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‘Will I see you this weekend?’
‘Actually, I’m having a hen, just me and Jo and Cheryl. Only a girls’ night in. Silly, but… Anyway, I thought I’d see you at the Guildhall on Monday? Three p.m.? In your best suit? I’ve bought a dress.’
He grins. ‘How am I supposed to wait that long? I’ll go mad.’
‘You’ll manage. And you’ve got the clearance people arriving tomorrow, haven’t you? Have you got a witness? I need to tell them if not – they can provide one.’
He presses the flat of his palm against his forehead. ‘Bugger. Completely forgot. It’s OK, I’ll ask Miranda.’
Miranda. For reasons he can’t quite put his finger on, it occurs to him that this might not be a good idea.
‘Actually, no. I’ll pay… sorry, let’s just pay for a second witness. Keep it super quiet, like you said. I’ll tell Darren and the boys and Miranda when we get back.’
It’s a white lie, about Miranda; he’s already told her. But not the bit about the boys – they don’t know. No one knows how deep he’s gone; it’s all happened so fast, and he wonders now if part of him, despite everything, has been embarrassed to have returned to a woman he knows deep down his friends don’t like. But they don’t know her like he does!
‘I’ll organise a witness.’ She walks him to the door, where they kiss a final time. ‘See you at three on Monday then,’ she whispers, one hand glancing across the front of his jeans. ‘Just like that, eh?’ She steps back and grins, arms straight down by her sides, fists clenched, like a child who’s won a teddy bear at the fair.
‘Just like that.’
CHAPTER 49
Dear Sam,
Sorry to break it to you, but they weren’t Tommy’s first steps. But you were so convinced they were, I didn’t have the heart to tell you that he’d been walking for a week.
By now, though, you’ll have bigger things to worry about. Whether you were the first to see little Toms take his first steps will be the least of it, trust me.
We’re nearly there, Sam. I know the beginning was bumpy, but I think that’s added to it all being more realistic somehow. And now we’re here, I can scarcely believe it’s gone as smoothly as it has. When we first moved in together, I thought you were a keeper, that you’d never leave me. Then you did. But now Tommy has cemented us back together, and in two days’ time we’ll be married and off on our honeymoon! I’ve always wanted to stay in that hotel. Any five-star luxury spa hotel, to be honest. I know I said we’ll go hiking, but what I meant was you’ll go hiking while I hang out at the indoor pool in my fluffy robe, or maybe I’ll be in one of my new outfits having a cheeky cocktail in the panoramic bar restaurant or maybe enjoying a mani-pedi in the beauty suite, lol. But I know you won’t mind what I do because I’m your angel, your saviour, and you’re so, so, so nervous about upsetting me, about getting it wrong, that I can do almost anything. You’ll just suck it up like an abused dog. And then when we get back, everything will fall into place.
Funny, I was just thinking about the time you almost fell for that phishing text, do you remember? Just before you left? You thought it was from Hermes. If I hadn’t been there to stop you, you would’ve entered all your credit-card details, your bank account would’ve been drained in minutes.
Do you remember when we were first together and we went to Paris, you gave that woman two hundred francs? Oh my God, I’m laughing just thinking about your face when I explained you’d been done up like a kipper. You literally couldn’t believe it. You actually thought because you’d signed a petition against, oh, I can’t remember, cruelty to bunnies or something, and written your donation on a stupid photocopied form, that that made it all legit. What was it, some wild animal sanctuary or something? I forget. But that’s what I loved about you when we first met, the fact that you took everyone at face value, that for you, the best day ever would be a long walk, find somewhere with a view to sit and eat your sandwiches and drink your coffee from your little flask, and maybe a cool beer as the sun set over Charmouth Bay. You, the Londoner-turned-West-Country-boy; me, Bridport born and bred, desperate to get to the big city.
You needed me, I think, looking back. For your development, I mean. You never had a girlfriend at school, did you? Too much of a neek. I don’t think you’d ever have been able to get a girlfriend on your own, let alone one like me. You needed a woman to make the moves. That’s the way with a lot of men, I’ve found. You’re a clueless bunch, you really are, the lot of you. A lot of women don’t realise that. And when I say women, I mean single women.
But here we are. Today the clearance company will come and get rid of all Joyce’s old junk, thank God: sofas that have seen better days, mattresses that should have been taken away by environmental health years ago, that weird olde-worlde dining table and chairs she loved so much. Thank God you didn’t put up too much of a fight there, Sam. I couldn’t have kept any of it; it was gross. I want new, new, new all the way, or at least tasteful vintage. Then Monday, that’ll be us at the Guildhall: Mr and Mrs Moore, our Jo and little Tommy. I’m going to dress him up as a page boy! I’ve got this super-cute little outfit – another one of my surprises! The plan is to get Jo and Tommy to walk me in. I’m hoping he’ll manage it if he holds our hands.
When all this comes out, Sam, I want you to know one thing. I’m not an evil person, OK? I don’t want you to think badly of me. It’s just that I’ve had to fight for every penny I’ve ever had. Me and Jo. It’s not like that for you, is it? It never has been. You can’t even imagine it. An eight-bedroomed Georgian villa just begging for a refurb, not to mention the shares, the ISAs, even the current account. That house though. Literally a developer’s wet dream. I’ve always known it’d sell in days, and it did, even quicker than I thought. The market has never been hotter. I made sure I broke that particular bit of news immediately after we made love, because I wanted to make sure you were feeling… receptive. God knows what he’s going to do with the place. I just made up some shit about grandkids because I thought that would help me push it through.
I always knew Joyce was sitting on top of an actual gold mine, all alone on the hill. I always thought if I played my cards right, we’d inherit it all. Until you cut me out without a care. I bet she loved you coming back, having you all to herself, away from that pikey Naomi. Don’t tell me it wasn’t like that, Sam! She was a snob, just like everyone. I saw the way she looked at me, like I was a prostitute or something. But seriously, how can she judge me when she was hogging a place like that to herself in her eighties? What about families with kids who need a home? All those years when you were a kid, just the two of you rattling around like marbles in a box while my family were cramped up like sardines.
Still, she wasn’t daft. Property is always a wise investment. I found her bank-account details in the kitchen drawer. I’ll bring them with me and we can sort that stuff out while we’re away. Faked signature here, sleeping husband’s thumbprint there, all into the joint account with the rest.
As I said, now we’re getting married, the joint account is what makes the most sense.
CHAPTER 50
At four o’clock on Monday morning, Sam finds himself wandering around the rooms of his gran’s house, all empty now save for his own, which has in it his blow-up camp bed, his sleeping bag and camping lantern. One new suitcase, which Naomi bought, contains his honeymoon clothes, also bought by Naomi and including a pair of brightly coloured swimming shorts for the pool and some of the whitest socks he’s ever seen. His old clothes are in two holdalls, his shoes in a cardboard box, all in the van, parked on Miranda’s drive. His guitar is already at Naomi’s place.
Naomi surprised him with a visit on Saturday morning. She brought Tommy, a cake and candles. When he asked her what they were for, she laughed.
‘It’s your birthday, silly.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I completely forgot.’
She gave him a dark grey shirt to wear at the wedding. No tie, she said. No one wears ties anymore. Tommy gave him a pair of socks to match the shirt and a dark grey handkerchief with small white polka dots, which Naomi folded in a special way and put in the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
‘There,’ she said. ‘Don’t touch it now I’ve done it for you, OK? And make sure you wear the socks.’
