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After a few seconds he narrowed his eyes. I thought he was reacting to my food-stealing counter-attack, but it turned out it was much worse.
‘Just because you can’t hear it, it doesn’t mean the clock isn’t there…that it isn’t ticking…’ he said.
I’d talked myself into a corner, hadn’t I? Time to end this stupid discussion once and for all. ‘Nan was wrong. My biological clock is not ticking,’ I said emphatically.
‘So you say…’ Adam just smiled serenely at me, and then picked up the ear muffs, which had landed just beside the sofa, and jammed them on his head.
I tried to tell him just how wrong he was about this, about all the reasons why I was still the same never-be-boxed-in, never-get-boring-and-predictable Coreen he’d always known, but he just kept nodding and smiling and mouthing, ‘I can’t hear you!’ while pointing to the ear muffs. I was sorely tempted to rip them off his head and ram them down his throat, but there’s no excuse for ruining perfectly good stock, so I nicked his chow mein instead. That’d teach him.
Eventually he pulled the ear muffs off his head and threw them back to me. The impish grin flattened out slightly. ‘Nah. I’m not buying it,’ he said. ‘Something’s up with you, and it’s got nothing to do with ticking clocks.’
I kept my focus on my plate and said nothing.
There was a deceptive carelessness in Adams’s voice when he tried again. ‘If it was anyone else I’d think it was man trouble. But I have it on good authority that there are men all over London who love nothing better than to follow you ’round like adoring puppies and scramble over each other to do your bidding every time you snap your fingers.’
I gave Adam what I hoped was a withering look. ‘Good authority?’
I’d hate to think where he got his information about me. Probably some jealous girl running me down. I get that a lot. ‘You, actually. You very proudly announced that to me…oh…about two years ago. That night Dodgy Dave’s van broke down on the way back from one of those vintage fashion shows you do, and we had to wait hours for the tow truck to turn up.’ Okay, that did sound a bit like the sort of thing I’d say when in a particularly full-of-my-own-praises mood, which I might well have been after a successful fashion show. I just hadn’t expected Adam to recite it back to me verbatim a whole two years later.
It was true, though. All I had to do was click my crimson-tipped fingers and a whole herd of ‘puppies’ came running. It was most satisfying. Sometimes I did it just for the joy of seeing all those eager little faces, not because I actually needed anything.
Adam lounged back on the sofa, resting his head in his hands, his elbows out wide, and gave me a searching look, with a glimmer in his eye that was part amusement, part wariness.
‘What?’ I asked crossly.
I should have stopped there, not risen to the bait, but I’m far too nosy to do something so virtuous.
I folded my arms across my chest. ‘Don’t just sit there staring at me!’
‘It’s all become very clear to me…’ he said quietly.
I had the horrible feeling he’d found me out, that he knew exactly what the problem was, but instead of teasing me about it, as I’d have expected him to do, he turned horribly serious. For once, I actually wanted him to laugh at me. I wanted him to try to suppress that wicked smile and deliberately drag his answer out, making me tap the heel of my red stiletto impatiently on the floor. But he didn’t make me wait at all. Didn’t tease me one bit. He just let me have it.
‘Yes,’ he said, nodding in silent agreement with himself, his expression hardening further. ‘You’ve finally encountered a puppy who doesn’t want to clamber over the elaborate assault course you’ve laid out for him.’
CHAPTER TWO
Put Your Head On My Shoulder
Coreen’s Confessions
No. 2—You’d have thought I’d have got bored with the effect I have on men by now, but I have to say it’s still as fun as it ever it was. The day it gets old, I might as well put on a pair of velour jogging bottoms and let myself go.
ADAM stared at the ceiling, his expression still grim. ‘Now you know what it’s like for the rest of us mere mortals.’ And then he started to laugh, shaking his head.
Normally Adam’s laugh makes me feel warm inside, but this time it sounded dry and hollow and made me all jittery and bad-tempered. I decided he was just being superior and glared at him. ‘Look, I don’t need you to start being all…avuncular with me—’
He just started laughing again. Properly this time.
‘What?’ I said, and my voice went all high and scratchy. ‘It’s a real word!’
I stood up. There was I, practically rigid with tension, and Adam had the audacity to sink even further into the couch, not bothered in the slightest that he was winding me up as far as I would go. I really shouldn’t let him do it, but we often start what seems to be a normal conversation and before long one of us is seething and the other is chortling. And it doesn’t take a massive IQ to work out which one is which.
‘You’re totally wrong, anyway,’ I told him as I sat back down and picked up my fork. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him today.
Anyway, nobody could call Nicholas Chatterton-Jones a puppy. He was sleek and dignified, like one of those lean hunting dogs, the ones with silky grey coats and bloodlines going back generations.
I sighed. Just thinking his name made me melt a little bit. He was the sort of man every girl dreamed of—rich, handsome, debonair. And I was suffering from unrequited something for him. Not sure about the ‘L’ word. That seemed a bit dramatic. But if the symptoms were daydreaming incessantly about him and looking him up on Google on an hourly basis, I thought I was probably halfway there.
‘You’re doing it again.’
‘What?’ I hadn’t been doing anything!
But then I realised my ribcage was deflating with the memory of a sigh. I jabbed the captive prawn in Adam’s direction. ‘Just leave it, will you? It’s none of your business.’
I bit the prawn off the fork and glowered at him.
Adam wasn’t a puppy either; he was a mongrel. Fully grown. Shaggy and adorable, true, but he’d probably give you fleas if you got close enough.
And he’d hit a nerve with his stupid comment.
Nicholas’s sister, Isabella—or Izzi, as she insisted being called—was one of the bright young socialites who’d decided that Coreen’s Closet was the Next Big Thing, and she shopped here all the time. She’d left university a few years ago and was still trying to decide what she wanted to do next, which left her plenty of time to lunch and party and go to spas while she told her parents she was chewing over her options. Izzi Chatterton-Jones had a heaving social calendar, and she was always needing a new frock for something or other. And now she was sending her friends along to Coreen’s Closet too. It was fabulous for business, and Izzi and I had struck up a friendship. Of sorts. We were more than mere acquaintances, but weren’t quite at the full-fledged gal pal stage.
But it did mean that Izzi, after being blown away by a vintage cocktail dress I’d found for her in emerald and jet shot silk, had invited me to a couple of her legendary parties, and that was where I’d first clapped eyes on Nicholas.
Just thinking his name caused all the air to leave my body in a breathy rush.
He was tall—well over six foot—had raven-black hair, and cheekbones to make a girl weep. Like a tall Johnny Depp, minus the Cockney pirate accent. No, when Nicholas talked it was all crisp syllables and long words. I could listen to him all day. In the secrecy of my bedroom I’d tried to mimic that tone, that voice, but I’d been born and bred in south London and my vowels just wouldn’t do whatever his did to make them so smooth and perfect.
He lived in a different world. One I’d decided I belonged in. Right from an early age I’d always dressed as if I was born for a life of beauty and glamour, and it was high time I stopped merely dreaming about it and acquired the lifestyle to match.
And if I ever was going to contemplate a long-term relationship, it couldn’t be with just anyone. I needed a man who’d worship me, yes, but someone who was dashing and exciting too. Someone I could look up to. Someone I wouldn’t get bored with. He’d have to be the man of my dreams, in short, and I thought Nicholas was a pretty good candidate.
We’d met on three occasions now. The first couple of times I’d played it cool. I’d glided around the room, looking aloof and elegant, so he could admire me from afar and ask Izzi who that stunning brunette was. Then last weekend I’d decided it was time to make my move.
I heard a crinkling noise and realised Adam had procured the pork balls again without me noticing. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he just sat there, one hand behind his head, smirking at me as he stole the rest of my share.
Hmph. He seemed to have bounced back to his old self annoyingly quickly.
Okay, so maybe there were two men in the known universe who weren’t inclined to fall at my feet and worship.
But Adam didn’t count. I’d known him since I was eight and he was twelve, and his mother had played badminton with my nan. I leaned forward and snatched the paper bag of pork balls from him before he emptied it, ignoring his grunt of displeasure. Then I picked a warm juicy ball of batter out of the bag—the last one!—and dipped it in the accompanying pot of sauce, before sucking a little bit of the bright orange liquid off and biting into it. Adam, however, didn’t notice, because he had moved on to the sesame prawn toast.
See? Immune.
My lips are my second most frequently stared at body part. They have an almost mesmerising effect on most of the male species. Something I capitalise on, of course. I always paint them red, for maximum visibility and effect. Not that trashy orangey-red. Crimson. The colour of passion and blood. Like the movie queens of old. I’d even seen men dribble watching me eat, and it wasn’t the food they’d been gawping at.
But Adam was unimpressed.
Well, maybe not unimpressed. He was my best friend in the whole universe, so that sounded a little harsh. Maybe unaffected was a better word. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact that he’d known me before I’d discovered my inner vixen, when I’d been flat-chested, with no waist to speak of. I suppose I ought to have been annoyed about his lack of puppyish adoration, but I wasn’t. Although we didn’t manage to see each other nowadays as much as we used to he was still my Best Bud. And every girl needs a Best Bud.
He’d been the one to chase away the bullies who’d teased me because I’d lived with my nan growing up. He’d been the one I’d cried on when my favourite boy band had split up, and again when, aged fifteen, I’d cut my own fringe too short by accident. He was the first person I’d phoned the day Alice and I had got the keys to our new shop, and he’d rushed round with a bottle of champagne and all three of us had sat cross-legged on the floor of what would soon be Coreen’s Closet and toasted each other with paper cups. Adam was my cheerleader and my big brother and my minder all rolled into one, and I suppose I could forgive him his lack of puppyishness for that.
However, thinking about puppies had me dreaming about Nicholas again, and the warm glow I’d generated with my Best Bud thoughts frosted over.
Why didn’t he like me? Why?
Last Saturday night had been my latest attempt to catch his eye. I’d gone all out, wearing a strapless red dress that matched my lips and was usually every bit as effective at making men drool. Nicholas had looked straight through me. And when I’d casually joined the group of people he’d been talking to, and had given him my patented eyelash sweep, he hadn’t even stuttered. What was wrong with the man?
Normally, just five minutes of concentrated Coreen had a bloke eating out of the palm of my hand. I just didn’t get it. What was I doing wrong? It was driving me crazy.
I could probably have coped with the blow to my ego if he wasn’t so gorgeous and so blinking perfect. Adam would say it served me right, but that wasn’t fair. Nobody deserved to be this miserable. And I’d felt this way for three whole weeks now. If something didn’t happen to change Nicholas’s mind soon, I’d be ready for those velour jogging bottoms after all!
‘So…’
Adam leaned forward and offered me a conciliatory prawn toast from the foil container he’d had resting on his knee, catching my gaze with his. I ignored the prawn toast and concentrated on those warm brown eyes.
‘Who’s this paragon of manliness that’s got you all tied up in knots?
I recognised the way Adam was looking at me. He was trying to appear all relaxed and jokey, but there was a glint of seriousness at the back of his eyes. Probably worried about me. That was the minder-slash-big-brother side of him coming out. But maybe that was a good thing. Adam’s shoulders, while possibly not as broad and honed as Nicholas’s, were perfect for crying on.
The only problem was, at present Adam didn’t look much as if he wanted to mop up my tears with his shirt. His expression was guarded again, and his flinty eyes felt as if they were boring holes into my forehead. I didn’t have any sassy comebacks left; my store of outrageous comments was worryingly empty. So I just looked back at him with blinking eyes, as close to begging as I ever came.
Adam’s eyes didn’t exactly soften and melt, but he stood up and rubbed my arm. ‘He’s an idiot, whoever he is,’ he said gruffly.
Then he took my hand and led me to the sofa. He even let me sit on the side where the springs weren’t so dodgy. Once I had arranged my skirt and petticoat carefully, he dropped onto the other side and looked at me.
I sighed, and it was long and heartfelt. There was no point trying to hide it now. ‘The idiot in question is Nicholas Chatterton-Jones. He’s the brother of one of my best customers.’
Adam frowned. ‘Chatterton-Jones? Isn’t he…? Doesn’t he own that investment company? Eagle something or other?’
‘That’s him.’ I could feel myself sinking even deeper into the sofa, but it wasn’t a relaxing kind of feeling. It was as if all the energy was leaching right out of me.
He whistled. ‘He’s the one that almost played rugby for England, but an injury stopped him.’
I just wilted a little further, my head bobbing in agreement. I knew every date and event of Nicholas’s personal history, and quite a lot about the previous three generations of the Chatterton-Jones family. Sometimes an internet connection can be a girl’s worst enemy.
I looked at Adam and took a deep breath. We both knew the game we were about to play. We always did this for each other when one of us was down. Friend A would relay the issue of contention, while Friend B nodded in all the right places and supplied suitably supportive comments, even if those comments were either a) outrageously optimistic or b) patent falsehoods.
‘He’s just not attracted to me in the slightest,’ I said mournfully.
Adam shook his head. ‘What? The guy must be blind!’ He was grinning as he said this, and the cold feeling that had been churning my stomach began to disappear. The truth was that Adam was much better at being Friend B than I was. He always knew exactly the right thing to say to cheer me up, and he always said it with that slightly devilish look in his eye—a sure-fire way to get me to smile. But behind the cheeky look I knew he was also a little bit serious, that despite the jovial nature of our banter he believed in me.
Told you he was my Best Bud.
‘It gets worse,’ I added, almost starting to enjoy moaning about my spectacular flirting flop of the previous Saturday. ‘I made a complete fool of myself.’
‘Now, I find that very hard to believe.’ The sarcastic sparkle in Adam’s eyes made me want to hit him. It also made me want to laugh.
We carried on like that for quite some time. Me relaying a blow-by-blow account of the party and Adam commiserating and commenting with precision and great comic timing. Only the momentary lift from Adam’s sideswipes didn’t improve my mood this time. The more I talked, the more morose I felt. Even Adam seemed to wince slightly with each mortifying detail, and I could tell he was struggling to keep his Friend B smile in place. We both fell quiet, knowing that we were losing our game, not sure that carrying on would salvage anything.
He gave me a softer, less Adam-like smile, and I leaned across and rested my head on his shoulder. It really was a lovely shoulder. Warm. Comforting. Solid. I wanted to believe things were going to work out right, but in my heart of hearts I just wasn’t sure. It might sound big-headed, but being invisible to a man was a new experience for me. I didn’t like the way it brought back flickers of other memories of being passed over, being invisible. Old memories, ones I’d done everything in my power to erase.
‘What am I doing wrong?’ I whispered. Adam was a man. I know he wasn’t the same type of guy as Nicholas, but he had to have some kind of insight. They must have more in common than just shared biology.
That was it! That was the thing both Adam and Nicholas had in common.
I sat up and looked at Adam. ‘Why don’t you find me attractive?’
If I could work that one out, maybe I could find a way to reach Nicholas after all.
Adam looked stunned. I suppose it wasn’t that surprising. We didn’t ever really talk about the fact that he was a boy and I was a girl. I knew he’d rather veer away from this topic of conversation, but I batted my lashes and gave him a look that said Please…
He chewed the inside of his mouth for a few moments. ‘I’ve never said I don’t find you attractive, Coreen. A guy would have to be unconscious not to find you attractive.’
Well, now it was my turn to be stunned.
Adam gave a one-shouldered shrug. His lazy demeanour had returned and he didn’t look at all bothered by what he’d just said.
‘Then why haven’t you…? Why have we never…?’
‘Hooked up?’ he suggested.
I pulled a face. That sounded kind of tacky. Adam wasn’t the sort of guy you ‘hooked up’ with. He was keeper material. And I didn’t like the thought of anyone treating him in such a…disposable manner.
‘See? That face you just made is one of many reasons why.’
I shook my head. He was taking it all the wrong way. The face I’d pulled didn’t mean—
‘And I’ve seen the way you treat men, remember? I’ve never jumped through hoops for you and I never will.’
I gasped. There had never been any hoops! Well…not for Adam.
He read my mind and fixed me with a knowing stare. ‘How did it go? Oh, yes. I remember…’ He did a rather good impression of my eyelash sweep and added an earthy, softer tone to his voice. If I hadn’t been so horrified I might have admitted it sounded quite a lot like me. “Adam, sweetie, would you mind coming along with me to a party this evening? I know it’s short notice, but I could really do with some moral support.”’
And then he flicked some pretend hair away from his shoulder, and I forgot to be horrified and descended into giggles. Adam, strangely enough, wasn’t laughing so hard.
‘When we got to said party I realised my role was more stooge than moral support.’
I stopped laughing. ‘That’s not true!’
He raised his eyebrows at me.
I opened my mouth to protest, but thought better of it. I’d buried that memory—along with a whole host of others from those days—quite effectively until that moment. It all came back to me with searing clarity: Adam’s face, his jaw set. The way he’d stormed from the party. They weren’t moments in my life I wanted to be reminded of.
I bit my lip. Something I hoped would show my contrition. Although—and I honestly did out of sheer habit this time—I knew it made me look very appealing too.
‘That was a long time ago. Back when we were teenagers. Teenagers do lots of stupid things.’
