Take a Chance on Me Read online

  Up close, the woman looked even more like a flamingo, her eyes dark and beady, her nose a beaky hook. She needed to tilt her head back in order to gaze down it at Cleo and Ash.

  ‘Morning. Live here, do you?’ The eyes registered disapproval of the naked lady mug. ‘We’ve just been to view Ravenswood. Seems like a quiet enough village. Are people generally happy to live here?’

  ‘Happy?’ Ash said good-naturedly. ‘They’re ecstatic. So you’re interested in the house, then?’

  The woman pursed her narrow lips like a VAT inspector. ‘Possibly. But we need to know more about Channings Hill before we make any decisions. My husband and I like peace and tranquility. Is this a quiet village?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say quiet, exactly. We have our moments,’ said Ash. ‘It’s just… normal.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ The woman’s husband surveyed him intently. Cleo wondered what it must be like for the two of them, being married to each other.

  ‘Not too many people have parties,’ she explained. ‘It’s more kind of… unstructured noise. Like the teenagers on their motorbikes… they’re good kids really, they just don’t think about the noise when they’re racing round the green.’

  The dual intake of breath was audible. The woman shuddered and said, ‘Motorbikes?’

  Lady Bracknell would have been proud.

  ‘Not all of them,’ Cleo rushed to reassure her. ‘Some just have mopeds. But it all stops at midnight.’

  The man’s eyes bulged. ‘The estate agent didn’t mention anything about this.’

  ‘I’m not surprised! But the rest of the village is great.’ Cleo nodded with enthusiasm. ‘Fantastic pub, loads going on there. You’ll make loads of new friends in no time, especially if you’re into karaoke!’

  The Volvo left the village a lot more speedily than it had arrived. Ash reached for Cleo’s hand, gave it a smack and said, ‘You are a bad, bad girl.’

  ‘Don’t care. I didn’t like them. That woman looked as if she wanted to peck my eyes out.’

  ‘If you’ve put them off, that estate agent’s going to hunt you down and shoot you.’

  OK, that was something she hadn’t actually thought of. Cleo shrugged. ‘They wouldn’t have fit into this village.’

  ‘And it’s nothing at all to do with wanting to muck things up for Johnny LaVenture.’

  Goddammit, how did Ash do that? Putting on her most wounded face, Cleo said, ‘That’s a terrible thing to suggest.’

  ‘But a great opportunity to get your own back. He’s desperate for a quick sale. You’ve probably stopped that happening. Just how fond of your kneecaps are you?’

  ‘Oh come on, somebody else’ll come along and buy it. Somebody a million times better, then you’ll be glad I did it. Anyway,’ said Cleo, jumping down from the wall and handing back her empty naked lady mug, ‘Johnny’s in New York, so how’s he ever going to find out?’

  Chapter 4

  Something had happened; Abbie’s stomach was in knots and she didn’t know what to do. Maybe if she had more experience with relationships, like her younger sister, it would be easier to cope. (Although Cleo called herself a walking disaster and, before meeting Will, hadn’t had much luck with men at all.)

  But when you’d been married for twenty-three years to a cheerful, uncomplicated, completely relaxed man who had become withdrawn and distant practically overnight, it turned your whole world upside down. There was no getting away from it: Tom had the air of someone with a terrible secret. What’s more, he was refusing to admit that anything was wrong, which only made it worse. Usually sunny-natured and able to joke about anything, he was like a different person now. When she had broached the subject again this morning, he had given her a look she’d never seen before and had ended up snapping at her to stop going on, before letting himself out of the house.

  It was terrifying. Abbie had spent the last three days eaten up with fear. Since he was a man, top of her list of suspicions was the possibility that, health-wise, Tom knew there was something seriously amiss. Had he discovered a lump? Visited the doctor and been given terrible news? This was her number one fear. Number two, and a suggestion that until this week she would have dismissed as utterly unthinkable, was that he was having an affair. But Tom’s behavior had veered so wildly out of character, maybe it wasn’t unthinkable after all. And didn’t they always say the wife was the last to know? Oh God, what if he was seeing another woman? Sleeping with her? What if it was someone she knew… the affair had been going on for years, but now her rival was wanting more, putting the pressure on him, threatening to tell everyone in order to force him to take action… dump that boring wife of his and start a new life with her… maybe she was already pregnant…

  Snap went the stem of the pink and gold glass apple in her hand. Bugger, and these were the expensive ones, three pounds fifty each.

  ‘I don’t believe it. Another one.’ Des Kilgour, who owned the garden center, spotted the broken Christmas ornament as he loped past. ‘I bet it was that little kid in the red coat, he was over here just now—’

  ‘It wasn’t; it was me. I broke it.’ Tempting though it was, Abbie knew she couldn’t let an innocent four-year-old take the blame. ‘It just snapped in half. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Oh hey, that’s all right, don’t worry about it.’ Seeing that she was upset, Des backed down at once. ‘No problem, accidents happen.’ He paused, raking pale fingers through his reddish fair hair and surveying her with concern. ‘You OK, Caz?’

  Abbie nodded, determined to keep it together. Des had always had a bit of a soft spot for her, which was why he wasn’t yelling blue murder now. But he was a good boss, even if it did drive her nuts that he insisted on calling her Caz.

  ‘Sorry, I’m fine. It’s just been one of those days.’

  ‘Well don’t break any more, will you?’ He gave her a jovial pat on the shoulder. ‘Those apples don’t grow on trees!’

  Good boss, terrible stand-up comedian. Summoning a half-hearted smile, Abbie said, ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Anyway, it’s nearly six o’clock. Tom picking you up?’

  She shook her head. ‘He’s working late tonight.’ Or busy having sex with his mistress, you never know.

  Please don’t let him have a mistress…

  Des’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. ‘I can give you a lift home if you like.’

  It was kind of him to offer, but Abbie shook her head again. The garden center was only a mile from home and the walk would do her good.

  ‘Right then, I’d better get on. And you cheer up, Caz. It might never happen, eh?’

  All her life she’d hated that expression. What if Tom had fallen in love with another woman? What if she was young and fertile and he did want to have babies with her? Abbie busied herself sorting the jumbled-up Christmas decorations into their respective color-coordinated compartments. What if everything she most dreaded was happening now?

  ***

  You knew you’d got it bad when you tried to cook for someone and pretended it was the kind of thing you did all the time. Uncorking the wine and pouring herself a glassful—just to check it was all right—Cleo huffed her bangs out of her eyes and wondered why she was doing it again. Except she knew the answer to that; it was like seeing a dress in a glossy magazine, rushing out to buy it because it looked amazing on the model, then somehow expecting it to make you look like her too. And this was all Nigella’s fault. She’d watched the programs. Nigella had made preparing a three-course meal look soooo easy. Tricking her, Cleo, into believing it was and, in turn, casually inviting Will to come on over after work and telling him she’d cook dinner for him.

  And yes, at the time the words had been spilling gaily out of her mouth, she truly had believed it would happen. She’d believed she could do it, that it was actually within her powers to dazzle Will with her culinary capabilities to the extent that he’d realize she was indisputably The Perfect One for Him.

  Well, that had been the plan. Instead of which, she was surrounded by chaos, lumpy cheese sauce, worryingly odd-tasting chicken, and incinerated parsnips.

  ‘Everything OK?’ Will wandered into the tiny, blue and white, eclectically furnished kitchen, clearly wondering if they were going to be eating before midnight.

  ‘Fine, fine, I’m just… getting everything together…’ Frantically stirring the sauce, Cleo wondered how on earth you were meant to get the lumps out. ‘Won’t be long now!’ It was one of those sauces that was too thick to sieve. It would just sit there refusing to go anywhere. But if she tried using the vegetable colander the smaller lumps would slide through. The only way to do it was going to be by using tweezers and picking them out one by one, which was going to take ages…

  ‘What are those?’

  ‘Parsnips.’ She knew she sounded defensive. How were you meant to get the fat ends cooked without burning the pointy ends anyway? How did Nigella deal with triangular vegetables?

  Eyeing the cheese sauce, Will said valiantly, ‘The chicken looks nice.’

  Oh God, the chicken. It had tasted too salty so she’d counteracted it with sugar, then that had been frankly weird so she’d added a coating of satay paste, but the sweetness had still been there and now it was all hideously reminiscent of peanut toffee with a renegade dash of Worcestershire sauce. And garlic. It was no good, she couldn’t let him taste it, the look of horror on his face would be too much to bear. She was going to have to confess. Taking another glug of wine, Cleo shook her head and said, ‘You know what? I’ve made a—’

  The crash of the door knocker stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘Who’s that?’ said Will. ‘Have you invited someone else for dinner?’ There was a note of hope in his voice, as if having another person here to help eat the food might not be a bad thing.

  ‘No. It might be carol singers.’ Equally glad of the reprieve, Cleo went to the front door and opened it.

  Yeek, not carol singers. Standing on the doorstep, wearing a Barbour with the collar turned up against the cold, was Johnny LaVenture.

  ‘Cleo, I’d like a word.’

  Cleo wavered; whenever people said this, she experienced a wild urge to shout ‘Kittens!’ or ‘Brassiere!’ or ‘Nincompoop!’ But he didn’t look as if he’d find that amusing. In fact his expression was bordering on grim.

  ‘Fine.’ She stood her ground, wondering what had brought him here. ‘I thought you’d gone back to the States.’

  ‘I did. And now I’m here again. What’s that diabolical smell?’

  Cheek. Then again, he had a point. The broccoli she’d cooked earlier was still sitting in a pan on the hob, waiting to be covered with the cheese sauce just as soon as she worked out how to de-lump it. Offended, she said, ‘It’s dinner.’

  ‘It’s burning.’ Stepping into the house without even being asked, he headed past her through to the kitchen.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Cleo bridled with indignation as she followed him. The cottage instantly seemed smaller with Johnny in it. He’d better not leave mud on her cream hall carpet.

  ‘Bloody hell, can’t you smell it?’ Johnny went straight to the stove, picked up the blue enamel pan of drained broccoli and dumped it in the washing-up bowl in the sink. A mushroom-cloud of steam instantly enveloped the kitchen, along with an ear-splitting hiss.

  ‘That gas ring wasn’t supposed to be on.’ Defensively Cleo blurted out, ‘I thought it just smelled horrible because it was broccoli!’

  He tilted the still-steaming pan towards her. The broccoli florets were blackened and stuck to the bottom. Oh well, at least it meant she didn’t have to wonder any more how to get the lumps out of the cheese sauce. Raising an eyebrow at the half-charred parsnips, the sauce, and the chicken quarters, Johnny said to Will, ‘Are you seriously going to eat that?’

  Wonderful though it would be if Will were to punch Johnny in the face, there was the danger that he might agree with him instead. Cleo said heatedly, ‘Hang on, I don’t remember inviting you into this house.’ It might not compare with Ravenswood but it was her home; it was where she’d grown up and she loved every cozy, crooked, cottagey inch of it.

  ‘No?’ Johnny looked at her. ‘Well, do you remember talking to the couple who were interested in buying my house?’

  Oh. Bugger.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. Come on, I didn’t come over here to sample your cooking.’ Pityingly, he shook his head. ‘I spoke to the estate agents. Then I called the couple who’d been put off after talking to someone in the village. Before that, they’d been really interested.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Until they heard about the gangs of Hell's Angels we have marauding around this village every night.’

  ‘And you’re saying Cleo told them that?’ Will was defending her at last. ‘I don’t think she did, you know.’

  Honestly, why couldn’t he have defended her when he was supposed to?

  ‘Well I’m sure you’re right,’ Johnny drawled. ‘It’s just that when I asked them to describe the person they’d spoken to, they said it was a girl in her late twenties with magenta streaks in her hair and a big freckle under her right eye.’ He paused. ‘So you can see why I’d jump to conclusions.’

  Cleo sensed Will’s shock.

  ‘OK, so it was me.’ She defiantly straightened her back. ‘But you should have seen them. They wouldn’t have fit into the village at all.’

  ‘And I expect you thought it would be fun to piss me off,’ said Johnny. ‘Well congratulations, you managed it. If I don’t find another buyer before Christmas, I’m going to lose that apartment I’ve been trying to buy. So the reason I came over is to ask you not to do it again. Because, trust me, I don’t find it funny.’

  And that was it. He turned, he left. When the front door had closed behind him, Will gazed across the kitchen at Cleo.

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.’

  Oh God, a man with morals. ‘I just hate it that he always gets everything he wants.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘Are you shocked and disappointed? Have I blotted my copybook and let myself down?’

  A slow smile began to spread across his face. ‘I’ll forgive you.’

  Phew, thank goodness for that! And while they were on the subject of confessing their faults… ‘There’s something else,’ said Cleo. ‘I’m really bad at cooking.’

  ‘You don’t say. I’d never have noticed.’ Grinning now, Will moved towards her. ‘Come here and give me a kiss. Who wants to eat vegetables anyway?’

  ‘Or chicken. That’s awful too.’ Between kisses, Cleo said, ‘We can get something to eat at the pub. What are you doing?’

  His hands had slid under her top… whoops, and now he was unfastening her lilac satin bra.

  ‘Bed first,’ Will murmured in her ear. ‘Pub later.’

  The smell of scorched broccoli had pretty much spoiled her appetite too. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Cleo said happily, ‘That sounds like an excellent idea to me.’

  Chapter 5

  Abbie, lying beneath a layer of bubbles in the bath on Saturday evening, was listening to a problems phone-in on the radio. Hearing about other people’s difficult lives and dilemmas was meant to be taking her mind off Tom but it wasn’t having the desired effect. He’d gone away for the weekend on a fishing trip with a couple of friends from work. Allegedly. Then again, the trip had been arranged months ago, so maybe it was true.

  She no longer knew what to think. His friends might be in on whatever his big secret was and be covering for him. Every time she thought of Tom with another woman, Abbie’s heart gave a lurch of fear and nausea rose in her throat. Then shame kicked in when a sweet lady on the radio broke down in tears because her husband had died and the doctors had just given their profoundly disabled son six months to live. Faithful or not, at least Tom was still alive. Oh God, unless he too had had terrible news…

  ‘…And now we have Eric on the line,’ said the female radio presenter. ‘Welcome, Eric. What’s your problem this evening?’

  ‘Um… well, it’s been a problem for years.’ Eric sounded incredibly nervous. ‘But up until now I’ve always managed to keep it under control. The thing is, I don’t think I can do it anymore. I can’t keep it a secret from my wife. I love her, you see. I hate having this… this thing between us. I’ve got to come clean, but I’m so scared I’ll lose her. I mean, what if she can’t handle it?’

  ‘Eric, you sound like a caring husband to me. And very well done for having plucked up the courage to make this call.’ The presenter’s tone was lovely and soothing, like honey being drizzled over warm toast. ‘So why don’t you tell me what your secret is?’

  Abbie waited. He’d had an affair with his secretary. Or he’d gambled away the family’s life savings. Or he’d murdered his mother.

  ‘Um… the thing is, I’m a transvestite,’ said Eric. ‘I’ve been cross-dressing for the last twenty years.’

  Is that all? Abbie exhaled with disappointment. After the anguish she’d been going through, she’d be ecstatic if Tom broke down and admitted that the reason he’d been acting all weird lately was because he liked to wear women’s clothes. God, Eric’s wife didn’t know how lucky she was.

  ‘Oh Eric, can I tell you something? This is actually a lot more common than most people realize. Many, many men secretly put on their wives’ dresses or take pleasure in wearing silky knickers under their work clothes.’

  ‘I do that.’ Eric sounded relieved. ‘I’m a company accountant. If people knew what I was wearing under my grey suit… well, I’d never let that happen. I just want to share it with my wife.’ Unable to help himself, he added proudly, ‘And it’s all good stuff, you know. Nothing cheap, no man-made fibers. One hundred percent silk from La Perla.’