Jill Mansell - Chapter 1

Unlike grungly Gabe with his bleached T-shirts and disintegrating jeans, this was a man with élan, with savoir faire . . a man who knew how to dress. He even — mais naturellement! —

smelled fantastic. And he was Lola’s father. Would this make things tricky or awkward?

Sally considered the facts then decided there was no reason why it should. If Lola was allowed to have a crush on her brother and yearn for him shamelessly, it seemed only fair that she should be allowed a shot at Lola’s dad. Crikey, if Lola married Doug and she married Nick, she’d be Lola’s stepmother and her sister-in-law; wouldn’t that be a turn-up for the books? It was the kind of thing that got you invited onto TV shows and ... um, OK, maybe getting a teeny bit carried away here, just the weeniest bit ahead of herself .. .

‘The ice cream had pretty much melted,’ said Nick. ‘So I put the bowl in the sink.’

‘Right. Um, thanks.’ Oh God, please don’t say he was going to turn out to be another neurotic-obsessive-compulsive-tidierupper. But he hadn’t cleared away anything else, so that was good.

He had lovely hands too, capable-looking fingers and clean, well-shaped nails. Ooh, and if we all had children they’d be simultaneously each other’s cousins and uncles and aunts . . .

‘What are you thinking?’ Nick was regarding her with interest, his dark head tilted to one side.

Again, probably best not to tell him. ‘Just wondering if I’m allowed to ask how it went today, meeting up with Lola and her mum.’

‘Not brilliantly. It wasn’t a fairytale reunion.’ He paused, stirring his tea. ‘Hardly surprising, I suppose. Bit of a shock for Blythe. That’s why I came over to see Lola, to find out how things are now. Relationships are ... complicated.’

‘Ha, tell me about it.’

Nick grinned. ‘Lola did happen to mention you’d had your share of bad luck with men.’

Oh Lola did, did she? Cheers, Lola. Then again, maybe it had been fate all along, nature’s way of forcing her to wait until Mr Right — no, Mr Absolutely Perfect — turned up.

And since he already knew, there was no point trying to deny the past.

‘That’s a very polite way of putting it,’ Sally said ruefully, ‘but I think you mean my share of bastards.’ On the TV a groan of disappointment went up from the audience and she pointed to the pair of skaters sprawled on the ice. ‘It’s like that, isn’t it? One minute it’s all going so well, you’re twirling and flying through the air and actually starting to think you’re in with a chance of gold. And the next minute, splat, you’re flat on your face. That’s why I love watching my old video of Torvill and Dean doing Bolero. Because I know it doesn’t go wrong, nobody falls over and they carry on being perfect right to the end.’ She paused then said with a lopsided smile,

‘Wouldn’t it be great if our lives could be like that?’

Oops, had that been a bit too heartfelt? Did it make her sound needy and desperate? Was he going to make fun of her now?

But that didn’t happen. Instead, nodding in agreement, he said, ‘It’s what everyone wants, if they’re honest. We just can’thelp buggering things up. But the right man’s out there somewhere, I know he is.’

Sally looked innocent. ‘For you?’

He smiled easily. ‘For you. It’s just a question of tracking him down.’

They carried on chatting for another hour. He was so wonderfully easy to talk to. She learned about his career in advertising and told him about her own job — you couldn’t really call it a career — as a receptionist in a busy doctors’ surgery in Wimbledon.

Nick was surprised. ‘And this is NHS? I wouldn’t have had you down as a doctors’ receptionist.’

‘Because I’m not tidy?’ Hurt, Sally said, ‘I’m very organised at work.’

‘I actually meant you look too glamorous.’

She flushed at the compliment, smoothed back her hair. ‘I love my job. OK, it’s not high-powered and it isn’t glamorous, but the doctors I work with are great. Really friendly. It’s never boring. And I’m good at what I do,’ she added with pride. ‘Dr Willis says I’m the most efficient receptionist they’ve ever had.’

‘So this surgery then, is it not a good place to meet men? What are these doctors like?’

‘Old and married.’ Hastily, because she knew Nick was forty-eight, Sally said, ‘I mean, ancient.

Sixties. Much older than you.’

His mouth curved at the corners. ‘Glad to hear it. How about the patients, then? Must be a few promising ones there.’

‘Well, yes, until you look through their medical notes.’ Sally pulled a face. ‘And read all about their stomach upsets, their erectile dysfunction, the excessive sweating and eczema in their skin folds, not to mention their problems with excessive wind and snoring ... I don’t know, somehow all the magic goes out of them after that.’

He looked appalled. ‘Jesus, who d’you have coming to your surgery? A bunch of trolls?’

‘They don’t have all those things. And not all at once. It’s just when you type a name into the computer, the whole medical history comes up on the first page. Say it’s an ultra-respectable bank manager,’ Sally explained. ‘He might look really nice, he might sound really nice. But one glance at the screen and I know he caught a sexually transmitted disease when he was nineteen, had a stubborn fungal infection between his toes when he was twenty-eight and for the last three years has been seeing a specialist at a centre for gender reassignment.’

‘I take your point. What’s more,’ said Nick, ‘I’ll never try and chat up my doctor’s receptionist again.’

‘You missed Nick. He left twenty minutes ago.’ Sally beckoned Lola into the flat, eager to tell her everything. ‘Isn’t he great? He’s been waiting here for you to get back. In the end he had to leave, but we’ve had a lovely couple of hours getting to know each other. He’s just so—’

‘Oh no, he waited a couple of hours? Why didn’t he ring me?’ Distracted, Lola scrabbled for her phone. ‘Damn, when did I switch that off?’

‘It wasn’t a problem. We’ve been chatting non-stop. In fact—’

‘Hang on, let me just give him a quick call.’

Sally waited impatiently for Lola to get off the phone; she was longing to tell her how well they’d got along together and what an attractive man her father was. Not that Lola could have any reason to mind, but to be polite she was going to jokily ask her permission before making a proper play for him.

‘Damn, now his phone’s switched off.’ Lola shook her head, then straightened up and broke into a dazzling smile. ‘Sorry, not concentrating.What a day! So you met Nick. Did you like him?’

Ha, just a bit! ‘He’s great,’ Sally said eagerly. ‘I really liked him; in fact—’

‘Oh God, I’m so glad, because when you think about it, what would you do if you met your real father and he turned out to be awful? Wouldn’t that be just the worst thing in the world? But he isn’t awful, and we get on so well together, I couldn’t—’

‘So did we. Get on well together,’ Sally blurted out.

‘See? That’s it exactly, he’s a genuinely nice person. That’s why I know I can do it.’

‘Do what?’

Lola looked smug. ‘Get them back together.’

Do what?

‘But, but

‘Wouldn’t that be perfect?’ Lola, her eyes shining, unwound her scarf and collapsed onto the sofa. ‘And I’ve made up my mind now. I’m going to make it happen. OK, it didn’t get off to the best of starts, but that was just the shock factor. I went home with Mum this afternoon and we had a proper talk about everything. It was amazing, hearing all this stuff for the first time. And look what she gave me.’ Lola took an envelope from her bag and carefully slid out a photograph.