This Could Change Everything(46)

To spare his feelings, Conor edged away and glanced over again at Jessica. She was smiling as well. Then she met his gaze once more and he found himself moving towards her.

Because how could he not?

Now she was looking at him quizzically, and he realised that she didn’t recognise him. It had only been one meeting, after all, and she’d had rather more important things on her mind than paying attention to what her solicitor looked like.

‘Hi,’ said Conor.

‘Hi,’ said Jessica.

‘You don’t remember me.’

‘Sorry, no, I don’t.’

‘Not to worry, it’s fine. It was four years ago. A lot’s changed since then.’ Conor nodded. ‘Well, for both of us. But for you more than me.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, it has.’

‘You look fantastic.’

‘Thank you. Sorry, this is getting a bit embarrassing now. I really wish I could remember you, but I can’t. Could you give me a clue?’

‘Conor McCauley. I used to work at Kale and Grey,’ said Conor. ‘Solicitors. You came to see me, we had an appointment . . . you needed to make a will . . .’ As the words trailed away, he realised his own mistake and simultaneously saw the light of recognition finally dawn in the woman’s blue eyes.

Because she wasn’t Jessica Brown, was she? Of course she wasn’t.

‘Well that explains the confusion,’ she said. ‘You thought I was Jess. I’m her sister, Belinda.’

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. What an idiot I am.’ Conor shook his head.

‘It’s OK, it’s fine.’

‘Did Jessica . . .?’

‘Die? Yes, she did.’

Of course she had died. Her condition back then had been diagnosed as terminal, and she’d known she hadn’t had more than a few months left to live. Still mortified by his error, he said, ‘I can’t believe I thought you were her. But you look exactly alike. I mean, you don’t, but only because she was so ill when I met her. You look exactly as she would have looked if she’d been well.’

‘I know. We were always alike. But I was four years younger than Jess, so it’s only now that I’ve caught up with her, age-wise. No wonder you were confused.’ Belinda smiled. ‘I remember her telling me about you now. She said you were really kind to her, and that you’d chosen her to have the will drawn up for free. That was such a lovely gesture for the company to make.’

Conor nodded, remembering paying the invoice; he still regarded it as the best money he’d ever spent.

Belinda continued, ‘Then the next time she went up there, to sign the final documents, some woman dealt with her instead. She told Jess you’d left the company.’

Of course neither of them knew what had prompted his abrupt departure. Conor said, ‘I did, yes,’ then hesitated. Was it weird that he so clearly recalled the name of Jessica’s daughter?

‘She died three months after making the will.’ Evidently thinking that this was what he’d been on the verge of asking, Belinda added, ‘It wasn’t too awful at the end. For her, I mean. We still miss her every day, obviously. Poor Jess.’

‘And what happened to . . . Evie?’

‘You remember her name!’ Belinda sounded pleased. ‘Evie’s doing well, all things considered. She’s a fantastic girl.’

‘And where does she live? Is she with you?’

‘Yes. It was a bit of a steep learning curve at the beginning, but we’ve got used to each other now. And I love her to bits.’ She shrugged modestly. ‘We’re muddling through.’

‘Well that’s good to hear. Good news.’ Conor nodded and shifted from one foot to the other. He’d just said the word ‘good’ twice, which probably signalled that they were reaching the end of the conversation. Not that he wanted it to end, but there came a point when a chance meeting in the street between two strangers drew to a natural conclusion. It simply wouldn’t be normal to keep talking, asking more and more intrusive questions about people he’d never met in his life. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m glad things are going well . . . well, as well as can be expected.’

Oh God, listen to me; now I’ve said ‘well’ three times . . .

‘Thanks. We’re not doing too badly.’ Belinda shook back her blonde hair and smiled. ‘Could be a lot worse, considering all the—’

‘Oh my God, are you kidding me? Look who’s crawled out of the woodwork!’

Conor felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in revulsion. The voice behind him had the effect of nails on a blackboard, and he recognised it instantly.

Seriously, was he doomed to be haunted by this hideous woman, and why did it have to be happening now? Did she not understand that her butting into two people’s private conversation might not be welcome?

‘It is you,’ the voice continued as he turned to look at her. ‘Ha, I don’t believe it! How about that?’

‘It really isn’t that much of a coincidence,’ Conor replied coolly. ‘I live here, after all.’

Last time, she’d been wearing the turquoise pleather biker jacket and far too much shiny make-up. Today it was a fake-fur leopard-print coat and even more shiny make-up, because her spirit animal was clearly Bet Lynch.