Blokebusters Page 18

  “God, is it bad?” Matt crouched beside her and rested his hand on her back.

  “Just sprained I think, but I couldn’t balance to get up. The mud’s so sticky I couldn’t even turn to crawl to the house.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Pretty much since you left.”

  “You must be freezing!”

  “I am.”

  “What were you doing out here anyway?”

  “I was going to do your weeding. To show you how sorry I am.”

  He sighed.

  “Georgia – you are the world’s worst weeder. If you’d done any weeding it would probably only have led to another argument.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and he felt a rush of love for her. “Hey, it’s OK. I’m here now.”

  “Look – I did do some before I fell over – I pulled out all those.” She pointed to the pile of weeds she’d removed.

  “Those would be my ‘Golden Gourmet’ shallots,” he said, struggling with a fresh wave of anger.

  “Oh.” Her shoulders rounded in embarrassment.

  “Quite.” She looked so vulnerable that he wanted to protect her. “Let’s get you upright.” He put his arms around her under her armpits and lifted her like she weighed nothing. “D’you think you can hobble in if I support you?”

  “I think I can do most things if you support me.”

  The meaning wasn’t lost on him.

  “Look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier – I regret most of it.” He took small steps so she could keep up.

  “It doesn’t matter. I deserved it. I’m sorry.” She stumbled and he caught her. Because Matt was always so gentle she often forgot how strong he was. He scooped her up and carried her in his arms the rest of the way. She hung onto him and locked her fingers around his neck, aware that she was caking him in mud too. He stopped at the back door and, with her still in his arms, kicked his shoes off before carrying her indoors. He carried her through the kitchen, down the hallway, up the stairs and into the bathroom without even getting breathless. He carried her with the ease with which she’d carry a magazine.

  “You’re freezing,” was the only thing he said to her the whole time she was in his arms. He sat her on the edge of the bath, fixed the plug and ran the water. He rummaged in the cabinet until he found her bath salts, the expensive ones that she saved for special occasions, and poured far too many into the water. She watched him but didn’t speak. Matt crouched next to her and patted her hand.

  “A nice hot bath will make you feel better. Get all that mud off you.”

  Her eyes filled with tears at his kindness.

  The water crashed into the bath, quickly misting the window with steam.

  “I must look a right state,” she tried to laugh.

  He stroked her hair.

  “You look beautiful. You are utterly incapable of looking anything but beautiful.”

  “I don’t think I can get my shoe off.”

  “I’ll do it.” He carefully unlaced her trainers. “Which foot is it?”

  She pointed to her left. He pulled her right shoe off and the sock. Putting his hand on her damaged ankle made her twitch in anticipation of pain.

  “It’s OK. I’ll be as gentle as possible.” He struggled with the shoe, her swollen ankle making it difficult to remove. “Christ almighty – what’s Gyp brought up the stairs?” He waited for Georgia to peer onto the landing and then quickly tugged her shoe off taking the sock with it.

  She winced in pain.

  “Sorry. Diversionary tactics.”

  She leant against him to remove her jeans; she got them down to her knees and sat back down letting him tug them off the rest of the way. She was able to remove her top and bra unaided. When the bath was full he scooped her up again and slowly lowered her into the hot, but not too hot, water, giving her time to adjust to the warmth. He didn’t even seem to notice how wet he got in the process. When she was completely in the bath he let go of her but she didn’t release her arms from his neck before she’d planted a soft kiss on his lips. He smiled but looked confused by it, as if he couldn’t quite unravel his emotions.

  “I’d better get changed,” he said, eyes rooted to the floor. “You’ve made a mess of me too.”

  “Will you come back and sit with me?”

  “If you want.” He gathered her clothes and took them off with him. Having got changed he went downstairs.

  Georgia blinked back tears and stared at her bath water. He hadn’t forgiven her at all; he couldn’t even bear sitting with her. She heard sounds from the kitchen. It was as if he’d forgotten about her. After what seemed like hours, she heard his footsteps up the stairs. Matt came into the bathroom and put the toilet lid down so he could sit on it. He passed her one of the two mugs he was holding.

  “Thought we deserved a treat – hot chocolate with marshmallows on the top. I made it and then put them in the microwave so the marshmallows started to melt. It’ll warm you up better than tea.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How’s the ankle?”

  “Throbbing.”

  “Best take a couple of these.” He popped two paracetamol capsules out of their blister pack and held one to her mouth. She let him place it on her tongue and took a sip of her chocolate to swallow it. They reprised their roles for the second tablet. “You must’ve been frightened, sitting out there on your own.”

  “I was.”

  “I’ll never storm off like that again. I should’ve been there to help you.”

  “I’ll never set you up with another woman again.”

  “Do we forgive each other?” he asked.

  “I forgive you,” she said, not that she honestly believed she had anything to forgive.

  “And I forgive you too.”

  “I’ll understand if you don’t want to be involved with the business any more.”

  “I’m growing to hate that sodding business,” he said through clenched teeth. “But we need it – even if I found a job it wouldn’t be instant and probably wouldn’t match the income we get from it. It’s my fault the thing ever started in the first place. If I hadn’t lost my job and filled your head with the silly nonsense – I should’ve known you’d do something foolish.” His face softened into its more usual expression. “I love you so much Georgia – I’ve never felt as unhappy as I did this afternoon.”

  “Where did you go?” The heat and scent from her bath made her light-headed.

  “Garden centre car park.” He realised how spineless it sounded. “Didn’t go in, ate a Snickers bar and did some soul-searching. Not the best afternoon out I’ve ever had. Oh yeah, came home and scooped my wife off the garden.”

  Georgia’s head floated, her ankle throbbed. The chocolate was sweet and viscous in her throat.

  “Do you really hate Bobby Darin?”

  Matt shifted.

  “Hate is a strong word. Let’s say that nine years ago I may have exaggerated the pleasure I got from listening to his music in order to ingratiate myself with a lovely young goddess with whom I was besotted.”

  “And now she’s an old bag you don’t have to pretend any more?”

  “Something like that.”

  She giggled and he crouched on the floor beside her, holding her head steady to kiss her. She tasted of chocolate and marshmallows and he wondered if he could bear to let go of her.

  “You’re turning into a prune.” He studied her wrinkled fingertips.

  “I’m entirely at your mercy – I can’t get out,” she slurred. The heat coupled with the paracetamol had made her tipsy.

  He put his bathrobe on to protect his fresh clothes and then lifted her out of the bath with the same ease he’d lowered her into it. Holding her upright with one arm, he wrapped her in her own bathrobe and sat her on the toilet.

  “Just one more question before the subject’s dead and forgotten.”

  “Go ahead Columbo.”

  “This morning. Did you tell Emily to hit on me again – for a lau
gh? Were you all in on it?”

  “No. I was furious. Both Fiona and me told her to lay off you.”

  He nodded.

  “Will your shallots recover?”

  “Hard to know. I don’t tend to heave plants up out of the ground and then replant them.” He helped her up. “Try to walk on it, the longer you leave it the worse it’ll be.”

  She hobbled along the landing to their bedroom, clinging to him all the way, grateful when she could sit on the bed. Matt took some clothes from her wardrobe, selecting things he knew she found comforting: her baggy, wide-legged fleece trousers, her comfy knickers, big bra and her ‘Hello Kitty’ sweatshirt. All the items she was drawn to in the twenty-odd days a month when PMS had her in its clutches. He pondered events; he’d always dismissed the reasons given for Chinese foot binding, the idea that a teetering and dependent woman could be alluring escaped him. But he rather liked Georgia physically relying on him.

  “You’re going to need a couple of days off work, aren’t you?”

  “At least. The firm will have to struggle on without me. I can help with Blokebusters stuff – read through questionnaires for you.”

  “There might not be any to read.” He helped her up so she could pull her knickers and trousers on. “And we’re not even looking till Monday. I think we need to spend some time together without any outside interference.” His arms dropped to her waist and she rested her hands against his chest. His long-sleeved t-shirt fitted him snugly. He’d never liked loose tops, far preferring them to move with him like a second skin. Georgia preferred it too.

  “You’re so hunky,” she said running her hands over his shoulders and arms.

  “You’ve only just noticed?”

  Chapter fifteen

  First thing Monday morning, Georgia called work to tell them she couldn’t travel in. She disliked taking time off work sick. Unless she was in hospital or unable to get out of bed it felt like skiving. A twisted ankle was an annoying injury, painful and debilitating, but not a real illness.

  Since they’d got up Georgia had been nagging Matt to check the computer. She was desperate to see whether the Evening Standard article had paid dividends. It took her precisely fifty-seven minutes to wear Matt down. She sat in the large, comfy office chair with Matt sitting next to her on the fold-up chair. It wasn’t designed for people of his height and he looked more folded-up than the chair. She watched his long, elegant fingers tap at the keyboard with the skill of a concert pianist and couldn’t resist running her finger over the dark hairs on his wrist.

  “Stop distracting me,” he said, but his smile contradicted him. The smile froze as he stared at the screen.

  “What is it? Is something wrong?” Georgia asked.

  “I… I’m not sure – let me check.” He tapped away and looked at different screens before rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Since the article was published on Friday how many emails do you think we’ve got and how many of them contain completed questionnaires?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me.”

  “Guess.”

  “OK. Ehm. Forty emails – probably some slagging us off or praising the idea or asking for more info, so, let me think – fifteen completed questionnaires.”

  Matt grinned.

  “How about 150 emails and sixty completed questionnaires.”

  “Sixty?”

  “Six – o,” he clarified.

  “But even if they only all want the basic service that’s 9,000 quid.”

  “Bloody hell!”

  “You took the words out of my mouth.”

  He showed her how to process the questionnaires, his system for logging the details and creating a control sheet to contact the clients.

  “Can I leave you to it while I nip out and do some shopping? We seem to have eaten virtually everything in the house over the weekend – even the tin of black cherries that I thought would still be knocking around at our Golden Wedding anniversary.”

  They’d agreed that Georgia would concentrate on the emails with questionnaires. Matt would look at the general queries later. She flicked through them all to see if anything interesting or out of the norm was there and was rewarded. One questionnaire was decidedly out of the ordinary. Unique in fact. It would be very naughty, she reasoned, maybe she should think about it for a day or two before picking up the phone and calling the client. She picked up the phone and called the client. Half an hour later she hung up and wondered how to break it to Matt. The other questionnaires were more routine and she worked through them planning when Fiona, Emily or she could service the client’s needs. It was fun. More fun than auditing.

  “I’m back – up in a minute – just bringing the shopping in,” Matt called up the stairs.

  Georgia listened as the bags rustled down the hallway and a draft of cold air shot up the stairs from the front door. She’d adjusted to the pinging of the computer – each ping meaning a new email. It had pinged, or pung – she wasn’t sure about the grammar – six times since she’d been working. The front door banged shut and she heard Matt leap up the stairs three at a time. It only took him four steps until he was on the landing.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, placing a box of Milk Tray on the table next to her. He’d thoughtfully removed the cellophane wrap.

  “Really well.”

  “You’ve got that cheeky look about you – have you had a weird one?” he said, like a lamb to the slaughter.

  “Funny you should ask.”

  “Let me guess – they want you and Fi to mud wrestle?”

  “Nope.”

  “What then?” He sat next to her.

  “We’ve got our first male client.” She kept her tone deliberately light.

  “Yeah? Did you tell him we couldn’t help?”

  Georgia rubbed his thigh; it was cold from the January frost.

  “I was hoping you might wish to show support for your wife in her exciting business venture.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he blustered. But she also detected his pride at what she was suggesting.

  “You’d be fab.” She held his eye contact.

  “Hmm. Well, I suppose I might. I seem to remember seducing you pretty easily.”

  “And once you have that talent it never deserts you – it’s like riding a bike.” She took her time building him up, biding her time until she made her teeny-weeny disclosure.

  “It wouldn’t be a regular thing though – I don’t want to be a Carrot.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  “I’m not sure Georgia. It’s not my thing is it? Let’s be honest – the only reason I ever got anywhere with you was because you indicated so clearly that you were interested. I didn’t exactly sweep you off your feet. You forced me to ask you out – remember? You said you were free Tuesday night and would accept the offer of a date from the first bloke who asked. And I was the only person there. Even I picked up the hint from that!”

  She opened the chocolates and selected his favourite – the caramel square. She held it to his mouth and popped it in; he couldn’t resist accepting it and she left her fingers on his lips longer than she needed to.

  “Stop putting yourself down. Please do it. I tried to tell him we didn’t take male clients but he was so insistent. He said he’d pay double – I got him to put his application through again so we could charge him twice. And he wants to listen in – that’s 400 quid. For one job. You’d be our star Carrot.” The whole time she spoke she maintained eye contact and applied gentle pressure to his thigh. He grappled with his thoughts as he chewed and she knew she’d won when his shoulders relaxed.

  “OK then. Just this once. Why does he suspect his wife then?”

  “You promise? Say you promise.”

  “I promise. I promise. I promise.” He held up his fingers in a Scout’s salute.

  She ruffled his hair and kissed him.

  “So come on – what’s the background? Why does he suspect his missus?”

  “It’s n
ot his wife. They’re not married.”

  “Not married?” He rubbed his chin. “I know it doesn’t mean much nowadays but personally, I’m happier I’m not hitting on a married woman. Even so —”

  “You promised.”

  “Yeah I did. And a promise is a promise.” He remained innocently unaware of what was coming. “So tell me about her.”

  “It’s not actually a her,” Georgia smiled weakly.

  “I’m not with you.”

  “It’s his boyfriend he wants testing. Y’see he argued that the site says ‘would your man cheat on you given the chance?’ And as he wants his man tried out we couldn’t refuse. It was a strangely compelling argument. At the time.” She knew it sounded feeble.

  “No. No way.” Matt’s eyes were wide with fear. He paced the floor in an agitated circle like a clockwork toy that had gone slightly off kilter. “No. Never.”

  “Please. You promised.”

  “You got that promise out of me on completely false pretences. No way. I’m not doing it. There is no way on earth you can persuade me to do it.” He flung his hands around theatrically. “I mean, God, throw myself at another bloke. And one who might be interested! No way.” His eyes flashed at her. “What would I do if he wanted to touch me, y’know —” he lowered his voice and pointed, “down there.”

  “He won’t. The questionnaire says he likes being fondled – so it would be you fondling him, not him you.”

  “You are kidding?” The repulsion in his tone made her giggle.

  “OK, I made that bit up – your face!” She collapsed in laughter.

  “I’m still not doing it. No way.”

  “No way at all?”

  He shook his head.

  “Refund him his money. I’m not doing it. For once give up and respect my opinion.”

  “OK. I realise there’s nothing I could possibly do or say to persuade you when your mind’s made up.”

  “Good, ‘cos I’m not doing it.” He sat on the chair next to her again and folded his arms. His face was flushed.

  Georgia pushed the hair from his forehead and let her hand caress his cheek before travelling down his chest and stomach.