The Fake Date Read online

  ‘This gym is my damned life, Tim. You need to tell me what’s going on, cause I thought you’d look after things properly, especially after last time.’ His hand slammed into the wall. ‘How the hell could you do this to me, again?’ He spun around on the spot, his eyes accusing. ‘According to the books it looks like you’ve sat on your arse the whole time I’ve been away. God damn you, it looks as though you’ve let it all go, but then I look out there,’ he said, tapping on the window, ‘and I see people. I see members, all working out. I see the aerobics hall full and do you know what that tells me, Tim?’ He glared at his brother-in-law who stood before him, shoulders hunched, lips pursed. ‘It tells me that these books have been manipulated, and in a big way. Am I right?’

  ‘Look, I can explain …’ Tim edged towards the desk. His huge, sold frame towered above Rick’s and for a moment Rick stepped backwards, in order to put the desk between them both, while he weighed up his options.

  ‘Do you know what, don’t explain. I don’t want to hear it. You’ve got twenty-four hours to make this right.’ He threw the file towards where Tim stood. ‘You got that?’

  ‘Twenty-four hours?’ he growled. ‘I can’t … you know I’m no good at books.’

  Rick slammed his hand on the desk. ‘Obviously.’

  Both men stood and glared. Their eyes locked and both took in a deep breath as though trying to work out what the other would do next. Eventually Rick spoke. ‘Tim, listen to me. You can’t bullshit me. We’re family.’ He rubbed at his chin. ‘I was taught how to do the books by the best and so were you, so don’t tell me you don’t know how to do them.’

  ‘Pft.’ Tim turned his back on where Rick stood. ‘Why couldn’t you stay away?’ he demanded. ‘Things were okay while you were inside.’

  ‘Really?’ Rick felt his temper rising. ‘Really, is that what you think?’ He was furious. He scanned the piles of paperwork that were spread all over every surface. ‘There’s no wonder the books are a mess.’ He pointed to the desk. ‘I’m amazed you have any idea where anything is.’ He pulled his wallet from his pocket and pulled out an old, tatty photograph. A picture of his first wife, of Tim’s sister, Julia. ‘Do you see this? Do you?’ He waved the picture in Tim’s face. ‘This is your sister. God damn you. She was the only person that gave you a chance. You were a waster, you ended up inside, but she tried to look after you and all I can think is it’s a good job she isn’t here to see you now. I bet she’s doing a frigging somersault in her grave.’

  Tim turned, opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet and pulled out a file. He smirked and forcefully threw it towards the desk. ‘I don’t give a toss what she’d have thought; why would I?’ He pushed the file towards where Rick stood. ‘It’s all in there: the takings, the lack of takings. Make of it what you will.’ He leaned across the desk, and his muscles flexed and almost burst through the arms of his T-shirt. ‘And Rick, don’t ever bring my sister into this again. You might have loved her, but I wouldn’t give a toss what the bitch thought.’ His hand skidded across the desk; the lever arch file flew off and landed on the floor with a thud. ‘She’s in the best place, if you ask me. Now, if you’ve finished, I’ve got work to do.’ Once again, he locked eyes with Rick. And both knew that it was now a battle of wills and one of them needed to back down. Both were capable of anything. Both had been known for their sudden violent outbursts and for a moment it was a close contest as to who would hold out the longest. In fact, Rick knew that Tim’s temper could easily match his own, especially when provoked.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ella had had a quiet morning. She’d woken, changed the bed and cleaned the house. The washing machine had just finished and she had stepped out into the garden and was walking towards the washing line, when the gate opened, making Ella jump backwards. ‘What the …?’ She held her washing basket in her arms, and let out a sigh of relief once she realised that it was her mum that had walked in and not Bobby, as he had a few days before.

  ‘Oh, Mum, it’s you. You made me jump.’ Ella looked puzzled. ‘What are you doing here? Let me just hang this lot out and we can have a proper chat,’ she said as she grabbed the pegs. The line stretched between two poles, one at either end of the garden and already she had her quilt and pillow cases hung on it. She bent over, picked up a pair of trousers from the basket and hung them upside down on the line, just as her mother had once taught her.

  Once finished, she walked back to where her mum stood and held her arms out for a hug. ‘Ohhhhhh, it’s so good to see you. Where’s Dad?’

  ‘Oh, he’s in the car, dear.’ Her mother seemed nervous. She was staring at the ground, and Ella immediately knew that something was wrong. Her father never stayed in the car. He was normally the first in through the back door, switching on the kettle and helping himself to the biscuit tin. So why was today different?

  ‘Mum, what’s going on? Why doesn’t he come in? Is he okay?’ Ella rambled, stopped hugging her mum and walked to the side of the house in order to see the car and make sure her father was indeed sitting inside. He waved, and then looked over his shoulder and into the back seat. ‘What the hell is he up to?’

  ‘Oh, darling. He’s not up to anything, but …’ She paused. ‘… well, actually, okay, he is. I’ve done something. I really did think it was a good idea at the time, but your dad got mad with me. He said I was interfering and should have asked you first. So, he’s told me that I should come and face the music, you know … tell you by myself. He isn’t having anything to do with it. Not unless you’re happy.’

  Ella looked puzzled. It was very unlike her mother to do anything unusual. She was normally a creature of habit; everything had a time, a place and an order in which it should be done. ‘Mum, you’re scaring me, what on earth are you talking about? What the hell have you done?’

  Carol waved to her husband, indicating that he should come in. Her arms were suddenly wrapped tightly around her daughter. ‘Please keep an open mind; I really did think that I was doing the right thing. But if you hate it, we can always take her back.’

  ‘Her? Take who back?’ Ella looked over her mum’s shoulder to see her dad slink out of the car. He reached into the back seat and then walked up the drive holding a huge fluffy pink blanket like it was the most precious thing he’d ever carried.

  ‘Don’t blame me. It wasn’t my idea,’ her father whispered as he leaned forward and kissed Ella on the cheek. ‘Good morning, darling.’ The pink blanket was still held protectively in his arms. Then, from nowhere, there was a wriggle and a whine. Ella jumped back as the pink blanket began to move, and then a tiny golden ball of fluff poked its nose out and let out a full-blown howling cry.

  ‘What the hell?’ Ella’s eyes opened wide with shock as she tried to weigh up what her parents had done.

  ‘She’s probably thirsty or hungry,’ Patrick said as he stroked the puppy’s head. ‘She’s had a long journey and she’s thrown up in my car. Twice. Your mother insisted we set off at five this morning, just so we’d get there and back early. She wanted her to have the full day to settle in before bed time.’ He raised his eyebrows and indicated to where her mother stood. She was looking more and more nervous and still appeared to be holding her breath.

  Ella looked from her mother to her father and then back again. Her hand automatically reached out to comfort the crying puppy. ‘Seriously, am I right in thinking that you bought me a puppy? Isn’t that something you should have done when I was eight?’

  Her father looked uncomfortable and nudged his wife. ‘Your mother had the idea that you might like some company. Apparently, you’d said you wanted a dog, you know, because of the one that found you.’

  Ella looked towards where her mother stood. ‘Really? Shit, you really did buy me a puppy, didn’t you?’

  ‘If you don’t like her, then …’ She paused and looked up at Patrick. ‘… well, I guess we’ll take her back. But I thought it would give you something to love, to cuddle and ultimately something to ba
rk and keep you safe if anyone was around,’ her mother rambled. ‘We searched and searched for one that doesn’t moult; it’s a Cockapoo. Apparently, they’re really great pets and—’

  ‘Mother, enough,’ Ella cut in. ‘Stop justifying it. I love her.’ Ella’s arms went out to take the bundle from her father. The puppy nuzzled into the nook of her neck and immediately stopped crying. ‘Oh, you like that, don’t you? Do you want some water? I bet you’re really thirsty after that long drive, baby girl,’ Ella said as she pushed her nose into the puppy’s fur. Breathing in deeply she closed her eyes. It was the same smell that she’d noticed that day in the field, the same smell that had been on the Springer puppy as it had snuggled into her and had given her the hope she’d needed to survive. In that moment, when that puppy had lain beside her, she’d known deep inside that she was going to live and that she was going to get her life back.

  A sudden, overwhelming feeling of gratitude came over her. Not only for the man and his dog who’d found her, but also to her mum and her dad for buying her the puppy and reminding her that against all the odds, she really had survived. Blinking back the tears, she went into the kitchen, grabbed a dish from the cupboard and went to fill it at the sink.

  ‘We’re going to be okay, me and you. You’ll see,’ Ella said, still snuggling the puppy, which happily lay in her arms. She crouched down to place the bowl of water on the floor, before placing a kiss on the puppy’s head and then laying the blanket on the tiles, just as a curly, golden fluff ball fell out of her arms. Its little legs suddenly free, it made a dash and began running wildly around the kitchen, making Ella laugh. ‘Oh, wow. She’s like a mini whirlwind.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll settle down, love.’ Her father walked through the kitchen, stepped over the pup and took up his normal role. He switched on the kettle and opened the cupboard, and waved a cup in the air. ‘You want a cuppa?’

  Ella shook her head. ‘No, not for me. I’m off to the shops. Going to have to go to the village as I need dog food, a bed, dishes, toys, blankets. What else? I’ve never had a puppy before. I have no idea where to begin. What does a puppy eat?’ She paused and gasped. ‘And … what if I don’t know what to do, what if I’m the first person in history who fails at looking after a puppy?’

  Carol looked towards Patrick and smirked. ‘You’ll learn. It isn’t hard, it’s a bit like having a baby. It’s all new to her too.’ Carol leaned against her husband. ‘Do you remember that first night, Patrick, when we took our Ella home? We were totally in awe, we just sat and watched you with wide open eyes. We were terrified if you slept too long, terrified if you woke and more than that, terrified to sleep ourselves. We took it in turns for days.’

  Patrick made the coffee. ‘How could I forget. We got a bigger instruction manual when we bought the blooming kettle, thirty pages in twelve different languages. When we got our Ella, the doctor handed me a tiny bit of paper that gave us a few helpline numbers should we have a problem.’ He laughed. ‘Anyhow, you don’t need to go shopping. Your mother bought everything. I’ll go and get it all out of the boot.’

  Carol’s hand went to Ella’s shoulder. ‘We got you all the essentials. Kind of bought everything that the pet shop had – you name it, it’s in the car. It’s probably enough to last her for the next five years. All you have to do is choose a name.’

  Once again, Ella looked between her parents. ‘But where will she sleep?’ She walked from kitchen to conservatory and sighed. ‘If I leave her in the kitchen, she might get too hot, and she’ll be making her way upstairs without permission.’ She went back in the kitchen, picked up the water dish and walked back into the conservatory. ‘I think we’ll call you Millie.’ Ella nodded, satisfied with the choice. ‘And you … you’ll get to sleep in here.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Will turned over in his bed, rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. The blue luminous light lit up the room, while digital numbers shone back at him in a hazy, blurred manner; he eventually worked out that it was still only two thirty in the morning. Just twenty minutes after he’d last looked. It was still dark and, for June, it felt unusually cold.

  Picking up his pillow, he beat it with his fist, punching it over and over and then threw it back towards the pine headboard, before watching it fall off the edge, where it landed with a thud on the floor below. He sighed in defeat, couldn’t be bothered to pick it up and climbed out of bed to pad out of his room and across the landing for what felt like the tenth time that night.

  He hated the nights that were like this. Some nights he’d toss and turn for most of it, some nights he’d sleep for just an hour at a time; on others, he’d get no sleep at all. These tended to be the nights when the flashbacks came and went.

  It had been his sister’s eighteenth birthday, a night when all her friends and family were gathered to celebrate. He was looking forward to the party, but work called; a story had beckoned and he’d had no choice but to go even though his mother begged him not to. But the story was one of the biggest he’d ever worked on. He’d been on the fringes of it for months, yet now, just a couple of years later, he couldn’t even remember what the story had been about.

  It had been very late when he’d returned home. He’d been driving back and the traffic had slowed, which was unusual for the time of night. He could hear the sound of fire engines long before he could see them. And then he’d watched as they’d flown past the line of traffic at speed, their sirens blaring out, one after the other. He’d known they were heading in the direction of where he lived, but he thought they’d be going to some other house, some other destination. But how wrong he’d been. He’d been so tired, so sick of waiting in the traffic that at one point he’d thought about just pulling the car over and curling up to sleep. But something had kept him going and it had only been when he’d rounded the corner of his street that the full horror of what was happening unfolded before his eyes. His home had been ablaze, with three fire engines all at work to stop the flames. The adrenaline had hit him and he remembered jumping from the car and running towards the house. He’d clawed his way through the crowd, and had felt himself being pulled back by firemen who shouted words he couldn’t or didn’t want to hear. The only noise was that of the fire, of bangs and explosions, all coming from within his home.

  Nothing seemed real and he scoured the crowd looking for his parents and sister. He’d felt the need to get to them, to tell them that all would be okay, that he’d look after them, that a house could be replaced. But then each face had blended into one, and when words of sympathy came from neighbours he’d never met, the thunderbolt hit him. His home was burning and within it had been his whole family; they had all died together at a time when he should have been with them, protecting them.

  A candle had been left burning. The party jovialities had ended, the guests had gone home, and the candle was forgotten. His parents and sister would have been asleep when it started and all he could hope was that they had died from smoke inhalation before the flames reached them.

  Sometimes the nightmares were too powerful. He’d wake up, hot, sweaty and screaming. Sometimes, it was easier just to give in, to stop trying to sleep, to go downstairs, take a shower, wash away the heat from his body, make a drink and watch television until exhaustion took over; quite often he’d find himself lying on the settee the next morning, shivering and uncomfortable. But at least on those nights he’d finally managed to sleep and the nightmares kept at bay.

  Will walked through his cottage in the darkness, down the stairs, past the bathroom and into the kitchen. He stood there for a moment and admired the new units. The glossy white doors reflected back at him, and in contrast were the jet-black surfaces which shimmered with glitter, like shiny twinkles that reminded him of tiny diamonds waiting to be mined. He’d chosen the surfaces with his sister in mind. Deborah had loved everything that sparkled. He missed her, but it was important to him to have things around him that would uphold her memory. Just as he’d planted red robi
n trees in the garden for his parents; they’d both loved the tree and their garden at home had had lots of them spread around in every border. ‘They keep their colour all year round,’ his mother had once told him. ‘The reds and golds brighten your day no end, especially on a cold winter morning.’ So the trees had been planted, along with the conifers, the magnolia and the cotoneaster that they’d loved so dearly. He stared through the darkness towards the shed. Now painted in a deep green it looked better than it probably had in years. Next to it stood his apple, pear and cherry trees, his very own fresh fruit Müller corner.

  He missed Kent. He missed his parents’ house and he missed the place he’d called home. But selling the house, after it had been refurbished with the insurance money, and moving far away had been the right thing to do. And now there was nothing left for him in Kent. No memories, no house, nothing. His family had gone, and not a memory or picture remained after the fire. He felt for his wallet, opened it and pulled out the picture of Deborah, the only one he’d managed to salvage. He stroked the photograph. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I should have been there. I should have saved you all.’

  A sudden noise made Will spin around. A loud and continuous banging came from the house next door.

  ‘Arrrrghhhhhhhhh, nooooooooooooooooo. Heeeeelllllpppppp … Noooooooooooo.’ The scream came from Ella and Will immediately panicked. He ran out of his cottage and began banging on Ella’s door. ‘Ella, you okay? Ella, please, open the door.’ He slammed his fist against the small glass panels.