Page 11 of A Clean Sweep
Emily managed to control herself and her tendency to babble when placed in an awkward situation. Chiefly because it didn't really feel awkward, not when Joe looked ridiculously pleased at her response. He set his mug down and reached for his phone.
‘Give me your mobile number and I'll text you later. I just need to check my agenda back at the office. We sometimes get evening call-outs but I'm pretty sure I'm free this Friday, if you are. There's a nice little bistro a couple of miles away that opened recently and I've heard it's really good. Chez Jacques it's called, does these amazing steaks on hot stones. And lots of other things if you're not big into meat. What do you think?’
Emily thought she had died and gone to heaven. Or maybe she was destined for the hot, burny place but right there and then she didn't care if Lucifer himself materialised and signed her up as a horned minion.
‘That sounds wonderful. Here's my number.’
She reeled it off, Joe typing away with his tongue snagged between his pearly whites in the most adorable fashion.
‘All done. So, I'd best be off for now but I'll be in touch to confirm. Say, 7.30 and I'll swing by and pick you up?’
Emily nodded her assent, rising to her feet to see him to the door. He stopped for a moment, raised his hand and touched her lightly on the cheek.
‘See you soon, Emily.’
And then he was gone. Leaving her with the sensation of being scorched inside and out. The fire had been well and truly lit and she had no idea what the flames had in store.
Chapter 8
‘Imean, what a totallyuselesspresent! Honestly, the man is completely clueless.’ Derwyn banged down her wine glass for emphasis, some of its contents sloshing on to the table.
‘So, what was it then? Don’t keep us in suspense!’ Tabitha knew her friend could keep a story going longer than a Tolstoy novel. And she was bursting for the loo – as usual – after three much-needed lager shandies.
‘Only a bloody gadget for sucking the air out of a champagne bottle, so you can keep it fresh for another day! What kind of person would even consider not polishing it all off? I told him where he could stick his fizz preserver.’
Tabitha laughed, picturing poor Ed’s face. He’d probably spent hours browsing for what he thought was an imaginative gift for Derwyn’s birthday. When he’d have been better off buying a case of Moet et Chandon, complete with super-sized champagne flute.
Early Saturday evening and Tabitha was out with her two closest friends, Fiona and Derwyn. It was lovely to see them, the drinks flowing as freely as the laughter. Normally she’dbe doing something with Tom but she'd decided if he could skip off for drinks at the drop of a hat with his mates then so could she. Plus, he was officially in the bad books. Relegated to the naughty step after last night’s fiasco.
She’d had another tiring day at the shop. Business had been brisk with Valentine’s Day just around the corner. Spotty teenage lads buying cute cards and cuddly toys for their girlfriends. A few older women browsing a selection of rather saucier fare, giggling and blushing at the cheeky messages inside. At one point she and Meryl had had to retreat to the backroom in order to conceal their mirth when a gentleman of around seventy or so had been perusing some merchandise that had only arrived that morning. Skimpy panties in lurid hues of crimson, hot pink and boudoir purple. Each embroidered with such messages as ‘It’s Your Lucky Day’ and ‘All You Can Eat’. When he’d sidled up to the counter clutching a pair bearing the legend ‘Too Hot To Handle’ they’d barely kept it together. Tabitha had feigned a coughing fit as she took his money and stuffed the knickers into a gift bag.
‘Crikey, someone’s in for a bit of a surprise, I reckon,’ Meryl had snorted, wiping tears from her eyes as the ageing sex bomb exited with great haste.
‘Hey, you never know. He might have a much younger lady friend. Or maybe he and his missus just happen to have a fantastic sex life. Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you can’t still get it on. Isn’t that right, Meryl?’ At which point Meryl gave her young assistant a sharp nudge in the ribs.
‘Less of your cheek, Tabbie! I’ll have you know I’m only forty-four. Well, that’s what I’m admitting to, anyway. And even if I was twenty-four I’d much rather a massive bouquet of red roses than some tacky nylon thong. You’d probably get friction burns wearing one of those!’
Back to last night. OK, maybe she’d overreacted a bit, butincreasingly Tom was sliding down the Ideal Man scale, faster than Bridget Jones on a fireman’s pole. She’d arrived home feeling weary and with a boot-load of shopping she’d picked up after a mad dash around the supermarket.
‘TOM! Are you upstairs? Could you come down and give me a hand?’ A deafening silence. She’d sighed heavily and plodded her way up to the bedroom. Could make out the distinctive theme tune ofTop Gearas she neared the door. She opened it and took in the delightful sight of her man sprawled on the bed, remote control in one hand, bottle of beer in the other. A balled-up pair of socks lay inches from the laundry basket in the corner. Magic Johnson obviously not on top form then.
‘Hey, Tabitha. You all right?’ He’d barely glanced away from the screen, Richard Hammond wittering on about the merits of the latest Ferrari. Tabitha had taken a deep breath. Then another.
‘Actually, Tom, I’m absolutely knackered. And I was shouting on you to help me unload the car. If that’s not too much trouble.’ Her sarcasm had failed to register. Tom had simply pressed ‘pause’, slid off the bed and made his way downstairs behind her at a pace that made snails look like Formula One drivers.
‘Christ, that’s a lot of food for just the two of us. Are we expecting the bomb to drop or something?’ He’d looked at her in vague amusement. She’d glared back in increasing frustration. Then the penny had finally dropped.
‘Shit, Tabitha. I’d completely forgotten. We’re having people over for dinner, aren’t we? And I was supposed to pick up some pork fillet from the butcher’s. Which I didn’t. Sorry.’ He’d looked at her with pleading eyes, like a stray at Battersea Dogs Home intent on finding a lovely new home. Right then he was more likely to find himself on the menu atsome dodgy Korean restaurant where pooches were considered a delicacy.
In the end Tabitha had rushed back to the butcher, picked up the meat and chopped, marinaded and cooked for the next two hours. She had barely made it in and out of the shower before the guests arrived. Meryl and her new beau along with a woman called Jessie who she'd worked with a couple of times at events. And who'd subsequently bombarded Tabitha with texts sayingWe must get together soon!OrWould love you to meet my new man! He's a - maz - ing!!!! Caving in under the pressure, Tabitha had invited them around. And been totally underwhelmed on both counts. Jessie could talk the proverbial hind legs off a donkey. On the most boring of subjects. Her new man, Jake, was a fanatical comic collector. ‘Actually, the correct terminology is “graphic novel” but let's not be pedantic,’ he'd intoned, doing that quotation mark finger waggle that had Tabitha wishing she could slice them off with a cleaver.
Meryl had, thankfully, been on good form. Relating tales from the shop and only once bursting into song when ‘Super Trouper’ came up on shuffle. This had prompted a rather bizarre discussion as to why the lyrics were, 'When I called you last night from Glasgow.'
‘Surely it would make more sense if they said, 'last night from Oslo'?’ queried Jessie, who was making heavy inroads into the third bottle of red. ‘After all, they're from Sweden, aren't they?’
Tabitha had resisted pointing out that Oslo was, in fact, the capital of Norway and the whole point was about touring the world and missing someone while on the road. Jake was too busy yapping on about his graphic novel collection to Tom, whose glazed expression suggested complete and utter indifference to the subject and Meryl was giggling at something Miroslaw had said.
Her new man had been quiet but attentive throughout the evening, topping up glasses and giving Meryl the odd under-table hand squeeze when he thought no-one was looking. Tabitha wasn't sure about the Al Pacino resemblance but he was still attractive in a slightly swarthy way. He'd brought Tabitha a beautiful bouquet of flowers and had insisted on helping when it came to serving each course. So, not a total disaster but Tabitha had been hugely relieved when it came to an end.
