Jill Mansell - Chapter 1

‘Exactly.’ Lola thumped the dining table in agreement. ‘That’s what I think too. And for an older man, seven and a half’s perfectly respectable, it’s a good score. But when I asked Mum earlier, she said three! I mean, three.And she wasn’t being horrible, it’s what she really genuinely thought.’

Hooray.

‘He’s not fat, he’s not a skinny rake,’ Sally went on. ‘Maybe even an eight.’

‘OK, now you’re getting carried away.’ Dismissively Lola shook her head. ‘He’s only my father.

But the point is, how can my mum not fancy him? All those feelings she once had — where did they go?’

‘No idea. Maybe they evaporated.’ Sally shrugged and dripped wine down her chin. ‘Just vanished. Like Doug’s feelings for you.’

Lola winced. ‘Don’t say that! Do you have any idea how much it hurts to hear you say that?’

‘But it’s true. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.You can’t force Doug to change the way he feels about you. And you can’t make your mum fall back in love with your father.’ Especially when I want him.

‘You’re being mean. OK, how many marks out of ten would you give EJ?’

There was an odd, intense look in Lola’s eyes as she asked the question. Sally, topping up their glasses, sensed that this was important to her. Lola must be keener on EJ than she was letting on.

And he was good fun ... in a speccy, nerdy, wealthy kind of way.

In a generous mood – and because it was in her best interests to make Lola happy – Sally said,

‘Honestly? Nine.’

‘Nine!’ Lola looked incredulous.

‘Why not? He’s lovely. Oh my God, what is that on your head?’ Having been idly flipping through one of the albums Blythe had brought along to show Nick, Sally was distracted by a photo of Lola, aged about seven, wearing a black leotard and unflattering black skullcap with huge pink and black ears attached.

‘I was a mouse in the school play. Don’t make fun of me – I was the star of the show. Do you like EJ?’

‘I just told you, of course I do.’ Turning to the next page, Sally snorted with laughter at a snap of Lola on a trip to the zoo, leaping back in fright as an elephant investigated the ice cream in her hand with its trunk.

‘No, but do you like-like him?’

Sally looked up; it was on the tip of her tongue to say no, the only man she like-liked was Nick.

She could say it, couldn’t she? Just blurt it out, then Lola would know and she wouldn’t have to hide her feelings any more ... Oh God, but what if it caused an upset? Lola hadn’t yet given up on the idea that she could get her parents back together. Maybe tonight wasn’t the best time .. .

‘Who, EJ?’ Dimly aware that the pause between question and answer was too long and terrified that Lola might somehow be managing to read her mind, Sally took another glug of wine and said over-brightly, ‘Of course I don’t. Oh look, I love this one of you in a wig!’ Hurriedly she pointed to a snap of Lola dressed as John McEnroe during his red headband era. Was that for a fancy dress party?’

‘That’s not fancy dress, those were my best shorts.’ Her mouthtwitching, Lola aimed a pudding fork at Sally’s injured, propped-up leg. ‘And I wasn’t wearing a wig.’

Sally made her wibbly-wobbly way across the landing shortly afterwards, careering off walls and giggling wildly as she exclaimed for the fifteenth time, ‘You cannot be serious!’

Leaving the washing-up for tomorrow, Lola headed for bed and took Sally’s photo albums with her. Doug might have made off with the album containing the most photos of him – spoilsport –

but he still featured in the others often enough to make them interesting. Having had to pretend to be fascinated by the pictures of Sally earlier, she could now concentrate unashamedly on Doug. God, he’d been a beautiful baby ... and an irresistibly angelic toddler ... there he was at a school concert with his hair all neat, his knees all knobbly and one grey sock falling down .. .

here were ones of him as a teenager, aged thirteen or fourteen, with a mischievous look in his eyes and a cheeky grin .. .

Lola wiped her cheek as a lone tear escaped. Dougie riding his bike with no hands, Dougie diving into a swimming pool, Dougie about to tip a bucket of seawater over Sally while she sunbathed on a beach, Dougie – older now, possibly eighteen or nineteen – cavorting in a park with a group of friends she didn’t know.

More tears dripped off Lola’s chin, because these were his university years now, the ones she could have shared with him, should have shared but hadn’t.

Everything would have been so different and you could drive yourself mad wondering how your life might have turned out if only you’d done this or that.

And wondering was irrelevant anyway. At the time she hadn’t had any other choice.

Lola jumped as the phone began to ring, causing the album to slide sideways off the bed. It was gone one o’clock in the morning; who could be calling her now? Unless it was Dougie, who had been looking through the dark green photo album he’d made off with earlier and been overcome with longing and regret .. .

‘Hello?’ Lola said breathlessly, her palms damp with hope. Her imagination conjured up a split screen of the two of them in their own beds flirting over the phone with each other like Rock Hudson and Doris Day in Pillow Talk ... or Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally .. .

‘Elio, eez Carlo zere to spik wiz?’ It was the gruff voice of an elderly Italian woman.

All the hope inside Lola plummeted like a rock dropped into a well. ‘Sorry. You’ve got the wrong number.’

‘Ach.’ The old Italian woman clicked her tongue and heaved a sigh of annoyance before abruptly hanging up.

Lola switched off the phone. Of course it hadn’t been Doug. What did she expect?

’Do you trust me?’

‘I trust you.’

‘Go on then. Take it off,’ said Gabe.

Savannah flushed and double-checked that the bedroom curtains were drawn shut. Not even the most persistent paparazzo could sneak a peek into the cottage. She was safe from prying lenses, safe from discovery. Reaching up, she removed the wig and put it on the dressing table in front of her.

‘Maybe a bit of powder,’ Gabe suggested. ‘Just to take off the shine.’

She did as he said, then took a steadying breath and turned on the seat to face him.

‘Round to the left a bit. I don’t want you full on.’ Keen to avoid the wing-nut effect, he wanted to minimise her ears. A three-quarter shot would be most flattering. ‘And tilt your head slightly ... relax your shoulders, I’m not about to rip your teeth out. Now give me a hint of a smile ... perfect, that’s perfect ...’

Afterwards Savannah hugged him. Together they watched as the series of images emerged from the printer on high-gloss photographic paper. Gabe was pleased with the results; as their session had progressed, the tension in Savannah’s muscles had dissolved. Towards the end of the sitting she had begun to relaxand enjoy herself. Her smile had broadened and lost its I’mposing-for-the-camera-without-my-wig-on anxiety. The final few had achieved what he’d been aiming for; a beautiful woman who happened to have no hair was gazing into the lens without fear. She was wearing natural make-up, silver hooped earrings and a simple white camisole top over jeans.

‘Thank you.’ Savannah couldn’t stop gazing at them. She shook her head in wonder. ‘Thank you so much. You don’t know what this means to me.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘You’re incredible.’ She turned and kissed him.

Gabe grinned. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’

‘Maybe if I keep looking at them, I’ll get more used to them.’