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Chapter 14
At least Ron was speaking to her, Annabelle thought as she helped clear away the dinner things later that evening. When he’d suggested taking the boys for a kickabout on the beach earlier, she’d assumed it was because he wanted to avoid her. And it was terribly kind of him to have booked surfing sessions for the younger members of the group, even though she suspected he couldn’t afford it. Despite his protestations that he had a job, she guessed that odd-jobbing didn’t pay much, which made his gift even more special.
‘Board games, anyone?’ Kate asked. She was holding several boxes in her hands, and Annabelle recognised some old favourites from her childhood.
All the kids were downstairs, either watching TV, playing table tennis, or glued to their phones (Annabelle was referring to Ellis and Portia here) and the adults were settling down for the evening, an open bottle of wine on the table. They were gathered on the terrace, enjoying watching the sun go down, and mostly chatting. Helen had a book of puzzles and crosswords in her hand and was spending most of her time tutting crossly at it, concentration etched on her face, and Beverley was knitting, Pepe curled in a ball at her feet, exhausted after his long walk that morning.
Kate placed the boxes on the table. ‘We’ve got Scrabble, Monopoly, Twister, Cluedo, Hungry Hungry Hippos, Trivial Pursuit, or there’s a compendium with Snakes and Ladders, chess, and so on.’
‘Not for me, thanks. I don’t like board games,’ Helen said. ‘I’ll stick to my Sudoku.’
‘And I’m happy just watching,’ Beverley said, holding up her knitting. ‘I want to get the back of this finished.’
‘What are you making?’ Annabelle asked.
‘A nice thick winter jumper.’ Beverley hesitated as Ron got to his feet and went inside, then lowered her voice. ‘It’s for Ron, for Christmas.’ She caught Annabelle’s look. ‘Yes, I know Christmas is ages away yet, but I’m not as quick a knitter as I once was. Arthritis, you know.’
Annabelle glanced at Beverley’s hands. Her fingers were moving non-stop as she wound thread around the needles, and they looked dextrous enough to her.
‘Just the four of us, then?’ Kate said, adding, ‘Are you up for a game?’ to Ron as he reappeared with a fresh glass of lemonade in his hand.
‘Depends on what we’re playing,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry, strip poker is off limits,’ Brett joked. ‘I’m not flashing my moobs for anyone. It’s all right for you, you’re ripped.’
‘You think?’ Ron looked amused.
‘Don’t you think he’s ripped, Annabelle?’
‘Oh, um, yeah.’ Heat rushed into her cheeks and she wished Brett would stop talking.
When Kate threw her husband a stern glare, Annabelle had the feeling that Brett had known exactly what he was doing, and her face flamed even more. And when she caught Kate’s eye, Annabelle realised she hadn’t been as good at hiding her feelings as she’d hoped.
Her eyes flew to Ron’s, but he was studiously avoiding looking at her.
She didn’t blame him. Not only had she thrown herself at him last night, but now the whole world seemed to know that she fancied him. Great.
‘I’m leaning towards Scrabble, or maybe Cluedo,’ Kate said. ‘Shall we take a vote?’
‘Cluedo,’ Brett said. ‘I’ve always fancied myself as a detective.’ He gave Annabelle an innocent smile.
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘OK, Inspector Clouseau, let’s see if you can win a game.’
‘Bagsie Professor Plum. I can see you as Miss Scarlett,’ Brett said to Annabelle, reaching for the box and pulling it towards him.
‘That leaves me with Mrs Peacock or Mrs White,’ Kate said, sitting down and picking up the wine. ‘Fancy a refill?’ she asked Annabelle.
Annabelle held out her glass.
‘I fancy Ron as Colonel Mustard,’ Brett said, laying out the pieces, a grin playing about his mouth.
Annabelle frowned. Why was the word “fancy” popping up all of a sudden? She had no doubt it was deliberate. It suddenly struck her that she and Ron mightn’t have been as quiet and as unobtrusive as they’d hoped when they’d slipped out last night, and she had a sneaky suspicion that they might have been seen.
Suddenly she remembered that Kate and Brett’s penthouse bedroom also had a small balcony, and the whole suite on the top floor had views to the front of the house.
Stonily, she picked up the dice. If only they knew how the night had ended and that Ron had rejected her, they wouldn’t be so free with their unsubtle comments.
Her attention was only half on the game – the other half was trying not to look at Ron sitting opposite – so it was no surprise when she didn’t win. And she didn’t win at Scrabble either. What she did seem to be winning at was wine drinking, because her glass seemed to be constantly full, despite sipping from it steadily. As a result, she was a bit unsteady on her feet when she went downstairs to round her children up and put them to bed.
