Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

Dulcie, who had watched a lot of the same films, happily did as she was told. This was more like it. Liam was going to turn into Cary Grant, she’d be Audrey Hepburn and together they would live happily ever after ...

‘Tea, brilliant.’ She sank back on to the sofa and put her feet up. ‘Actually, I’m just craving a bowl of peanut butter ice cream. There’s some in the freezer.’

When he had switched the kettle on, Liam came back into the sitting room with a spoon and the tub of ice cream. He frowned as he read the list of calories per 100 mls. and the percentages of sugar and fat.

‘This stuff’s lethal. You’ll end up the size of a sumo wrestler.’

‘No I won’t.’ Reaching up, Dulcie grabbed the tub and the spoon. Liam watched her expertly peel off the lid and balance it on one knee.

‘I’ll go and get you a bowl.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Dulcie, swooning with pleasure, ‘I’ll manage like this.’

Chapter 30

Liza hated the word toyboy. She wished it didn’t get to her, but it did. If you’re ugly you can wear make-up, if you’re bald you can wear a wig and if you’re short you can wear high heels .

But if you’re nine years older than the man in your life, Liza thought with rising frustration, there’s damn all you can do about it. Because you can’t wear anything to make you younger than you are.

It didn’t bother Kit at all. He really couldn’t care less.

‘You have to come to the party with me,’ he urged. ‘What’s the problem? Everyone knows I’m seeing you. Now I want them to meet you.’

The party was being held to celebrate the twenty-third birthday of one of Kit’s friends. Since the weather was dazzling, it was taking place outside in the garden of his home overlooking the river. As soon as they arrived, stepping out of the taxi on Sunday afternoon, Liza began to feel twitchy.

It didn’t take long for things to get worse.

Terrified of looking like mutton dressed as lamb, she had decided against wearing anything Dulcie-length. Instead, she had chosen a long, loose, topaz-yellow summer dress and strappy yellow high heels. The bad news was, her heels kept sinking into the lawn so to avoid toppling over backwards she ended up having to take them off. This meant the dress was now too long and trailed along the ground. Nobody else had made the same mistake. Everywhere Liza looked, girls in either tiny dresses or ultra-short tops and skirts showed off acres of midriff and conker-brown leg. They all seemed to have hair like spun silk that had to be continually flipped back.

There wasn’t a wrinkle or an ounce of flab in sight. Worst of all, hardly anyone else looked old enough to drink.

Liza felt like a Shetland pony amongst racehorses. Minus her heels, she wished desperately she’d worn her hair up, instead of loose, to give her a couple more inches. As friends of Kit stopped to chat, she fumbled in her handbag, her fingers desperately searching for a couple of stray hair combs.

She couldn’t bear to look round when she heard two girls behind her, discussing her in giggly cut-glass voices.

‘Is that really Kit’s latest?’

‘Must be. Hugh said he was bringing her.’

‘My God, she looks like thingummy from The Munsters. Cousin It.’

More giggles. Liza was surprised they knew who the Munsters were.

‘Wonder what Kit sees in her? She’s hardly his usual type.’

‘Oh well, you know Kit. Anything with novelty value. She won’t last long.’

‘It’s weird though,’ mused the second girl, ‘when he could have anyone he likes. Me, for a start.’

‘Give him time.’ The first girl sounded smug. ‘He will.’

It didn’t help that while Liza was listening to this going on behind her, she was being subjected to some serious chatting-up from the front. A blond, rather good-looking boy called Toby was giving every impression of being bowled over.

But Liza’s confidence had taken such a knock, instead of simply taking the attention for granted, she wondered if he was doing it for a bet.

Somehow she stuck the party out for the next hour and a half, hating every second but by some miracle managing to hide the fact from Kit. Having decided miserably that she was the oldest person there, Liza was hugely relieved to spot a late arrival making his way down the garden towards them.

The man, who was maybe forty, wore jeans and a blue andwhite striped shirt. He was definitely handsome. When she saw him, one of the blonde coltish girls ran across the lawn and threw her arms around his neck.

Liza didn’t care how handsome he was. She was just glad he was there. Older than her and there.

He approached Liza less than ten minutes later, while Kit was getting more drinks.

‘Hi, you’re Liza Lawson.’ He grinned and shook her hand. ‘Dominic Hunter-Greene. I’m a great fan of yours. Read you every Sunday.’

Liza chatted happily for several minutes. Kit was being waylaid at the bar by a couple of college friends but it didn’t matter a bit. She was fine. Dominic Hunter-Greene wasn’t chatting her up, he was simply being friendly while his young blonde girlfriend helped out with the barbecue.

‘Come on, I need to sit down,’ he said and Liza followed him over to a white wrought-iron table surrounded by matching padded chairs. Draped leggily across the chairs were two more mini-skirted blondes and their boyfriends, all drinking Becks and smoking Marlboro Lights.

He was clearly totally at ease with the fact that he was older than everyone else there. But then, Liza thought enviously, it was so different for men. Bag yourself a gorgeous young girlfriend and everyone goes ‘wey-hey, good for you’. When a woman, on the other hand, gets herself a younger boyfriend, everyone goes ‘yeugh, gross’.

‘Okay you lot, park yourselves on the grass,’ said Dominic. ‘Not fair,’ complained one of the girls.

‘Yes, Dad, we were here first,’ said the other.

‘I don’t care. This is my house and these are my chairs.’ Dominic expertly tipped his daughter off hers. ‘Anyway, you’re young, you can sprawl anywhere you like.’ Liza stiffened as he placed a protective hand on her forearm, drawing her into the conversation. ‘We oldies prefer something more dignified.’ He winked at Liza. ‘When you get to our age, you appreciate a bit of comfort.’

Liza saw the glances exchanged by the two girls, who knew she was here with Kit.

‘Who’s the girl helping with the barbecue?’ she said, when they had wandered off, no doubt leaving the wrinklies to it.

‘Has no one introduced you?’ Dominic looked despairing. ‘Honestly, kids today. That’s Sacha, my youngest.’

It was turning into one of those days. Feverishly planning her escape, the best excuse Liza had been able to come up with was a headache. Now, having fretted over the lack of originality, she realised her head actually was beginning to pound in ominous pre-migraine fashion.

Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Liza tried to concentrate on the story Dominic was telling her. As soon as he finished, she would find Kit and tell him she had to get home. Her migraine attacks didn’t strike often but when they happened they weren’t to be taken lightly. Within minutes, Liza knew, her vision would be distorted by flashing lights, the pain would become intense, her words would begin to slur and she would start to feel horribly sick.

‘I say, are you feeling all right?’ Dominic leaned towards her, concerned. Liza had suddenly gone quite pale. She forced a smile.

‘Bit of a headache, that’s all. I think I’m going to have to .. . oh, good grief ...’

Liza saw who was approaching and experienced a surge of nausea. This was truly turning into the party from hell. And her vision was already starting to go.