Rumours and Red Roses (4 page)

She liked him for that. She knew she was silly about it but it made her feel less self-conscious and she began to relax at last. He did rather monopolize her until Marina’s brother, an old school friend of his, caught up with him, smiling and asking Becky if he could borrow old Simon for a minute or two.

Left alone, Becky headed for the buffet, a buffet her mum would have turned her nose up at for it was all shop bought, Marina making no secret of the fact that she had swept the shelves clean at Marks & Spencer earlier in the day. She could cook, she had once told Becky, but life was too short, wasn’t it?

‘All right, Becky? What did I tell you?’

Becky reached for a bite, ignoring the triumphant look Marina was casting her way, refusing to acknowledge that, oh all right, she did find this Simon guy deliciously attractive. Marina would pounce on her tomorrow, wanting to know
everything
. She would be disappointed for Becky had already decided to keep Marina firmly out of the picture as she could not risk any further indiscretions. When it came to loose talk, Marina could regrettably not be trusted. Having talked to him, having seen him smile at her, she was revising her opinion a little. She thought she had detected a spot of interest there so who knows? There was no need to freeze him out just to get one over on Marina.

Simon had her telephone number so, if he had a mind to, he could ring her. She had his too so, at a pinch, if she could bring herself to do it, she could ring him.

Her taxi came for her at midnight. Things were hotting up, the drinks were flowing, the music was now deafening, and, like Cinderella, she slipped out unnoticed, waving a goodbye and mouthing a thank you to a half-sozzled Marina.

Sitting in the taxi, listening to but not taking part in the woman driver’s lightweight chat, Becky was convinced that she would never hear from him again. 

B
UT SHE DID
. With the energy and determination of Prince Charming, he rang next day, ridiculously early, before she left for work, expressing surprise that she had sneaked off as she had. He was appalled, too, that she had gone home in a taxi when he would have been delighted to drive her himself.

And, by the way, would she like to come out to dinner with him?

Wouldn’t she just?

‘Who was that?’ her mum asked, taking a final glance at herself in the hall mirror.

‘Oh, just a guy I met last night,’ Becky told her, feeling her face flush. God, what a giveaway!

‘I see.’ Her mum tweaked her hair. ‘Come on, let’s get going. I’ve got a busy morning. Going to see him again, are you?’

‘Yes. I’m saying nothing else, Mum, so don’t ask.’

Two dates on and Becky wished her mum wouldn’t stay up waiting for her to arrive home after a night out as if she was sixteen again. She understood why her mum worried, that January accident never far from her mind. Shelley ran through the whole episode often enough, reminded of it whenever she read a report in the paper of another car accident. The grapevine had been very active that night. Messages had flashed around that the kids had had an accident and somebody had died. She and Janet’s mum had been driven to the hospital by a
neighbour
, not knowing what was what.

‘I’ll never forget her face,’ her mum had said. ‘Janet’s mum’s face.’

Their house was lit up tonight like a lighthouse, global warming and energy saving not one of her mum’s priorities. Every single room
had its light on, and, as it was past midnight and Simon had just dropped her off, Becky could not help feeling she
was
sixteen again and in for a roasting at that. Her mum had never held back at telling her off with a voice to rival any top soprano once she got going. She supposed she could understand it because she was all her mum had and her mum had an honours degree in the devious and deadly ways of the male of the species. Her mum was just concerned about her, especially when it could all have gone either way when she lost her dad. It was only when her mum turned back to her for some comfort that they learned how to cope with it together and that’s how it had been ever since.

It was just the two of them, give or take the presence of Uncle Alan now and then; the two of them in it together. The two of them against the world.

However, that was then and this was now. If her mum dared say ‘What time do you call this?’ tonight, Becky would tell her what for. Some girls her age had
sons
of twenty, for goodness’ sake, and if she had wanted to stay out all night – if Simon had asked her, that is – then she certainly did not need her mother’s permission.

She put her key in the lock, opened the door, listened a minute.

‘Is that you, love? I’m in the kitchen. Cup of hot chocolate?’

Becky closed the front door quietly behind her, kicking off her shoes with relief. In stockinged feet, she padded into the kitchen where her mother was pouring milk into the mugs, wearing her old towelling dressing gown and fur-trimmed wedge slippers, cigarette in hand. Thank goodness she seemed in a good mood, which was just as well because Becky did not want her own spoilt.

Becky was feeling pleasantly optimistic about the way it was going with Simon. He was all Marina had said he was. He was all she could have hoped for. Reliable
and
sexy. He had a nice temperament, not given to fits of temper like Terry, and he seemed easygoing and
generally
content so hopefully he wouldn’t have the bouts of depression that her number one fiancé had suffered from. Sean had broken off
that
engagement, breaking her heart at the time. Later, in the cold light of day, she could see that it would not have worked out. She could get down herself on occasion, dwelling on the past, so she needed
somebody
to buck her up when that happened, not somebody to drag her down. Compatibility was a funny thing. You had to be on the same 
wavelength, true, but you also had to complement each other by being that bit different.

With Simon, it had not been love at first sight for her, not this time around, but then she was wary of all that baloney and, twice bitten, could not trust her judgement any more. Lust at first sight, more likely, for she had felt a distinct stirring all over when she saw him, had hardly dared look at him, look at him properly, for fear that she would give herself away. A woman could always tell if a man fancied her without any words being spoken and she supposed the opposite was true.

So, wary as she was of it all going wrong once more, she wasn’t exactly on cloud nine yet – eight and a half, perhaps – but that delicious dreamy feeling was starting to build up, billowing all around her, and she was starting to think about the first kiss with some anticipation. A proper kiss, a deeply satisfying one when they could melt into each other, not just the peck on the cheek he had given her tonight, on meeting and on leaving her. Once he had got round to kissing her
properly
, putting some feeling into it, then she suspected it wouldn’t be long before she was doing the walking on air thing. The problem with walking on air was the landing to the ground with a bump.

‘Did you have a nice time?’ Her mum thudded the mugs down, picking up her own ‘The best mum in the world’ one and sighing. ‘I wouldn’t have stayed up, love, you’re not a kid any more, but I couldn’t get off to sleep tonight. My mind’s like a tumble drier, first one direction, and then the other. Ivana’s been a right pain in the neck today. She always shunts that miserable Mrs Wearmouth on to me even though she books in with her and I’m sick of it. I mean to say, there’s a limit to what you can do, creatively, with a perm as tight as that, and by the time you’ve listened to the latest tale of woe and tried your best to raise her spirits, you feel like topping yourself. I was so fed up I nearly told Ivana to stuff the job but I mustn’t be hasty, not until I’m fixed up with another one. Anyway, enough of her … how was your night?’

Becky felt herself blush. For heaven’s sake!

‘Nice,’ she said lamely. ‘We went out for a meal.’

‘Where?’

‘A little Italian restaurant. I’ve never been there before.’

Her mum sniffed. ‘Up town is full of Italian restaurants and Indian and Thai and God knows what else. An English one would be a change.
Somewhere nice, a few steps up from a transport café or a pub, where you could get properly cooked Lancashire hotpot and sausage and mash and steak and kidney pie. If you ask me, we’re too fond in this country of running our own cuisine down when you can’t beat it if it’s done properly.’

Becky smiled at the ‘cuisine’. Where had she picked that up from?

‘People want a choice. Things change. We’re not just a brash northern town any more. We’re a cosmopolitan city these days, Mum,’ she said. ‘We have to cater for all tastes.’

‘Don’t we just?’ Her mother sniffed but wisely said nothing more about that.

‘He asked if he could call me Rebecca.’

‘Of course he can, the daft beggar. That’s your name.’

‘Not Becky. Rebecca. Like Dad used to,’ she added quietly. ‘He says he likes it better than Becky. He’s so polite, Mum, pulls out my chair and everything. It makes you feel really special.’

‘Very considerate. Although you have to bear in mind that some men behave a certain way before and after if you follow my drift. I take it you’re still at the before stage?’

Becky ignored her. ‘I had a Mediterranean fish soup and chicken pasta and ice cream and then afterwards he took me to his apartment for coffee….’

‘Did he now?’ Shelley raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t want the details but I can see you’ll be bringing him to meet me before long. And don’t forget, you’re doing the organizing if there’s a wedding in the offing. I’m having sod all to do with it this time. It’s lucky I got a refund on the outfit. It’s not the sort of thing you wear every day.’

‘Don’t start on that. Give me a chance. Nothing’s happened yet,’ Becky told her. ‘We’re taking it slowly. He’s not the sort to rush me and I don’t mind that.’

‘No, neither do I. There’s something to be said for being courted and fussed after. You miss all that if you jump into bed straight off. If you jump into bed straight off, you’ve lost your trump card.’ Her mother puffed on the cigarette. ‘I like a man who shows some control although if he doesn’t try something on soon you’ll have to start worrying. You don’t want to marry a cold fish. If I ever get married again, and I’m not ruling it out, it will be somebody who has a bit of warmth about him. Like Alan,’ she added wistfully. ‘You remember your Uncle Alan? I wonder sometimes if I should ever have let him slip through my fingers
but no way was I buggering off to Australia with him. I mean, it would have upset your schooling and everything. It was all right for him. He was free as air. But if it hadn’t been for that, I might well have married him. He asked me often enough.’

‘Oh, thanks, blame me for messing up your life.’

‘I didn’t mean that, love. I suppose if I had really loved him then I would have gone. I would have gone to the ends of the earth with your dad and that’s a fact but then he was ever so special. He was a man in a million.’

Becky picked up her mug of hot chocolate, cupped her hands round it and took a sip. Her mum, she noticed, had had a French manicure; probably courtesy of the newly qualified nail technician Ivana had taken on. ‘Stop rushing me, Mum. Just because you got married at twenty, you think I’m getting past it.’

‘You are,’ she said sharply. ‘If you want a family then you’ll have to get your skates on, lady.’

She did not need reminding of that and the jury was out on whether she did want a family or not, although something Simon had said tonight, just in passing, had confirmed that
he
did.

‘He’s said something, hasn’t he?’ Her mum smiled broadly. Her skin was shiny with the cold cream she used on it last thing and she looked older without her make-up and with her hair scraped back. Older and tired. Looking at her, Becky felt a sudden fondness for her, for the hard life she had led, for the way she generally kept cheerful despite the setbacks. She had been hit hard by her husband’s sudden death and it was sad that nobody else had come along for her. ‘Out with it, Becky Andrews.’

‘Don’t be so nosy.’ Becky laughed at her.

‘Come on, you can tell me, I’ve heard it all in my time. Did I ever tell you about that time when I won Miss Blackpool and that smarmy guy from the television … that quiz show … what was it called? What was his name? Anyway, he said he could get me in television. Certain conditions attached, of course. I was so naïve I actually went to his dressing room. Can you believe that?’

Becky smiled too. She had heard it all before, seen the photographs of her smiling mum in a swimsuit with the winning sash around her, and even though it was a lifetime away, her mum’s eyes still lit up at the memory.

‘He had nothing on under his dressing gown, the dirty devil. When
I realized what was what I told him where to get off in no uncertain terms. You should have seen his face. I had just started going out with your dad at the time and it was all I could do to stop him going round to the stage door and thumping him one.’

Becky could not imagine that. Her dad had been a gentle sort of man, quiet, although he never got much of a word in edgeways with her mum around. He was a bus driver but in his spare time he had a passion for fishing. He had taken Becky fishing a few times off the jetty of the North Pier at Blackpool when she was about nine years old, a sort of father/daughter bonding exercise, she supposed, but she had hated it. She had never understood the fishing thing, sitting there cold for hours on end, doing nothing, saying nothing either. And the water churning round the jetty seemed always to be a dirty grey-brown, creamy tipped like froth on beer. She had tasted the salt on her lips for days afterwards. He got the picture and never offered to take her again. By the following year, he was dead.

Why had she done that? Thought about her dad? Even now, after all these years, she still got a stupid lump in her throat when she thought about him.

Her mum lit up again, ignoring Becky’s protest. Her philosophy was that something had to kill you in the end and it might as well be
something
you enjoyed. And, after all, she was still here, wasn’t she, and her dad who never smoked in his life was dead of a heart attack, his ashes scattered off the jetty as he would have wanted. Fit as a fiddle all his life with nobody knowing that he had a heart problem that could have seen him off any time.

And Becky was still here, wasn’t she, when Janet and the others were long gone, forever sixteen, puffed out in the instant it took the car to spin out of control and hit the tree. Well, not quite instantly … she had heard Paul breathing and moaning for quite a while until he quietened and it was a while longer, a lifetime longer, when the police and firemen arrived to set her free.

‘One of them is still alive,’ she heard somebody say, a man’s voice. ‘Hello, love. What’s your name?’

‘Becky,’ she had said, so low that he had to ask her again. ‘Becky,’ she said, although she could still only whisper.

‘Don’t you worry, Becky, love,’ the kind voice said. ‘We’ll have you out in no time.’

And why on earth had she thought of that?

Becky nearly told her mum what Simon had done tonight but it was late and they were both tired and her mum would just laugh. In any case, she was keeping quiet about just who Simon was so as not to get her mum too excited. In fact, she must try to keep them apart for the moment because she didn’t want her mum spoiling things for her by acting over eager. If her mum got wind of the fact that there was money in Simon’s family, if she realized that Becky stood to land very nicely on her feet if she married him, then she would not let it drop.