Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

And the stupid thing is, Liza realised frustratedly, nobody’s making me feel like this. I’m doing it all by myself.

‘I’ve just had enough,’ she told Kit, her fingernail tracing obsessive spirals on the topaz velvet-upholstered arm of her chair. ‘It’s too difficult. Relationships shouldn’t be difficult.’

‘You’re ashamed of me,’ said Kit. ‘Is that it? I’m an embarrassment to you?’

His yellow eyes narrowed, regarding her with mock amusement. Liza felt sick; he thought he was going to be able to coax her out of this and he couldn’t. It was too late. She’d started and now she couldn’t stop.

‘Yes, I’m ashamed,’ she said quickly, and saw that she had startled him. ‘I’m embarrassed to be seen with you, okay? So it’s over. I’m a grown woman, Kit. Time I found myself a grown man.’

‘You missed a brilliant fight this afternoon,’ Susie the receptionist said gleefully when she handed over to Bella at the end of her shift.

Bella looked interested.

‘What, a punch-up?’

‘Better than that. The couple booked into 201 had the most amazing slanging match, right here in the lobby in front of everyone. We were all riveted! Anyway, the woman was hell bent on finishing with him ‘

‘Hang on, room 201? I checked them in yesterday. He was gorgeous!’

Susie gave her a there-you-go look.

‘That’s it then, isn’t it? Bet you he’s been playing away and she’s only just found out.’

‘So how did it end? Did they make up?’

‘Did Tom make up with Jerry?’ Susie mimed slitting her throat. ‘I’m telling you, it’s over. He did his best, but there was no stopping her. She ended up yelling that she never wanted to see him again. Then she stalked out.’

‘Leaving him here all on his own, you mean?’ Ever hopeful, Bella’s eyes lit up. ‘Shall I ring his room and make sure he’s okay?’ She beamed. ‘I bet I could cheer him up.’

The train journey back to Bath was a nightmare. Huddled in a corner seat behind dark glasses, Liza wondered if it was possible to feel more miserable than this. But it had needed to be done and she had done it. Now all I have to do, she thought unhappily, is get used to being on my own again. Pretend I never met Kit Berenger in the first place.

‘Are you sure you’re all right, dear?’ said the nosy middle-aged woman in the next seat.

Tears were sliding out from under Liza’s dark glasses. She wiped them angrily away with her sleeve.

‘Fine, thanks.’

She turned and gazed out of the window but the woman began tapping her, woodpecker-style, on the arm.

‘If you want to talk about it, dear, I don’t mind. I’d be happy to listen.’ Avidly she studied Liza’s averted profile.

‘All my friends tell me how sympathetic I am— Hang on, don’t I recognise you? Aren’t you that girl who writes about food?’

The train was crowded. Liza ended up three carriages along, squashed against a huge man in an anorak reeking of wet labrador. The smell was awful but at least he didn’t interrogate her.

She couldn’t cry properly until she reached home. It was over, it was all over.

There were half a dozen messages on her answering machine.

None of them was from Kit.

‘Dulcie, where on earth have you been? It’s eight o’clock!’ wailed Pru, standing in the front doorway like an indignant wife. ‘I thought you were only popping out for a pair of tights.’

Dulcie, struggling to keep a straight face, collapsed on to one of the kitchen chairs.

‘I went to see Rufus, to thank him for yesterday.’

Pru recognised that smirk. Dulcie was looking ridiculously pleased with herself.

‘Don’t tell me, you seduced him. You’ve spent the entire day in bed with Mr Nice-Guy-with-a-beard.’

‘Actually,’ Dulcie adopted a not very convincing casual air, ‘I’ve been working.’

‘At getting the poor chap into bed, you mean.’

‘I mean working in the café. Running it singlehanded, in fact.’

‘Are you hallucinating,’ said Pru, ‘or am I?’

Dulcie could no longer contain herself. She jumped up and grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge.

‘I did, I really did,’ she cried ecstatically. ‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me – I can hardly believe it myself – but I was brilliant! I didn’t make any mistakes. Oh, Pru, you should have seen me, I did everything. What’s more,’ Dulcie’s green eyes glittered as she sloshed wine into the glasses,

‘I loved every minute!’

This was hard to believe, but as Dulcie continued to sing her own praises, it became apparent that she meant every word. It wasn’t an elaborate set-up, or an April Fool. Quite by chance, Pru realised, and rather later in life than most people, Dulcie had discovered that work needn’t be awful after all.

‘I don’t know where the day went,’ she gabbled on, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘Seriously, the hours just galloped by. One minute Rufus was helping Maris into his car, and the next thing I knew, it was seven o’clock, time to close up! No thanks, better not.’

Here was another first: Dulcie holding her hand over her glass. Startled, Pru said, ‘Sure?’

‘The café opens at seven, for breakfast. I promised Rufus I’d be there by six.’

‘Six?’ squeaked Pru.

‘Mans has broken her arm. She’s going to be out of action for weeks,’ Dulcie explained serenely.

‘I offered to help out.’

‘You mean ... every day?’

‘Only six days a week. They’re shut on Sundays.’

It was a struggle taking it in. Pru couldn’t help wondering if she’d somehow got hold of the wrong end of the stick. ‘Dulcie, are you sure about this?’

Dulcie didn’t reply. Instead, she studied the rim of her almost empty glass for several seconds.

When she finally spoke, the jokiness, the glittering façade, was gone.

‘It’s what I want right now. It’s what I need. Something to stop me thinking about the godawful mess I’ve made of my life.’

Pru experienced a twinge of alarm. This wasn’t like Dulcie at all.

‘Oh no, you haven’t—’

‘Come on, Pru. What else am I going to do with myself? If I go to Brunton I’ll see Liam. If I stay here I’ll only think about him.’ Dulcie’s eyes were sad. This wasn’t the whole truth; she would mainly be thinking about Patrick. Oh, she’d been such an idiot...

‘You know what you need,’ said Pru.

Me too, thought Dulcie. A kick up the bum for being a prize wally.

Aloud, she said, ‘What?’

Pru grinned.

‘An alarm clock.’

Chapter 40

Having the stitches out didn’t hurt a bit.

‘There,’ said the doctor soothingly. Finished at last, he dropped the scissors into a stainless-steel kidney bowl and reached for a mirror. ‘Have a look. Tell me what you think.’

Pru looked at her wild-haired, bandageless reflection in the mirror and promptly burst into tears.

‘I know, I know.’ The doctor patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’ve done a good job, if I say so myself.’

‘Can I go home and wash my hair no*?’ sniffed Pru. It had been the longest two weeks of her life.

He smiled.

‘Only if you really want to.’

Terry Lambert was in his office working his way through a pile of letters that needed signing when his secretary popped her head around the door.

‘Someone to see you, Mr Lambert. A Mrs Kasteliz. She doesn’t have an appointment but she wondered if you might have a few minutes to spare.’

‘That’s fine, Dora.’ Terry Lambert carefully recapped his fountain pen. ‘Please send her in.’

‘Hi,’ said Pru, looking smart in a white cotton shirt tucked into dark-green jeans, and with a red silk scarf around her neck. ‘Thanks for seeing me.’