which looked three sizes too small for his broad chest, bounded around the tennis court. In addition to being a real live Adonis, the man was spectacularly fit. Although Faye supposed he’d have to be, to keep up with Lydia Pembleton – the scary lady with big boobs who’d apparently found him in Spain, packaged him up, and brought him back to Buttersley with her. Lucky cow.
Faye heaved an almighty sigh and folded her arms over her chest. Her chances of meeting any guy as hunky as Eduardo were as likely as her mum serving up a brand of American fast food for dinner in a sequinned mini skirt. Faye hadn’t come across any boys her age at all in Buttersley. And the ones she’d met at college were as dishy as a lump of corned beef. All of which could mean she was destined to life as a spinster. Like one of those sad old bats in those Jane Austen novels.
At the thought of Jane Austen, Faye experienced a stab of guilt. She had an English literature assignment to hand in tomorrow and she hadn’t even started it yet. She reached for her bag and pulled out a copy of Hamlet. Flicking through a few pages, she wondered how anyone could possibly find the Bard the least bit interesting. Maybe she should have chosen French instead of English lit. But that would only mean more boring stuff – in a boring foreign language. And what, frankly, was the point anyway? No matter how much work she did, her grades at A-level would still be rubbish. Especially compared to Leo’s inevitable bagful of A-stars. So she might as well not bother. At least if she didn’t try, she couldn’t be disappointed again. And there would be no humiliation like with her GCSEs. She tossed down the book and reached into her bag again, this time pulling out a copy of the latest Hello! magazine.
‘Hola, Faye.’
Faye whipped up her head to find Eduardo striding over the grass towards her.
‘You wait for me?’ he asked with a cheeky wink.
Faye felt her cheeks reddening. ‘No. I’m waiting for Josie.’
‘Ah, what a shame,’ he said, his sexy Spanish accent and the loaded look he shot her before carrying on towards the house causing Faye’s stomach to somersault and the flush in her cheeks to deepen.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Josie, suddenly appearing at her side. ‘I’d knocked a ball out of the court and couldn’t find it. You all right?’
Faye cleared her throat and shook back her long dark hair in what she hoped was a blasé manner. ‘Fine, thanks. How was your lesson?’
‘Great,’ replied Josie, plopping down onto the next sunlounger. ‘Eduardo’s an excellent coach.’
‘And pretty ripped too,’ added Faye. ‘How old do you think he is?’
Josie shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she muttered uninterestedly, picking up the copy of Hamlet Faye had discarded earlier. ‘Twenty-six. Twenty-seven, maybe.’
Faye shook her head disbelievingly. That was another thing she couldn’t understand about Josie. The girl had minimal interest in the opposite sex. ‘He’s still pretty gorgeous, even if he is a bit old,’ she pointed out.
Josie wrinkled her nose. ‘I suppose so. If you like that kind of thing.’ She thrust herself to her feet. ‘I’m going to have a quick shower. You can stay here if you like, or wait for me in the kitchen.’
Faye needed only a millisecond to consider her options. Waiting in the kitchen would greatly increase her chances of seeing Miranda. ‘I’ll come up to the house with you,’ she said, grappling around for her possessions.
In the house, Faye sat at the kitchen island while Josie went upstairs. Disappointed to discover no sign of Miranda, she turned her attention back to her copy of Hello! Flicking through the pages, she did a double take. The woman in the photographs, draped over an ex-footballer in his flashy Spanish villa, looked familiar. In fact, she looked exactly like Lydia Pembleton – Eduardo’s lover. But why on earth would Lydia Pembleton be featured in Hello! magazine? And with some ageing footballer? Before she could start reading the blurb, Josie entered the kitchen, hair dripping wet from her shower.
‘Oh no,’ she groaned, peeping over Faye’s shoulder. ‘I see Lydia Pembleton’s ugly mug is in that hideous magazine again.’
Faye’s eyes grew wide. ‘So it is her? But what’s she doing in Marbella with an ex-footballer? I thought she lived with Eduardo.’
Heading towards the huge American fridge, Josie shook her head despairingly. ‘She does live with Eduardo – but only when her ex has no need of her. The woman is a good friend of Mum’s and a total headcase. She used to be married to the guy in the photos – Darren Pembleton. Then he dumped her for some other bimbo, but still gives Lydia loads of cash. And whenever he’s feeling a bit lonely, he picks up the phone and she goes running. Her and Mum are forever flitting over to Marbella. They’re going again at the end of this week.’
Faye could scarcely believe what she was hearing. As if Miranda’s life wasn’t perfect enough, the woman mixed with celebrities. And in Marbella. ‘God,’ she huffed. ‘That’s, like, totally awesome.’
‘Awesome?’ echoed Josie. ‘I think it’s all a bit sad. God knows what Eduardo thinks of it all. But he doesn’t seem to mind. I suppose the pros outweigh the cons for him. He’s probably a kept man. And, with Lydia away so much, he can do whatever he likes. Should we make banana smoothies?’
‘Okay,’ muttered Faye, wondering how anyone could possibly find banana smoothies more interesting than all this juicy gossip. Honestly. Sometimes she really did wonder about Josie.
*****
Never, in all of Julia’s thirty-nine years, had she ever imagined having sleepless nights about buying low-fat yogurt and mini Mars bars. But, as Friday loomed, she wasn’t just suffering from a lack of sleep, but a surfeit of nerves mingled with, although she scarcely dared admit it, excitement. And all on the off-chance she might bump into Max again.
‘You okay?’ asked Paul, after she’d wiped down the kitchen bench for the sixth time.
‘Great, thanks,’ she replied, suspecting her bright and breezy demeanour was just a tad too bright and breezy, particularly after all the snapping and sniping she’d indulged in during the week. ‘Anybody want anything special from the supermarket today?’
‘No, thanks,’ muttered Leo, disappearing out of the back door.
‘Don’t get any more of those muesli bars,’ instructed Faye, shrugging her bag over her shoulder. ‘There’s one hundred and sixty calories in each one.’
‘Oh my God,’ gasped Julia, pressing her hand to her chest in mock horror. ‘If I’d known that, I’d have cleared the supermarket shelves of them and burned the entire lot.’
Evidently unamused, Faye tossed her mother a withering look before following her brother out of the door.
‘You haven’t forgotten I’ll be back late tonight,’ said Paul, swiping up his laptop case from the kitchen table. ‘Squash.’
Then, without waiting for a reply, he, too, was gone.
‘And I hope you all have a nice day, too,’ sang Julia acerbically, as the door swung shut, and a bubble of nervous anticipation began fizzing in her stomach.
She sat down at the table and poured herself a cup of coffee from the cafetiere. How many times in the past had Max Burrell made her stomach fizz? Far too many to recall. But none more so than the first time they’d made love.
It had been the day Max passed his driving test. A stiflingly hot July day which seamlessly morphed into a warm balmy evening. Max borrowed his dad’s car and drove them out to the Cotswolds. Julia had found it slightly weird at first – sitting in the passenger seat with Max in control. But, in typical Max fashion, he handled the vehicle expertly, putting her at ease within minutes, and even executing a nifty bit of parallel parking outside a quaint village pub.
Making the most of the beautiful evening, they managed to find a table in the pretty beer