Jill Mansell - Chapter 1

‘And I hope he’s been behaving himself,’ said Blythe.

‘She hopes you’ve been behaving yourself.’ OK, enough now. Nick sounded as if he was smiling. ‘Oh yes. Tell her I haven’t been arrested in years.’

If there was anything more manic than working in the West End after Christmas when the sales were in full swing, it was shopping in the West End after Christmas when the sales were in full swing. Elbows were out, toes and small children were getting trampled on and everyone was carrying bags of stuff they’d either just bought or had been given for Christmas and were about to take back. And it was worth queuing for forty minutes to return a load of clothes to Marks and Spencer’s, because who but a fool would want to keep them, when the exact same items were now half price on the rails, enabling you to buy – ha! – twice as many? This was Blythe’s favourite bit.

‘Mum, we’ve been shopping for three hours. My feet hurt. My back’s starting to ache.’

‘Lightweight!’

‘And I’m thirsty,’ Lola said whinily.

‘We’ll buy you a bottle of water.’ Her mother was in the grip of buying fever; her eyes were darting around, greedily taking in sequinny sparkly tops, dresses awash with flowers and frills, things with spots and stripes and fringes ... OK, some of the colours might be iffy, but they were reduced in the sale .. .

‘And I’m hungry,’ Lola pleaded. Sono hungry. Mum, if youmake me carry on shopping now, I’ll last another hour. But if we stop for a proper rest and have something decent to eat, I’ll be set up for the rest of the day’

Blythe heaved an impatient sigh. ‘You were easier to take shopping when you were in a pram.

OK, we’ll eat. Where d’you want to go?’

‘Marco’s,’ Lola said promptly. ‘We always go to Marco’s.’

‘Are you sure? It’s a ten-minute walk from here. We could just go to the café downstairs.’

‘Oh no, no.’ Lola shook her head. ‘Because then you’ll just try and fob me off with orange juice and a prawn baguette. We’re going to Marco’s and we’re going to have chicken cacciatore and a nice glass of red, just like proper ladies who lunch.’

The restaurant was busy, warm and welcoming. Lola slipped her shoes off under the table and took a big sip – OK, maybe slightly bigger than a big sip – of Merlot. ‘Oh, this is better. My feet thank you. My stomach thanks you. Are we both having the chicken?’

‘Fine by me. Steady with that wine, love. You’re glugging it down like water.’

It was one o’clock. Lola felt the butterflies start up in earnest; any time now, her mother was going to find out why.

She saw him twenty minutes later through the full-length front window, making his way across the street. Blythe, sitting with her back to the entrance, was chattering away about holidays. Lola took a deep breath; in an ideal world her mother’s hair would be just brushed and she’d be wearing rather more make-up, but short of lunging across the table and forcibly applying a fresh coat of lipstick to her mouth, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it. Yeek, and now the door was being pushed open, here he came, it was really going to happen.

‘... so I said I’d think about it, although I’m not sure it’s really my thing.’ Blythe wrinkled her nose. ‘I mean, hill walking in Snowdonia. In big clumpy hiking boots. Sleeping in a tent, for heaven’s sake! Would you say I was the tenty type? It’s all right for Malcolm, but where would I plug in my hairdryer? And what happens when I need to ... to ...’ Her voice trailed away and the piece of chicken she’d been about to eat slid off her fork. All the colour abruptly drained from her face, leaving only freckles behind.

Nick, standing behind Lola’s chair, said, ‘Hello, Blythe.’

Chapter 26

Blythe was in a state of shock. For a split second Lola thought she might bolt from the restaurant. Then, visibly gathering herself, she managed a fixed smile. ‘Nick, what a surprise.

How nice to see you.’ Even her voice sounded different. ‘How are you? Looking well.’ Her shoulders were stiff, her jaw clenched with terror; mentally she was screaming go away, go away, please go away.

‘I’m fine, thanks. And you haven’t changed at all. It’s incredible.’

Lola said, ‘Mum—’

‘Oh, sorry, love, this is Nick.’ Blythe jumped in before Lola could ask any awkward questions.

‘We knew each other years ago ... well, nice to see you again, we mustn’t keep you .. . heavens, is that the time already? We’re going to have to rush ifwe’re-----’

‘Mum, it’s OK.’ Desperate to explain, Lola blurted out, ‘I know who Nick is. And this isn’t a coincidence; he knew we’d be here today because I told him. We met up before Christmas. He’s my father. And we really like each other.’ Hopefully, because her mother was staring at her as if she’d just sprouted an extra pair of ears, she said, ‘So that’s good, isn’t it?’

Blythe’s hand trembled as she took a gulp of wine. Then another gulp. ‘You planned this.’ Her voice rose in disbelief. ‘You met up before Christmas?’

‘I was going to tell you,’ Lola said hurriedly, ‘but I didn’t know how you’d react. And then Malcolm turned up on Christmas morning ...’

‘OK if I sit down?’ Nick indicated a spare chair.

‘My God, this is too much to take in.’ Clutching her head, Blythe said, Just turning up like this, out of the blue ... how did it happen? Who found who?’

‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ said Lola. ‘It couldn’t have been me, could it? Seeing as you told me my father was an American who never even told you his real name.’

Her mother rubbed her forehead with both hands and said nothing.

‘Because that wouldn’t have exactly given me a lot to go on.’ Lola’s tone was dry.

‘Which is why I said it. And it worked,’ Blythe retaliated. ‘It did the trick perfectly well.’

Pointedly she added, ‘For twenty-seven years.’

‘I saw Lola being interviewed on the local news.’ Nick pulled out the chair and sat down. ‘Just for a few seconds, but it was enough. I had to find out if she was my daughter. And she is.’ His eyes softening, he slid one hand across the table towards Blythe then withdrew it as she snatched hers out of reach. ‘You’ve done a fantastic job, Blythe. She’s an absolute credit to you.’

Lola felt ridiculously proud. Her father thought she was pretty good, possibly even fantastic.

‘And to Alex. Her stepfather,’ Blythe said stiffly. ‘He’s the one who helped to bring her up.’

Nick nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘I’ve told him all about Alex,’ said Lola.

‘And did he tell you everything too?’ Breathing rapidly, Blythe turned her attention to Nick.

‘Hmm? Did you? Everything?’

People at other tables were starting to pay attention. Maybe organising this surprise reunion in a restaurant hadn’t been such a great idea. Lola, who had thought having other people around might help to keep things under control, said surreptitiously, ‘Mum, sshh.’

Which was kind of pointless seeing as Nick didn’t bother to lower his own voice when he said,

‘Yes, Blythe, she knows I went to prison.’

Now it was the turn of the avidly eavesdropping woman at the next table to go sshh at her husband who was droning boringly on about golf.

‘That was twenty-seven years ago,’ Nick continued. ‘I made a mistake and I paid for it a hundred times over. I lost you and I lost my daughter. And before you ask, no, I haven’t been in trouble with the police since then. I am a normal decent law-abiding citizen.’

‘Congratulations’ Frostily Blythe said, ‘Some of us have always been that.’