Jill Mansell - Chapter 1

Chapter 25

’Ho ho ho! Happy Christmas one and all!’ In celebration of the day, Malcolm was wearing a bright red, Santa-sized sweater over his plaid shirt and bottle-green corduroys. As he made his way into the house he grazed Blythe’s cheek with a kiss and beamed at Lola. ‘Well, this is a treat! How kind of you both to invite me. I hope it’s not too much trouble.’

‘Of course it isn’t.’ Lola felt ashamed of herself; he was a sweet man, if not what you’d call a heart-throb. And at least he wasn’t wearing sandals today, so the hairy toes weren’t on show.

‘The more the merrier,’ Blythe gaily insisted. ‘Come on through to the living room. We’re going to have a lovely day!’

Lola watched Malcolm sit down and realised that for the rest of the day, instead of sharing the comfortable squashy sofa with her mother, she was relegated to the slightly less comfortable armchair with its less good view of the TV.

‘I didn’t know if you had a Monopoly set, so I brought my own.’ Triumphantly Malcolm produced it from his khaki haversack. ‘Nothing like a few games of Monopoly to get Christmas going with a swing! Those people who just sit around like puddings watching rubbish on TV ...

what are they like, eh? They don’t know what they’re missing!’

Lola, who couldn’t bear Monopoly and had been banking on sitting like a pudding watching TV, said brightly, ‘What can I get you to drink, Malcolm?’

And it wasn’t rubbish.

Evidently detecting the bat-squeak of panic in her voice, he looked anxious. ‘Unless you don’t like playing Monopoly?’

‘Of course we do, Malcolm.’ Blythe rushed to reassure him. ‘We love it!’

The day was long.Verrrrrry lonnnnnng. Being relentlessly nice and having to pretend you were having so much fun had been exhausting. By ten o’clock, with Malcolm still showing no sign of leaving, Lola conceded defeat. Faking a few enormous yawns, she made her excuses and kissed Blythe goodnight.

‘Sure I can’t tempt you to one last game of Monopoly?’ Malcolm’s tone was jovial, his eyes bright with hope.

‘Thanks, Malcolm, but I just can’t stay awake.’ Poor chap, it wasn’t his fault he was boring. ‘I’m off up to bed.’

‘Let’s hope it’s not because I’m dull company, ha ha ha!’ Crumbs from the slice of fruit cake he’d been eating quivered in his beard as he beamed at Blythe. ‘You’d tell me if I was, wouldn’t you?’

The thing was, people said that, but they didn’t actually mean it; if you told them how staggeringly dull they were, they’d be shocked and hurt.

‘Don’t be daft, Malcolm.’ Cheerily Blythe said, ‘How about a nice drop of Scotch to go with that fruit cake?’

Upstairs in her old bedroom Lola sat up in bed with a book and tried hard to feel more like Mother Teresa, less like a selfishspoilt brat. Malcolm’s last words to her had been, ‘Thanks for being so welcoming, pet. I tell you, this has been one of the best Christmases of my life.’

Which had brought a bit of a lump to her throat. Because Malcolm was a sweet, genuinely good man who had given up his Sundays for years to do volunteer dog-walking, and who would never say anything unkind about anyone. He would never hurt Blythe.

But he was no Bruce Springsteen either. He wasn’t even Bruce Springsteen’s older, grizzled, weatherbeaten uncle. Lola really, really hoped he wasn’t going to spend the night here .. . oh God, how did other people with parents-who-were-datingagain cope when their parents chose partners who just weren’t ... well, right?

The book wasn’t holding her attention. After a couple of chapters Lola gave up and listened to the murmuring voices of Malcolm and her mother downstairs in the living room. She couldn’t make out what they were saying but at least the fact that they were saying something meant they weren’t . urrghh, snogging on the sofa.

Reaching for her mobile, Lola scrolled through the address book until she found Nick James’s number.

As it began to ring at the other end she felt her chest fill with butterflies and, panicking, pressed Cancel.

OK, this was ridiculous. He was her father. It was allowed.

Taking deep breaths she rang again. Had he spent the last five days waiting for this moment, getting all jumpy every time his phone burst into life, then being disappointed each time it wasn’t her?

Or, or, what if she’d been a disappointment to him and he’d decided he didn’t need a daughter like her in his life after all?

What if he’d hastily changed his number? Oh God, what if it had been a fake one all along?

Five rings. Six rings. Any moment now it was going to click onto answerphone and she’d have to decide whether to leave a—’Hello?’

Whoosh, in a split second all Lola’s nerves vanished. His voice was as warm and friendly as she remembered.

‘Nick?’ She couldn’t call him Dad, that would feel too weird. ‘Hi, it’s ... um, Lola.’

‘Lola.’ She heard him exhale. Then, sounding as if he was smiling, he said, ‘Thank God. You don’t know how glad I am to hear from you. I was beginning to think I wouldn’t.’

She waggled her toes with relief. ‘And I was just wondering if you’d given me a made-up number.’

‘You seriously thought I’d do that?’

‘Well, I was dressed as a rabbit. It could put some people off.’

‘I’m made of sterner stuff than that. Hey, merry Christmas.’

Lola grinned, because her actual biological father was wishing her a merry Christmas. How cool was that? ‘You too. Where are you?’

Just got home. Spent the day with friends in Hampstead. How about you?’

Thank goodness he hadn’t been on his own; that would have been just awful.

‘I’m at Mum’s house.’

He sounded pleased. ‘You mean you’ve told her?’

‘Um, no.’ Realising that he thought Blythe was in the room with her now, Lola said, ‘I wanted to, I was going to, then this friend of hers turned up and I couldn’t. They’re downstairs. I’m up here in bed. Too much Monopoly takes it out of you.’

‘God, I can’t stand Monopoly.’ Nick spoke with feeling. ‘Sorry. So how do you think she’ll react when you do tell her?’

‘That’s the thing, I just don’t know.’ She hesitated, hunching her knees under the duvet. ‘But I’m a bit worried that she might refuse to see you. And once Mum makes up her mind about something she can be a bit, well ...’

‘You don’t have to tell me.’ Nick’s tone was dry. ‘OK, let me have a think about this. What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘Working.’ Lola shuddered, because tomorrow was going to be hell on wheels; when she was crowned Queen of the World, opening shops on Boxing Day wouldn’t be allowed.

‘Friday?’

‘Working:

‘Saturday?’

‘I’m not working on Saturday.’

‘How about Blythe? Would she be free then?’

‘As far as I know’

‘OK, now listen,’ Nick said slowly. ‘How about this for an idea?’

But before he could tell her what it was, there was a knock at the bedroom door and Blythe poked her head round. When she saw Lola’s mobile, she said, ‘Well, that’s a relief, I thought you were talking to yourself! Who’s that you’re on the phone to?’

Um ... ‘Gabe’

Her mother, who was fond of Gabe, said brightly, ‘Say hi to him from me!’

‘Mum’s here.’ Lola gripped the phone tightly as she spoke into it. ‘She says hi.’

‘Am I Gabe?’ Nick sounded amused. ‘Say hi back. And wish her a merry Christmas from me.’

OK, this was seriously weird now. ‘He says hi, and merry Christmas.’

‘Tell him I hope he’s had a good day.’ Blythe smiled broadly. ‘Tell her very good, thanks,’ said Nick. ‘All the better for hearing her voice.’