Million Love Songs(43)

When we finally hit Milton Keynes, it’s getting late and Mason drives me home. We say little on the journey, but he turns to me as he parks up outside my place.

‘I’m sorry it didn’t go quite the way I’d planned,’ he says softly. ‘I’ve really enjoyed your company, Ruby. I hope you feel the same.’

‘It was great,’ I agree, but even I don’t hear that conveyed in my voice.

‘I’d like to see you again.’

‘I’ll see you at work, I guess. I’m on the early shift tomorrow.’ Mason rarely comes in until late evening and I’ll be long gone by then.

‘Don’t be obtuse, Brown,’ he tuts. ‘You know what I mean. I’ll call you.’

Yet I imagine that he won’t. Though I hope we can, somehow, maintain a civil, professional relationship now that he knows what colour my pants are and the sex noises I make. Ugh. I sigh at my own stupidity.

‘Right then,’ I say brightly. ‘Best be off.’ Now we’re awkward with each other. I lean over and kiss him chastely on the cheek – this, the man whose mouth knows all my intimate places.

He gets my scruffy little weekend case out of the boot for me and I let myself into my flat as he drives off. The granny annexe feels empty, unloved – much like me. In the bedroom, cardboard cut-out Gary Barlow is standing guard. I throw my bag down onto my bed.

‘Have I got some stories to tell you, Gazza,’ I sigh at him. ‘And I bet that you and the boys must have seen some things in your day.’ I’ll swear that he rolls his eyes at me. That’s nothing compared to what Charlie will do. ‘Your number one fangirl is going to be sooo cross with me.’





Chapter Thirty-Five





Charlie is already there when I get to work the next morning. I get the strongest of strong coffees, load it up with sugar and we take up our usual place at the back of the pub near the bins on the rickety bench that still hasn’t made it to the tidy tip. It’s not all that warm out here and I’m glad I’ve still got my coat on. The sky is grey and low, brooding. It matches my mood perfectly. I’m knackered and feeling very flat.

‘Right,’ Charlie says, charging up to vape. ‘Tell Auntie Charlie all there is to tell.’

‘You first. I’m knackered this morning and need a bit to regroup.’

‘Is this entirely due to excess shaggage?’

‘Yep. Pretty much.’

Charlie sucks on her e-cig. ‘When he went there with Leanne – she worked here about six months ago – she said she never managed to get out of the hotel room.’

My heart plummets. Sounds all too familiar. To deflect attention from my extreme foolishness, I ask, ‘So how was Gary?’

‘Gorgeous.’ She gives herself a cuddle and goes all dreamy. ‘Oh, he’s lovely. The musical was fantastic and all the boys were there. Well, except Robbie, obvs. And Jason.’

‘Did your Nice Paul go too?’

‘Yeah,’ she says still wistful. ‘He loved it too. We went to a burger place afterwards and then I got the Train of Shame back to the Keynes at some ungodly hour.’ Then she glares at me. ‘But he’s not my Paul.’

Of course not. ‘What did you do yesterday?’

‘Worked.’ She grimaces. ‘I was knackered. I think every table got their order cocked up. It’s a good job Mason wasn’t in. I’d have been sacked. I bet you two lovebirds didn’t even give me a thought while you were swanning around Paris.’

‘We’re hardly lovebirds. And I didn’t really do a lot of swanning either,’ I confess.

‘But you did see some of it,’ she says. ‘The Louvre, La Tour Eiffel, all that Fronch stuff?’

Making an evasive-sounding noise, I say, ‘It was great. Loved it.’

However, Charlie is not so easily deflected. ‘That’s not what your face is saying.’

Remind me never to take up poker.

She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Tell Auntie Charlie all there is to tell,’ she repeats more forcefully, ‘and I won’t have to hurt you.’

I sigh all my disappointment out. ‘To be honest, Charls, we might as well have been at the Premier Inn down the road for fifty quid a night,’ I tell her, frankly. ‘The first day we didn’t get out of the hotel at all – like the other girl you mentioned.’ And probably many others whose names he’s forgotten. ‘That man is insatiable.’

‘Cool,’ she says, impressed.

Well, sort of. I press on. There’s time enough for explanations of the tawdry truth. ‘The second day, it totally poured down all the time. I did go out for an hour or so in the morning. By myself. But the rain was biblical. Everywhere flooded. We had brunch together in a café, but couldn’t go really go anywhere to do sightseeing. We’d have drowned. They closed most of the metro stations in the area and we couldn’t get a taxi for love nor money.’

‘Sounds like the perfect excuse for staying in bed all day.’

‘We did. Well, the whole afternoon,’ I concede. ‘I had hoped to see a bit more of Paris. From what little I did glimpse, it looked great.’

‘So how did you get on with Shagger, though? Is he all he’s cracked up to be in the sack? Or is it quantity over quality?’