I shrug lightly. ‘Maybe. I’ll see.’
He shakes his head wearily. ‘Just don’t do anything stupid,will you?’
I laugh scathingly. ‘Oh, well, I’ll try my very best,although since I’m just a scatty, clueless female, I can’t possibly make anypromises.’
‘What?’ He looks at me, bemused. ‘But I never suggested youwere...’ He sighs, shakes his head one more time and headsfor the door.
‘Thanks for the advice,’ I call, in what I hope is a deeplyironic tone.
‘Any time. Just make sure youphone him,’ he calls,just before the front door creaks on its rusty old hinges and slams shut.
CHAPTER FIVE
I drive away from the house, having abandoned my attemptat getting rid of the wall today and thinking dark thoughts over the suddenappearance of Mr-Tanned-Muscly-Know-It-All.
He was so irritatingly resolute in his ‘I’m-right-and-you’re-wrong’attitude, and I truly would have loved to wipe that smug self-satisfied lookoff his face by carrying on smashing the wall down and proving him wrong! But Igrudgingly conceded (after he’d gone, of course) that he might have a pointabout the house collapsing if I don’t make absolutely sure the wall isn’tload-bearing.
I’m also willing to accept that my prickliness towards himmay have been a by-product of my lingering bitterness over my ex’s betrayal. Themale species no longer exists after the total humiliation of that night...
*****
I first met Guy at my friend Anya’s wedding.
I’d been resolutely single for a while, following my lastdisastrous date which seemed to go well, until the next day when a ‘dick pic’ arrivedon my phone unexpectedly. Weirdly, it wasn’t the appendage that was the most off-puttingthing – it was the disgusting state of his bedroom in the background. Old pizzaboxes, empty beer cans and screwed-up paper hankies everywhere and – get this –a poster of what looked like a prison mugshot of some man on the wall behindhim. I Googled famous convicts and up he pops – only the notorious serialkiller Jeffrey Dahmer!
Romance took a back seat after that, funnily enough.
But then it was Anya’s wedding and she was determined tomatchmake me with her cousin, who she kept saying was the perfect man for me.Of course, I was totally sceptical about this ‘match made in heaven’ andtreated her proclamations with the hilarity they deserved. Tom, when sheintroduced us with a sly glance at me, seemed really nice, although a littlenervous. He was an inch or so taller than me – I’m five foot nine – with whiteblond hair and a lovely Welsh accent. But the problem was, completely againstmy better judgement, I’d already had a bit of a flirtation with the weddingband’s lead singer.
I’d bumped into him – literally – when he was on his way tothe bar after the band’s first set and he’d made some remark about guests atweddings getting prettier all the time, and although it was corny, I laughedbecause he was really very cute. He told me his name was Guy and we shook handsrather formally. Then he winked and said he’d see me later. Watching himsauntering back to the stage with his pint, waylaid by a couple of girls inglittery mini dresses and skyscraper heels, I remember thinking it was quitepresumptuous of him to assume that I’d want to see him later. I supposed it wasbecause he was quite used to girls falling at his feet.
I made up my mind right then and there that I definitelywasn’t going to be that kind of a girl. If Iwasgoing to get back onthe dating scene, it wasn’t going to be with some extrovert party guy whoseminor celebrity status as a local wedding singer had given him an inflated ideaof his own attractiveness.
But later, as I stood talking to Anya and her cousin, Tom,who apparently worked in PR, I kept glimpsing Guy in the background, sitting atthe bar, grinning away at me and lifting the stool next to his in the air. Iwas already losing my inhibitions after the champagne toast and several glassesof wine and I couldn’t help laughing at his daft antics. So I thought:Stopbeing so boring, Lottie Fanshawe, and live dangerously for once in your life!
So I excused myself, glancing apologetically at Anya andtelling Tom it was really nice to meet him but that someone was buying me adrink so I’d better go – and I walked over to the bar and claimed the seat nextto Guy with a haughty smile.
At the end of the night, he sought me out and we stoodoutside the venue, chatting for ages, flirting gently and finding out abouteach other. He leaned in to kiss me, but I laughed and batted him away. I toldhim if he wanted me, he’d have to woo me in the old-fashioned way, with flowersand compliments, and I could tell he was a little taken aback. I guess he wasn’tused to girls playing hard to get like that.
I liked Guy. He made me laugh and it wasn’t serious. It wastime I had some fun and I was sure Guy wouldn’t object.
But the problem with my plan was that I ended up falling forhim.
I could tell he really liked me, and he was actually muchsofter and more vulnerable than I’d first thought. I’d judged him too harshlyon first meeting him. He was kind and caring, and after we dated for a coupleof months, I finally told him all about my family history and how I was tryingto sell Sycamore House but frustratingly, no one seemed interested in buyingthe place.
‘You’ll get there,’ he murmured, wiping a tear from my cheekwith his thumb ever so gently. ‘You just need to spruce the house up a bit. AndI’ll do anything I can to help.’
I felt so much better about tackling the renovation afterthat. I knew I was falling harder for him, which was dangerous, but his tenderresponse to my rare emotional outburst was surely proof that he was falling forme, too?
That night, he stayed over at mine for the first time, andwhen I waved him off the next day, my heart was full of happiness. Aftereverything that had happened, my life was starting to make sense at last...
The night after Guy stayed over for the first time, he hookedup with an old girlfriend for a supposed ‘drink with an old mate’. When Icalled him next morning from work, which I often did, his flatmate told me hehadn’t got back in yet, and in the ensuing row, Guy admitted staying over ather flat, although he insisted that nothing had happened.
I gave him the benefit of the doubt, although deep down Iknew I was probably fooling myself thinking Guy would never cheat on me. Hehad, though, promised to help me with the Sycamore House facelift, and I toldmyself that meant something.
But then, a few weeks later, turning up early to collect himfromthatwedding (I’d suggested Guy’s band to my friend, Lynn, whosecousin was getting married), I couldn’t find him anywhere, although the rest ofthe group were congregated with their instruments in the hotel lobby. I tappedRobbie, the guitarist, on the shoulder and he turned and looked quite shockedto see me. Without quite meeting my eye, he told me that Guy was doingsomething in the van but that he’d be back shortly.
He was keen to get me a drink but I refused politely and walkedout of the hotel, a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.
