Match Me If You Can Page 21

  What if he never came back? They’d be left living in a building site with neighbours who hated them.

  After SparkGate, Sarah taped a grovelling note to the Rogers-Smiths’ door so that the scorch marks on their sitting room wall wouldn’t come as a total shock. Unfortunately Nate’s team had set fire to the socket that their telly was plugged into. Sarah offered to let Mrs Rogers-Smith watch EastEnders at theirs, but she didn’t take them up on the offer.

  Finally, after nearly two weeks and a dozen unanswered texts, Nate responded.

  We can be there tomorrow.

  Was all forgiven? Excitedly, Sarah pulled out her baking pans. They’d get such a spread of treats for their coffee breaks that they’d never want to work anywhere else.

  ‘They’re coming back!’ she told Catherine and Rachel when they got home from work. ‘Nate and the team. Tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll be glad to get back into my own bedroom,’ Rachel said. ‘It’s been really disorientating.’

  ‘Plus you can’t have sex in the other room,’ Sarah pointed out. They had a strict No Sex in Communal Space rule after Rachel had admitted doing it in the shower when the others were out of town.

  ‘You’ve jumped ahead a bit, Sarah Lee. First I have to have someone to have sex with.’

  ‘Oh. Well I was thinking about your date.’

  ‘You mean Thomas?’ She shook her head. ‘That’s not going to happen. We’re meant to go out later this week but I might cancel. He’s nice enough but I’m just not feeling the love.’

  ‘You can’t just cancel on him,’ Catherine said.

  ‘Why, does that break one of the RecycLove rules or something?’

  ‘Well no, but you should probably tell him face to face. You’ve been out three times?’

  ‘Four,’ said Rachel.

  ‘And it’s been okay?’

  ‘Okay … that’s the best word for it.’

  ‘I’ve got ten more minutes till the cake’s done,’ said Sarah. ‘So I’ll just tidy up a bit.’ She grabbed the broom and dustpan and headed for Rachel’s room. She wanted to make it nice for Nate.

  The building site was immaculate the next morning when she began watching out the window for Nate’s white van. She didn’t dare go for her run in case she missed them. Every time a car drove down the road she thought it might be Nate. She waited, listening for the door buzzer.

  By ten a.m. they still hadn’t arrived. That wasn’t like them. They liked to get in early. She fondly recalled how they’d all stand around in the kitchen with their coffees, taking the piss out of each other.

  Those were happy days.

  Another vehicle approached. Better late than never, she thought, relief flooding through her. She hurried to the kitchen to turn the gas on under the coffee pots.

  But when she returned to the sitting room window, there were no white vans outside.

  She checked her phone for messages.

  It was really unfair. You don’t tell someone you’re coming and then not turn up. She wouldn’t do that to a builder.

  … Wait a minute. That wasn’t right. How would she do that to a builder? She didn’t mean builder.

  She meant boyfriend. She wouldn’t do that to a boyfriend.

  Because it was the same kind of feeling, wasn’t it? The waiting, the watching and wondering. She was acting like Nate and his team were her fickle boyfriends. What was wrong with her? She was practically replaying their first meeting with the When Harry Met Sally soundtrack in her head. Get a grip, she thought. It wasn’t like Nate was going to turn up on the doorstep with an armful of spanners for her, proposing to go back to work.

  It looked like he wasn’t turning up at all. They’d been dumped by their builders.

  She went back to the window to wait, just in case he had a change of heart.

  She would take him back. All he had to do was ask.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Catherine

  Magda appeared at Catherine’s office door clutching her three-ring binder so that it rested on the swell of her tummy. In the last few months that binder had become bloated with wedding minutiae. ‘Catherine. I would like to know what you think. I am planning our honeymoon.’

  ‘I’m meeting Alis in ten minutes so I haven’t really got time.’

  ‘You know,’ she said, cocking her head. ‘You haven’t been very helpful. You’re supposed to be Richard’s best friend.’

  ‘In fact, Magda, I have been helpful to Richard. I helped him pick out the groomsmen’s outfits, and his own suit.’ It was Magda she didn’t want to help. ‘You do know it’s unusual to expect your fiancé’s ex-wife to help plan your wedding, don’t you? Most people just get on with it.’

  ‘Do you have a problem with our marriage?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at all.’ She chose her words carefully. ‘I couldn’t be happier, if he’s happy. I just think you should do your own wedding planning. With your friends if you want to, but not with me.’

  ‘But you know Richard well. His best friend should be involved in his wedding.’

  She wasn’t taking the hint. I don’t want anything to do with you, she wanted to tell her. ‘He’s got other friends, Magda. Why aren’t you asking them to help?’

  ‘Because I see you every day and you are closest to him. It makes sense. We are deciding between Fiji and Bora Bora.’ She opened the binder and let lush brochures flutter to Catherine’s desk. ‘Fiji is more romantic, I think. But there may be more to do on Bora Bora. Both have good weather in June. Which do you think is better?’

  Catherine did not want to encourage any more wedding talk from Magda, but she couldn’t help herself when there was such an obvious question. ‘I thought the wedding was next month?’

  ‘Yes, March twelfth.’

  ‘You’re waiting until after the baby for the honeymoon? Won’t that be tricky with a newborn?’

  ‘My mother will take the baby while we are gone.’

  ‘It’s a child, Magda, not a houseplant. You may not want to leave it, you know, so soon after it’s born.’

  ‘Don’t try to talk me out of my own honeymoon, Catherine.’

  ‘Suit yourself. I’m just saying.’

  She wondered how Richard felt about the whole thing. Not that he’d ever talk to her about it. He was a stingy sharer of feelings. For years she fooled herself into believing she didn’t mind.

  And she didn’t, till she got to know her boss at the Washington food bank.

  She thought back to her life in the States. Without even trying, Jose had reached her on an emotional level, day after day as they worked together. That, along with his nearly black eyes and caramel skin that sometimes made her catch her breath, was why she did what she did.

  The volunteers had a tradition of celebrating six-month workaversaries so they offered to take her out even though it was a Tuesday. Those grannies jumped at any excuse to party.

  Catherine had rung Richard to tell him she’d be late home. She often thought about that call later because it cleanly carved their life together into before and after. But there was nothing to it at the time. He’d been distracted by work and told her to have fun.

  There wasn’t even anything unusual about the night. Five of them had dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant – a first for Catherine – then drinks at one of the watering holes on The Hill. The other volunteers had peeled off after a round or two, returning to their families or their favourite television programmes. But Catherine and Jose had stayed out.

  ‘I shouldn’t really be doing this,’ she told him.

  ‘Doing what?’ He clinked his glass with hers.

  ‘Having so much fun with you.’

  They drank too much and traded stories about their lives. There wasn’t anything unusual about that either. They did the same thing every lunchtime, minus the sambuca shots.

  It was after midnight when she let herself into the quiet house. She knew Richard was still up – she saw their bedroom light from the road.

 
He was sitting up in bed, propped against the throw pillows that she always told him to take off so they didn’t get ruined. ‘They’re not for using,’ she said.

  ‘Then why do we have them?’

  ‘Decoration.’

  ‘You’re weird.’

  She felt a familiar swell of annoyance.

  ‘Have fun?’ he asked, barely looking up from his laptop.

  ‘It was fun.’ She flopped down on the bed.

  ‘It must have been. You’re wasted, Kate.’

  ‘I am a bit. Jose made me do shots.’ Just saying his name was thrilling.

  ‘He made you, did he?’ He laughed. ‘You’ll all have sore heads tomorrow. Be sure you have a glass of water before bed.’

  ‘The others left before the shots. It was just Jose and me.’ Thrill thrill thrill. But something else too.

  ‘Drinking alone with your boss? Should I be jealous?’ He was still smiling but she had his full attention now.

  ‘It’s nothing really. Just a crush.’

  She didn’t plan to say that. As soon as she did, she knew it was a mistake. What was she thinking?

  That was the problem. She wasn’t thinking. She was feeling.

  ‘Whose crush?’ he asked levelly. ‘Yours or his?’

  ‘Both, I think.’ She didn’t want to, but she knew she owed him the honesty of eye contact.

  ‘You have a crush on this guy? Is that why you’re always so happy to go to work?’

  She didn’t want to talk about herself. She wanted to talk about him. ‘Are you in love with me, Richard?’

  ‘Answer my question.’

  ‘Answer mine,’ she shot back.

  ‘Where is that even coming from?’

  ‘It’s coming from me. Are you?’

  It took a tummy full of Italian liqueur to admit what she’d realised at their wedding. She’d stared into his eyes that day as he made his speech at the wedding breakfast. He respected her. He valued and admired her. They’d been through years of growing up together. She was his best friend, biggest support and confidante.

  But he never said he was in love with her. He never said it before and he hadn’t said it since. That wasn’t the relationship they had.

  ‘I could ask you the same question,’ he said.

  Deflection again. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I see. And is this because of Jose?’

  ‘I’m not sure about that either.’

  The eyes that stared at her went as dead as a ventriloquist’s dummy. ‘Then maybe you should take some time to think about the answer.’

  Richard was nothing if not proud.

  He gathered his pillow and laptop from the bed. ‘I’ll sleep in the other room and let you think about your answer.’

  But he didn’t really let her think about it because the next morning, as the night’s shots jackhammered in her head, he packed a bag and left.

  She was stunned by what she’d done, but she had to look honestly at their relationship. Maybe for the first time. He’d been a willing participant in it, but would it exist if she hadn’t constantly pushed?

  Probably not.

  Maybe it was the same with Magda, she thought now. She did seem to be doing everything for the wedding.

  That didn’t make Catherine any more willing to sit through her table placement discussions though.

  Alis was on time for his appointment, so maybe his star sign was ascending. Catherine was taken aback again when she saw him. He was just so very hairy, with his mop of unkempt curls and that beard. He had another of his tight tee shirts on that showed off his tattoos.

  She directed him to the little table in the corner of her office, swiping away the pile of blue swatches that Magda had been tormenting her with all morning. What was so bloody hard about choosing a napkin?

  ‘I brought you something,’ Alis said when he sat.

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ Most people just sent their fees straight from their bank account but a few still preferred old-school cheques.

  But it wasn’t a cheque. It was a small clear plastic box full of …

  ‘Tea?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s valerian, lemon balm and camomile. It’ll help.’

  ‘It’ll help what?’

  ‘With your stress. Though it tastes like an old man’s socks until you get used to it.’

  ‘Am I stressed?’

  He laughed. ‘Are those earrings in your ears, or your shoulders?’

  She lifted her head. ‘Thank you.’ Time for a change of subject. ‘So you may be wondering why I’ve asked you here today.’

  ‘I thought we were going through my profile, but this sounds ominous. Have I got a terminal disease that I don’t know about? Where’s my box of Kleenex?’

  ‘No, no, not at all. It’s just that often we go through the client’s requirements on the phone after the first meeting, but I wanted to see you.’

  He smirked. ‘Did you now?’

  She ignored the implication. ‘As I said when we met last time, we have some women on our books who I think you’ll get on with. But we may be able to increase your chances.’

  ‘If you mean getting them sozzled, I have tried but they usually drink me under the table.’

  She smiled. ‘I was thinking more about some coaching lessons with me. It’s a service that we offer to some of our clients.’

  ‘The hopeless ones, you mean?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘That’s okay, Catherine. I’ve worked out that I don’t fit your usual tick boxes. That’s okay with me if it is with you, so I’m game to try your coaching. Thank you for offering to help.’

  ‘Oh, well, good then. There’s just a form to sign. It doesn’t tie you to anything and obviously you don’t have to take the advice you’re given. It’s just to say that we’re offering you the service and you agree to be contacted by email or text. You can contact me too, of course, whenever you have questions. My mobile number is right there, and we’ve got yours already.’

  She handed him the form and a pen. ‘I don’t know if it counts as a contract, if that makes a difference.’

  ‘Mercury is fine today, thanks for asking. So where do we start?’ He pointed to his face. ‘Here, I’m guessing?’

  ‘How attached are you to your beard?’

  ‘It’s not glued on, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean.’

  ‘I’ve had it for a long time. It started with Movember and grew from there. Literally. I quite like it.’ He stroked his hairy cheek.

  ‘Could you learn to like less of it?’

  Just a few inches shorter would make a big difference.

  ‘How much less? I don’t want designer stubble like George Michael.’

  ‘So the beard is non-negotiable.’

  ‘I can trim it but, if it helps, some women love it.’

  Possibly, but she wasn’t sure any of them were her clients. He did have quite nice deep-blue eyes fringed with black lashes. And definitely good biceps.

  Looks-wise, she’d have to work with what she had and hope for open-minded clients.

  ‘Let’s talk about your approach to dates then,’ she said. ‘Where would you take a woman out when you first meet?’

  ‘It depends on her star sign.’ He appraised Catherine. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Oh, well, it’s Aries, but I don’t really believe in all that.’

  He smiled. ‘No, you probably don’t. But based on it, I think you’ll want options on a date. Somewhere out in public rather than a home-cooked meal. To the races maybe, or a pop-up restaurant, or something VIP. You’re competitive so you’d like unique events that you can tell friends about. You’ve got a lot of energy and you’re not the homely type. Am I close?’

  Star sign, schmar sign. Personalities were built by nature and nurture, not the fact that one’s parents had sex on a certain day. ‘That’s pretty general,’ she said. ‘It can be said about a lot of people.’

  ‘But I said it about you.
Because you’re an Aries.’

  ‘I suppose your star sign suits your personality too.’ She tried not to sound too condescending but she completely failed. ‘Do you like yoga?’ she asked, changing tack.

  ‘Love it.’

  ‘Good. Then I’ve got a couple of women in mind, so limber up.’

  ‘I’ll do my special exercises.’ He winked.

  She stifled a laugh.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rachel

  Rachel stepped off the ladder to admire her handiwork. She’d woven strings of fairy lights amongst the exposed cables. A few dozen candles flickered on the tables and window ledges. More fairy lights glowed along the mantelpiece of the old Victorian iron-fronted fireplace. And Sissy’s banner hung above it.

  ‘It’s uneven,’ Sissy said, standing with her back against the opposite wall to get as wide a view as possible. She was already dressed for the party in her pale blue day dress with white swallows on it. A matching blue ribbon held her wispy locks away from her face.

  ‘Is it? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Rachel smiled. Of course she was sure. This was Sissy they were talking about. ‘Okay, which end should I move?’

  ‘The left. It’s too low.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘An inch.’

  Rachel climbed back up the stepladder to untack the drawing pin. ‘Is that good?’

  ‘Another inch.’

  She moved the pin. ‘Good?’

  ‘Another inch.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Another inch.’

  She repinned the banner. ‘Now?’

  ‘It’s too high.’

  When Rachel turned around to protest, she caught Sissy’s expression. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘Got you! It’s even.’

  She climbed down and appraised the sign. It really was beautiful. Sissy had drawn it using her trademark coloured squares. In finely shaded blues and greens against a yellow and orange background, it read Happy Birthday Sarah!

  ‘Sissy?’ Sarah called up the kitchen stairs.

  ‘Don’t come up!’ she and Rachel yelled together. Sissy was treating their decorating as a top-secret mission. She’d turned up with her usual assortment of drawing pads and pencil boxes but had yanked Rachel into the kitchen as soon as Sarah went upstairs.