Hubble Bubble (32 page)

They’d curled on the rug by the fire to the strains of
‘Paint It Black’. They’d talked some more, and laughed a lot, and sort of snuggled together naturally in the firelight. He’d kissed her.

Mitzi blinked quickly, remembering.

It had been total bliss. She’d taken his face between her hands and simply soaked up his beauty. She’d never felt like this about anyone, ever. Not even Lance. The kissing had moved on to being interspersed with touching and stroking and whispering endearments.

Mitzi sighed, thinking how perfect it had been.

At last they were going to spend the night together. They’d make love. Joel would be there beside her while she slept and when she woke. The apricot and golden bedroom would no longer be her solitary sanctuary.

But the bedroom could wait. Right now they had the rug and the fire glow and one another.

There had been just one tiny, tiny niggle at the back of her brain: Lu and Shay. They probably wouldn’t be home for hours, but even so there seemed something slightly distasteful about going to bed with Joel for the first time, with her daughter and boyfriend in the next room. It would be almost like an orgy. It would ruin the romantic idyll she’d imagined, worrying about being overheard, keeping doors closed. The relaxed spontaneity would be gone.

Joel had kissed her bare shoulder. ‘You’re beautiful. You’re an amazing woman. I’ve never met anyone like you. You know how much I want you, don’t you?’

Mitzi had nodded. She couldn’t speak. It hadn’t mattered. Nothing mattered then. Not the age difference or her wrinkles or her years and years of celibacy and being out of practice. Not even Lu and Shay. Not really.

Mick and the boys, with perfect timing, chose that moment to burst into ‘Let’s Spend the Night Together’. She and Joel had exchanged glances and laughed.

He’d kissed her again, then pulled himself into a sitting position and reached for his wine glass. ‘Here’s to you. To us. You’re wonderful.’

She’d chinked her glass against his and giggled. ‘So are you.’

And he was, of course. Gorgeous, funny, kind, generous. He was a man in a million as all the best magazines said.

Then things had moved on quite quickly and in the middle of all the emotional turmoil and the heady rush of lust, Mitzi had known this wasn’t how she wanted it to be. She didn’t want the rug and the fire glow, nor did she want the chance of being interrupted by Lulu and Shay. She didn’t want to share this moment with anyone else.

However foolish, she’d always imagined, if it ever happened, sleeping with Joel in some nostalgic born-again-virgin sort of way. She’d wanted to go back in time, to when sleeping with someone you weren’t married to wasn’t accepted as the norm, when affairs were daring and exciting, when sex with a clandestine lover wasn’t discussed as easily and publicly as new hairstyles and fashionable shoes.

She’d wanted the intimacy to be their secret; to be thrilling and audacious and memorable. She’d wanted to recreate that years-ago frisson of wickedness there had been about doing something so romantically reckless.

Of course there were advantages to the current openness, to the sweeping away of taboos, but even so, there had been so much magic in the sheer delicious sinfulness of it all.

She’d wanted to be seduced by Joel in her apricot bedroom and live the erotic and evocative words of Kiki Dee’s ‘Amoureuse’ – like the first time. The first time with this very special man.

He’d sensed her change of mood.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing … It’s just … no, nothing. Really …’

Joel had kissed her gently. ‘I do love you, Mitzi. I hadn’t planned to. Hadn’t expected to. That’s what makes it so wonderful. I never thought I’d feel like this.’

Neither had she. And that was the second problem. She
loved him. She didn’t just want it to be tonight. She loved him and wanted it to be for ever. She didn’t want a fleeting fling with Joel. She knew she couldn’t sleep with him, give all of herself to him, only for him to leave her.

Losing Lance had broken her heart. Losing Joel would destroy her life.

She’d wriggled away from him. ‘I’m not sure this is such a good idea …’

As soon as the sentence was uttered she’d known the words were all wrong. If she’d thrown a bucket of water over him she couldn’t have killed the mood better.

He’d stared at her, hurt in his eyes. ‘What? I mean … I’m sorry … I thought you wanted to … wanted me … Christ

‘I did. I do …’ Mitzi had mumbled. ‘It’s just – well, not like this

‘I hadn’t imagined we’d be spending the night on the floor either. Although I guess that’s not what you mean is it?’

Mitzi had watched miserably as he’d reached angrily for his shirt.

‘Not really. Look, Joel—’

‘No,’ his voice had been cold. ‘You don’t need to spell it out. I’m sorry. I’d thought you felt like I did. There’s no way I want to force myself on you.’

‘You’re not. Of course you’re not. Oh, God. Let me explain. Or at least try …’ She’d pulled on her purple top. The buttons caught on her hair and the tears, so far held in check, spilled down her cheeks. ‘Please, Joel …’

‘Don’t cry.’ He’d scrambled to his feet and pushed his feet into his shoes. ‘Please don’t cry. We’ve had a great time – made each other happy. It would be crap to have it end in tears. I’m sorry if I got the wrong message. Gave out the wrong signals.’

‘You didn’t. It’s me. I’ve ruined it. Please let me tell you—’

He’d grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, making the Christmas tree rock violently and sending a
cascade of pine needles swooshing to the floor.

‘Don’t go. You can’t go. You know – the drinking and driving and—’

‘I’ll be fine.’ His eyes had been as brilliantly cold as the diamond ear-stud. ‘At least we know where we stand now. I’m glad I didn’t make even more of a fool of myself. No, I’ll find my own way out.’

And Mitzi had watched him go, the sadness tightening in her throat, the loneliness engulfing her long before he’d slammed the front door.

Now, more than twelve hours later she felt exactly the same.

It had been all her fault. She was so out of practice with love game rules. Why, oh why couldn’t she have been honest and just told him what she wanted? What she’d dreamed of? He wouldn’t have laughed at her. Joel wasn’t unkind. He would have understood, maybe even shared her romantic dreams, or at least pretended to. But not now. Now it was far, far too late. Because of her stupid dreams and ridiculous inexperience she’d done that unforgivable thing in a man’s eyes – changed her mind at the height of passion. She’d hurt and insulted him. There would be no second chances.

Mitzi gazed at her reflection in the kitchen window. She looked every one of her fifty-five years and about a hundred of someone else’s. Last night’s make-up had creased into the crevasses, her eyes were baggy and dark shadowed with little globs of dried mascara clinging to her clumpy lashes like a pantomime dame’s, and her hair was matted and tufty. Her skin seemed to be hanging in folds, almost touching the collar of her not-quite-clean, ancient, towelling dressing gown, the one she used for slobbing in, not the elegant cream silk one she’d planned to throw so casually over her nakedness for Joel’s benefit.

‘Jesus …’

Richard and Judy, emerging stretching from the washing basket in search of a second lunch, looked at her with
unconditional love. She stroked them both, reassured by the twin-engined vibrato purrs.

‘At least someone loves me – oh, bugger!’ She looked up as the kitchen door started to open. ‘ Not Flo wanting coffee and gossip – not now. Oh, shit …’

‘Nice to see you too,’ Lance beamed at her. ‘Dear God, Mitzi. Are you ill? You look really awful. Sorry if it’s not a good time – didn’t you get my message? Left it on the answerphone last night.’

Mitzi tried to shrink into a corner and glared at him. Of course she hadn’t got his damn message. She hadn’t looked at the damn phone. Last night she’d had other things on her mind, hadn’t she?

‘Go away, Lance. It’s not convenient.’

‘Then you should have answered my message. I said we’d be round at lunchtime to discuss a few things about Doll and Brett’s wedding.’

We?
We?

‘I’ve managed to park the car,’ Jennifer cooed, joining Lance in the doorway. ‘It’s such a funny narrow little road – oh, goodness Mitzi – have you got flu? You look dreadful!’

Mitzi tried to cram herself back even further into the darkest corner. It simply wasn’t fair. Jennifer, dressed in pale suede, with a lilac cashmere scarf nestling round her throat, and long pale boots, exuded glossy radiance and elegant good-grooming from head to toe.

‘She didn’t get our message,’ Lance said cheerfully, ushering Jennifer into the kitchen. ‘Oh, nothing changes, does it? It’s still a mess in here.’

Jennifer, staring at the clutter, gingerly pulled out a chair and inspected it for grime before sitting down. Richard and Judy immediately went into a synchro, arched-back, bushed-tail routine and hissed at her as they backed away through the remains of the cup-a-soups and crusts.

‘I said it wasn’t convenient,’ Mitzi croaked, peeling herself away from the wall and staring venomously at
Lance and Jennifer. ‘As you can see, I’m hardly ready for visitors and anyway—’

‘Ooh, we’re not stopping for long.’ Jennifer’s immaculately manicured pearly nails gathered crumbs together on the table top. ‘We’re off to London for a few days. We’re staying at the Savoy and Lance is treating me to a shopping trip to Bond Street. As a birthday treat.’

Mitzi said nothing. Lance used to bring her service-station bouquets and a couple of drinks at The Faery Glen – when he remembered her birthday.

‘I suggested we popped in,’ Lance said, ‘as Jennifer is going to buy her wedding outfit – designer, of course – and she didn’t want to clash with yours.’

‘How very thoughtful.’

‘So,’ Jennifer turned her perfect peachy face towards Mitzi. ‘What colour are you wearing?’

‘ Green.’

‘Green!
Green?
You can’t wear green! It’s sooo unlucky!’

‘Only if you’re the bride, apparently.’ Mitzi tried to rearrange her hair and de-clog her eyelashes. ‘And I like green.’

‘Dear me,’ Jennifer said, a smile tugging at the corners of her plump lips. ‘How very retro. No problems about clashing there, then. And what about hats? Have you had one made?’

‘I’m not wearing a hat. No one’s wearing a hat. It’s not that sort of wedding. It’s only very small and informal.’

‘You can’t go to a wedding without a hat!’ Jennifer looked as though Mitzi had suggested the entire congregation should go naked. ‘I’m going to Philip Treacey for mine.’

‘Excellent choice.’ The kitchen door opened again and like a really, really bad dream, Tarnia appeared. ‘Mine are all from darling Jasper of course, but Philip is a poppet as well.’

‘What the hell do you want?’ Mitzi growled as Tarnia
and Jennifer exchanged mwah-mwah kisses across the strewn table. ‘You haven’t been to see me since 1985!’

Tarnia, also looking perfectly groomed and glowing in baby pink leather trousers and a black biker jacket and boots, with her short black hair artlessly tipped in pink frosting, narrowed her eyes. ‘Heavens, Mitzi. I hadn’t realised you were ill. It’s put years on you.’

‘I’m not ill. I’m fine. I’m just not dressed for holding an open house.’

‘At midday?’ Lance laughed. ‘You’re really letting yourself go. No, okay, we’ll leave you to sort yourself out. It’ll probably take the rest of the day … Anyway, we don’t want to be late for dinner at the Savoy. And at least Jennifer will have a free hand in Bond Street now – no one else will be wearing green.’

‘Green?’ Tarnia shrieked. ‘You can’t wear green to the wedding, Mitzi! It’s unlucky.’

‘Only if you’re the bride, apparently.’ Jennifer got to her feet, inspecting the pale suede for crumbs and cats’ fur. There were loads of both on her bottom but she couldn’t see them. ‘When we’re back from London, Tarnia, I’ll ring you about the Bancroft-Hulmes’s drinks party, shall I?’

Tarnia nodded, and after another round of mwah-mwahs, Lance and Jennifer escaped.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Tarnia said. ‘I know this is probably a bit unexpected, but I was dropping some stuff off at the charity shop and thought as I was so close, I should just call in and ask if you’ve got any more of those little menu list things. You know, for your ancient country cooking foodie stuff. Marquis and I are planning a huge supper party for the charity commissioners in the New Year and, well, everyone is bored to tears with Nigella and Jamie, so I wanted to be the first to do something different.’

‘They’re around somewhere …’ Mitzi looked helplessly at the piles of clutter on every surface. ‘I’ll look for them later and drop them off to you.’

‘That’s okay. You look as though you should go back to bed. And have you thought of surgery, Mitzi? Or at least a chemical peel and a detox? We owe it to ourselves to keep young and beautiful as the song goes. And—’ Tarnia pulled as much of a knowing face as the Botox would allow ‘—you’ll never hang on to that absolutely divinely sexy young dentist if he sees you looking like the village crone.’

Feeling as though someone had just punched the air from her lungs, Mitzi tried hard not to crumple. ‘No … probably not.’

‘Tell you what,’ Tarnia sang out, heading for the door, ‘don’t worry too much about your menu thingies. The ladies in the charity shop told me there’s a bit of a Christmas show on at the village hall next week. No doubt you’re involved – can’t imagine why you didn’t tell me about it – and Marquis and I will have to be seen to be there. So we’ll pick them up from you then. Byeeeee …’

Chapter Twenty-three

DREAMING CREAMS

Two cups of icing sugar

One cup of the finest flour

Half a dozen eggs

Half a pint of fresh double cream

Handful of ground walnut

The rind and zest and juice of two lemons

A sprinkling of ground ginger

A handful of beggar’s buttons

Crushed china berry