the cards. He closed the front door and followed her resignedly to the kitchen to put coffee on.
She turned as he entered the room and he felt a fresh stab of exasperation as he noticed for the first time she was wearing jogging gear. Three-quarter-length running shorts hugged her lean frame, giving away for once the fact that she was fit and toned. She was so tiny that ordinary loose clothes gave her the impression of fragility. Ironic, he sometimes thought, that someone whose life revolved around cake should be so slender. Her dark curls were caught up in a band, but tendrils escaped as usual around her face. The clothes could only mean one thing. She intended to persuade him to go running with her when he still had at least three hours’ sleep to catch up on.
On the brink of losing his already frayed temper, he saw just in the nick of time the dark smudges under her green eyes, starkly contrasting with the creamy complexion, and the troubled expression on her face. Unable to feel anything but protective towards her when she was unhappy ever since she was six years old and he was eight, he abandoned his mission to fill the kettle and gave her a hug instead. He couldn’t help noticing the stiffness in the muscles of her shoulders even through her clothes, and her hands against his bare skin as they slid around his waist were cold enough to make him jump. Everything about her exuded tension.
‘What’s up?’ He spoke gently over her head, which nestled perfectly just under his chin, coils of her caught-up hair brushing his jaw lightly. Her hair had a lovely lemony scent, making him dimly aware that he could do with a shower. She didn’t seem to notice, though, as she made no move to pull away from his chest, and she would normally be the first person to point out if he smelled of last night’s curry. ‘Tell me it’s something serious to justify waking me up before eleven on a Sunday.’
She looked up at him in obvious anguish.
‘Oh, God, it’s not one of your parents, is it? Are they ill?’
Now she pulled back to arm’s length, an expression of incredulity on her face. ‘Something happening to either of my nightmare parents doesn’t come very high on the serious metre—you of all people should know that.’
‘OK, then,’ he conceded. ‘It obviously isn’t to do with your wonderful parents.’ He ignored Lucy as she made a face. ‘But I’m not up to playing guessing games. Come and sit down and tell me what’s up.’
Abandoning the coffee, he pulled her by the hand into the sitting room, shoved aside a pile of newspapers and dragged her down next to him on one of the squashy white sofas. She gazed down at her tiny hands, the nails always short and never varnished because that interfered with her baking.
‘It’s Ed.’ One of her hands crept up to her mouth and she chewed on one of the thumbnails distractedly.
‘I knew it! What’s the idiot done now?’ He had no real opinion of Ed. There seemed nothing about him to provoke strong feelings one way or the other. He seemed to treat Lucy well enough and he didn’t interfere with their friendship. That was all Gabriel really cared about. She always seemed too focused on building up her bakery business to be serious about anyone.
‘It’s not what he’s done.’ She looked at him miserably. ‘It’s what he hasn’t done.’
‘I’m not following.’
She sighed. ‘We’ve been together now for, what, two years. It’s all going fine, ticking along, you know.’ He nodded encouragingly. ‘And at Christmas, I thought that was going to be it…’
‘What was going to be it?’ His head had begun to ache. He wished she’d get to the point.
‘When he gave me the necklace. You know, the moon-shaped silver one?’ She searched his face. Gabriel had no idea what she was talking about but nodded anyway. ‘He handed the box over with this big grand gesture and I thought for sure that was it. I would open it and there would be the ring.’ She held a hand out, palm upturned, as if expecting the non-existent ring to materialise there in front of her eyes.
So this was it.
‘You mean you thought he was going to propose and it turned out he’d bought you a necklace?’ He laughed, feeling an unexpected flash of passing sympathy for Ed. Women. Sometimes there was no pleasing them. ‘Hey, at least he bought you a necklace!’
She threw her hands up in exasperation. ‘You’re missing the point. What was last night?’
He scratched his head. ‘You’ve got me. Saturday night?’
She shoved him. ‘No, you idiot. It was Valentine’s Day, wasn’t it? Surely you must remember that—the postman probably got a hernia heaving your sackload of cards up the steps.’ She looked away and muttered disgustedly almost to herself, ‘I can’t believe you don’t remember.’
‘Of course, of course, Valentine’s Day. I did get a few cards as it happens.’ He glanced at the waste-paper bin in the corner, into which he’d dropped all the love-related correspondence of the previous day.
‘I don’t care about your cards! It was Valentine’s Day, and Ed had booked a table at our favourite restaurant, that Italian one, you know. And he’d told me he had something special to discuss with me. And I thought, well…’
Gabriel sighed. He could see where this was heading. ‘You thought he was going to propose.’
‘Yes.’
‘And did he?’
‘No! He started going on about this investment opportunity and wondering if I might consider putting some money in. The bakery has been doing pretty well lately…’ She trailed off miserably.
Gabriel looked at her, torn between concern for her and amusement. He’d known, of course, that she had a bit of a dream of ending up with the perfect happily ever after. Marriage, two-point-four children and a dog. How could he not know that when they’d been friends for so long? After the insecurities of her childhood it made perfect sense that she would want to build her own secure family in later life. But he’d never seriously considered it would happen in the foreseeable future; she was far too ambitious and engrossed in her growing business. And he’d never for a moment considered Ed as…
As what? Competition? His stomach did a slow and unexpected flip, adding to the hangover symptoms he was gradually developing. Where the hell had that thought come from? As permanent fixture material, he corrected himself. He must really need some sleep; he wasn’t thinking straight. He put a hand to his head and massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Lu, it’s just one of those things. He hasn’t done this to upset you—he probably hasn’t got a clue you feel like this. Did you tell him?’
She shook her head.
‘You know what Ed’s like. It probably doesn’t occur to him that you might like him to propose marriage.’ Gabriel didn’t particularly consider Ed to be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but, even if he was, mind-reading was likely to be beyond him. ‘It doesn’t mean he isn’t happy, does it?’
She shrugged. He decided to try a more brutal tack. He felt an unexpected compulsion to talk her out of the marriage dream. Nothing to do with disliking Ed. If anything he was completely neutral on that subject. But Lucy was only just approaching thirty. She was far too ambitious to settle down; this would turn out to be one of her temporary crazes. Occasionally she got a mad idea into her head and threw her heart and soul into it, only to tire of it ten minutes later. The only
