There followed a long list of names and dates but nothing more about the house itself. Her moment of enlightenment, like Lilian’s, had flittered away before she’d had the chance to get her net out and catch it.
In all honesty, filling her head with a whodunit was preferable to leaving it empty so that Justin Fox could take up residence in it. She had no idea why she had agreed to meet him. What if his wife turned up with a machete? She permitted herself to think about snogging him in the car. He’d been a good kisser, or so she’d thought then: urgent and passionate and lip-bruising. It had seemed exciting, naughty, thrilling having sex on the back seat, snatching illicit moments with him, outlawed by Laurence and cocking a snook at his controlling wife. Looking back it was tacky, tawdry and bloody uncomfortable and she felt sickened. Herv Gunnarsen’s kiss had set a new standard, as brief as it was. And his big hands holding her face so carefully had done more to fire up her sexual hormones than Justin Fox and his hasty, blind-dart-player, way-off-the-bullseye fumbling had ever done. It hadn’t mattered at the time because she knew that the more they got to know each other, the more they’d get into each other’s rhythm. She’d taken care to read his satisfied ums and ahs but, thinking about it, he hadn’t really changed his technique to suit what she wanted. Maybe he was too attuned to what he did with his wife. Wham, bam and thank you, ma’am.
Why the farts did she say yes she would see him?
Because I want that apology, her inner self said. Because I want to have the last word. Because I want to show him that I don’t care.
She just hoped that when she saw him the following day, she really didn’t care.
Chapter 36
Justin had said more than once that he liked her hair down, flowing in gentle waves of black, so she pinned it up. His favourite outfit was her navy-blue dress with the peplum which showed off her figure and her trim legs, so she wore a dark green trouser suit. Her make-up was mother’s-funeral subtle, her shoes a block heel giving her a bit of height and also the chance to escape any wife wielding a sledgehammer.
She arrived at the Blue Boy ten minutes before the allotted hour and was aware that she felt trembly from the inside out, not because she was excited to see Justin, but because she was afraid. Afraid of herself. Afraid of feeling things for him that she didn’t want to feel. She hoped she wasn’t kidding herself by assuming she was strong enough not to let him back into her life again. She had managed to build herself up from the stack of broken pieces she’d been reduced to a couple of months ago, but it wasn’t thanks to any Kintsugi gold; she was held together with Pritt Stick.
Well, you’re here now, said the voice inside. Pretend you’re in the SAS, get in, then get out with minimal damage to self.
She checked her face in the vanity mirror for lipstick on teeth and mascara transference and then walked over to the pub. There was no sign of his car yet. Just a very swanky brand-new Audi and a couple of Toyota Aygos parked up. She recited her Sammy Davis Junior mantra and headed for the front door. She had to be more committed to finally ending this episode of her life on her terms than scared of him making sure it ended on his.
She spotted him immediately. He was sitting in the booth where they’d sat last time they were there together. That was by design, she suspected. Stupid though, if it was, because she’d been really pissed off with him that day. He heard the door bump shut behind her, turned, smiled and waved and she felt something inside her involuntarily respond to the sight of him, as if it were looking at a star that had long since burnt out but was still visible to the eye.
‘Justin,’ she said, as he rose. She kept her distance and didn’t give him the chance to move in for a kiss or an embrace.
‘Marnie, it’s so good to see you.’
He was wearing jeans and a shirt – both Armani. The scent of Joop drifted towards her and attempted to poke fire into memories she’d thought were cold ashes.
He’d already got himself half a lager and her a diet cola. Well, she wasn’t going to touch it. And she wasn’t going to say it was good to see him either. The Pritt Stick was holding up well; she was impressed.
She sat down opposite him and noticed the dark circles under his eyes and wondered if he’d been kept awake last night from thinking about this meeting.
‘So,’ she opened quickly. ‘I was surprised to get your texts.’ She made the point of making the word plural, so he could be assured she’d ignored the first one with all the contempt it deserved. She, like Lionel on his way to see Griff to play chess, had been practising her opening gambits. In the bath last night. Move that pawn in front of the king forward and free up that mother of a bishop.
Justin steepled his fingers, elbows on the table. He’d stolen that from Laurence because that was his default pose when talking to someone on the opposite side of his desk. There was no flirty twinkle in his eyes, which was a shame because she would have liked to have had the pleasure of shutting it down.
‘I thought we needed to clear the air, in order to move on,’ he said, caution evident in his tone.
‘From what I remember, you moved on very quickly.’
His eyes dropped from hers. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I might have thought better of you had you had the decency to return my calls after you left me to the wolves.’ Bring the white knights into play. Get them both neighing that they’re going for that black king.
‘I . . . didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t think things would get that far.’
‘You drove the pace, if you remember. And I let you because of your subconscious uncrippling.’ She knew immediately she’d got the phrase wrong and saw the side of his lip tweak towards that gorgeous sexy grin that always made her insides warm. Now her internal thermometer didn’t even waver from resting zero.
‘Oh, I have missed you,’ he said to her. Or at least she thought he did, because his voice was lower than a whisper. If that was an attempt to get her to lean towards him so he could kiss her, he could piss right off.
‘Why am I here?’ she asked, brooking no nonsense.
She saw his tentative smile wither. Surely he hadn’t thought that a glass of pop and a ‘sorry’ would have her dragging him to the back seat of her Renault.
Justin took a deep fortifying breath. ‘We thought a meeting would help us . . . recalibrate.’
She didn’t like the sound of that ‘we’.
‘We?’
‘Suranna and I.’
Was Marnie hearing this right? ‘I beg your pardon.’ She stood up.
‘Please don’t. She’s just gone to the toilet. She says she’ll leave me if she doesn’t meet you and sort this out.’
‘I absolutely couldn’t give a flying fu—’
‘Marnie.’ A female voice behind her.
Marnie turned around to face the small woman who had tried to rip her head off at their last encounter. She was a damned sight thinner than the last time they’d met. And not as blotchy-faced. And she was holding her hand out in greeting.
Chapter 37
The day could not have gone more bizarrely if the landlord had ridden towards them on the back of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. It was like the trip Marnie once had at college after she’d licked her first and last acid tab and had seen worms wriggling out of Caitlin’s eyes.