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Crunching the gears as he slowed down at a junction, Paul shook his head and heaved a weary sigh. Until recently, he’d never much thought about his marriage. He and Julia just kind of drifted along. Like most couples, he assumed. Especially when there were children involved. But ever since turning forty – or, to be more precise, ever since his new assistant had started at the office just after Paul’s fortieth birthday – he’d begun to look at things a little … differently.
Which is why he really hoped Julia acting strangely didn’t mean she suspected anything.
Not that there was anything to suspect.
Not really, anyway.
*****
The best thing about college, Faye concluded, was that you had heaps of spare time. Spare time which could be utilised for studying, of course. But Faye had discovered it was much more fun lying – albeit fully clothed – on a sunlounger by the pool at Buttersley Hall, observing Josie’s tennis lesson.
Or, to be more precise, observing Eduardo during Josie’s tennis lesson.
Faye would have been the first to admit that her experience with the opposite sex could be deftly placed in the ‘limited’ category. In Bristol, she and Luke Molloy had been ‘going out’. Which, roughly translated, meant they were mates who occasionally engaged in a snog. But that was because, Faye suddenly realised, Luke was a mere boy. Eduardo, on the other hand, was a man. One hundred per cent testosterone – of the sexy Mediterranean variety.
From behind her aviator sunglasses, Faye watched as Eduardo’s muscular frame – clad in knee-length, baggy white shorts and a red T-shirt which looked three sizes too small for his broad chest, bounded around the tennis court. In addition to being a real live Adonis, the man was spectacularly fit. Although Faye supposed he’d have to be, to keep up with Lydia Pembleton – the scary lady with big boobs who’d apparently found him in Spain, packaged him up, and brought him back to Buttersley with her. Lucky cow.
Faye heaved an almighty sigh and folded her arms over her chest. Her chances of meeting any guy as hunky as Eduardo were as likely as her mum serving up a brand of American fast food for dinner in a sequinned mini skirt. Faye hadn’t come across any boys her age at all in Buttersley. And the ones she’d met at college were as dishy as a lump of corned beef. All of which could mean she was destined to life as a spinster. Like one of those sad old bats in those Jane Austen novels.
At the thought of Jane Austen, Faye experienced a stab of guilt. She had an English literature assignment to hand in tomorrow and she hadn’t even started it yet. She reached for her bag and pulled out a copy of Hamlet. Flicking through a few pages, she wondered how anyone could possibly find the Bard the least bit interesting. Maybe she should have chosen French instead of English lit. But that would only mean more boring stuff – in a boring foreign language. And what, frankly, was the point anyway? No matter how much work she did, her grades at A-level would still be rubbish. Especially compared to Leo’s inevitable bagful of A-stars. So she might as well not bother. At least if she didn’t try, she couldn’t be disappointed again. And there would be no humiliation like with her GCSEs. She tossed down the book and reached into her bag again, this time pulling out a copy of the latest Hello! magazine.
‘Hola, Faye.’
Faye whipped up her head to find Eduardo striding over the grass towards her.
‘You wait for me?’ he asked with a cheeky wink.
Faye felt her cheeks reddening. ‘No. I’m waiting for Josie.’
‘Ah, what a shame,’ he said, his sexy Spanish accent and the loaded look he shot her before carrying on towards the house causing Faye’s stomach to somersault and the flush in her cheeks to deepen.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Josie, suddenly appearing at her side. ‘I’d knocked a ball out of the court and couldn’t find it. You all right?’
Faye cleared her throat and shook back her long dark hair in what she hoped was a blasé manner. ‘Fine, thanks. How was your lesson?’
‘Great,’ replied Josie, plopping down onto the next sunlounger. ‘Eduardo’s an excellent coach.’
‘And pretty ripped too,’ added Faye. ‘How old do you think he is?’
Josie shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she muttered uninterestedly, picking up the copy of Hamlet Faye had discarded earlier. ‘Twenty-six. Twenty-seven, maybe.’
Faye shook her head disbelievingly. That was another thing she couldn’t understand about Josie. The girl had minimal interest in the opposite sex. ‘He’s still pretty gorgeous, even if he is a bit old,’ she pointed out.
Josie wrinkled her nose. ‘I suppose so. If you like that kind of thing.’ She thrust herself to her feet. ‘I’m going to have a quick shower. You can stay here if you like, or wait for me in the kitchen.’
Faye needed only a millisecond to consider her options. Waiting in the kitchen would greatly increase her chances of seeing Miranda. ‘I’ll come up to the house with you,’ she said, grappling around for her possessions.
In the house, Faye sat at the kitchen island while Josie went upstairs. Disappointed to discover no sign of Miranda, she turned her attention back to her copy of Hello! Flicking through the pages, she did a double take. The woman in the photographs, draped over an ex-footballer in his flashy Spanish villa, looked familiar. In fact, she looked exactly like Lydia Pembleton – Eduardo’s lover. But why on earth would Lydia Pembleton be featured in Hello! magazine? And with some ageing footballer? Before she could start reading the blurb, Josie entered the kitchen, hair dripping wet from her shower.
‘Oh no,’ she groaned, peeping over Faye’s shoulder. ‘I see Lydia Pembleton’s ugly mug is in that hideous magazine again.’
Faye’s eyes grew wide. ‘So it is her? But what’s she doing in Marbella with an ex-footballer? I thought she lived with Eduardo.’
Heading towards the huge American fridge, Josie shook her head despairingly. ‘She does live with Eduardo – but only when her ex has no need of her. The woman is a good friend of Mum’s and a total headcase. She used to be married to the guy in the photos – Darren Pembleton. Then he dumped her for some other bimbo, but still gives Lydia loads of cash. And whenever he’s feeling a bit lonely, he picks up the phone and she goes running. Her and Mum are forever flitting over to Marbella. They’re going again at the end of this week.’
Faye could scarcely believe what she was hearing. As if Miranda’s life wasn’t perfect enough, the woman mixed with celebrities. And in Marbella. ‘God,’ she huffed. ‘That’s, like, totally awesome.’
‘Awesome?’ echoed Josie. ‘I think it’s all a bit sad. God knows what Eduardo thinks of it all. But he doesn’t seem to mind. I suppose the pros outweigh the cons for him. He’s probably a kept man. And, with Lydia away so much, he can do whatever he likes. Should we make banana smoothies?’
‘Okay,’ muttered Faye, wondering how anyone could possibly find banana smoothies more interesting than all this juicy gossip. Honestly. Sometimes she really did wonder about Josie.
*****
Never, in all of Julia’s thirty-nine years, had she ever imagined having sleepless nights about buying low-fat yogurt and mini Mars bars. But, as Friday loomed, she wasn’t just suffering from a lack of sleep, but a surfeit of nerves mingled with, although she scarcely dared admit it, excitement. And all on the off-chance she might bump into Max again.
‘You okay?’ asked Paul, after she’d wiped down the kitchen bench for the sixth time.
‘Great, thanks,’ she replied, suspecting her bright and breezy demeanour was just a tad too bright and breezy, particularly after all the snapping and sniping she’d indulged in during the week. ‘Anybody want anything special from the supermarket today?’
‘No, thanks,’ muttered Leo, disappearing out of the back door.
‘Don’t get any more of those muesli bars,’ instructed Faye, shrugging her bag over her shoulder. ‘There’s one hundred and sixty calories in each one.’
‘Oh my God,’ gasped Julia, pressing her hand to her chest in mock horror. ‘If I’d known that, I’d have cleared the supermarket shelves of them and burned the entire lot.’
Evidently unamused, Faye tossed her mother a withering look before following her brother out of the door.
‘You haven’t forgotten I’ll be back late tonight,’ said Paul, swiping up his laptop case from the kitchen table. ‘Squash.’
Then, without waiting for a reply, he, too, was gone.
‘And I hope you all have a nice day, too,’ sang Julia acerbically, as the door swung shut, and a bubble of nervous anticipation began fizzing in her stomach.
She sat down at the table and poured herself a cup of coffee from the cafetiere. How many times in the past had Max Burrell made her stomach fizz? Far too many to recall. But none more so than the first time they’d made love.
It had been the day Max passed his driving test. A stiflingly hot July day which seamlessly morphed into a warm balmy evening. Max borrowed his dad’s car and drove them out to the Cotswolds. Julia had found it slightly weird at first – sitting in the passenger seat with Max in control. But, in typical Max fashion, he handled the vehicle expertly, putting her at ease within minutes, and even executing a nifty bit of parallel parking outside a quaint village pub.
Making the most of the beautiful evening, they managed to find a table in the pretty beer garden, a couple of dogs basking in the still-warm rays, bees buzzing round the rainbow of flowers spilling out of pots, a toddler staggering about on unsteady podgy legs.
They ordered club sandwiches and fed bits of ham to the dogs who obviously deemed the possibility of a titbit worth momentarily vacating their sunbathing spots for.
‘I think I’d like a dog when we’re married,’ Julia informed him.
‘How about three dogs and six kids?’ Max suggested. ‘Or six dogs and three kids?’
They snorted with laughter.
‘We’ll need a big house.’
‘That won’t be a problem,’ replied Max. ‘By the time we’re twenty-five you’ll be the top interpreter at the United Nations and I’ll be the best history teacher in the country.’
‘Gosh,’ gasped Julia, proffering a piece of bacon to her canine friend. ‘Can you imagine us at twenty-five? It sounds so … old; so grown-up. I wonder what we’ll be doing by then.’
‘As long as we’re together, I don’t care,’ said Max, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand.
Julia blinked back a tear. ‘Stop being so romantic, Mr Burrell. You’re making me cry.’
They finished their food, washed it down with orange juice, and wandered into the village.
‘Oo, isn’t it gorgeous,’ cooed Julia, drinking in the honey-coloured houses with their overflowing window boxes, and shiny door knockers. ‘Let’s have a look around and choose which one we’re going to live in when we’re twenty-five.’
Arms entwined, they explored the village, and several tracks leading off it. One of them brought them to a secluded copse of trees overlooking a small lake. A mother duck and six tiny ducklings busied themselves at the water’s edge. They sat down and watched them.
‘This is perfect,’ sighed Julia, flopping down on her back and gazing up at Max. ‘I think we should stay here forever.’
Max chuckled and lay down beside her. ‘Well, I think, at some point, someone might miss us. We don’t have to go back just yet, though. The night is still young.’
‘Good.’ Julia smiled mischievously. ‘Because I haven’t congratulated you properly on passing your driving test yet.’ Twining her arms around his neck, she pulled his face down to hers and began kissing him.
Kissing Max always made her tingle. All over. And the way he touched her … well, it set every one of her senses on fire. But they still hadn’t made love. They’d talked about it. And they’d come close on quite a few occasions. But they’d always stopped in the nick of time. Things, for whatever reason, hadn’t been quite right. Until this evening. With the heady combination of birdsong, ducklings, clear blue sky and still-warm sun, it was as if they’d wandered straight onto a film set – arranged especially for them. Things couldn’t be more perfect. And this evening Julia didn’t want to stop.
‘You sure about this?’ Max asked, when the kissing had led to other things. ‘I’ve brought a condom with me.’
Unable to speak, burning with longing for him, Julia nodded. She’d never been more sure of anything in her entire life.
Their love-making had been slow, tender, their gaze locked the entire time. In Max’s usual competent way, he’d made her feel safe, special, loved. Not to mention experience feelings she never would have thought possible. The entire thing had been better than perfect. It had been absolutely exquisite.
‘Well, I certainly won’t forget this day in a hurry,’ Max whispered afterwards, holding her in his arms and nuzzling into her hair.
Julia swiped a tear from her face and knew for certain that she would remember that day for the rest of her life.
The post thudding down on the hall mat snapped her out of her reverie. She lifted her cup of coffee to her lips.
It was cold.
By the time Julia arrived at Waitrose, she was a jittering wreck. She had, however, made more of an effort. Wearing her best jeans and a blue shirt, she’d washed and blow-dried her hair, and even added a swipe of blusher and a touch of clear lip gloss. She’d tried one of her lipsticks but it was so long since she’d opened it that it had gone all gooey.
She attempted to concentrate on the shopping, but all the while her eyes scanned the aisles for gorgeous ex-boyfriends. She lingered longer than was obviously acceptable in the cereal aisle, causing a bemused assistant to enquire if she required any help. Julia flushed scarlet and politely declined the offer.
By the time she reached the checkout, frustrated tears burned her eyes.
‘Did you find everything you needed?’ the checkout lady asked.
Unfortunately not, Julia wanted to wail. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she replied instead.
Pushing the loaded trolley out to the car park with all the finesse of a drunken hippopotamus, Julia reached her car and began stuffing the bags into the boot, without a care for their contents. It was her own fault, she told herself. As much as she’d denied it over the week, she’d been desperate to see Max again today. Hoping to see Max again. She’d set herself up for an almighty fall. And boy, had she fallen.
*****
In the squash club changing room Paul gazed at his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t look too bad for someone his age, he concluded, smoothing down his T-shirt over his almost flat stomach. Okay, so he had a few grey hairs, but who didn’t at forty? And a couple of deep lines had formed at the corners of his eyes, but he rather thought they added character. His teeth were pretty good, too, thanks to his six-monthly check-ups. But maybe they’d look even better if he had them whitened. He’d noticed something on the back of one of Faye’s magazines last week about some laser treatment that guaranteed …
‘Hi there, Paul.’
Startled out of his introspection, Paul mumbled some indecipherable greeting back to the interloper, before scuttling over to the bench to pick up his squash racquet.
What on earth was he doing? He’d never been vain before. He’d always prided himself on being smart for work, of course. Looking like an executive was part of playing the corporate game. But there any interest in his appearance had endeth.
Until his new assistant, Natalia, had started in the office.
In fact, until Natalia had started in the office, Paul had been a different man altogether. Completely focused on his work; drifting along in his home life; never questioning his existence. Taking it for granted, in fact, that, as you aged, nothing really excited you any more. But having a gorgeous, nubile, twenty-something by his side all day, whose sexy smiles and lingering eye contact suggested she found him attractive, had turned all of the above on its head.
Paul, nicknamed ‘The King of Spreadsheets’, now couldn’t look at a column of numbers without his mind wandering to Natalia’s vital statistics. Couldn’t settle in his own home without wondering what she was doing. Had begun taking an unhealthy interest in his shirts. And had started carrying out a detailed analysis of his life at every opportunity.
He’d never felt more restless, more invigorated, more out of control, and more bloody wonderful since university. It was like being eighteen all over again. And the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach each morning as he drove to work increased with every mile nearer to the office. It was a fabulous feeling he’d long since forgotten. The whole experience was better than any therapy – alternative or otherwise – and had re-energised him more than a ton of vitamin pills could ever hope to.
Not that anything had happened between him and Natalia. It really hadn’t. And it wasn’t his fault Natalia had invited herself along for a game of squash this evening. He hadn’t said anything to encourage her. Well, not much anyway.
‘Oh, so you play squash,’ she’d purred the day before. ‘I wouldn’t mind giving that a go myself.’
‘I could teach you if you like,’ Paul blurted out, before engaging his brain. ‘I’ll be going to the club tomorrow evening. Straight after work.’
‘Well, it just so happens I don’t have any plans for tomorrow evening, straight after work,’ Natalia replied, running her tongue along her bottom lip in a way that made Paul quiver with lust. ‘It’s a date.’
So excited had Paul been the previous night, that he couldn’t sleep. But, as the minutes on the clock clicked by, shards of guilt began piercing his bubble of euphoria. He was a married man. He had two kids. What the hell was he doing? By the time he hauled himself out of bed, he felt exhausted. And all day in the office he’d been a jittering wreck, jumping out of his skin every time the telephone rang, an email pinged in his inbox, or someone knocked on his office door.
And now … now he’d have to spend the next hour alone with her on the bloody squash court. Just the two of them. Wearing not very much clothing. Working up a sweat.
In fact, she was probably waiting for him right now.
Sucking in a deep breath, he yanked open the door to find Natalia leaning against the wall opposite, wearing the tiniest pair of white shorts, and the tightest cropped pink T-shirt, Paul had ever seen.
‘Ready?’ she asked.
Paul couldn’t reply.
Chapter Four (#ulink_ab53bf0f-c2ed-542d-adee-79c8386e2535)
The dazzling Spanish sun was already high in the cloudless sky by the time Miranda pulled open the wispy bedroom curtains and stepped out onto the balcony. After the icy air conditioning of the room, the heat seemed stifling. Her head reeled and her stomach churned. Symptoms thankfully not attributed to morning sickness, but to the ridiculous amount of alcohol she’d consumed the previous evening: the only way she could endure yet another party. Her and Lydia’s third night in Marbella. Her and Lydia’s third night of partying. Not an unusual occurrence. Every trip to Marbella – and she and Lydia had made many – involved an incessant round of retail therapy, trips to the beauty parlour and social gatherings of the Costa del Sol’s rich and beautiful. Activities she normally enjoyed. This time, though, everything felt different. Surreal. Like she was looking at it all through someone else’s eyes.
And none of it made any sense.
‘You coming down to breakfast, Randy?’
Lydia’s voice hit her as sharply as the heat. Miranda looked over the balcony to find her friend peering up at her, surgically enhanced breasts straining against a miniscule pink sequinned bikini. With her overly highlighted hair woven into a mass of beaded plaits and her deep mahogany tan, she looked, thought Miranda for the first time ever, completely ridiculous.
‘I’m, er, not hungry,’ she called back, wishing, also for the first time ever, that Lydia wouldn’t insist on calling her Randy.
‘Well, at least come and talk to me,’ pleaded Lydia. ‘Darren’s taken the jet-ski down to the beach. I’m bored out of my tree here.’
