstone,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I think my pooch would like to add his own inscription…and dogs will stop to pass a wee. The old boy gave a wheezy laugh and tipped his hat. ‘Nice day for it,’ he smiled, before moving off.

A nice day for what? thought Rosie. A wee? Or for getting buried?

‘Let us say farewell to David,’ said Clive. ‘Release the strap. We commend him to the mercy of God. Heavenly Father, we entrust David into your loving arms. Release the strap.’

‘Why does he keep saying that?’ Lucy whispered.

‘Saying what?’ Rosie whispered back.

‘Release the strap.’

‘It’s probably part of the committal prayer.’

‘Do you think we should join in?’

‘Yes, you’re probably right. I expect it’s like saying hallelujah, or something.’

‘We therefore commit David’s body to the ground,’ Clive continued.

‘Release the strap,’ Rosie and Lucy intoned in time with Clive.

‘Earth to earth.’

‘Release the strap,’ the gels joined in with Rosie, Lucy and Clive.

‘Ashes to ashes.’

‘Release the strap,’ everybody joined in as one.

‘Dust to dust.’

‘Release the strap,’ Hester’s voice soared above everybody else’s.

‘In the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.’

‘I can’t release the strap,’ said one of the funeral directors in exasperation. He was hunkered down by the side of the grave. Rocking back on his heels, he looked up at Clive. ‘I’m going to have to make some adjustments.’

Lucy and Rosie gave each other an appalled look before getting a serious attack of the giggles.

‘You mean–’ spluttered Lucy.

‘Oh God–’ Rosie tried to turn her snorts of laughter into a coughing fit.

At that precise moment an ice-cream van came blaring around the corner playing We’ll keep a welcome in the hillside. It was too much for Rosie. She rummaged in her handbag for a tissue and dabbed it to her streaming eyeballs, shoulders shaking with mirth. Hester, thinking her daughter was in the grip of heartbreak, and not wanting to be outdone, immediately burst into noisy sobs.

‘Dave!’ she screeched. ‘Don’t leave us. I can’t stand it.’ Lumbering forward, arms outstretched, she looked as though she was going to embrace the coffin. Instead one of her well shod feet tripped over the strap the funeral director had been fiddling with. There was a collective gasp from the crowd as Hester, arms akimbo, handbag dangling from one wrist, took off like a bird in flight but with none of the grace. She sailed through the air, past a rapidly blinking Clive, and landed on top of the coffin. There was a horrified silence before both Hester and the coffin disappeared six feet under.

The funeral director stood up. ‘I do believe the strap has now released.’
 

Chapter Forty-Eight

 

‘Okay, that’s fantastic,’ Rosie spoke into the mobile phone that was clamped to one ear, ‘I’ll await hearing from you. Good-bye.’ She ended the call and smiled at Matt.

‘Good news?’ he asked.

They were sitting at his kitchen table, sharing a late Saturday afternoon pizza. Luke was in his highchair, chomping happily on a soft cheesy crust.

‘That was the estate agent,’ Rosie said. ‘Apparently he’s telephoned all his registered buyers who are looking for a property in the price band I’m selling at. There has been so much interest he now has half a dozen viewings lined up for tomorrow. I’m flabbergasted. The house details haven’t even been loaded onto the internet yet.’

‘Brilliant!’ Matt picked up his mug of tea and raised it in a toast. ‘Here’s to a swift sale.’

Rosie grinned and clunked her mug against Matt’s. ‘I’ll second that.’

‘There’s absolutely no reason for the property not to sell quickly.’ Matt took a sip of tea before placing the mug back on the table. ‘The location is extremely commutable for the City worker, plus you’re marketing at a great price.’

‘Yeah, because the place is falling to bits.’

‘Ah, but it’s the perfect project for a young couple to do up before starting a family. Or for a builder to gut, refurbish at cost, then make a small fortune selling it on again.’

‘Well whoever buys it, I wish them joy and happiness. I just want shot of the place.’ Rosie bit down on a chunk of pizza and chewed thoughtfully. She’d wait until she had an offer on the house before viewing any properties for her and Luke, although she was currently enjoying browsing on the internet.

Matt brushed some crumbs from his hands, and gave Rosie an enquiring look. ‘Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?’

‘None,’ Rosie wiped her mouth with a bit of kitchen towel. ‘After yesterday, I just want to chill out and do naff all.’ She stood up and stacked their plates together. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been to such a catastrophic funeral in my entire life.’

‘How is your mother?’ Matt’s lips twitched.

Rosie pulled the dishwasher lid down and stacked the plates. ‘Recuperating apparently. Catherine and Gertrude are with her, so she’s not alone.’

‘Hester’s lucky she didn’t break anything.’

‘Only the coffin lid. I don’t suppose it matters too much,’ Rosie shut the dishwasher and turned her attention to breaking up the pizza packaging, ‘although I thought the vicar was going to faint and fall in on top of her.’

‘Yes, it’s a good thing one of the funeral directors grabbed him.’

‘Mm.’ Rosie shoved the packaging into a recycling sack. ‘Clive said that up until then he’d only regarded Jesus Christ as his saviour. There was an awful lot of mutual swooning going on.’

‘I do love a happy ending,’ Matt grinned. ‘Talking of which, do you fancy watching a funny film tonight?’

Rosie picked up a muslin. Dampening it under the tap, she turned and wiped Luke’s greasy fingers. ‘You must be telepathic. I have an entire boxed set of Laurel and Hardy films ready to watch. Lucy loaned them to me.’

‘Smashing,’ Matt grinned. ‘Those two comedians are pure class. Let me pick one out for us. I’ll grab a take-away later, to go with it.’ He stood up from the table. ‘Where are they?’

Rosie turned her attention to Luke’s mouth. Some hair fell across her face. ‘I think you’ve overlooked something,’ she mumbled.

Matt frowned. ‘Oh?’

Rosie flicked the hair out of her eyes and gave Matt a direct look. ‘You’re out tonight.’

‘Am I?’

‘Yes!’ Rosie balled up the muslin and lobbed it at the sink. Releasing Luke from the highchair, she lifted her young son out and turned to face Matt. ‘You have a date with Gregory Tibor’s receptionist.’

Matt stared at Rosie, appalled. Cheryl, with her tight sweaters and perky assets, had completely slipped his mind. The whole point of asking the woman out was to stop him from mooning after Rosie. ‘Ah, yes. You’re right, I’d forgotten.’ Tonight he was meant to be reverting to his track record of insensitive bastard, wining and dining Cheryl before indulging in a spot of leg-over. ‘Er, thanks for reminding me.’ Matt contemplated his hands for a moment. ‘I could always cancel her and keep you company. If you want me too, of course,’ he added.

Rosie had a fleeting thought of a chummy evening with Matt, sitting side by side on the sofa, sharing a bottle of wine and a chicken jalfrezi, and laughing over the antics of Oliver Hardy saying, “Here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into, Stanley.” It was so tempting. And then she remembered the last time they’d sat side by side on the sofa. On that occasion they’d enjoyed brandy. Matt had stretched an arm along the back of the sofa, his fingers within touching distance. She’d looked up. Gazed into his eyes. And for one crazy moment she’d thought he was going to kiss her. She’d almost launched herself at him. Oh no. That couldn’t happen again. She’d so nearly made a fool of herself. Here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Rosie. Except she hadn’t, and she wasn’t going to either.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s high time you went out and enjoyed yourself.’

‘Well…so long as you’re sure.’ Matt gave her a searching look.

‘Yes,’ Rosie insisted. ‘I’m absolutely sure.’

Chapter Forty-Nine

 

‘This is a lovely restaurant,’ said Cheryl. She allowed a waiter to position her chair, accepted a menu and then glanced around the swanky surroundings. ‘Have you been here before?’

‘A couple of times,’ Matt replied. The same waiter pulled out another chair, and Matt sat down opposite. He took the proffered menu, although he’d been here so often he practically knew the contents off by heart. The waiters were discreet and never made any comment about the number of different females Matt had dined with. He’d sat at virtually every table in the restaurant, several times over.

‘I’ve been looking forward to this all day,’ Cheryl smiled seductively. ‘I’m starving. Are you?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Oh,’ Cheryl pouted. ‘Are you perhaps…saving yourself for something later?’ She thrust her chest out and twirled a strand of hair around one finger.

‘To be honest, I’m not that hungry. I had a late lunch with Rosie and Luke.’

‘Rosie?’ Cheryl frowned.

‘Yes. You’ve met her. She’s starting work on Monday at the factory.’

‘Oh, her. She’s the,’ Cheryl posted quotation marks in the air, ‘product tester. Let’s hope the dog food doesn’t give her dog breath. Do you know her well?’

‘Yes. And no.’

How could Matt explain to Cheryl that he’d known Rosie for all of five minutes but felt like he’d known her forever?

‘That’s a strange answer. Either you know her well, or you don’t.’

‘Okay. I know her well.’

Cheryl looked perplexed. ‘Is that because she lives near you?’

Matt put down the menu. Why were women always so nosy about other women? ‘Er, you could say that.’

Cheryl picked up her wine glass. ‘A neighbour?’ she asked, putting the flute to her lips.

‘Not a neighbour, no. Rosie lives with me.’

Cheryl nearly spat her wine out. ‘Come again?’

‘It’s not what you think. Let me explain.’

‘I’m all ears.’

Matt proceeded to give Cheryl a potted history about how Rosie came to be sharing his apartment. ‘So, there you have it. We’re just friends.’

‘I see.’ Cheryl looked put out. If Matt had a house guest, he probably wouldn’t invite her back to his place later on. Never mind. Thankfully she’d allowed for the possibility of such an event and changed her bed linen earlier on. It was probably for the best anyway. She was, after all, rather vocal between the sheets, and it might not be appropriate to have a future colleague hearing her screams of pleasure.

A waiter briefly interrupted them to take their orders. Cheryl selected an eight-ounce steak with all the trimmings, while Matt opted for something lighter and chose a salad.

‘So,’ said Cheryl picking up the reins of the conversation, ‘just for the record, you are definitely foot-loose and fancy free? I don’t want to be treading on Rosie Perfect’s corns.’

‘I’m single,’ Matt nodded.

‘Good. And I just want to say,’ Cheryl smiled winsomely while batting her eyelashes, ‘that I’m absolutely thrilled to be out with you tonight. I’m looking forward to getting to know you much better. Catch my drift?’

‘Indeed.’ Matt smiled back. Okay, he was getting the green light from Cheryl. She was knocking the wine back now and flicking her hair about. So why didn’t he feel chuffed? He studied Cheryl’s face. She was a nice looking girl. Good teeth. Lovely hair. She was arching her back now and once again sticking her chest out. Great figure. But she wasn’t a patch on Rosie.

‘Do you?’

‘Sorry?’ Matt realised he’d completely switched off and hadn’t a clue what his dinner date had been talking about.

‘I was saying how much I like football. I’m every man’s dream woman when it comes to talking about the Premier League,’ Cheryl gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Are you a footie fan?’

‘Oh, right!’ Matt forced himself to look appreciative. ‘Yes, I love a bit of football. I’m a big Manchester United fan. I’ve been explaining the game and who all the players are to Luke.’

The waiter interrupted them momentarily with their mains. There was a pause in conversation while condiments were set down, napkins spread across laps, and wine glasses refreshed.

Cheryl picked up her knife and fork. ‘This looks delicious. So, you were saying?’

‘Where was I?’

‘Talking about somebody called Luke.’

‘Ah, yes. Luke is Rosie’s son.’

Cheryl looked surprised. ‘You didn’t mention him when you were telling me about Rosie. So Luke lives with you too, does he?’

‘Yes, but only for now, of course.’ Matt toyed with his salad.

‘And what does Luke think about Manchester United?’

‘He thinks they’re brilliant,’ Matt beamed, ‘although I did explain to him that the team’s loss of form since Fergie left is only a temporary thing. We’ve discussed all the players. Who’s who. Who does what. Who’s the greatest.’

‘And has he told you which player is his hero?’

‘No, he can’t speak.’

‘Oh dear, I’m sorry. Is there something wrong with him?’

Matt looked affronted. ‘Absolutely not. Luke is only eight months old.’

Cheryl looked flummoxed. ‘But you just said you’d discussed with him–’

‘That’s because he understands everything I say,’ said Matt proudly, ‘I’m sure of it! I personally think the little chap is a genius. No other baby concentrates as hard as Luke when I’m talking about Adnan Januzaj’s passing skills.’

Cheryl straightened up. She gave Matt an assessing look. ‘You speak very fondly of Luke, almost as if he were your son.’

‘Just practising my paternal instincts,’ Matt assured, popping a tomato in his mouth.

Cheryl was instantly all smiles again. Oh good. A man who wanted babies. Perking up, she speared a chunky chip. She was aware of her own biological clock ticking, and in the last six months or so the tick had been getting louder. She let her tongue suggestively flick over the chip’s length, before putting both lips firmly around one end and sucking the life out of it. Matt nearly choked on a slice of cucumber.

‘Sorry,’ he croaked, ‘it went down the wrong way.’

Cheryl stuck her chest out again. ‘I bet you’ll make a great daddy one day.’

‘I certainly hope so.’

‘I can’t wait to make babies with the right person,’ she said throatily.

‘Absolutely,’ Matt agreed. ‘Rosie is an absolutely marvellous mother. She has the patience of a saint. And even when Luke gets her up at night, she always manages to look a million dollars.’

‘How thrilling,’ said Cheryl, sounding anything but.

‘I know. She’s the most amazing woman. I reckon you’ll end up being great friends with her. There’s absolutely nothing not to like about Rosie.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘It’s true,’ Matt said earnestly, ‘at the risk of sounding like a gossip – which I’m not – she’s been to hell and back, poor girl.’

‘Fascinating.’

‘I’ve never known anybody who has been through what Rosie has been through, and survived with their marbles intact. Anybody else would have had a nervous breakdown and been carted off to the funny farm. She’s really turned her life around for the better.’

‘Hurrah.’

‘I have the highest admiration for her courage, steadfastness, and sheer determination. She’s such a gutsy woman.’

‘In my opinion, she sounds like a head case. Why else would a woman take a job eating dog food?’

‘Because that is how amazing she is. She’ll be earning a decent salary doing a horrible job, and all because she has the interests of her child first and foremost in her heart.’

‘Three cheers for Rosie.’

‘Indeed. She’s tremendous – and such a lady. Really classy.’

Cheryl put her knife and fork together. ‘Rosie this, and Rosie that. You have real mentionitis. Are you sure she’s only a friend?’

Matt looked at Cheryl incredulously. ‘Yes!’

‘Good. In that case let’s skip dessert and we’ll have coffee back at mine. Is that okay with you?’

Matt looked at his watch. It was only half past nine. If he went home now, he might be able to watch some of the Laurel and Hardy movie with Rosie. He gave a massive fake yawn. ‘Gosh, I’m feeling so tired all of a sudden.’

Cheryl put her head on one side. ‘In that case you definitely need a coffee before heading back. Get the bill, and we’ll go.’

Twenty minutes later they were outside Cheryl’s small house. Matt made no move to get out of the BMW, and left the engine running.

You can park on the drive,’ said Cheryl.

‘Actually, would you mind terribly–’

‘You’ll be telling me you have to rush back to Rosie in a minute,’ Cheryl mocked.

‘No, of course I don’t,’ said Matt crossly.

‘Good. Then come in and have that coffee.’

‘Okay, but I really do feel genuinely tired.’

‘That’s fine. I have a lovely sofa you can stretch out on. Or,’ Cheryl looked Matt in the eye, ‘an extremely comfortable King sized bed.’

There. It was out. The offer of sex hung in the air. Matt gazed at Cheryl. She wanted him. This was exactly the situation he’d hoped for. All he had to do was get out of the BMW and follow Cheryl’s shapely legs and undulating bottom up the garden path to her front door. If he made love to Gregory Tibor’s receptionist, he just might stop thinking about Rosie Perfect.

Cheryl broke the silence. ‘You’re starting to give me a complex. Are you coming in or not?’

Without saying another word, Matt opened the driver’s door.

Chapter Fifty

 

Matt opened one eye. The bedroom was flooded with morning light. He let his eyelid slam down shut again. He didn’t want to wake up. Not yet. If he opened both eyes, then it would officially be Sunday morning, and the events of last night would have to be acknowledged. Whereas, if he kept both eyes tightly shut, he could pretend last night had never happened – that the images starting to replay through his head were nothing more than a nightmare. Regrettably the events of the previous night began to flood back.

Once out of the BMW, Cheryl had caught hold of Matt’s wrist and almost dragged him up the path to her front door. Inside the hall, all pretence of coffee had been abandoned. With a strength that had belied her slight frame, she’d pinned Matt up against the hallway wall and cupped his face in the palm of her hands. As Matt had opened his mouth to say something, she’d leant in and stuck her tongue down his throat.

Matt had done his best to respond. After all, screwing Cheryl was his Rosie antidote. So, after the initial surprise onslaught, he’d started to kiss her back. Wildly encouraged, Cheryl had pulled away just long enough to refuel her lungs with air, before once again clamping her mouth to his. Her arms had shot up his back and coiled tightly around his neck. Unlike Cheryl, Matt hadn’t had the luxury of taking a second breath. A few seconds later, he’d started to feel light-headed. As the moment went on and on, panic had set in. A fleeting thought of Monday morning’s headlines had danced through his brain. MAN SNOGGED TO DEATH!

He’d tried to pull away, but Cheryl’s fingers had edged up the back of his neck and tangled in his hair. Realisation had dawned that he was in this female’s vice-like grip and having the life sucked out of him. Just as he’d reached the point of real dizziness from lack of oxygen, she’d briefly released him in order to do something entirely different. As Matt had slumped against the wall gulping in lungfuls of air, Cheryl had moved her hands down to his open shirt collar. Grabbing hold of the fabric, she’d wrenched hard. In a split second every single shirt button had pinged off. Matt had heard the buttons skittering across the laminate flooring like dropped Smarties. She’d just wrecked his favourite Hugo Boss shirt! He’d opened his mouth to protest but once again Cheryl’s lips had slammed down on his. Matt’s head had banged painfully back against the wall. Long fingers had returned to his hair, tugging at the roots. If you want to fuck, babe, you’re going the wrong way about it. It had been the most unarousing bit of foreplay he’d ever engaged in. Rallying, he’d grabbed hold of her wrists and yanked them downward.

‘That’s it, baby,’ Cheryl had panted, ‘play rough with me.’

‘Rough?’ Matt had gasped. ‘Jesus, you’ve just pulled a fistful of hair from my scalp.’

‘And don’t you just love it, big boy.’

‘Well, actually I’d much prefer–’

‘Yeah, me too.’

And with that Cheryl had hooked a high-heeled shoe around the back of Matt’s right knee, deftly buckling one leg. Caught unawares, Matt had staggered. Quick as a flash, Cheryl had repeated the same thing to his left knee. Suddenly, like a fallen oak, Matt had crashed down to the hard floor. He could have sworn Cheryl had yelled, “Timberrrr!” She’d certainly been emitting some blood curdling noises.

Winded, Matt had simply lain on the hall floor staring up at the overhead light, not quite believing what was happening to him. He’d been reminded of the old Peter Sellers films where the Chinese servant, Cato, constantly launched surprise attacks on his boss. Making a yee-ha noise, Cheryl had flung herself on top of Matt.

‘Oof,’ he’d gasped, clutching his groin.

‘Ooh, sorry, gorgeous. Mustn’t spoil the crown jewels, must we!’ she’d giggled. ‘Here,’ she’d licked her lips hungrily, ‘let me give them a good polish.’

‘No, I–’

But her hands had already found his belt. Seconds later it had been cast aside.

‘You can whip me with this in a minute.’

‘Please, I–’

‘Ooh, I love a man who begs!’ Cheryl had tossed back her hair and tugged at his flies. The fabric had caught in the zipper, but to her such a hindrance was just a minor inconvenience. Grabbing hold of the fabric, she’d given it the same treatment as the shirt. The cloth had ripped away rendering the zip useless.

‘Dear God, would you please–’

‘Yes, that’s it, beg! C’mon, Matt. Do it again.’

‘Please–’

‘Yes!’ Cheryl had shrieked. ‘I’m going to come before you’re even inside me.’

‘Marvellous,’ Matt had croaked, hoping he could then peel her off him and escape.

‘Luckily for you,’ Cheryl had panted, ‘I’m multi-orgasmic.’

‘No!’

‘Yes!’

‘Get off!’

‘That’s it, fight me, baby.’

‘I mean it.’

‘Me too, fight me some more.’

‘Gerroff!’

‘Arghhhhh,’ the volume of Cheryl’s screeches had gone up a couple of notches as, rubbing and writhing on Matt’s torso, she’d deafened him with the cry of, ‘I’m com-inggggg!’

‘And I’m going.’

Taking advantage of Cheryl’s convulsing body, Matt had shoved her to one side. Hanging on to his trousers, he’d heaved himself up and grabbed his discarded belt. Stepping quickly over Cheryl’s jerking legs, he’d lunged for the front door’s catch.

‘Where are you going?’ Cheryl had gasped.

‘Home,’ Matt had panted.

‘But you haven’t screwed me!’

‘And I’m not going to.’

Suddenly Cheryl had scrambled to her feet. She’d glared at Matt, clearly livid. ‘It’s that fucking Rosie, isn’t it?’

Matt had turned and, for a moment, they’d just regarded each other, the air crackling with fury and tension.

‘Yes,’ he’d eventually said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You wanker. You bloody bastard. Get out!’

He’d not needed telling twice. He’d driven back to Penshurst like a man possessed. Crashing into the apartment, he’d met Rosie coming out of the kitchen with a steaming mug. She’d taken one look at his tousled hair, gaping shirt, and knackered trousers and nearly dropped her Horlicks.

‘Good date?’

‘Don’t ask. I’m going to bed.’

‘Right. Goodnight.’

And now Matt opened his eyes properly. He was in his own bed. Thank God. His whole body ached from slamming into Cheryl’s walls and floor. Gingerly, he touched his tender scalp. Dear God, the woman was a lunatic. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again when he next visited Gregory Tibor’s factory. However, there was another woman he’d be seeing much sooner than Cheryl. And she wasn’t a million miles away either. Flinging back the duvet, Matt got out of bed.

Chapter Fifty-One

 

When Matt walked into his kitchen, Rosie was drinking coffee and reading the Sunday newspapers. Luke was in his playpen babbling to the mirror on his play mobile. There was some toast in the little rack on the table alongside the jars of jam and marmalade. A pot of coffee stood half full.

‘Hi,’ said Rosie, glancing up.

‘Morning,’ Matt gave a half smile. He felt a mixture of embarrassment and despair wash over him. So much for Cheryl being his Rosie antidote. The woman of his dreams was sitting right here, at his breakfast table, in his home, looking for all the world like a wife. His wife. And in that moment, Matt knew for sure that he wasn’t just in love with Rosie, he wanted to marry her too. She was perfect. Even her name declared it. She was indeed Rosie Perfect. He didn’t care that she came with a baby boy fathered by somebody else. He loved Luke too. Of that, Matt was sure.

‘Rosie–’

‘How–?’

‘Sorry, you go first.’

‘No, no, that’s fine. You were saying?’

‘Ladies first – I insist.’

‘Okay.’ Rosie gave him a sheepish look. ‘I was going to be incredibly nosey and ask how your date with Cheryl went.’ There. She’d said it. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it last night. And if he told her to bog off and mind her own business, then so be it. The truth of the matter was that yesterday evening had been a miserable one for Rosie. Not even Laurel and Hardy had made her smile. Her body might have been sitting in front of Matt Palmer’s vast telly, but her mind had been with Gregory Tibor’s receptionist, and how she was responding to Matt. Did she think him witty? Charming? Clever? And were they in a restaurant? Or strolling hand in hand along a City pavement? Perhaps they were doing neither, and instead sipping Cointreau on Cheryl’s sofa, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes? Or worse, working up a sweat between Cheryl’s sheets, the bedsprings protesting wildly.

Matt deflected the question. ‘Is that coffee still hot?’ He pointed to the half full pot.

‘I think so. Try it. If not, I’ll make some fresh.’ Rosie bit her lip. Damn. He didn’t want to talk about it. She shouldn’t have asked. ‘You can finish up that toast, too, if you like. It’s cold, but I prefer it that way. I hate it when toast is buttered the moment it pops up from the toaster.’ Rosie was aware she was starting to gabble, but she was desperate to fill any potentially awkward silences. ‘The bread goes all soggy, and the butter drips everywhere. If you’re not careful, it can make a right mess of your clothes.’

Matt shot her a look. Rosie’s last few words seemed to hang heavily in the air. A right mess of your clothes. Taking a mug from the cupboard, he poured himself some coffee. Last night, his clothes had indeed been a mess, although the cause had been nothing to do with melting butter. He went back to the cupboard and pulled out a plate. ‘I love cold toast,’ he set the plate down on the table, ‘so thank you, I appreciate the offer.’ Pulling out a chair, he sat down. ‘Can I borrow your knife?’

‘Sure.’ Rosie passed the utensil to him. Their hands briefly touched, and Matt experienced such a jolt of electricity he nearly dropped the wretched thing. He couldn’t go on like this. He reached for the butter and plunged the knife in.

‘If you must know, last night,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘was an absolute disaster.’ He scooped out a wodge of butter, and began to spread it backwards and forwards over the toast.

‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Rosie, feeling secretly relieved. She’d spent the entire evening offering up prayers to God that Cheryl would, in some small way, decide Matt was repulsive. That he’d accidentally fart in the restaurant and engulf them in a smell so putrid she’d stand up and shriek, “Matthew Palmer! You are dis-gust-ing. I don’t ever want to see you again.” The soundtrack to a Taylor Swift song suddenly played through Rosie’s mind. “Everrrrr’. Or perhaps Matt would choose a dish that contained spinach and get millions of green bits stuck between every tooth. And then, when he smiled at Cheryl, she’d recoil in horror as the soundtrack to Bein’ Green by Kermit the Frog played through her head. Or Matt would consume so much garlic that, as he lowered his mouth to kiss Cheryl’s lips, she’d faint… and bang her head, hard, on the floor… or, even better, go into an instant coma... or, better still, hit that particularly vulnerable bit… and die. On the spot.

Rosie’s mouth dropped open. Good heavens. What was wrong with her imagination? Was she a repressed violent person? Should she go and have counselling? Perhaps she was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Matt had warned that the recent frightening and traumatic events might catch up with her. She came back to the present.

‘Your clothes were all torn. What happened?’

‘I don’t really want to go into detail – I’d prefer to spare Cheryl’s blushes – but there will be no second date.’

‘Did you sleep with her?’ Rosie blurted. Her voice seemed to have gone up two octaves. Her hand shot to her mouth. Fancy asking a question like that! Matt’s private life was none of her business.

‘No.’ Matt put his knife down. He gave Rosie a frank look. ‘No, I didn’t sleep with her. But while we’re talking like this, and being honest, there is something I need to talk to you about.’

‘Oh?’ She stared at Matt. He was looking at her in a peculiar way. She couldn’t quite fathom his expression. He had a look of hopelessness on his face. And yet his eyes…oh, those eyes…she could have sworn they were regarding her with such tenderness. The air between them was starting to crackle. Rosie could feel her mouth drying out. Was she imagining this, or was something actually going on here?

‘The only reason I asked Cheryl out,’ said Matt in a faltering voice, ‘was because–’

Rosie’s mobile phone suddenly shrieked into life making them both jump. She rummaged under the pages of the Sunday newspapers and grabbed it. The caller display said Lucy. Rosie slid her finger along the touch screen.

‘Hello?’

‘Rosie!’ Lucy squawked, ‘I have something to tell you, and it simply cannot keep.’

Chapter Fifty-Two

 

Lucy had felt like she would burst if she didn’t tell somebody her news. But who could she tell? If she rang her parents, they’d be horrified. She could just imagine what her mother would say.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Lucy! I can’t believe I’m hearing such a thing. You’ve obviously gone stark raving mad. Gerald? Gerald! Our daughter is on the phone with the most preposterous news ever. I think I’m going faint. Pour me a triple gin and tonic.’

And then her father, henpecked and subservient, would have taken the phone from her mother and spoken calmly into the receiver. ‘Hello, Luce. Your mother seems a teensy bit overwrought. What’s up? Oh, really? I see. Well, I don’t see really. I think Mummy might possibly be right on this occasion. Yes, dear. Stark raving mad. Would you excuse me, darling? I’m going to join Mummy for that triple gin.’

On occasions like this, you needed to confide in somebody who had known you all your life – a person who was privy to the secrets of your heart. Like your best friend. Lucy had immediately reached out to Rosie.

‘I have the most exciting news ever!’ Lucy was bubbling over with happiness. Her heart was expanding with so much joy. Any second now it would squeeze through her ribs and, like a cartoon, pulsate on top of her sweater with little red hearts floating upwards.

‘What is it?’ Rosie laughed.

‘You’ll just never guess.’

‘No, you’re right, I won’t.’

‘Well, you could at least try! Go on. It’s not difficult.’

‘Okay. You’ve been promoted.’

‘Nope.’

‘You’ve won the lottery.’

‘Nope.’

‘Oh my goodness, you’re pregnant.’

‘No! My news is…I’M GETTING MARRIED!’

‘Married? Oh, I see!’ Rosie smacked her forehead. ‘The wedding is back on again. In which case you’ve presumably come to terms with Terry being a cross-dresser, and you’re willing to accept Tracey. Right?’

‘You’re half right and half wrong.’

‘Sorry,’ said Rosie, ‘in that case I’m thoroughly confused.’

‘Yes, the wedding is back on. But I’m not marrying Terry. I’m marrying Gregory instead!’ Lucy beamed into the phone, waiting for Rosie to give a thunderous howl of approval. It didn’t come. Instead there was a long pause.

‘Gregory? You mean Gregory Tibor?’

‘Yes, of course Gregory Tibor. The owner of Tibor’s Tasty Titbits and, as from tomorrow, your new boss. That Gregory.’

‘Blimey.’

Lucy’s shoulders sagged. This wasn’t the reaction she wanted. ‘Is that all you can say?’

‘I’m gobsmacked. This isn’t some prank you’re playing on me, is it?’

‘Most definitely not!’

‘In that case,’ said Rosie cautiously, ‘congratulations.’

‘Aren’t you pleased for me?’ Lucy could feel her bubbles of happiness slowly starting to pop.

‘Luce, don’t take this the wrong way, but this has Rebound stamped all over it.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Well you should care. Take a leaf out of my book. Rushing down the aisle because you think somebody might be a good husband is actually a recipe for disaster.’

‘Ah, but that’s where your rebound and mine have nothing in common. You were never in love with Dave, whereas I am head-over-heels with Gregory.’

‘I thought I was in love,’ Rosie protested.

‘Rubbish,’ Lucy tutted disparagingly. ‘Did you ever want to rip Dave’s clothes off and roger him senseless?’

‘Okay, point taken. But lust doesn’t last forever. What happens when you’ve finished bonking for England?’ She was aware of Matt suddenly looking at her, a startled expression on his face. ‘I mean, what exactly do you two have in common with each other?’

‘Loads of things! We’re both business people, and understand the pressures of each other’s work. We know that down time is precious, and we want to spend it together. We love the simple things in life – a walk in the park, watching the world go by, seeing the sun set. We’re never short of conversation. We never stop laughing. And we want to start a family – immediately – and then grow old together.’

‘Fine, but the reality is you’ve known this guy for five minutes.’

‘Yeah, that’s true. But I feel like I’ve known him forever.’

Rosie swallowed. Yes, she could identify with those feelings. She stole a look at Matt who had resumed munching his way through marmalade toast, head buried in the newspaper she’d been reading earlier. ‘Don’t you think you should just slow down a bit? Please tell me you’re going to have a long engagement and thoroughly get to know each other.’

‘What, and miss my wedding slot?’

‘Eh? Didn’t you cancel the wedding?’

‘No,’ Lucy confessed.

‘Why ever not?’ Rosie asked, flabbergasted.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Lucy sighed. ‘I suppose it was because all the deposits were non-refundable, and so much has already been paid for in full. Take my dress for example, and all the bridesmaids’ dresses. I can’t get my money back on those – they were made to measure. And there was a part of me that just couldn’t bear the thought of another bride gleefully taking my cancellation date. The idea of my misfortune being another’s gain just made me depressed. I was going to cancel it. Eventually. But not until the very last minute.’

‘Gosh.’

‘I haven’t even informed the guests.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘I was psyching myself up to do it, honest. It was just the thought of sitting down and writing out umpteen letters of explanation, and returning hundreds of pounds’ worth of gift vouchers and cash. It was a bit daunting. But now I don’t need to!’

Rosie’s brow furrowed. ‘So, let me get this straight. This wedding is going ahead, as previously, and there will be no changes at all.’

‘The only change will be the bridegroom,’ said Lucy cheerfully.

‘Nothing major then,’ said Rosie drily.

‘Very funny. And please tell me you will still be my bridesmaid?’

‘Yes, of course. I’d be delighted.’

‘Although, whereas Matt was previously Terry’s usher, Gregory would like him to be the best man, being that Matt was indirectly responsible for us meeting. But look, I’m getting ahead of myself here. I’m also phoning to ask the two of you out this evening. We’d like you both to help us celebrate. Please say you’ll come for dinner?’

‘Well, that would be lovely, but I don’t think I’ll get a babysitter at such short notice.’

‘That’s fine. Bring Luke along.’

‘Let me just have a word with Matt.’ Rosie cupped a hand over the mobile. ‘It’s Lucy on the phone.’

‘I gathered.’ Matt gave a mischievous grin. ‘Has she finished bonking for England yet?’

‘Ah, sorry about that,’ Rosie blushed. ‘She’s asking if we’ll both have dinner with her and Gregory this evening. They’re getting married and want us to celebrate with them.’

Matt didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ He then shook out the newspaper and returned to the sports page. Wild horses wouldn’t keep him away from spending an evening with Rosie and Luke. The fact that it would also be in the company of Gregory and Lucy, was neither here nor there.

Chapter Fifty-Three

 

Rosie was sitting in the passenger seat of Matt’s BMW. It was Monday morning and she was on her way to work. Matt was due to have a meeting with Gregory Tibor, so was able to give her a lift directly to the factory. He’d assured her that ninety-per-cent of his business was in London, so diverting via Erith was not a problem. They’d dropped Luke off to his nursery and there had been a few tears – Rosie’s, not Luke’s.

Meanwhile, Dave’s life insurance cheque had been received and was in the process of clearing. Just as soon as the funds were in her account, Rosie determined she would buy a decent car for her and Luke, and be independent. It was lovely of Matt to transport her around, but the guy needed a break. All she required now was an offer on the house, and she’d be ready to crack on with purchasing a new home and putting down proper roots. She loved living at Penshurst. The countryside was both tranquil and stunning, and Matt’s place was truly beautiful. Moreover, it felt like home. But living with Matt was impossible. After waving him off on his date with Cheryl, the subsequent ache in her heart had left her with one realisation. She was in love with the guy. The sooner she moved out, the better. She had no clear idea of what had truly happened between Matt and Cheryl, but Rosie knew it was only a matter of time before he met another woman and wanted to bring her back to his apartment. And Rosie really couldn’t bear the idea. She imagined settling down to watch yet another Laurel and Hardy film, just as Matt waltzed in through the front door with a Miss World look-a-like.

‘All right, Rosie?’

‘Yes, thanks. You?’

‘Never better. What are you up to this evening?’

‘I’m watching Laurel and Hardy again.’

‘Excellent. Well, we’ll leave you to it. I’m just about to,’ and Matt would incline his head meaningfully, ‘you know.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Rosie would hastily say, ‘do carry on.’

‘Will do. Enjoy your film.’

‘Yes, and enjoy your…you know.’

And Rosie would smile gamely whilst inwardly wanting to hurl the boxed set of Laurel and Hardy at Miss World’s head.’

‘Penny for them?’ asked Matt as the traffic slowed to a crawl.

Rosie jumped guiltily. ‘I was just thinking about, um, Lucy and Gregory’s whirlwind romance.’

Matt laughed. ‘Well, I say good luck to them. Life’s too short for regrets. They certainly seem tremendously happy. And actually, seeing them together last night, properly, as a couple, I thought they looked very right together.’

‘Really?’

‘Absolutely. I think they’re going to have a very happy marriage.’

‘I hope so,’ Rosie chewed her lip. ‘I suppose I can’t help being the pessimist. However it’s dressed up, Lucy is still rebounding.’

‘Her experience with Gregory isn’t the same as yours with Dave.’

‘That’s what Lucy said.’

‘Sometimes people know in their hearts what is right for them.’ Matt took his eyes briefly off the road. His eyes locked on Rosie’s. ‘And instinctively, who is right for them.’ He looked back at the duel carriageway as the traffic began to pick up momentum. Another ten minutes and they’d be at the factory. ‘And actually,’ he cleared his throat, ‘this conversation kind of brings me back to what I wanted to talk to you about when Lucy rang yesterday morning.’

‘Oh? What were we saying?’

‘Well, it was, er, kind of getting personal. Not to put it too finely, you asked whether I’d slept with Cheryl.’

‘Ah. That conversation.’

‘And I said that while we were chatting like this – and being honest – there was something I needed to talk to you about.’

Rosie paled. Oh God. This was it. Matt wanted to talk to her about sleeping with another woman. Not Cheryl. But somebody else. Clearly he’d already met her. Miss World. Or whatever her name was. The name didn’t really matter. The end result was still the same. There was another woman on the scene, and Rosie was cramping Matt’s style.

‘It’s all right,’ Rosie put up a hand to stop Matt from speaking. ‘I know what you’re going to say.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes. The writing’s been on the wall for ages.’

‘Rosie, I want you to know you mean the world to me.’

‘That’s kind of you to say so. But you don’t have to explain anything. I know what’s coming.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. You want to,’ Rose paused, wondering how to phrase it, ‘have private relations.’

‘Private relations?’ Matt started to laugh. ‘Well, that’s not quite how I’d have worded it. I was actually thinking more along the lines of…well…a proper relationship, like you do when caring deeply for somebody. So deeply that,’ Matt’s voice went husky, ‘you realise you’re totally in love with that person.’

Rosie gulped. Shit. She’d totally underestimated the situation. Clearly Matt had not just met Miss World, but also fallen for her hook, line and sinker. And it must have been damned quick. No wonder he was justifying Lucy and Gregory’s hasty march down the aisle – because he’d met somebody so breathtakingly fast that it made Lucy and Gregory’s romance seem like the longest engagement in the world!

‘Matt, I really don’t–’

‘Hear me out, Rosie. I just want you to know that for me it was love at first sight.’

Rosie thought she was going to be sick. She just didn’t want to hear this. And then, in the nick of time, she was saved by the bell. Or, in this case, her mobile once again interrupting the moment. Scrabbling for her handbag in the floor well, she rummaged through it until she found the chirruping handset.

‘Hello?’

Matt sighed. This wasn’t going well. He felt a sense of desperation in the pit of his stomach. He was making a total balls-up of trying to say how he truly felt. It was one thing to tell somebody, for the very first time, that you loved them, but quite another to do it on the commute to work – especially after the woman in question had been sobbing forty minutes earlier due to dropping her baby son at crèche. Excellent timing, Matthew. Not. Matt sighed again and risked another glance at Rosie. He was surprised to see her whole face alight with joy.

‘That’s absolutely wonderful,’ she was saying, ‘please tell your client I accept his offer.’ Rosie disconnected the call and turned to Matt. Her eyes were shining. ‘That was the estate agent. He’s sold my house! Now Luke and I really will soon be out of your hair.’

Matt stared through the windscreen. Clearly Rosie was not interested in hearing his declaration of love, or anything else. And in that moment, the bottom fell out of his world.

Chapter Fifty-Four

 

Rosie approached the reception of Tibor’s Tasty Titbits with a spring in her step. What a great start to the working week! A new job, and a sale on her property. There was a saying that all good things came in threes. Rosie inwardly hugged herself. If superstition was correct, then a third wonderful event should be happening any time now!

Matt had gone very quiet after the estate agent’s call. Getting out of the car, he’d not fallen in step with her. She looked over her shoulder to see where he’d got to. He was lagging behind, a mobile phone clamped to his ear. Whoever he was talking to, the conversation sounded terse.

‘Listen, Nigel, we’ve gone over this before, and my time is your money. But I’ll happily tell you again. When you hire your own sales reps, things like salaries, training costs, fringe benefits and expenses all add up. Whereas contracting independent manufacturers’ sales reps that are paid on just commission means less expense for you.’ Matt caught Rosie’s eye and put a hand over the phone. ‘Don’t wait for me. You go on ahead. I need to finish this call before I see Gregory.’

Rosie nodded in acknowledgement and carried on walking towards the double doors of the reception area. She wanted to check in with Gregory first, before she sought out Harold, her dog food tasting colleague. As she stepped into the swish reception, so at odds with the rest of factory, she saw Cheryl sitting behind her state-of-the-art desk. The woman was looking even more glamorous than usual. Rosie wondered if it was for Matt’s benefit. Her hair was like something out of a shampoo advert, and the make-up flawless. Whoever Matt had fallen in love with, she must be quite something to put Cheryl in the shade.

‘Good morning,’ Rosie smiled.

‘Is it?’ Cheryl snapped.

Suddenly the atmosphere in reception was colder than the ice-cubes dispensed by Matt’s American fridge.

‘Er, is Gregory around? I’m the new product tester. My name’s Rosie Perfect.’

‘Yes, I know who you are,’ Cheryl’s lips appeared to be curling back like a snarling dog.

‘Good,’ Rosie attempted another smile, just as Matt walked through the double doors. ‘I’ll take a seat then, shall I?’

Cheryl’s eyes narrowed as she looked from Rosie to Matt, and then back to Rosie again. ‘A seat?’ she sneered. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a sofa?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘To lay down on. I gather horizontal is what you do best.’

Rosie blinked. Did she really just hear what she thought she’d heard?

‘Knock it off, Cheryl,’ said Matt, ‘and let Gregory know I’m here for our meeting.’

‘Knock it off?’ Cheryl said furiously. ‘Don’t you mean “knock it up”?’ She pushed her typist’s stool back. Picking up her handbag, she stood up. Turning her attention to Rosie, she walked slowly around the reception desk. ‘You must be chuffed to bits.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you, you bloody bitch!’

Rosie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Look, I don’t know what I’ve done to offend you, but please–’

‘I don’t know what I’ve done to offend you,’ Cheryl mimicked. ‘Oh, per-leez!’ She was standing right in front of Rosie now, hands on hips, the handbag dangling off one wrist. ‘Drop the innocence.’

‘She doesn’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about,’ Matt said, ‘so stop making a prize tit of yourself.’

‘Don’t you talk to me about tits,’ Cheryl hissed, ‘after your sorry performance in my house.’

Rosie flinched. Had Matt lied about not sleeping with Cheryl? Either way, Rosie really didn’t want to hear about Matt’s lack of skills in pleasuring Cheryl. Especially in Tibor’s Tasty Titbits’ Reception which was so open to the public. Behind Cheryl, Rosie saw the door to Gregory’s office opening.

Cheryl adopted a sweet tone of voice. ‘Do you really have no idea?’ she asked Rosie.

‘Cheryl,’ Matt said warningly, ‘would you please–’

‘Let me enlighten you. Last Saturday this man took me out to dinner. And all he could talk about was somebody else. Somebody so wonderful, it’s not just the sun that shines out of her backside, but the moon and the stars too. And after the most unromantic dinner in the history of mankind, he came back to my place to apparently make love to me, but ended up not raising anything other than an apologetic smile. And do you know why? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because–’

‘Yes, I do as it happens,’ Rosie interrupted, ‘I do know why. It’s because he’s met somebody else. Not that it’s any of my business.’

Matt gave Rosie a puzzled look, and opened his mouth to say something.

‘Put a sock in it, Matthew,’ Cheryl interrupted before he could speak, ‘or instead maybe you’d prefer one of Rosie’s tits.’

‘What on earth is going on in my reception?’ asked Gregory Tibor.

Cheryl spun round. ‘You really want to know? Let me show you.’ And with that Cheryl took her handbag and walloped Matt hard around the head.

Chapter Fifty-Five

 

Cheryl was bright red in the face and panting slightly. She’d laid into Matt with every ounce of strength she could muster. Unfortunately her handbag hadn’t been zipped up, and as she’d swung the bag like a champion hurler, tampons had scattered everywhere.

‘What on earth’s got into you, woman?’ Gregory roared.

‘Certainly not him,’ Cheryl snarled. ‘He took me out on Saturday night and totally used me. You fucking bastard. And as for you,’ Cheryl turned on Rosie, ‘you’re not exempt either. Take this!’

But Cheryl wasn’t quick enough for Gregory, who caught her handbag mid-swing. ‘Sorry, love, but assaulting my staff isn’t part of your contract. Consider it terminated forthwith.’

‘Good,’ Cheryl screamed, ‘it’s a bloody awful dead-end job anyway.’

‘The door’s that way,’ said Gregory.

‘Don’t worry. I’m going.’ She kicked a couple of tampons out of the way. ‘You can have them,’ she hissed to Matt, ‘because you’re a total twat.’ Grabbing her jacket from the coat stand, Cheryl stuck her nose in the air and stalked off.

Gregory stared after her, and shook his head. Turning to Matt, he looked bewildered. ‘Whatever did you do on Saturday night to upset her so much?’

‘In a nutshell, I wasn’t up for it – and she was.’

Gregory sighed. ‘Meanwhile I’m without a receptionist. Although,’ he looked at Rosie, ‘how do you feel about a sideways promotion and taking this job instead?’

Rosie’s eyes widened. ‘Seriously?’

‘Absolutely. You have a great speaking voice, the phones aren’t complicated to work, and I’m sure you can find your way around a computer. What do you say?’

Rosie considered. Sampling dog food in the factory? Or a cushy reception job? It was a no-brainer. ‘I say yes!’

‘Good. Hang up your jacket, love, and make Matt and me a couple of coffees for our meeting. Then just sit and look pretty until we’ve finished, and I’ll properly show you what’s what.’

 

By lunchtime, Rosie had a pretty good grasp on fielding phone calls, sorting out Gregory’s diary and meeting and greeting a couple of reps. She was floating on air. Who would have thought, when she’d left Penshurst, she’d never have to eat dog food again – hurrah! She switched the phones to divert, and then popped her head around Gregory’s door.

‘I’m going to check out that café on the corner. Can I get you a sandwich?’

‘No thanks, love. I’m sorted.’

‘Okay. See you in an hour.’

Outside in the car park, Rosie was surprised to see Matt waiting for her.

‘I just thought I’d let you know that I’ve spoken to my cousin at the nursery, and according to all the staff, Luke is absolutely fine.’

Rosie grinned. ‘I know. I rang a little while ago too. The nursery must think we’re a right pair of worriers.’ Her smile faded, and she flushed. Heavens, she’d inadvertently made Matt sound like he was Luke’s father, or something. ‘I mean, thanks. You know. For caring.’

‘Of course I care about Luke. Listen, Rosie, I’m meant to be in Bromley right now, but I’ve deferred it. I simply have to speak to you.’

At that moment, Rosie’s stomach let out a huge rumble. ‘Good heavens, my belly is touching my backbone. Do you mind if I grab a sandwich first?’

‘Actually, I’ve booked a table at the Chinese in Bexley Road. Remember it? We went there after your dog food interview with Gregory.’

‘How could I ever forget?’ Rosie laughed. ‘It tasted a million times better than Tibor’s Tasty Titbits. However, I only have an hour. ’

‘I took the liberty of pre-ordering the same dishes we had last time. I hope that’s okay.’

Rosie looked astonished. ‘Gosh, thanks. But honestly, Matt, you needn’t have gone to so much trouble. Whatever it is you want to tell me, surely it can wait until tonight?’

‘No. No, it can’t wait. Come on. There’s not a minute to lose. I don’t want Gregory sacking you on your first day.’

Ten minutes later, they were working their way through aromatic crispy duck and side dishes. Rosie popped a miniature spring roll in her mouth. Mm. A piece of heaven.

‘So, what couldn’t keep?’ she asked, reaching for a pancake and dipping a teaspoon into a dish of hoisin sauce. It was at that point she realised Matt hadn’t touched a single mouthful of food. She paused and frowned. ‘Nothing awful has happened has it?’

‘Apart from Cheryl thumping me, and telling me what I could do with her tampons, no, nothing awful has happened.’

‘Ah, yes. I guess that was pretty awful!’ Rosie grinned, and carried on spreading the hoisin sauce over the pancake. ‘So what is it?’

Matt took a deep breath. ‘I’m in love with you, Rosie.’

There was a clatter as Rosie dropped the teaspoon, and hoisin sauce splattered across the tablecloth.

Chapter Fifty-Six

 

Rosie stared at Matt. She had a sudden pounding in her ears. Possibly her heart had jumped out of her chest and taken up residence in her ear drums. It seemed as though somebody had pressed the pause button on the programme of life. Everything appeared to be suspended. Even the waiters had melted away. Matt’s eyes were locked on hers. He was gazing at her, his eyes full of…what was it? She’d seen this look before, and mistakenly thought it was tenderness, and consequently nearly launched herself at him. But, wait a minute.

‘I’m confused. This morning, in the car, when we were talking about Gregory and Lucy’s impending nuptials–’

‘I said that sometimes people know in their hearts what is right for them, and who is right for them.’

‘Yes, and this was harking back to another conversation you’d started the day before. Sunday morning. I remember because I was reading the Sunday papers.’

‘And then Lucy rang, interrupting me.’

‘That’s right. You were going to tell me about wanting private relations with Miss World.’

‘Miss–?’

‘Well, not Cheryl obviously. Although she’s very attractive, I grant you. I’m talking about the other very attractive woman. The one you wanted to bring home for…you know…while I was parked in front of your telly watching a Laurel and Hardy film.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Matt, looking confused.’

‘Yes you do! You told me you hadn’t slept with her – Cheryl, not Miss World – and that you needed to be honest with me. And that was when you started to tell me there was another woman on the scene. I realised you’d met somebody else super-quick, and that was why you were so keen to justify Gregory’s and Lucy’s whirlwind romance – because your own romance had happened faster than a tornado. You don’t have to be Einstein to work out that bringing this woman back to your bachelor pad with Luke and me there was a total no-no. You even started to give me a Dear Rosie speech – that I meant the world to you – to soften what was coming next. My marching orders.’

‘Rosie,’ Matt suddenly grabbed her hand, ‘darling Rosie. I was talking about you.’

Rosie’s eyes widened and her jaw started to give way to gravity. Memories flooded back. Sitting side by side on the sofa, almost making a berk of herself. She’d been sure of that! Hadn’t she? Rosie’s mind travelled back a little further. Of eating toast in Matt’s kitchen, and the pair of them making jokes about Marmite. Matt had suggested he’d had feelings for someone, but that it hadn’t been reciprocated.

“Didn’t this…other person… love you?” she’d asked.

“I never told her how I felt,” he’d replied.

And then the mood between them had shifted.

“Why not?” Rosie had whispered.

And Matt had given her the same look he was giving her now. Finally he’d answered.

“The timing wasn’t right.”

The timing wasn’t right.

Rosie glanced down at her hand cupped in his. He was talking about her! And the timing was indeed not right.

‘I’m so sorry, Rosie,’ Matt’s expression changed to one of despair. ‘You look absolutely horrified at what I’m saying.’

Rosie shook her head slowly. ‘No, not at all. In fact,’ her expression softened, ‘I’m overjoyed to hear what you’re saying.’

‘You are?’

‘Yes,’ Rosie whispered, ‘because, despite trying to convince myself otherwise, I know I love you too.’

Matt’s face was suddenly wreathed in smiles. He reached forward and took Rosie’s other hand in his, squeezing them tightly in his own. ‘I had to tell you sooner, rather than later. You’ve received your insurance money, you’ve started a new job, and to cap it all off, you’ve had an offer on your house. You’re on the threshold of moving on. And much as I’m delighted that everything has suddenly come up roses for you and Luke, the thought of you both moving out of my apartment and getting on with your lives elsewhere, without me, I just…well I can’t bear it.’

Rosie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘That is such a lovely thing to say. But–’

‘No buts. Please.’

‘There has to be a but.’ A tear spilt over and ran down Rosie’s cheek. ‘We’ve known each other such a short space of time. And I’ve only just buried my husband – although granted he was a soon-to-be-ex-husband.’

‘You’re going to talk about rebounding, aren’t you?’

Rosie removed one of her hands from Matt’s and wiped the stray tear away. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m just asking you to stay, Rosie. I’d love to ask you to give up your job and let me look after you and Luke, instead of him being in a nursery away from his mummy. But rather than pressure you, what I’m suggesting is – for now – carry on with what you’re doing but stay at Penshurst. And maybe later, when you’re ready,’ Matt’s mouth twitched, ‘you might consider those private relations you were talking about.’

Rosie gave Matt a watery smile. Private relations with him would be oh-so-easy. It was another set of relations that bothered her more than anything – her mother. Because confirming her mother’s suspicions about Matt Palmer wasn’t something Rosie relished.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

 

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Rosie gasped at the vision standing before her. ‘No wonder you nearly wept at the thought of cancelling your wedding to Terry. What a stunning dress. I have never seen such a gorgeous bride.’

The two women were in Lucy’s bedroom. Rosie, as Maid of Honour, was overseeing last minute adjustments to the bride’s attire. She took a step forward, circling Lucy slowly, scrutinising the many miniature buttons in case one had been left unfastened, adjusting the veil here, tweaking the lacy neckline there, finishing with a last minute sweep over the full skirts of the diamanté smattered fabric to ensure it was hanging just so. Everything was in order, from Lucy’s crystal and pearl tiara, to her satin high heels. Rosie stood back again, appraising the overall effect. ‘Breathtakingly beautiful.’

Lucy blushed prettily. ‘Thanks. You look pretty damn fabulous yourself.’

Rosie laughed, ‘Actually, I feel pretty damn fabulous! What woman wouldn’t when she’s wearing a dress like this one?’ Rosie turned to stare at her reflection in the long mirror. She was wearing a silvery satin column dress which clung to every curve of her body, and brought out the soft grey of her eyes. The other bridesmaids were in the lounge with Lucy’s parents, supping pre-wedding champagne and chatting to a photographer. ‘We’d better get a move on. The photographer will be calling for us any moment.’ She hurried over to a huge box in the corner of the bedroom. Bending down, she carefully lifted out Lucy’s bouquet. ‘Here,’ she handed the cascading blooms to her best friend, ‘now you really are a bride. Oh dear, I think I’m going to cry.’

‘Please don’t,’ Lucy looked horrified, ‘or you’ll set me off. Apart from anything else, the make-up girl did an exquisite job on us both, and I’d hate for it all to be ruined.’

Rosie blinked the tears away. ‘Marie is still here. She’s having a glass of champagne with the others. She’ll repair our make-up if need be. Come on, we have a wedding to go to.’

‘Here, you’d better have this.’ Lucy pressed a business card into Rosie’s hand.

‘www.mariecoultermakeup.co.uk – why do I want this?’

‘Because I predict your own wedding will follow soon after mine.’

‘Oh no,’ Rosie shook her head emphatically, ‘I’ve already told you, one rebound was enough for me. Been there, done that, and never again.’

‘What exactly is going on between you and Matt?’ Lucy asked. ‘I mean, you’ve both agreed you’re in love with each other. Intent has been established, a wedding should now be taking place!’

Rosie rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t make me repeat myself.’

‘But you’re living together!’

‘As in sharing his apartment – I’m under his roof.’

‘Not in his bed?’

‘Most definitely not.’

‘But why?’ Lucy asked in exasperation.

‘Is there an echo in this room?’ Rosie cupped one hand to her ear.

‘Okay, point taken. I’ll shut up asking questions. All I can say is that you must have iron willpower. There’s no way I’d be lying in my bed, alone, acting like a demure little virgin, with a steaming hot guy like Matt in the next room. My loins would be twanging all over the place.’

Rosie dropped her eyes and pretended to study Marie’s business card. Yes, her loins had been frequently – as Lucy so succinctly put it – twanging. It was exhausting trying to sleep at night knowing the most attractive man on the planet was only a few feet away on the other side of her bedroom wall – moreover that he’d welcome her into his own bed with open arms. The reality was that she and Matt hadn’t so much as even kissed since his declaration of love in the Chinese restaurant. It was a peculiar situation to say the least. They’d reverted straight back to the original status quo – lots of twinkly eyes and flirty atmosphere – but other than that moment where he’d reached across the candlelit tablecloth to take her hands in his, Matt hadn’t so much as laid a finger on Rosie. She knew it was his way of giving her emotional space.

‘I just want to put a bit of distance between burying my husband and starting over with a new relationship,’ Rosie mumbled. She walked over to the dressing table and placed Marie’s card on it. ‘And when it happens, I want it to be special. Right now there’s Luke to consider. I can just imagine getting into a lip lock with Matt, and then Luke screaming blue murder and shattering the moment. I don’t want it to be like that.’

‘Blimey,’ Lucy’s eyes were like saucers, ‘Realistically, you could be waiting years. I can picture it now – Luke, a teenager, announcing he’s going out for a night on the tiles, and you and Matt exchanging meaningful looks. It’s finally going to happen! Matt swallowing a Viagra, while you reach for the KY jelly. Then he’ll remove his sensible pyjamas while you slip off your winceyette nightie, and then he’ll grab hold of you and tangle his fingers in your greying hair. You’ll reach up to tenderly stroke his receding hairline, before letting rip with a trail of kisses, down, down, over his paunch, down a bit more, only for…ring ring…Luke phoning to say the cops have raided the club he’s in, and could one of you come and fetch him pronto. And then you’ll pull on your granny pants, while Matt sits around for hours on end covering his crotch with a cushion because his medicinally enhanced stiffie won’t go down, and–’

‘Yes, thank you, Lucy, I hear what you’re saying.’

‘There’s no time like the present, girlfriend. Just saying.’

Rosie knew exactly when the opportunity to be properly alone with Matt would present itself. Her head told her it was all far too soon, and her mind skittered away from the thought. But her heart had other ideas, and one tantalising word whispered through her mind. Tonight…

Chapter Fifty-Eight

 

The tall, extraordinarily plain woman slid into a pew at the back of the church. She’d been to a few weddings before, but as Terry, not Tracey. Attending today’s wedding had been irresistible. Not many jilted fiancés were in the habit of watching their ex-lover marry another man, or turn up to watch the nuptials while dressed as a woman. A couple of guys had given her some odd looks, but Tracey had completely fooled the group of old dears sitting further along the row.

‘Excuse me,’ said one of them, shuffling her tweedy bottom along the bench until she was sitting closer. With her hawk nose and blue rinse, she was an imperious looking octogenarian. ‘Do you, by any chance, know the bridegroom?’

‘No,’ Tracey shook her head, revelling in the touch of soft brunette tresses against her bare shoulders, ‘only the bride.’

‘Well perhaps you could confirm the name of her future husband? I could have sworn the bride was marrying a chap called Terry, but the Order of Service has a line through his name. Instead, somebody has handwritten in Gregory. See?’ She waggled a heavily embossed leaflet at Tracey. ‘All a bit odd if you ask me. Surely, if the printers had made a mistake, they should have rectified it.’

‘I think there probably wasn’t enough time,’ Tracey explained. ‘But you’re absolutely right. Lucy was marrying Terry, but it turned out he was…enthralled with another woman.’

Blue Rinse’s eyes widened. ‘What a bounder.’

‘I wouldn’t be too hard on him,’ Tracey smoothed a crease from the skirts of her chiffon dress, ‘personally I think Terry was very misunderstood.’

‘Oh? Do you know Terry?’

‘As it happens, I do. Inside out.’

‘I have to say I’m finding this whole wedding very peculiar. I know the bride – Lucy – because she’s best friends with my daughter, Rosie. They have a lot in common with each other, particularly impetuousness,’ the octogenarian sniffed. ‘I suspect Lucy has only known this Gregory chap for all of two minutes, and yet here she is about to march down the aisle with him!’

‘Yes, it would seem that way,’ said Tracey. ‘Is your daughter a bit impulsive too?’

‘I’ll say,’ murmured Blue Rinse. ‘She’s only just buried her husband, but already she’s shacked up with another man!’

Tracey let out a low whistle. ‘Fast worker!’

Blue Rinse looked disdainful. ‘I suppose I should be grateful Rosie isn’t rushing into marriage, like Lucy.’

‘I guess so,’ Tracey nodded sympathetically, thrilled to bits that she was being treated as a woman and privy to such a gossip, even if it was with this disapproving battleaxe.

‘Actually I don’t feel particularly comfortable being here. My son-in-law’s recent funeral took place at this very church. I know there are flowers everywhere, and it looks extremely pretty, but all I keep seeing is dear Dave’s coffin blocking the aisle.’

‘How awful!’ Tracey’s hand fluttered to her chest, as if she was having the vapours.

‘Indeed, dreadful,’ Blue Rinse whipped out a tissue from her sensible handbag and daintily dabbed at her eyes. ‘I don’t know how Rosie can bear to follow Lucy down this aisle, knowing that she’s retracing the very steps her dead husband took – albeit horizontal and in a wooden box.’ Blue Rinse paused again, this time to blow her nose. Suddenly she froze, her eyes upon the best man who had joined the bridegroom and was teasing and pantomiming that he’d lost the bride’s wedding ring. ‘Talk of the devil,’ Blue Rinse hissed, ‘there is my daughter’s lover.’

‘Where?’ Tracey craned her neck expectantly.

‘By the altar,’ Blue Rinse pointed. ‘The unscrupulous cad is talking to Clive, the vicar.’

Tracey followed the direction of Blue Rinse’s finger. A good looking man in morning suit was now exchanging small talk with a vicar dressed from head to toe in gold. Tracey wasn’t sure whether Clive was channelling Archangel Gabriel, or the fairy on top of a Christmas tree.

‘Ah, yes, I see him. That’s Matt Palmer.’

‘You know him?’ Blue Rinse looked horrified.

‘Oh yes. Matt and I go back a long way.’

Blue Rinse suddenly looked suspicious. ‘Is he your ex-boyfriend?’

Tracey snorted. ‘No, nothing like that. We used to play football together.’

Blue Rinse looked as though she’d suddenly swallowed a gobstopper, but any further comments were drowned out by the organ crashing into life.

There were gasps of admiration as heads turned, all eyes seeking to catch the first glimpse of the bride. Lucy was visibly nervous, tightly gripping her father’s arm as they took the first step down the aisle. The bridesmaids followed. Rosie was holding both her posy and Luke who, dressed in a miniature morning suit, was causing many members of the congregation to chuckle and comment.

‘Ooh, look at that lovely baby.’

‘Aww, what a little duck.’

As the procession neared the altar, Karen stepped out from the second pew and relieved Rosie of Luke. Luke was about to protest but Karen swiftly popped a dummy in his mouth. If he wanted to exercise his lungs, he could do it later, while staying overnight with her. Karen cuddled Luke into her and exchanged smiles with Rosie who, in turn, switched her attention back to Lucy to assist with lifting up the bridal veil. Karen watched Rosie carefully arrange the veil so that it trailed perfectly down Lucy’s back. Both women looked absolutely stunning. Karen sighed happily. She wanted Rosie to have a good time tonight, without a tired baby hampering Maid of Honour duties. She was also secretly hoping Rosie might properly get it together with Matt Palmer. It was obvious they were deeply in love. Even from this distance, Karen could see the electricity sizzling between the two of them, as Matt caught Rosie’s eye, and gave her a wink. Karen determined to have a firm word with Rosie later. There was nothing like encouraging a budding romance to fully bloom.

The music swelled to a crescendo before abruptly stopping. Lucy fiddled anxiously with her bouquet and smiled at a beaming Gregory.

‘Dearly Beloveds,’ said Clive, ‘we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Lucy and Terry. Sorry, what’s that?’ Clive leant forward to confer with Lucy. ‘Ahem. I do sincerely apologise. Let me start again. Dearly Beloveds, we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Lucy and Gregory.’

‘What a wonderful man,’ Hester murmured to Tracey.

‘Who, Gregory?’

‘No, silly, I’m talking about Clive. The vicar. He’s an excellent catch. If I were a few years younger, I’d pursue him myself. I’m hoping my daughter will bat her eyelids at him and catch his attention. I’d much prefer her to set her cap at a man of the cloth.’

‘I think the vicar is gay.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with being gay,’ Hester’s voice rose, causing a woman in front of her to turn around and glare.

‘I quite agree,’ said Tracey, ‘but he’s hardly suitable for your daughter.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘I just told you. He’s gay.’

‘Yes, I heard you first time. And that’s fine by me. Frankly, there aren’t enough jolly people in this world, so I say the gayer the better. And you can take your eyes off him, madam,’ Hester pursed her lips, ‘and stick to being a wannabe WAG.’

‘Eh?’ Tracey looked bemused.

‘I’m making reference to your footie friend. If you could do a bit of flirting and take Matt Palmer off my daughter, I’d be immensely grateful.’

‘Ah,’ Tracey’s eyes widened as the penny dropped. ‘I’m not sure Matt Palmer would be happy with the likes of me.’

‘Don’t do yourself down, young lady,’ said Hester. ‘A bit more rouge on your cheeks and you’ll be as pretty as a picture.’

Tracey didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ said Clive. ‘You may kiss the bride.’

 

Outside, in the warm summer sunshine, the bride and bridegroom gathered for everybody to throw confetti. Nobody noticed the tall, plain woman slip away.

Tracey was pleased Lucy had found joy with Gregory, and truly wished her lasting happiness. And now she was going to go and find her own piece of happiness. Last week she’d discovered a website for people like her. Cross-dressers. Even better, she’d met Harold. Except Harold was really Dina. The attraction had been instantaneous, both as Harold and Tracey, and as Terry and Dina. Humming to herself, Tracey hitched up her skirts, vaulted the low stone wall at the rear of the church, and left the wedding crowd behind.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

 

‘And finally,’ said Matt, addressing the sea of guests, ‘before I ask you to raise a glass to the newlyweds, I have a small piece of advice for the bride.’ Matt turned to face Lucy. ‘Just remember, if your husband says he’ll fix it, there’s no need to remind him every six months.’ The bride laughed uproariously, as did the wedding party. Many of the guests had consumed vast quantities of champagne throughout the wedding breakfast. The women were now flushed and fanning themselves, while the men had loosened ties and popped the top button on shirts. Matt turned back to the guests, a champagne flute held aloft in one hand. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, let us toast Mr and Mrs Tibor.’

‘Mr and Mrs Tibor,’ the crowd echoed.

Rosie sipped her champagne and looked at the bride and bridegroom. Lucy was looking ecstatic, and Gregory couldn’t take his eyes off his new wife. She watched as Gregory leant across and kissed Lucy full on the mouth. Rosie then glanced across at Matt, who caught her eye and grinned. She smiled back, just as there was a tap on her shoulder.

‘We’ll be off now.’ It was Karen, holding Luke in her arms.

‘So soon?’ Rosie stood up to give her young son a cuddle.

‘Yes, he’s tired, bless him.’

Rosie pressed her cheek against Luke’s and hugged him to her. ‘He’s been absolutely brilliant. Not one squawk in church, and no tantrums.’ She kissed the top of Luke’s head. ‘Well done, my darling.’

‘Say bye-bye to Mummy,’ Karen held her arms out to take Luke back. ‘Now you listen to me, Rosie. You’re child free for the night. Make the most of it. Get my drift?’

‘Oh for goodness sake,’ said Rosie as she handed Luke over, ‘you sound like Lucy.’

‘And for good reason. Never mind all this ‘emotional space’ nonsense. Life’s too short. Between your mother and Dave, you’ve been bogged down by obligations and drudgery for long enough. You’re a free agent now. You’ve found a guy who worships the ground you walk on, and also adores Luke. He’d slay dragons for you, that one. Indeed, he pretty much did when he took on that loan shark. The fact that he’s loaded and looks like a movie star is mere detail,’ Karen’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘What are you waiting for – permission from your mother?’

Rosie flushed. ‘No, of course not. My mother thinks the worst anyway. But she’s staying in this very hotel tonight, like many of us. I wouldn’t put it past her to stalk the corridor to see if I stay in my own room.’

‘If she thinks the worst already, why worry about it?’ Karen pointed out. ‘Seriously, Rosie, life isn’t a rehearsal. Just get on and live it.’ Karen took hold of one of Luke’s hands and waggled it up and down. ‘Bye-bye, Mummy,’ she said on Luke’s behalf.

Rosie leant forward and kissed Luke again. ‘Be good for Aunty Karen,’ she cooed.

‘Whereas Mummy,’ Karen said to Luke, jiggling him higher onto her hip, ‘must be very bad for Aunty Karen.’

‘Hmm, I don’t think it’s appropriate to discuss my romantic life with Luke,’ Rosie tutted with mock disapproval.

‘See you tomorrow. And I expect to hear all the juicy details.’

‘Good bye,’ said Rosie firmly.

 

The bride and groom were half way through their first dance when the DJ, noisy and tremendously keen on the sound of his own voice, urged everybody onto the dance floor.

‘C’mon you lot, let’s see you smooch. I said, let’s see you smooooch. Hey, chief bridesmaid, what are you doing over there impersonating a wall flower? Somebody, get hold of that woman! That’s it, well done my man! Oh, you’re the best man…brilliant. Ladies and gentlemen, we have our second romantic couple of the evening on the dance floor. Let’s be seeing more of you. That’s it…perfect.’

Rosie leant in to Matt and wound her arms around his neck. She could do it here. It was a wedding, and allowed. At that moment Hester waltzed past with Gertrude in her arms. She gave her daughter a ferocious glare, before whisking Gertrude off to the opposite side of the dance floor. Rosie stared after her mother in dismay. Is that what Hester truly wanted? To never see her daughter have a second chance at love? To end up alone, old, and partnering up for a dance with another widow, simply because she’d always ‘done the right thing’ by her own dead husband? For the first time Rosie felt some fire in her belly. To hell with keeping up appearances! Swaying slowly in time to the music, she gazed up at Matt. He smiled down at her before slowly lowering his mouth to hers. Gently, he kissed her. Rosie could almost feel her mother’s eyes boring into her back.

Later still, when Rosie was in her hotel room and in bed, alone, she lay on her back in the gloom and studied the ceiling. It was almost two in the morning, and sleep was evading her. She wondered if Matt, on the other side of her hotel bedroom wall, was still awake. Voices were clamouring in Rosie’s head. Lucy’s words, like an echo, were admonishing her. There’s no time like the present, girlfriend. Just saying. And hot on the heels of Lucy’s words, Karen’s reprimand ricocheted through her brain. Seriously, life isn’t a rehearsal. Just get on and live it. Rosie turned onto her right side. Five minutes later, she twisted over onto her left. Four minutes later she returned to lying on her right side. Three minutes later, she flipped onto her back again. Two minutes later she plumped up her pillows. One minute later she heaved a mighty sigh and flung back the duvet.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she reached for her silky dressing gown and stuck her feet into the hotel’s complimentary slippers. Padding across the carpet, she removed the plastic key card from its slot on the wall, and quietly let herself out of the room. Her eyes squinted for a moment against the corridor’s lighting, artificial and bright. She glanced up and down the corridor, half expecting her mother to appear. It was empty. The only noise came from a giant moth in the dark night outside, repeatedly bashing itself against the brightly lit glass window. Rosie let the door shut behind her and walked the half dozen steps or so to Matt’s room. Cupping an ear to the door, she listened. A moment later she gave a gentle knock. Five seconds passed. Her heart rate was starting to pick up. The five seconds became ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Her heart was now beating in time to every passing moment. She flattened her head against the panels and strained to catch any sound at all. Maybe Matt was in such a deep sleep she wouldn’t be able to awake him. Maybe he was snoring for England and oblivious to her taps on the door. Or perhaps he slept with ear plugs in? Or maybe–

Without any warning the door opened and Rosie fell into the room.

‘Sorry,’ she gasped, ‘I wasn’t sure if you were still awake.’ The door smartly shut behind her. The room was pitch black. ‘Matt? Where are you?’

‘Behind you.’ A hand touched Rosie’s arm. ‘I was hiding behind the door. It wouldn’t have been polite to give any late night passers by a shock.’

‘What do you mean?’ Rosie turned to face him, eyes struggling to adjust in the darkness, but Matt was just a black silhouette.

‘I didn’t want to frighten anyone, I’ve got my hair curlers in and a face mask on,’ Matt quipped. ‘But yes, to answer you, I’m still awake. I couldn’t sleep.’

‘Me neither,’ Rosie muttered. Suddenly she was trembling.

‘Are you cold?’ Matt put an arm around her.

‘N-no,’ Rosie said through chattering teeth, ‘not really.’

‘Yes, you are. Come on, get into bed for a moment. You need to warm up.’

Rosie allowed herself to be led across the shadowy room. There was the sound of a duvet being pulled back. She squinted into the gloom, as her eyes started to adjust. Seeing the edge of the bed, she got in and snuggled under the cover. A moment later the mattress shifted as Matt moved in beside her.

‘Here, come closer,’ he pulled her towards him. ‘That’s better. Are you warming up now?’

‘Y-yes, I think so.’

Rosie didn’t feel able to tell Matt that she wasn’t remotely cold, simply a nervous wreck. What was she supposed to do now? Make small talk? She felt slightly foolish, lying in his arms bundled up in her pyjamas and a dressing gown, while he was laying there wearing–

Rosie frowned in the darkness. What exactly did Matt have on?

‘Um, what are you wearing?’

There was a pause. ‘Nothing.’

Rosie gulped. The sound seemed to fill the room. ‘Oh.’

A minute ticked by.

‘You’re feeling warmer now,’ Matt murmured.

‘Yes,’ Rosie whispered, ‘I am.’

‘In fact, you’re feeling quite sweaty.’

‘Yes,’ Rosie said hoarsely. Her throat was in serious danger of drying up. ‘It is a little…hot.’

‘Perhaps you should take off that dressing gown.’

‘Yes,’ Rosie croaked. She’d have no voice left at this rate. She sat up and pulled off the gown. It slithered to the floor in a rustling heap.

‘I don’t think that’s helped at all, you feel like you’re burning up. Maybe you should take off those pyjamas too.’

Rosie opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Wordlessly, she shed her cotton shorts and shoestring top.

‘That’s better. You know,’ Matt lowered his voice conspiratorially, ‘this reminds me of something.’

‘Oh?’

‘Mm. The night I met you. When you swore undying sex to me in that club, and crashed out in my bed. Stark naked.’

‘Ah.’

‘You were very interested in exploring a certain part of my anatomy.’

Rosie could remember only too well. As colour flooded her cheeks, she was glad the lights were off. And then she remembered something else.

‘You have a piercing!’ she squeaked.

Matt chuckled. ‘Indeed.’

‘How on earth did someone like you, get a piercing like that, and there of all places?’

‘Ah, well that’s another story.’

‘I’m all ears.’

‘It was a stag do in Vegas. A moment of drunken madness with half a dozen intoxicated mates thinking we were terribly original. But never mind that,’ Matt turned on his side and propped himself up on one elbow. Rosie could now make out his features in the grey light. ‘For the last couple of hours, Rosie, I’ve been laying here, wide awake, waiting for you.’

‘Really?’ Rosie could feel her vocal chords constricting again. ‘I didn’t know if I’d be along myself until ten minutes ago.’

‘I feel like I’ve been waiting for you forever. All my life, in fact. And finally you’re here. And it’s perfect, Ms Perfect. Just like you.’

It was a long time before Rosie spoke again.

Chapter Sixty

 

‘You made me wait a very long time, Mrs Palmer,’ said Matt to his blushing bride.

‘All good things are worth waiting for,’ Rosie teased. She’d been adamant about there being plenty of emotional time and space before the sound of any wedding bells. A late summer breeze caught her long veil, lifting the scalloped edges so that it floated out behind her.

‘Did I tell you that you look absolutely beautiful?’ Matt leant in and kissed her on the nose.

‘Only about six times.’

‘And that I love you very much.’

‘You’ve only told me eight times today. You need to do much better than that.’

‘Outrageous! I shall make sure I spend the rest of our married lives making up for it. Ooh, watch out, it’s confetti time.’

‘Look this way, please,’ bellowed the photographer, ‘that’s fantastic, keep smiling.’

The newlyweds watched in delight as almost a dozen guests threw a swirling mass of coloured confetti. A gust of wind caught the paper petals, propelling them upwards in a kaleidoscope of colour, before the whole lot exploded outwards and showered over both bride and groom. Rosie poked her tongue out between her lips and tried to remove a pink heart that had adhered to her lipstick. ‘Oh dear, I think I’ve just ruined that photograph by pulling a silly face.’

‘Daddy, daddy, dad-dee,’ said Luke, breaking away from Karen and toddling over to Matt, ‘pick up, pick up.’

‘Sorry,’ said Karen, charging after Luke, ‘you can’t keep a two-year-old still for long, and he’s super fidgety right now.’

‘That’s okay,’ said Matt, ‘come here, little fella.’ He held his arms out and gathered Luke up onto his shoulder. ‘See that funny man over there with the camera? Let him take a nice family picture of us, eh? Big smile!’

‘’Kay,’ Luke agreed, and screwed his face up into a toothy grin.

‘Good boy, well done. Let Aunty Karen look after you for five minutes, and then you can travel in the big Rolls Royce with Mummy and Daddy, okay?’

‘’Kay,’ Luke grinned, allowing Karen to take him from Matt.

‘Rosie!’ said Lucy, waddling over. ‘You look absolutely stunning.’ She was almost fit to burst. ‘Thank goodness Bump didn’t decide to make an appearance today of all days.’

‘You’re very overdue,’ said Rosie, giving Lucy’s huge tummy a gentle pat.

‘The hospital is giving me another two days, and if Bump hasn’t made an appearance by then, I’ll have to be induced.’

Gregory pushed his way through the milling crowd and caught up with his wife. ‘Congratulations, guys,’ he boomed, pumping Matt’s hand, and kissing Rosie noisily on the cheek, ‘you finally got around to tying the knot. Well done!’

‘Cheers, matey,’ said Matt, clapping Gregory on the back. ‘My wife took a helluva lot of persuasion, as you know.’

‘Excuse me! Excuse me!’ said a shrill little old lady, elbowing and shoving her way over. ‘Congratulations to you both,’ she said, stepping smartly in front of Gregory, ‘and I want to give you this, Rosie. It’s meant to bring good luck!’

‘Gertrude!’ Rosie exclaimed with delight. She took the silver horseshoe tied with white ribbon from Gertrude’s bony hand. Stooping down, she kissed the little old lady’s floury cheek. ‘That is so thoughtful of you, thank you.’

‘Gertrude, what are you doing?’ boomed an authoritative voice. Two seconds later Hester appeared by Rosie’s side. ‘You’re holding up the photographer, Gertrude. Go back over there with the rest of the gels. Oh dear, now look, what you’ve done – they all think it’s okay to come over. Oh well, never mind, Geraldine is with them.’ Hester turned to Matt. ‘I don’t think you’ve met my sibling yet, Matt, so you must let me introduce you. I say, Geraldine! Over here!’ A haughty looking woman with a hawk-like nose swept majestically through the crowd. She bore a striking resemblance to Hester. ‘My sister, Geraldine,’ said Hester, for all the world sounding as if she’d just said, “Her Majesty the Queen”.

‘How do you do?’ said Geraldine, and gave Matt’s hand a no-nonsense pump. ‘Many congratulations to you both. I must say, Rosie, you look a damned sight happier than the last time I saw you.’

‘Oh she is,’ Hester quickly assured. ‘And has every reason to be. She’s married to an absolutely mah-vellous man. Did I tell you that Matthew has a bachelor’s degree?’

‘I’m impressed,’ said Geraldine.

‘I knew you would be,’ said Hester delightedly. ‘My son-in-law is a fritefly successful business consultant, and manages all sorts of financial organisations. He comes up with the most amazing business strategies. He’s a very clever man.’ Hester lowered her voice confidentially, ‘and earns an absolute packet.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Geraldine, ‘unlike that tosser Rosie was first married to.’

‘Er, quite,’ said Hester hastily, ‘but we won’t talk about that today. Come with me and meet the vicar. Absolutely super chap. Clive’s organising this year’s gardening show and presenting the prize for the biggest marrow. I think he might win it himself though. He’s got a very big one.’

‘Has he?’

‘Enormous, bulging all over the place.’

‘Er, ladies,’ Matt interrupted, ‘it’s a pleasure to meet you Geraldine, and I look forward to catching up with you both at the reception, but the photographer is frantically signalling to us. I think he wants to get a few more photographs in the can before we leave the church.’

‘See you later, Aunty Geraldine,’ Rosie smiled, as Hester lead Geraldine away.

‘My goodness, was that really your mother singing my praises?’ Matt laughed.

‘Apparently so. Looks like you’ve finally won her over.’

‘She gave me such a glowing reference I’ll have to employ her as my marketing manager!’

‘Don’t tell her that, she’ll never stop showing off to the gels,’ Rosie giggled.

Hester’s imperious voice carried across the crowd. ‘Absolutely charming man,’ she was loudly telling anybody who cared to listen. ‘He’s absolutely perfect.’

And that is how Rosie Perfect got her perfect ending.

 

 

THE END

ALSO BY DEBBIE VIGGIANO

Stockings and Cellulite

As the clock strikes midnight on New Year's Eve, Cassandra Cherry's life takes a turn for the worse when she stumbles upon husband Stevie lying naked, except for his socks, on a coat-strewn bed with a 45-year-old divorcee called Cynthia. Suddenly single, Cass throws herself into the business of getting over Stevie with gusto. Her main problems now are making her nine-year-old twins happy, juggling a new social life with a return to work and avoiding being arrested by an infuriating policeman who always seems to turn up at the most inopportune moments. Then, just when Cass is least prepared, and much to Stevie's chagrin, she crashes head over heels in love with the last person she'd ever expected.

AVAILABLE NOW AS E-BOOK AND PAPERBACK

ALSO BY DEBBIE VIGGIANO

Flings and Arrows

Steph Garvey has been married to husband Si for 24 years.  Steph thought they were soulmates.  Until recently.  Surely one’s soulmate shouldn’t put Chelsea FC before her?  Or boycott caressing her to fondle the remote control?  Fed up, Steph uses her Tesco staff discount to buy a laptop.  Her friends all talk about Facebook.  It’s time to get networking.

Si is worried about middle-age spread and money.  Being a self-employed plumber isn’t easy in recession.  He’s also aware things aren’t right with Steph.  But Si has forgotten the art of romance.  Although these days Steph prefers cuddling her laptop to him. Then Si’s luck changes work wise.  A mate invites Si to partner up on a pub refurbishment contract.

Son Tom has finished Sixth Form.  Tom knows where he’s going regarding a career.  He’s not quite so sure where he’s going regarding women and lurches from one frantic love affair to the next.

Widowed neighbour June adores the Garveys as if her own kin.  And although 70, she’s still up for romance.  June thinks she’s struck gold when she meets salsa squeeze Harry.  He has a big house and bigger pension – key factors when you’ve survived a winter using your dog as a hot water bottle.  June is vaguely aware that she’s attracted the attention of fellow dog walker Arnold, but her eyes are firmly on Harry as ‘the catch’.

But then Cupid’s arrow misfires causing madness and mayhem.  Steph rekindles a childhood crush with Barry Hastings; Si unwittingly finds himself being seduced by barmaid Dawn; June discovers Harry is more than hot to trot; and Tom's latest strumpet impacts on all of them. Will Cupid's arrow strike again and, more importantly, strike correctly?  There's only one way to find out....

 

AVAILABLE NOW AS E-BOOK AND PAPERBACK

ALSO BY DEBBIE VIGGIANO

Lipstick and Lies

41-year old Cassandra Mackerel is loved up and happily re-married to new husband Jamie. Together they have a ready-made family and a six month old baby boy. Juggling her own children with step-children and an infant is both hectic and stressful, especially with a mother-in-law who seems to have taken up permanent residence.

Cass has a strong support system in good friend and new mum Morag – who is the fourth Mrs Harding with more step-children she can keep up with – and also old neighbour and great pal Nell who has a baby girl.

Rising to the challenge of a second marriage and the emotional baggage that comes with it is tough. The last thing Cass needs is the reappearance of husband Jamie’s ex-girlfriend Selina. Gorgeous and glamorous but utterly unstable, Selina once stalked Cass and contrived to split her and Jamie up. And now Selina is engaged to Jamie’s business partner, Ethan Fareham. Seemingly it is appalling coincidence.

Cass can’t shake the feeling that Selina is up to her old tricks. And she's right to be worried. For if Selina has her way, she’ll split Cass and Jamie up permanently. Because this time it’s murder...

AVAILABLE NOW AS EBOOK AND PAPERBACK

 

ALSO BY DEBBIE VIGGIANO

Mixed Emotions

 

Life is a funny old thing. There are times when we love it, relish every moment and can't get enough of it. Equally there are other times when life is jail sentence. Something comes along that knocks us right off our feet. The sun ceases to shine and our smiles vanish.

As we walk through life we fall in love, out of love, and in love again - sometimes many times over. We forge long and rewarding friendships - but sometimes are betrayed. We deal with tricky ex partners, and picky neighbours. We get pregnant, give birth and some of us experience stillbirth. And just when we think we can't take any more, something happens to cause our hearts to expand with love. We are left feeling warm and fuzzy inside.

Life is full of mixed emotions. And that's what this little book is about.

AVAILABLE NOW AS AN EBOOK AND PAPERBACK.

 

ALSO BY DEBBIE VIGGIANO

The Ex Factor

 

Sam Worthington is married to Annie. He’s also a loving, hands-on dad to daughter Ruby. Then Sam discovers Annie is having an affair. Even worse, she wants a divorce. Devastated, Sam has to cope not just with the dismantling of a marriage, but being parted from the daughter he adores.

When Annie’s new relationship breaks down, she wants Sam back. But Sam has now met teaching student Josie, and re-discovered love. Annie hatches a plan to seduce Sam and win him back, but her plan fails. Sam hadn’t counted on his rejection of Annie backfiring on him so spectacularly – for Annie vows to use Ruby to destroy her ex-husband.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And for Sam Worthington, his journey to hell is just beginning...

 

AVAILABLE NOW AS AN EBOOK AND PAPERBACK.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Prior to turning her attention to writing, Debbie Viggiano was, for more years than she cares to remember, a legal secretary. She lives in leafy Swanley Village in Kent with her husband, children, a food-obsessed beagle and a cat that thinks it's a dog.

www.debbieviggiano.com

http://debbieviggiano.blogspot.com/

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