Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

‘Oh God,’ gasped Liza.

Her mother’s smile was dry.

‘Quite. And that was that. She called me all the names under the sun, gave me a week to get out of the flat and told me never to speak to Michael again.’

‘And did you?’

Margaret Lawson shook her head.

‘No. I was so ashamed. I was as appalled as she was.’

‘But he ... did Michael try to contact you?’

Another weary shake.

‘He couldn’t have, even if he’d wanted to. I left London, moved to Bath. And a year later met your father.’

‘Mum!’ Liza was still struggling to take this in. It was like something out of a novel.

Her mother shrugged.

‘It’s in the past. This was forty years ago.’

‘But ... but you’ve been happy with Daddy?’

‘Oh yes. Your father’s a good man; of course I’ve been happy with him.’ Her mother hesitated for a second; only her fingers moved as the wedding ring went on going round and round. She looked suddenly pale and tired. ‘You just – well, I’ve never stopped thinking about ... what happened. Or wondering if I would have been happier with Michael.’

* * *

There was only one Berenger listed in the Bath area, which was handy.

‘Berenger.’

It was the voice of a man in charge. Brisk, brusque and not to be trifled with. He certainly didn’t sound like a twenty-three year-old.

‘Hello. Could I speak to Kit Berenger, please,’ said Margaret calmly.

‘Who’s speaking?’

Next to the phone was her Grattan’s catalogue waiting for her to order a size fourteen ribbed cotton cardigan in shell pink.

‘Margaret Grattan.’

‘Hold on.’

Margaret hung on for what seemed like an hour. It was a good job Liza was in the bath. Finally, at the other end, the phone was picked up again.

‘Kit Berenger speaking.’

A younger voice this time, but well-spoken and self-assured. ‘Hello, Kit, my name’s actually Margaret Lawson. I’m Liza’s mother.’

Margaret glanced out of the sitting room window. In the garden her husband was meticulously dead-heading the gone-over peonies.

‘I see.’

The voice acquired a cool edge. Instantly he was on his guard. Maybe I’m too late, she thought.

Interfering with a lost cause.

‘If you have a couple of minutes,’ said Margaret, ‘I wonder if we could talk.’

‘That’ll be Rose Tresilian from over the• road. I promised to lend her my catalogue,’ said Margaret when the doorbell rang at nine o’clock that evening. ‘Answer it for me, would you, dear?’

Liza’s hand flew to her mouth when she opened the door.It wasn’t Rose Tresilian from over the road.

‘Oh my God.’

‘Sorry I’m late.’ Kit’s hair gleamed in the porch light; his tone was carefully casual. ‘I would have been here sooner, only I couldn’t find my A to Z of Trezale.’

Liza was glad of the door frame, keeping her upright. She leaned against it and stared at Kit, almost afraid to blink. If he was a mirage, fine. Better a mirage, thought Liza shakily, than no Kit at all.

He was wearing a crumpled denim shirt and white jeans. There were dark shadows under his eyes, she noticed. He looked tired, drawn and somehow sexier than ever.

‘Unfair,’ said Liza, desperate to throw herself at him but not quite daring to. ‘How come men can get bags under their eyes and look great? When it happens to women, we end up looking like Clement Freud with a hangover.’

‘You haven’t asked me how I found you.’ Kit ignored her off-at-a-tangent ramblings.

Hesitating, Liza pushed a flopping strand of hair out of her eyes. Following her bath, she hadn’t bothered to blow-dry it. Or put on any make-up.

‘I think I can guess,’ she replied finally. ‘Only it’s kind of hard to believe.’

‘Your mother rang me.’

Liza nodded. She’d guessed right. It was just so unlike her mother to do such a thing.

‘She isn’t normally the interfering type.’

Liza sensed rather than saw him tense up.

‘When you say interfering,’ Kit fixed her with his unswerving yellow gaze, ‘there’s welcome interference and there’s unwelcome interference. Liza, listen to me. I came down here because your mother told me I should. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but you already know that. So,’ he said pointedly, ‘now it’s up to you. If you want me to leave, I will. I’ll turn around and drive back to Bath. You, meanwhile, can go inside and tell your mother she has no business meddling with your life. You can explain to her that this is an example of unwelcome interference.’

‘Okay,’ murmured Liza, nodding like an attentive pupil. ‘And what’s the other one?’

‘Welcome interference.’ Kit ticked the second alternative off on his fingers. ‘This is the one where you realise I was right and you were wrong,’ he explained, ‘and so what if I’m a few years younger than you? I mean, who gives a toss, really? I don’t. And your mother certainly doesn’t.’

Helplessly Liza shook her head.

‘No, she doesn’t.’

‘Anyway, you apologise to me for making the last few days possibly the worst of my life,’ he continued. ‘We kiss and make up and all that stuff, and you throw yourself at your mother’s feet, thanking her over and over again for meddling in your life and forcing you to come to your senses.’

Having listened carefully, Liza nodded again.

‘Okay. I’ll have that one.’

‘Sure?’ said Kit.

‘Definitely that one.’

‘The I’m-right-and-you’re-wrong one?’ Kit persisted, the corners of his mouth lifting as he spoke.

‘Yeah, yeah. You were right and I was wrong and I’m sorry and I love you,’ murmured Liza, tears of happiness rolling down her cheeks. ‘I love you so so much, you have no idea ...’

He held out his arms and she threw herself into them. It was the best feeling, Liza thought, absolutely the best feeling in the world.

When Kit had finished kissing her he lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. They were both trembling.

‘Never do this to me again,’ he said in a low voice, brushing Liza’s wet eyelashes with his thumb. ‘Promise me you won’t.’

‘What, no more fights, no more arguments, ever?’

‘We can bicker. Bickering’s allowed.’ He shrugged. ‘We’re talking about the rest of our lives here, after all. Fifty years minimum.’

‘Oh, is that all?’ mocked Liza. Reaching up, she kissed each corner of his narrow, curving mouth and wondered if it was legal to feel this happy.

‘Maybe sixty. But we’re not going through this again. No more it’s-all-over stuff. I mean it, Liza.

You have to promise me. I never want to hear you say that—’

They jumped apart as the sitting room door opened.

‘Don’t mind us,’ said Margaret Lawson, as she and her husband reached for their coats. ‘Hello, Kit, nice to meet you. Liza dear, you can’t spend the rest of your life on the doorstep. Why don’t you invite Kit in and make him a nice cup of tea? Your father and I are just off to the pub.’

When they had gone, Kit said, ‘She winked at me.’

‘This is seriously weird.’ Liza shook her head in renewed amazement. ‘My parents have never been inside a pub in their lives.’

‘We’ve been Left Alone Together.’ Grinning, Kit grabbed Liza around the waist. ‘Just as well really, since I have this overwhelming desire to rip all your clothes off. You,’ he told her as he edged her backwards, ‘are about to experience the best sex of your life—’

‘Not here!’ gasped Liza, cornered between the grandfather clock and her mother’s carved oak bookcase.

‘God, you’re beautiful. Even in that hand-knitted cardigan.’ Playfully, Kit slid it off her shoulders. ‘There, see how much I’ve missed you?’