An Offer You Can't Refuse Page 8

  Honestly, just because Cheryl’s marriage had ended in a bad way; now forty and happily divorced, she was enjoying a man-free life. Doggedly, Lola said, ‘Failure is not an option.’

  ‘Flogging a dead horse?’ Cheryl persisted. ‘Chasing rainbows? Expecting a miracle?’

  ‘Don’t be such a pessimist. I dreamt I was rowing a boat down Portobello Road and I lost one of my oars, but all of a sudden Dougie swam up to me and jumped into the boat.’

  ‘And tipped you out?’

  ‘And rescued me! He showed me the hidden switch that turned on the engine.’ Lola felt herself growing misty-eyed at the memory. ‘And the next thing I knew, we were whizzing along like something out of a James Bond film, all through the streets with people screaming and diving out of our way, and Dougie was sitting next to me with his leg pressing against mine…’

  ‘Is this about to turn into one of those mucky dreams?’

  ‘Sadly not. We didn’t have time. My alarm went off.’ Lola passed Cheryl a handful of Dan Browns; it was Monday afternoon, three days since the party, and Dougie had taken up more or less permanent residence inside her head. It wasn’t going to be easy, making someone love you again when they didn’t even want to see you, but she’d never felt this way about anyone else; having him reappear in her life like this was just—

  ‘By the way, someone’s watching you,’ said Cheryl.

  ‘They are? Who?’ It didn’t take long to conjure up a fantasy; in less than a split second Lola had the whole Officer-and-a-Gentleman scenario rolling. When she turned round, Dougie would be making his way across the shop floor towards her like Richard Gere. OK, maybe he wouldn’t actually be wearing that white officer’s uniform but he’d still sweep her effortlessly up into his arms and carry her out, while staff and customers alike clapped and cheered, whooping with delight and calling out, ‘Way to go, Lola.’

  ‘That one over there by autobiographies.’

  Lola turned slowly and another delicious fantasy was dashed. For crying out loud, the man was in his fifties; why would she even want him to carry her out of the shop?

  ‘That’s not Doug.’

  Cheryl rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t say it was. He’s been looking over at you, that’s all. Really looking.’

  ‘Probably saw me on TV last week and now he’s trying to pluck up the courage to ask for my autograph.’ Lola prepared to smile in a cheery, down-to-earth fashion and prove that fame hadn’t gone to her head—God, wouldn’t it be fantastic if he really did ask?—but the man had turned away. Oh well. Ooh, unless he was a private detective hired by Dougie to find out if she was a nicer person now than she’d been ten years ago… he’d done his best to put her out of his mind but hadn’t been able to… maybe he could forgive her after all…

  ‘Are you daydreaming again? Tim’s waving at you,’ Cheryl pointed out. ‘They’re short-handed over at the pay desk.’

  Ten minutes later Lola’s fan arrived at her till. Up close he was younger than she’d first thought; in his mid-forties probably. His hair was dark and just that bit longer than usual, and he was wearing a striped mulberry and olive shirt with well-cut black trousers. Quite trendy for a man of his age. Nice grey eyes too.

  ‘I’ve never read one of these before.’ He passed over the book, a thriller by a prolific American author. ‘Is he good?’

  ‘Seriously good. You won’t be able to stop reading even when you want to. You’ll be holding your breath for hours.’ Lola rang the book up, aware that the man was studying her name badge.

  ‘Sorry.’ He saw that she’d noticed. ‘Nice name. Unusual.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She took his ten pound note and scooped the change out of the till. He was way too old for her to be interested in him in any romantic way but he had an attractive smile. ‘There you go. Hope you enjoy it. Don’t blame me if you get sacked for not being able to stay awake at work tomorrow.’

  His smile broadened. ‘And if I do enjoy it, I’ll be back to buy another one.’

  There was something about the way he was looking at her that made Lola wonder if this was how it felt to be famous. She said lightly, ‘Do you recognize me?’

  He looked startled. ‘What?’

  ‘I was interviewed on TV the other night. I thought maybe you’d seen it.’

  The man’s expression cleared. ‘No, I’m afraid I missed that. I just came in to buy a book.’

  Damn, she wasn’t famous after all. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No problem.’ He relaxed visibly. ‘I’m sorry I missed it. Were you good?’

  ‘I was brilliant.’ As Lola passed him the bag containing his thriller a thought struck her: Why was he now visibly relaxed? Innocently she said, ‘Does anyone ever recognize you?’

  Ha, that surprised him.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I just wondered if people ever realized who you are.’

  Another pause. ‘Why would they?’

  ‘Maybe because they’re very clever and they’ve worked it out.’ Lola flashed him a sunny smile.

  He looked at her. ‘Worked what out?’

  ‘That you’re a private detective.’

  ‘Me?’ He pointed to his chest, shaking his head in amused disbelief. ‘Is that what you think? I’m not a private detective.’

  Luckily there was a lull at the tills; no other customers were waiting to be served.

  ‘Ah,’ said Lola, ‘but you would say that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose so. But I’m still not one.’

  ‘Except that could be you covering your tracks, like any good private detective would.’

  He tilted his head to one side. ‘So if I was, which I promise I’m not, who would I be spying on?’

  ‘Ooh, I don’t know. Anyone in this shop.’ Lola shrugged playfully. ‘Me, perhaps.’

  ‘You. And why would a private detective be tailing you?’ Another brief pause. ‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’

  ‘Not at all.’ She’d only said it on the spur of the moment—nothing ventured, nothing gained—but Lola knew now that this man was no more than a charming stranger, albeit a slightly bemused one, thanks to her interrogation. ‘OK, you’re not a private detective. I believe you.’

  He nodded gravely. ‘Thank you.’

  Out of nowhere a queue for the tills had materialized. Lola said, ‘Enjoy your book.’

  The man left, clutching his dark blue Kingsley’s carrier bag and wearing the kind of expression that people have when they think they’ve handed over a ten pound note and been given change for twenty.

  Chapter 11

  Weren’t Toastabags the greatest invention in the whole world ever?

  The toaster popped up and Lola hooked out the bag, tipping the gorgeous crispy toasted cheese and tomato sandwich onto a plate. Possibly her favorite food, and to think that when she’d first clapped eyes on a Toastabag she hadn’t believed it could work, because how could a plasticky baggy-type thing go into an electric toaster and not melt?

  OK, toasted sandwich: check.

  DVD in DVD player: check. She’d treated herself to the latest release starring Tom Dutton, one of her favorite actors.

  Box of tissues: check. When she’d dragged Gabe along to the cinema to see the film she’d honked like a big goose during the weepy bits and shown herself right up.

  Remote control for DVD player: check.

  Remote control for TV… bum, where was it? Oh, under the sofa cushions. Check.

  Now she was all ready to go…

  The doorbell rang as she was about to take the first heavenly bite of toasted sandwich. Someone had a sense of humor. Lola looked at her make-up-free reflection in the kitchen window, teamed with dripping wet hair and lime-green toweling dressing gown, and really hoped Tom Dutton hadn’t chosen this moment to pitch up on her d
oorstep.

  She pressed the intercom. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Lola?’

  A female voice. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘It’s me! Sally Tennant!’

  Good grief. Sally. Doug’s sister. As Lola pressed the buzzer, her stomach gave a little squiggle of excitement. ‘Come on up.’

  Sally, wrapped in a glamorous cream coat and black patent high-heeled boots, was looking glossy and stylish. She would have looked even more stylish if there hadn’t been a pair of sparkly red plastic antlers flashing away on top of her head.

  ‘Oh sorry.’ She pulled a face when she saw Lola’s hair and dressing gown. ‘Bad time?’

  ‘Of course not. I can’t believe you’re here.’ Lola ushered her into the living room, switched off the TV. ‘Is this something to do with Doug?’

  ‘Doug.’ Sally looked blank. ‘No. Haven’t seen him. Why, have you?’

  ‘No.’ Lola swallowed her disappointment.

  ‘I asked Philip for your address. I’m here about that flat you told me about.’

  The flat. Lola hadn’t thought for a moment that Sally would take her up on the offer—she hadn’t appeared to be even listening when she’d mentioned it. And now she was actually here. Talk about cutting it fine. But at the same time, how brilliant.

  ‘You’re really interested? That’s fantastic. Gabe’s off to Australia tomorrow… he’s out saying goodbye to his friends tonight, God only knows what time he’ll be back. But I’ve got a key. I can show you the flat now.’ Tightening the belt of her dressing gown, Lola said, ‘You’ll love it, I promise!’

  ***

  ‘Gabe? Can you hear me?’ At the other end of the phone Lola could make out yet more noisy celebrations. ‘I’ve just found someone for your flat. Remember I told you about Sally, Doug’s sister? Well, she’s here and she’s had a look round, and it’s just what—’

  ‘What?’ hissed Sally when Lola abruptly stopped and listened. ‘Doesn’t he want me to move in? Why, what’s wrong with me? Tell him he won’t find a better tenant anywhere. Look, I can pay the deposit now, money isn’t a problem… Lola, tell him how much I want this flat!’

  Lola said slowly, ‘Yes… OK, right… no, of course I understand.’ She finished listening to Gabe then hung up.

  ‘What?’ wailed Sally. ‘Why can’t I have it? I want it!’

  Lola felt a twinge of guilt; she was the one who’d begged Gabe not to take on Terry-the-slaughterhouse-worker.

  ‘It’s not you. Gabe registered the flat this morning with a lettings agency. He’s signed a contract with them. And they rang him a couple of hours ago to tell him they were bringing a client round tonight. If this guy says he wants it, there’s nothing we can do. He’s got first refusal,’ she explained. ‘And he’s keen to find somewhere fast.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sally looked crestfallen. ‘Well, maybe he won’t like it.’

  ‘Everyone likes Gabe’s flat. Damn it,’ Lola said frustratedly, ‘I want you to be my neighbor, I don’t want some smelly boy moving in next door…’

  ‘What?’ Sally eyed her with curiosity as Lola’s voice trailed off. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘Gabe says they’re due round at eight.’ Lola checked her watch. ‘I’m just wondering what time the corner shop shuts.’

  With a glimmer of a smile Sally said, ‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a little bit weird?’

  ‘Excuse me.’ Lola raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re the one with the flashing antlers on your head.’

  ***

  The corner shop was still open. If Sanjeev wondered why his best customer when it came to magazines, chocolate, and ice cream was all of a sudden buying up cabbages, he didn’t ask. By ten to eight the evil stench of boiled cabbage was thick in both Lola’s flat and Gabe’s. When the saucepans had been removed from Gabe’s kitchen Lola found a music channel on the TV in her own flat and turned the volume up to maximum. Eminem blared out and Sally took off her antlers, shaking out her hair and kicking off her shoes.

  At three minutes past eight they heard the front door being opened downstairs, then two people entering Gabe’s flat. Lola gave it a few seconds then crossed the landing and thumped on the door.

  It was opened by a man in a suit. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hi there, is he in?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The Angel Gabriel.’ Lola raised her voice to be heard above the sound of the music. ‘Mr Let’s-Complain-About-Everything.’

  The letting agent said frostily, ‘If you mean Mr Adams, he isn’t here.’

  ‘No? Best news I’ve heard all day.’ Grinning at the potential tenant behind him—gangling, thirties, spectacles, accountanty-looking—Lola said, ‘Well, can you just pass on a message from Lola and Sal across the hall, tell him we’re having a few friends round tonight. They’ll be turning up after the pub and we’d appreciate it if he didn’t give us the usual grief, seeing as this time we’re warning him in advance.’ Leaning forward conspiratorially, she added, ‘To be honest, the police are fed up with him calling them and whining about us. I mean, talk about a Neddy No-Mates! If you can’t have a party and a laugh with your friends, what’s the point of living, eh?’

  ‘Maybe you could leave a note for Mr Adams.’ The letting agent spoke brusquely, keen to close the door on a potentially deal-breaking neighbor.

  ‘Hang on.’ The gawky accountant-type behind him raised his voice above the thudding hip-hop beat that was now making the floor vibrate. ‘How often do you have parties?’

  ‘Not often. Two or three times a week, that’s all.’

  ‘And the smell,’ said the accountant. ‘What is that?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh, can you notice it?’ Lola shrugged. ‘No idea. It comes and goes in waves—something to do with the drains, I think. Cost us a fortune to have everything checked out but it didn’t do any good. We thought maybe Neddy No-Mates had buried someone under his floorboards.’ She paused and said, ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘This flat’s been registered with a lettings agency.’ The accountant blinked rapidly. ‘The owner’s moving to Australia.’

  ‘You’re kidding. Hey, fantastic!’ Hearing footsteps behind her, Lola turned and said to Sally, ‘Hear that? Neddy No-Mates is off to Oz!’

  ‘To get away from us?’ All of a sudden nine months pregnant beneath her coat, Sally nodded approvingly. ‘Cool. So does that mean you’re going to be our new neighbor?’

  ‘I, um…’ Was that a glint of terror behind the geeky spectacles? ‘Well, I’m not…’

  ‘Because if you ever fancy a spot of babysitting, I’ve got just the thing for you right here!’ Sally gave her swollen stomach a pat. ‘I mean, just because we’re having a baby doesn’t mean we have to stop doing what we want to do, does it? Whoo-hoo!’ Eminem had given way to Snoop Dogg. Sally, clutching her stomach with one hand and waving the other in the air, executed some enthusiastic hip-hop-esque dance moves. ‘Whoo-hooooo!’

  It was a sight to make a grown man nervous. Two grown men, in fact. The geek and the lettings agent edged nervously away. Lola, filled with admiration, prayed that Sally wouldn’t get carried away and attempt to shake her booty.

  Imagine the embarrassment if her cushion fell out.

  ‘How many of you are there living in that flat?’ said the geek.

  ‘Just me and Lola and this little creature when he gets here.’ Still energetically gyrating along to the music, Sally pointed gaily at her stomach.

  ‘Who needs a man when you’ve got a turkey baster?’ said Lola, winking at the lettings agent. ‘Our baby’s going to have two mothers who know how to have fun.’

  ***

  When the agent and the geek had left the building, Lola turned off the ear-splitting music and threw open the windows in both flats to disperse the nostril-curling boiled-cabbage smell.<
br />
  ‘Gosh, that was fun.’ Sally pulled the balled-up velvet cushion out from under her coat and flung it onto the sofa. ‘Think it’ll do the trick?’

  ‘It’d do the trick if I was the one looking for a flat.’ Lola took a bottle of white wine from the fridge and poured out two glasses.

  ‘Poor bloke, he did look a bit stunned. I suppose we just have to wait now. Should I be drinking that in my condition?’

  ‘You could always have water instead.’

  ‘Water? Yeurgh, nasty wet watery stuff. No thanks.’

  Lola’s phone rang ten minutes later and she leapt on it.

  ‘What did you do?’ Gabe came straight to the point.

  Innocently Lola said, ‘Sorry?’

  ‘No you’re not. I’ve just had a call from the lettings agent,’ said Gabe, ‘telling me that in view of the Situation, I’m going to need to drop my rental price.’

  ‘Oh Gabe, that’s terrible.’

  ‘Quite significantly, in fact.’

  ‘You poor thing!’

  ‘He also said getting rid of that putrid smell had to be a priority.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘So this friend of yours, this sister-of-Doug,’ said Gabe. ‘I’m assuming she’s there with you now.’

  Lola looked over at Sally. ‘Might be.’

  ‘And she wants my flat.’

  ‘Definitely. More than anything.’

  ‘What caused the smell?’

  ‘Four big saucepans of boiled cabbage.’

  ‘Here, give me the phone.’ Reaching over, Sally grabbed it and said, ‘Gabe? Hi, please let me be your new tenant! I’m super-housetrained, I promise. I’d really look after your flat and I’m completely trustworthy, I’ll pay the full rent by direct debit and leave the deposit with Lola now, you won’t regret it… what? Oh, OK.’

  ‘What did he say?’ demanded Lola when Sally put down the phone.

  ‘That I was giving him earache.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘That moving to Australia was beginning to seem like the best decision he’d ever made.’