Page 72 of The Price of Love
‘You were holdinghands.’
Jazz began climbing to his feet, clutching his jaw. I made frantic keep-quiet signals with my eyebrows which he, perhaps understandably, chose to ignore. ‘What thefuckwasthatall about?’ he muttered through clenched teeth.
‘You, schmoozing your way around my girlfriend! Can’t you get it into your head that it’s all over? Mind you, Willow, I didn’t exactly see you shoving him away.’
‘We weretalking, Luke. That’s all. Jazz is going out with my sister.’ Jazz’s eyes went big and round at this flagrant exaggeration and he opened his mouth to contradict. I stood hard on his foot under the table. He winced, but at least closed his mouth. ‘Honestly.’ I put a pacifying hand on Luke’s arm. ‘We came out for a quiet drink. Katie was with us too, until a minute ago, and Jazz asked about Bree. She’s giving him a bit of a hard time at the moment.’
‘I came to find out how it went at the council today.’
Jazz opened his mouth again, and I had to get brutal. I drew back my arm and slapped him firmly round the face. ‘Howdareyou grab my hand anyway.Wereyou trying to make Luke jealous? If so, it won’t work.’ Then I turned my head to one side, pretending outrage, and mouthed ‘sorry’ hidden from Luke by my hair. Jazz obviously now saw the value in being silent.
‘Well, I dunno. Willow.’ Luke scratched at his stubble and rubbed his knuckles. ‘I mean, how do I know I can trust you? How do I know that you’re not going to go running off with psycho-killer boy here whenever my back is turned?’
I felt a sudden rush of indignation. Forgetting that the romance with Luke had been fake from the moment he’d pretended to knock into me in this very bar, I reacted like any girl would, being accused of infidelity. ‘I wasnotup to anything with Jazz. If I was, why the hell would I do it in here? Luke.’ I lowered my voice and moved closer to him. ‘Youare the man I’m going to marry,youare the man I’m in love with. Not Jazz.’
I was slightly surprised that the bar didn’t fill with the smell of brimstone at the totality of the fib, or that Jazz didn’t burst out laughing. But it’s probably quite hard to laugh with a cracked jaw. Besides, I had to saysomething. The thought of Luke — filled with unnecessary hurt pride — dumping me just when I was sorting out the kind of revenge most women can only dream of, made me feel sick. Then I came up with something that would swing things my way completely. ‘Come on.’ I pulled at his arm. ‘Let’s go somewhere and buy a bottle of champagne.’
Luke was still looking stern, but his face softened. ‘You mean?’
‘They’ve paid up.’ I put a little wobble of excitement into my voice. ‘The council did a financial transfer to my account this afternoon for four hundred and fifty thousand pounds. But, ofcourse,’ I let my voice drop, cast my eyes repentantly downward, ‘if you don’t want to, I’ll understand.’
‘I’m not sure.’ Luke ran his hands through his hair. ‘Can you really promise me, Willow, that nothing is going on between you andhim?’
Jazz had regained his seat and his pint and was looking at me with the hurt air of a dog which has had its tail trodden on. But at least he was quiet. I beamed good thoughts at him. ‘I can totally promise you that.’
Luke still looked stern, his mouth tight and his eyes narrow.Wouldhe dump the prospect of nearly half a million pounds? Had we all underestimated him? Did hereallyhave a sense of pride, of love for me, was I the woman he wanted for herself not her wallet?
‘Well, all right. I do believe you.’
Obviously not, then.
‘I’m sorry, Willow. I’m under a lot of pressure at the showroom. The thought that you might be fooling around was unbearable.’ Luke smiled at me. ‘We’ll say no more about it.’
Hang on. Did that still make it sound as though Ihad beenin the wrong? And with a daggy guy likeJazz? At least if he’d caught me with my hand in Cal’s jeans I could have gone out with a sense of pride at my good taste. ‘We really weren’t . . .’
Luke put his hand in the small of my back to guide me out of the Grape. ‘I believe you,’ he said, in a tone which made it clear that he didn’t, but was being tolerant. We got to the Pitcher and Piano, and ordered a bottle of the finest champagne (£140, I was beginning to regret my lie about the money, I hoped he wasn’t going to suggest we went on somewhere equally pricey for dinner) before I realised what he was doing. Making me feel guilty, unsettling me, forcing me to try to buy him back with grand gestures. He was bloody good at it, I had to admit, generosity itself with his ‘I really don’t mind that youmet up with your ex without telling me,’ and yet just the tiniest bit withdrawn. No handholding under the table, no suggestive winks or casual remarks about our future. Cool enough that, had our relationship been for real, I would have been more than a little bit panicky by now. Smooth. You had to admire it.
So, since I was pretending that our love affair was real, I also had to pretend that I wanted his approval again. I told jokes and took him to dinner (although it wasn’t the hugely expensive one he’d clearly set his heart on, it wasn’t exactly cod and chips twice). We ended the evening with many references to my condition ‘down there’ and an encounter which, although not the full back against the wall shag, wasn’t exactly cod and chips twice, if you get my drift. He dropped me at my door after an ‘I’ve forgiven you’ snog and I dashed straight in to phone Jazz and apologise.
First thing on Saturday morning, I cadged a lift up to the farm on the back of Ash’s bike. We were both glad to get away from home, where Grace had discovered the joys of colic and had therefore kept us all awake most of the night.
‘It’s not that Imind, as such, but it’s not even my fucking baby.’ Ash pulled the bike up onto its stand and leaned against it in the lay-by.
‘Ooh, not getting broody now, are you?’ I nudged him and after a moment he nudged back.
‘Not for kids, no. But, don’t you ever think you’re getting old, Will? With nothing to show for it?’ He pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his spiky brush of hair, making it stand on end and himself, in consequence, look about twelve.
‘We’re thirty-two, Ash. It’s not exactly cardigan-time.’
‘Yeah, but, I was clubbing last night and, know something? For the first time I felt old. There’s loads of guys there, all about nineteen, all totally fuckable, but it’s like there’s nothing going on apart from clubs, drugs and sex.’ There was a pause.
‘I’m still looking for the bad in that statement.’
‘Well, thereismore to life than that, isn’t there? I want to buy a house, Will. I want to live with someone, eat breakfast with them, get a dog. Be real. Don’t you ever feel that you want to be real?’
I inhaled heftily. ‘I think it’s called growing up.’
‘I guess. Right, I’m going, leave you here with Gorgeous Boy.’ Ash threw a derisive look at the Micra, slewed into its parking space in the worst example of parallel parking since theExxon Valdez. ‘I’ll see you back at the ranch house.’ Helmet on and engine started, he threw up the visor to yell, ‘Give him one from me,’ and roared off into the scenery, which briefly became less scenic with the addition of a Yamaha 750 and concomitant exhaust fumes.
