Every Good Girl (30 page)

‘Oh, don't you use that lovely dining room?' Jennifer asked in surprise. ‘Shame to slum it in the kitchen, however wonderful, if you've got a room like that.'

‘I can't remember when it was last used,' Graham admitted. ‘We always eat in here.' He put the plates down, took cutlery from her hand and arranged it on the table. Playing house was one thing, playing bossy wives was something else. He liked the kitchen. It was comfortable, informal, homey. Surely not everything in
his life had to change, not all at once anyway.

‘To be honest, I was a bit surprised you agreed to come out.' Mick was playing with his watch strap and looking peculiarly nervous. They were at a window table, sipping coffee and watching the inky Thames flow by.

‘Whyever wouldn't I? Did you imagine I have such an outrageously thrilling life that I'd actually be bored by the thought of dinner at the best Italian restaurant in the country?' Nina teased him.

‘In the
world
, so I've heard it claimed,' he corrected her.

‘Well wherever it's the best of, it was all completely delicious. I don't know when I last managed to eat so much.'

Mick looked up and down her body. ‘Not as if you have a weight problem, is it? Some women are a pleasure to feed. You're definitely one of them.'

‘Thank you. I'm glad I could do the bill justice. Feed a lot of women, do you?' she asked, amused.

‘One or two,' he shrugged. ‘It's a lonely old life sometimes. I like meeting new people, hearing how they pass the years between growing up and passing on. I like taking people home, showing them my . . .'

‘Oh God, please not etchings!'

Mick laughed, ‘Hell no, it's books, that's what I like. First editions. I've got some rare ones – Coleridge, Keats, that sort of thing. And, don't laugh . . .' he looked sheepish for a moment, attractively vulnerable, it occurred to Nina.

‘Go on, tell me,' she encouraged him.

‘Enid Blyton. I've been collecting first editions of Famous Five books for years. They're rare in good condition because when a child had one, they'd read it over and over again and weren't exactly over-careful
about bending the spine. I used to be terrible, myself. Used to fill in all the “o's” with a red pen. So if you get a well-cared-for one, it's just terrific.'

Nina gazed at him, struck silent. ‘What's the matter?' he asked. ‘Is it just too naff for you?'

‘No! No, not at all. It's just that, well from the way you look and everything I would have imagined you were about to confess to the ultimate collection of Mod artefacts or something. A pristine Vespa that you ride to rallies in Brighton or mint condition Small Faces albums. The sort of thing Joe . . . oh sorry, my
ex-that-we-don't-mention
would like.'

‘Tell you what, you should come and have a look. Not too late, is it? You don't have to rush back?' Mick looked at his watch and summoned the bill, which he'd already insisted he was to pay. ‘My place is only a couple of streets away, I'll get us a cab.' And he was up, wandering to the doorman with his request. At the back of Nina's head, Sally's voice was telling her not even to think about it. She wanted to go, though, wanted to be in someone's house who wasn't a safe neighbour or long-time friend. He was attractive too, all that soft brown hair and wit-filled eyes. Sally's voice came back again, changing its mind saying,
Go on, you're single now, take a chance
.'

Nina had had a vague idea that Mick would live in a block of apartments: something large, newly built and with a residents' gym and pool in the basement. It would be full of single people who didn't really know each other. Either that, or perhaps something rundown and rambling that was part builders' yard. It threw her when the cab drew up in a typical tree-lined Fulham street of terraced family-sized Edwardian houses, all with converted attic rooms, smart pale
curtains and lavender-edged front gardens gouged out for extra parking space.

‘I'd better just phone home, make sure my dotty old mother managed to get home all right,' Nina said as they went into the house. There was a child's bike in the hall, and a pair of Siamese cats hurtled down the stairs to greet Mick.

‘OK, the phone's in the kitchen. Come through and I'll get us both a brandy.'

‘Oh, not for me, actually,' Nina said, determined to keep her head reasonably straight. ‘I've had enough with all that wine.'

Dialling, she quickly took in her surroundings. The kitchen was bachelor-clean but family-equipped. It wasn't the vast amount of cooking implements that hung from every spare piece of wall, but the knick-knacks of day to day living that gave it away. On the wall hung a school term calendar, a noticeboard full of holiday photos, dating back, Nina could see from the ages of the two blond and beaming children, several years. There was a pair of very small Nike trainers by the back door and a selection of frog-face Wellingtons on a rack. A muddy football sat under the large pine table and a school homework diary was abandoned on the top of it.

‘Little bugger won't know what he's supposed to be doing. Typical.' Mick flicked through the book, smiling at its contents. ‘Maths, page 48 numbers 1 to 6, leaving out no 5. I bet he doesn't give it a thought!' He laughed, ‘Are yours like that? Minds like sieves?'

‘Sometimes. Lucy's quite good, pretty organized I'd say.' She was still taking in what was becoming obvious: that Mick must have custody of his children. Presumably it was his ex-wife's turn to have them.

‘I poured you one anyway, leave it if you don't want it.' Mick handed Nina a glass of brandy as she put down the phone. She hoped Emily really had written down the number she'd given her, not just pretended there was a pen conveniently handy. Mick's hand had brushed against hers as he handed her the drink. ‘Come on through, let's get more comfortable,' he suggested, leading the way to a sitting room the colours of toffee and banana. Behind glass doors were the collection of books. ‘Sit there on the sofa beside the lamp and I'll show you
Five Go to Smuggler's Top
,' he said with a grin. And then he was sitting beside her, very close, close enough for her to smell how clean he was. His arm was round her shoulder, pulling her close so she could see the book. As she was wondering if she would be able to get away with no more than an experimental kiss, just to check out what it was like with someone who wasn't Joe, Nina's eyes caught sight of the collection of photos on the desk by the window.

‘Oh. You've kept all your wedding photos out,' she said, more or less involuntarily.

‘What? Oh yes, they're always there I think.'

‘Didn't your wife want them? Or did you have loads more as well? Sorry, perhaps I shouldn't ask, that must come into the forbidden talking-about-the-ex category.'

Mick laughed, ‘No, actually “ex” doesn't quite apply here. Carol's in Hampshire at the cottage with the children. She often takes them for weekends, it's so good for them to be out of London. All that riding and running in the woods.' Nina looked puzzled. ‘Don't worry,' he murmured, stroking her shoulder hard with his thumb, ‘we're quite safe. She won't be back till Sunday night.'

Nina's brain was unravelling what he was saying.
‘You're not actually divorced, then? Or even separated?'

‘God no! Not likely to be either. Why bother? We have what you might call an arrangement. She asks no questions and I tell no lies. Very modern.'

‘Not really,' Nina told him. ‘Didn't that sort of thing go out with the Sixties?' She stood up and put her drink down on the glass-topped table in front of her. ‘So what were you doing at a Knights Out singles dinner?' she demanded. ‘Isn't it against the rules?'

Mick was lying back comfortably, cockily Nina rather thought, arms behind his head and legs stretched out. ‘What rules? It's a great place to meet people. Believe it or not I've got some of my best building contracts from women I've met at those events.' He chuckled. ‘It's just another way of networking.' He stretched out an arm and pulled her hand. ‘And you meet the nicest people. Come on, come and sit with me and let's get back to being cosy. You can't chill out on me now, not after I've bought you that wonderful dinner.'

‘Hang on a sec,' Nina told him. She went back to the kitchen, retrieved her handbag and took out her purse. ‘Here, sixty-five quid. Probably just about covers my share. Then you can't complain you haven't had your money's worth.'

She scattered notes over his body, noted how satisfactorily astonished he looked, and was out of the door and halfway down the street before she'd even gathered her thoughts. Bloody men, she thought in the taxi, and then laughed to herself. Joe would love it, she could hardly wait to tell him.

Monica had come home in a minicab, ringing the doorbell instead of using her key. Her tactfulness
embarrassed Graham and he'd started fidgeting to take Jennifer home soon after. The two women were having a complicated discussion about the best plants for hanging baskets and whether or not a bright multicoloured display was superior to something more subtle. Eventually, just as Graham was putting on his jacket and wondering if he'd have to sit in the car revving the engine before she'd get the hint, Jennifer decided she was ready.

‘That was a lovely evening. We don't have to end it yet, you know,' Jennifer said to him as the car pulled up outside her block. She was looking at him with the same nervous seductiveness that had been there that night when he'd first come to her flat. He was tempted, but there was Mother at home, totting up the time he was spending out, working out what he'd have time to get up to. He felt uncomfortable, but he also wanted Jennifer. He wanted to claim her back from Monica, have her tending to just him, him and the needs that were nothing to do with his mother. ‘I'll tell her I was out watching the owls,' he said, grinning.

Later, back home and parking in the driveway, he looked up at Monica's window and saw the light still on. He didn't want to go in yet and be someone's son again. He was feeling powerful, heady with the satisfaction of good sex, a long way from the need to sleep. He checked in his pocket for his ancient balaclava and headed for the Common. In the distance, far ahead where the stringy thickets and older beeches were, he could hear a barn owl – a blood-chilling noise, he always thought, like a small child being murdered. He sensed the direction it was travelling, then heard it screech high above as it settled on a branch. Things that fly were calming, made you feel that God put more effort into the winged creatures than he had into man.
He'd given them a privilege and grace that earthbound animals didn't have. His own privilege was to have the gift of enough stealth and silence to be able to get close and watch them.

They would never know he was there.

There were people on the Common, out from the roadside edge where the blackness was dense and inky. Graham could sense them before he could hear them properly. The bushes were snuffling and stirring with more than just breeze and there would be no low-slung foxes crossing his path tonight. Other times, he'd chanced upon couples with nowhere more comfortable to go, risking spearing their bodies with blades of twig growing through the bracken and taking home great weals of nettle-rash. Once he'd seen two men in leather and vests against a tree and dashed away, embarrassed, before they could think he was looking on purpose.

The hand on his arm startled more than frightened him.

Graham was in a bit of a dream, listening for the birds and thinking about future things, wondering if it was possible that Jennifer and he really could be more than just two people who lived not very far apart and liked each other's company. Some of Mother's bridge set had man-friends like that: men to go for theatre outings with and to show off with at the bowls club annual dinner. He wondered what he and Jennifer were
called
: they were too old to be boy and girlfriend. Perhaps they should be classed as lovers – they surely qualified, though he couldn't imagine his mother actually using the word to the bridge club. He tried it, out
loud, ‘My son's lover, Jennifer.' The word gave him a tingle, so sensuous and unfamiliar. The tingle was peaking just as the hand fell heavily on his arm.

‘OK. Come with me please, sir.' The voice wasn't expecting there to be any disagreement about this, in spite of the veneer of politeness.

Suddenly there were a lot of them, looming shapes and thick footsteps and torches dazzling into Graham's face. There were crackling walkie-talkie sounds like on TV, and phrases from
The Bill
like ‘IT One male', whatever that was supposed to mean. Graham broke into a nervous laugh, supremely relieved that he was not about to be beaten up but was in a protective circle of police. Something must have happened. He must have been about to walk into a crime.

‘Sorry if I'm in the way, I'll just go home now if you like, back the way I came,' he said, eager to be helpful.

A stern face was looking into his. This man was in jeans and a heavy jacket like the council bin-men but there was no mistaking his profession. He was brick-shaped, chunky. His hair was wild and wiry and his face had a bitter sneer. ‘I think not, at this stage, don't you
sir
?' He was too close to Graham's face. Graham could smell chewing gum on his breath, the same sugar-free type that he liked. Ridiculously, he found himself staring down at the man's stomach, trying to gauge if it protruded enough to be the reason for sugar avoidance, or if like him he was being careful for his teeth. Graham shivered. He was starting to feel nervous. Perhaps they weren't really police at all, just people dressed up and dangerous. They might have robbed one of the vast houses on the Common edge and be distributing the spoils. He took off the balaclava and tried to shove it in his pocket.