Mistletoe Mansion (21 page)

At the garage I dropped my umbrella and hurried up to the front door. A funny noise came from around the left of the house. I crept around to the side. There it was again. Was that a sob? I walked down to the back garden, past the kitchen,
at last
(was I really saying that?) out of sight of the cameras.

‘Melissa?’

Head in hands, she sat on the grass, next to an upturned wheelie bin.

‘What’s wrong?’ I threw down the magazine and took off my sunglasses. ‘Vandals? Foxes?’

She looked up at me. ‘No. Another kind of vermin.’

My brow furrowed. ‘I don’t think rats are strong enough to–’

‘Those bastard photographers have gone through my bins. Usually they wait until dark.’ She bit her lip. ‘They must have got a whiff of a really juicy story out there if they’re this desperate.’ She gazed around at the mess. ‘Jonny will go mad.’

‘But what are they hoping to find?’ I stared at the cardboard boxes and crumpled kitchen roll. ‘Don’t you shred the important stuff?’

‘Yes. Anything with our personal details on and all the post, of course. But…’ She sniffed again. ‘I’ve a nasty feeling I threw some empty tablet boxes in here yesterday. Jonny’s on prescription drugs for a bad back. He hates the press finding out anything that might hint he’s not on form.’

‘Come on. Let’s tidy up,’ I said and swallowed. Poor Melissa. ‘Maybe they’re still amongst all this rubbish.’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve already looked. He’ll go ballistic if news creeps out. Also, I… I threw out a pregnancy magazine I couldn’t resist buying last month.’ She sighed. ‘At least they left the bottle bin alone. Last month some story surfaced about how many bottles of champagne we drank a week. Jonny didn’t speak to me for two days. Said it reflected badly on his wholesome, healthy golfer image and made him look unprofessional. He could hardly say it was me drinking all that fizz.’

Shaking her head, she stood up, whilst I pulled her ring off my finger.

‘That made me feel ten feet tall,’ I said and handed it over, with a wry smile.

‘You fooled them then?’

‘I think so – although they thought you’d put on weight.’

‘What do men know?’ Melissa said and stroked the diamond before she slid it back onto her finger. She stared at me for a minute. ‘Come upstairs to my changing room, Kimmy. I guess one good turn deserves another. I’ve got something that could really make you feel sky-high.’

Changing room
? Was that another word for drugs den?

‘I…um… don’t even drink much,’ I said and followed her through the kitchen and upstairs. ‘I wouldn’t want to get high on…’

‘Nearly there,’ she said as we reached the landing and entered a room almost straight ahead. I walked in. Rubbed my eyes. Opened them again. On the left was a wall covered in the biggest, gilt-framed hairdresser’s salon mirror. On the far wall was another mirror, above a wide shelf covered in an array of toiletries, make-up and brushes. There were two pink stools in front of this. Across the length of the right hand wall were two wardrobes with pull open doors. Cherry red wallpaper made the room look so extravagant. The carpet was fluffy and I felt an urge to bend down and give it a cuddle.

Melissa pointed to the left hand wardrobe. ‘My clothes are in there. But in here…’ She pulled open the right hand one. I almost blacked out. Was this a dream? A walk-in shoe wardrobe? Shelves ran down either side and right at the end was a full-length mirror. As the doors opened, a trail of ceiling lights lit up.

‘Go on, Kimmy. Take anything you want. What’s your favourite colour?’

Goggle-eyed, I walked up and down the shelves of shoes, like an officer inspecting a parade. There were stilettos in red, gold, black, blue, and two whole rows of strappy sandals! I pointed to a pair of pink and gold golf shoes.

‘I had those made specially,’ she said. ‘I’m taking lessons behind Jonny’s back. It’s going to be a surprise when I challenge him to a match on his next birthday. The teacher’s a lovely guy.’ She smiled. ‘He calls me a right little hooker.’

‘What?’ Sounded like an insult to me.

‘I
hook
the ball when I swing, although I’ve still no idea what that means.’

‘Jonny will be impressed. It’s a great idea,’ I said and gawped once again at a shoe shop selection of wedges and platforms.

‘Your feet are about my size, aren’t they, darling? A five?’

I nodded. When it came to measurements, our shoe size was the only thing we had in common.

‘How about these? Cute but practical. I’ve only worn them once.’

She handed me the most amazing pair of, ooh, five inch high gold platforms, with intricate white leather flowers across each strap. My hands trembled. Perhaps this was a turning point in my life – I’d never held genuine designer shoes before.

I bent over, slipped off Melissa’s trainers and slid my feet between the soft leather straps. Then I stood up and looked in the mirror, towering over Melissa now. My legs looked all model-like and somehow thinner. They were summer shoes really, but who cared!

‘Thanks,’ I stuttered.

‘No problem.’ She headed for the landing and I followed her downstairs, praying I wouldn’t trip and fall.

‘By the way,’ she said as we reached the kitchen. ‘I caught sight of Jess just before I left yours and offered my congratulations. She was making herself a hot drink.’

‘Congrats? Um…’

‘The baby.’

‘You knew?’ I said.

‘Straightaway. One of the golfing wives had bad morning sickness, plus I’ve read every book ever published on pregnancy. The name of that “cocktail” she mentioned was actually the pregnancy hormone.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Jess got very angry; thought you’d told me; said people should mind their own business. I didn’t know it was some sort of secret. Anyway, the last thing she did was throw down her tea towel and announce she was leaving Harpenden.’

Chapter 16

Smeared green bile where rouge should be – not an attractive look. Not that Jess usually wore make-up, and if she did it had to be made from base ingredients that had never been tested on animals. I’d taken off my new shoes and hurried across the fence and back garden, into Mistletoe Mansion. Carefully, I’d laid the designer shoes on my bed, then found Jess in her ensuite, throwing up into the toilet.

‘Who else have you told?’ she muttered and pushed me away as I brushed strands of red hair from her face.

‘No one! Honest. Melissa just guessed. You gave it away with that cocktail name. You’re not leaving, are you?’

‘Haven’t got a choice, have I?’ she muttered. ‘Nowhere else to stay.’ She stood up, ran the cold tap and bent over for a drink and wash. I passed her the towel and she snatched it from me. ‘I can manage,’ she said.

That was it. I locked the bathroom door and stood in front of it, arms crossed.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Spill.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Ever since that pregnancy test result, you’ve refused any help. We’ve always been there for each other, haven’t we? Like… like me taking revenge on Dan at school for asking if your surname was Weasley.’

‘Thanks for reminding me of that,’ said Jess although she half-smiled. ‘Dan reckoned the only reason he failed his maths GCSE was because of that itching powder you slipped down his back.’

‘And what about the time I lost my favourite headband on that cross country run neither of us could get out of? You walked the length of the route again with me, after school, in the rain, ‘til we found it on a bush. I was well chuffed.’

Jess wiped her nose. ‘This is a little more serious than that.’

I put my hand on her arm but she shook it off.

‘What?’ I said. ‘Jess. It’s me. Kimmy. The girl who’s borrowed your toothbrush and knows you’ve secretly got the hots for middle-aged gardening expert Alan Titchmarsh. Come on… What’s bugging you?’

‘You mean apart from me having ruined my life?’ She sniffed.

I folded my arms.

‘Okay, okay,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s just… Perhaps I deserve all this. Your mum…’

‘What’s she got to do with this?’

‘I… I know you think I’ve always given her a hard time – it’s because I’ve seen how difficult things have been for you, because she was careless enough to get pregnant so young, without a regular boyfriend… I felt angry on your behalf.’ Jess rambled on. ‘Maybe this is karma; the universe punishing me so I find out how truly difficult single parenthood is. I always thought I was too sensible for it to happen to me. I feel…’ her voice wavered, ‘…stupid.’

‘But why push me away?’

She gulped. ‘You must hate me. After all my critical comments, now I’m in exactly the same position as her. I’m such a hypocrite.’

‘No you’re not. You’re a great friend. I know it was only cos you cared about me that you said those things.’ Jess used to get fired up – when Mum forgot parents’ evenings and non-uniform days and sent me to school in a shirt stained with tomato ketchup from the night before. ‘Mum is Mum,’ I said. ‘And certainly not a mascot for all single mothers. Lots of women get pregnant and left in the lurch. It doesn’t make them stupid or a bad person. Just unlucky.’

‘But still, everything that happened when you were at school… That time your mum turned up to the end of year play drunk…’

I bit my lip. Yeah, I sure had some memories that would be best well and truly buried.

‘Who’s to say she wouldn’t have been like that if she was married, in the suburbs with two point four children?’ I said, eventually. ‘Having kids, under whatever circumstances, doesn’t completely change a woman’s intrinsic personality. And remember Chloe Pritchard’s mum? Always volunteering for school trips, on the PTA – she chose to be single and Chloe’s dad came from a sperm bank. You’d never meet a more upright, organised woman.’

Jess gave a wry smile. I squeezed her hand. Although my bestie did have more in common with my mum than you’d ever think. I‘d never forgotten, the night I got my GCSE results – they weren’t bad. Mum was so proud. Over a can (or six) of strong lager, she talked properly, for the first time ever really, about how her parents – or rather her dad – had thrown her out when the bump showed, but like Jess, she was determined to carry on with the pregnancy. Grannie kept in touch though, and without fail sent me a card and five pound note for every birthday. ‘I was never going to give you up, girl,’ Mum said to me. ‘You and your brother, Tom, you’re the best things I’ve ever done. You’ve got the good bits of me. Don’t waste them, like I have.’

‘Come on – meet you in the kitchen. Let me rustle up something to eat.’ I raised my eyebrows. Jess stared at me for a moment, sniffed and then nodded.

Half an hour later, over pasta, I gave her a full explanation of why the house was so messy. With every mouthful, Jess became more like her old self.

‘Here, let me get you another orange juice,’ I said. ‘How do you think your young-hearted mum will cope with the news that she’s going to be a gran?’

She looked at me and we both laughed.

‘How will
your
mum react?’ asked Jess, in a small voice. ‘We’ve never really got on. She’ll have a field day, I bet.’

I passed Jess her drink and sat down again. ‘You’d be surprised. All these years, she’s always told me how lucky I am to have such a loyal friend.’

Jess flushed red and changed the subject by asking what our famous neighbour had been doing here and why on earth I’d invited her over the next evening. Then she headed off to bed, saying she didn’t know why I was hurt by the paparazzi’s mean comments; that if they’d compared my arse to the size of an albatross’s (golfing term!), compared to hers in nine months it would look like a goldcrest’s (the smallest bird in Britain, apparently – Jess knew random stuff about nature, like that).

She was right. I needed to get some perspective. Mentally, I stuck out my tongue at the paparazzi and headed for my apron and oven gloves. Two hours later I’d made a batch of Melissa’s skinny gingerbread cupcakes and a batch of one of my favourites: succulent black cherry (tinned ones made the batter so juicy), topped with a generous buttercream icing swirl and dark chocolate shavings – my retro Black Forest Gateau cupcake. Okay, so not Christmassy, but gorgeous at any time of the year.

I checked my phone and replied to several messages – Saffron had rung. She wanted twenty girly cupcakes for Friday’s hen night, which gave me three days to brainstorm my designs. Luke also texted. He asked how the house viewing had gone and, when I told him about the mysterious mess-making, offered to clear my cooking ingredients out of the hot tub before Melissa and Terry came round tomorrow.

Funny. Why would he do that? I’d tried, over the last day or two, to figure out why he ran hot and cold. From the start he’d been rude, which had put me on my guard. And even though he was as arrogant as they came, I couldn’t help wondering if that was just a thin veneer. Clearly he’d been fond of – and looked out for – Walter and Lily. Plus he’d done the decent thing the other night, and stayed over after the evil spirit attacked me in my bedroom…

I sighed. Whereas Adam… I knew him inside out. Okay, him dumping me had come as a shock, but if we got back together I figured the future would be pretty much mapped out. Which was good, no? He offered me all the security I’d missed as a child. Yet since we’d split – since I’d moved into Mistletoe Mansion – I… I couldn’t help wondering if my relationship with Adam – my safety blanket – was holding me back.

Increasingly confused, I headed upstairs, and after a quick shower, got into bed and sat, plaiting my hair. I plumped the floral cushions behind me, then stared blankly around the room. Talk about Mum always made me feel heavy inside. If Adam was here he would have given me a big hug or nuzzled my neck – whatever mood I was in, that always made me laugh. I pulled up the luxurious crimson duvet. Perhaps I was the stupid one. There was Jess, up the duff and on her tod, whereas Adam was practically begging me to put down roots with him for a secure future.

A remedy was required, to clear my muddled mind and cheer me up. My mouth watered as I reached across to the bedside table and picked up my self-prescribed cure – a ginormous Black Forest Gateau cupcake. Mmm. I closed my eyes, partly to avoid Groucho’s begging eyes, partly to savour every mouthful as the cream caressed my tongue and the sponge slowly disintegrated, releasing the moistness and slightly sharp richness of the cherries.