Never Fall for Your Back-Up Guy by Kate O’Keeffe

Chapter 12

Iarrive at the shop with a reconciliatory cup of coffee for Scarlett the following day. She’s staring at the computer screen in the empty shop and looks up at me as the bell above the door tinkles. Her eyes glide down to Stevie at my side. “I see you brought the terrible terrier.”

I place Stevie in the pen and turn to face her. “I’m so sorry about yesterday. Stevie will be in her pen at all times in the shop until she’s fully trained and grown up. And I booked puppy school for her, too. We start next week.” I thrust one of the cups in my hands at her. “Here, I got you a coffee to say sorry. A cappuccino with extra chocolate.”

She takes it from me. “Thanks. I think we might have lost Victoria and Chloe.”

“Seriously? Let me call them. I’ll offer them something for free.”

“Don’t offer them Stevie,” she says with a smile teasing the edges of her mouth, which tells me she’s begun to soften.

“Ah, no,” I reply with a giggle. “They’ve got that sofa ordered, so we haven’t lost them entirely.”

“True.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Your mum was here.”

“Mum? Oh, no. I totally forgot I was meant to meet her for coffee this morning.”

“You can still go. It’s not like we’re run off our feet here.”

I glance around the empty shop. The stark comparison with the buzzing Karina shop down the road is undeniable. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Take your liability though.” She nods at Stevie who’s chewing on a toy in her pen.

“Okay.” I message Mum and arrange to meet her at the Starbucks near the Tube stop. Half an hour, and much cooing over Stevie later, Mum and I are sitting together with the dappled light from a nearby maple tree playing across our table.

“Really, she is such a little darling. Is she a huge hit with the customers?” she asks as she stirs her cup of tea.

“What little we have these days. But yeah, some of them love her.” I neglect to tell her about what happened yesterday. Along with the rest of my family, Mum already thinks I’m a touch on the immature and irresponsible side of the equation.

She crinkles her brow. “Why don’t you have many customers?”

“That big chain store, Karina Design opened up the road.”

“Oh, I love their things,” she declares before the look on my face tells her that’s not exactly what I want to hear right now. “Sorry, sweetie. How are you and Scarlett going to deal with them?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. We’re just busy trying to keep our heads above water right now, Mum. Stevie is meant to help add personality, so we get known as the fabulous interiors store with the cute dog. So far all she’s done is cost us.”

“Why is that?”

“She broke some stuff,” I reply elusively.

“With all due respect, sweetie, you can’t rely on a dog to keep your business running.”

“That’s not all we’re doing, of course,” I reply with a scoff. “There are other things in the pipeline, too.” I cross my fingers under the table because other than hoping, we’re not managing to do anything to attract new customers. We’ve been too busy reeling from our sharp decline in business. We need to get off our bums and do something about it.

“Oh, yes?” Mum questions.

“Things I can’t talk to you about right now, I’m afraid.” I lean in conspiratorially. “Walls have ears, you know.” I shoot her a meaningful look.

“Oh. I see, darling,” she replies with a knowing look. “Well good luck.”

We’re going to need a lot more than luck.

“Thanks, Mum.”

She plays with her coffee cup. “Now, tell me all about your love life. Anyone special on the scene I should know about?”

Oh, great. The question every single thirty-year-old wants from her mother. Although Mum is hardly as pushy as Lottie’s mum, the message is the same: find yourself a suitable man and get yourself married. Stat!

“It’s been so long since we met any of your beaus,” she adds, using a term from the Dark Ages. “The only young man we ever see you with is that friend of yours, Asher.”

“He’s not a ‘beau,’ as you put it. Just a friend.”

And a back-up guy. Another thing I’m not going to mention to her. We don’t want her getting her hopes up for something I plan on never happening.

“Pity. He is very handsome and such a lovely chap.”

“Sure, Mum.” Asher has clearly charmed my mother, too.

“So? Any news?” She looks at me with such hope in her eyes, it feels like clubbing a bunny to tell her the actual truth.

“No one special.”

“I had a call from Mary Honeydew,” she leads.

Oh, no.

“Did you?”

“She mentioned that you and George had been seeing one another and took exception when he introduced you to her. Really, sweetie, it’s a compliment when a young man wants to introduce you to his mother. You should see it as a good sign that he’s serious about you. I can’t imagine George Honeydew would introduce his floozies to his mother. Can you?”

“‘Floozies,’ Mum? Really?”

“You know what I mean. He obviously likes you.”

“Did Mary tell you how he introduced me to her?” I ask and she shakes her head. “She and her husband were sitting at the table next to us, listening in on our entire conversation and I was kept in the dark until George announced their presence, which was after we’d spent a couple of hours talking. And on our first, and only, date.”

She sits back in her seat. “Oh. Mary didn’t mention that.”

“I’m sure she didn’t.”

“Could you have misconstrued the situation? I mean, perhaps there’s a rational explanation?”

“Mum.”

“All right. I thought I’d ask. I do so want to see you happily married, Zara. You are thirty, after all.”

“Are you going to tell me that you were married with kids by the time you were my age like Granny did?”

“Well, it’s true, but I do know times are different now. But really, isn’t leaving it all until you’re in your 30s taking it a bit far, sweetie? It might be time to grow up, you know.”

“I’m grown up,” I grump with my bottom lip protruding as though I’m a sulky toddler. It’s not doing my case any good. I pull it in quickly.

“Of course you’re grown up, darling. How about I ask around, see if I can find you a suitable young man? Jennifer Harcourt has a son about your age. Simeon is his name. Do you remember him? I think he bit you on your arm when you were three. Left quite a mark.”

“Mum, I don’t want to get set up with the son of one of your friends, particularly one who bites arms. I’m perfectly capable of finding my own husband, thank you very much.”

“Simeon is awfully good looking,” she leads. “Well, if you look past the patchy premature hair loss and that odd snaggle tooth he should have had fixed a long time ago. Modern dentistry can do wonders, and I’m certain he could find someone to make him a toupee or two. You’re okay with a man being a foot or so shorter than you, aren’t you?”

I shake my head. “No, Mum. I’m not going to get set up with Simeon or anyone else for that matter.”

She pushes out a puff of air. “Pity.”

“I do want to find The One, but—”

Her face lights up and her hand flies to her chest. “You do? Oh, how marvellous.”

“—but I’m going to do it in my own way and in my own timeframe.”

She lifts her cup to her lips and takes a sip. “Well, don’t leave it too long.”

“I know, I’ve got my biological-clock ticking talk.”

“I was going to say if you leave it too long, all the good ones would have been snapped up.”

I dwell on that fact for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Hmmm.” Mum shoots me a meaningful look.

Stevie yaps at a passing dog and I look down to see her lead completely twisted up like macramé around the leg of my chair. I lean down to untie her, scoop her up and plop her on my lap.

“You know what would be a whole lot more useful to me? Talking to your wealthy friends about ScarZar and seeing who we might be able to do some decorating for.”

“Of course. I’ll have a think.”

“Thanks, Mum. I’ve got to go now. I’m decorating Asher’s place and I need to measure his walk-in wardrobe before I order the new units for him.”

“Well, send him my love.” She gives me a quick hug.

“Oh, he’s not going to be there. I’ve got a key.”

Her eyebrows lift towards her hairline. “Do you now?”

“Don’t go reading anything into it, Mum. We’re friends, that’s all.”

“He is rather dishy.”

I laugh as a shake my head. “He’s Asher, Mum.”

“Should I call Simeon’s mother for you?” she asks hopefully as we stand to leave.

“That’s a hard no, Mum.” I kiss her on the cheek. “See you soon. Love to Granny.”

After taking Stevie to a patch of grass where she does her deed, I take the Tube to Notting Hill Gate and walk the short distance to Asher’s block of flats. Once inside, I let Stevie off the lead, and she scampers towards the living room as I head to the wardrobe.

I pull the double doors open and survey the space. It’s just as jam-packed as it was when I was first in here, with boxes and plastic tubs stacked on top of one another to the ceiling.

“Asher, you hoarder,” I mutter as I pull my metal measuring tape out of its case and stretch it out to reach the ceiling. I note the height in my notebook. Now for the depth. With all these boxes, I know that’s going to be trickier to get. I look at it from a bunch of different angles, but I’m not going to be able to get an accurate measurement unless I move some of those boxes.

I return to the kitchen where I collect one of the bar stools and plant it firmly in the wardrobe. I kick off my heels and climb onto the stool in bare feet. Standing to my full height, the stool wobbles beneath me, and I steady myself by clamping onto one of the boxes. A couple of seconds later, I’m feeling more stable and a whole lot more confident.

I reach up to move the top box. I give it a tentative pull. It’s lighter than I anticipated, and I let out a relieved puff of air. This isn’t going to be as hard as I thought it would be. I pull the box from the shelf, and holding it carefully in my hands, I steady myself against the other boxes as I kneel down on the bar stool. It’s a tricky manoeuvre and not one I’d recommend, but I manage it. Almost. With one knee on the stool, I remove my other foot only to lose my balance. I drop the box and scramble to grab on to something—anything—and somehow manage to get the edge of a box before the stool gives way and I fall with a heavy thud onto the carpeted floor.

“Ow!” I declare as I rub the thigh that made contact with the uncompromising ground.

A little head appears around the door, and the next thing I know Stevie is all over me, as if me being on the floor is for her enjoyment. She climbs on me and licking whatever skin she can find.

“Stevie, stop,” I say with a laugh as I protect my face from her incessant licks. She’s relentless, leaping up to get at her favourite part of my anatomy to attack: my earlobes.

Cradling her, I push myself up into a seated position and place her on the floor to survey the damage. The cardboard box that I dropped has split, and its contents have spread out on the floor. With a sigh, I collect up the documents and books and random papers and slot them back in the box. I spot a silver-coloured album on the floor and reach over to pick it up. As I do so, I flip it over.

I stop and stare at the photo in the picture window on the cover.

What the…?

An image of a smiling Asher gazes back at me. Looking handsome in a suit and tie, he’s grinning out at the camera as a woman in a bridal dress presses her cheek against his, beaming out at me.

The cogs in my brain begin to whir.

Asher’s married? He’s married?

But…

How…?

When…?

Who…?

What?!

I lean back on my haunches, gripping the album in my hand. This makes no sense. Asher’s Asher. He’s not married to some woman who looks like…like his bride.

Asher’s single. He’s a flirtatious serial dater who never gets serious about anyone.

Except he has.

And the evidence is right here in this album I’m clutching in my hands, staring back at me in a big white dress.

My fingers itch to open the album, but I know that would be a terrible breach of his trust.

So, before I have the chance to change my mind, I push the urge away and stuff the album back in the box and fold the corners in, pushing it away with my bare feet.

I remain on the floor, chewing on my lip as I assimilate this new, shocking information.

How could I not have known this about him? How could he not have told me? We’ve been close for years, ever since we met two years ago, in fact. Two years. We’ve spent so many hours together talking at the pub, having coffee, watching movies, ambling through parks. Heck, he even had a mani-pedi with me and Lottie at Harrods that time when we were celebrating getting a lease on our new flat.

But never, ever has he mentioned a wife.

I think I would have remembered that.

Numb, confused, and in shock, I sit and stare at the box until I’ve had enough. I need to get this place measured up—and I really, really need to leave.

I hop back up on the stool and remove another box and another, this time with much more care, until I’ve got a clean line of which to measure. I take the measurement twice to make sure I’ve got it. Then I slot each box back where I found them, the last of which is the broken wedding box.

I stand on the stool and look down at the innocuous box in my hands.

Who knew such a secret lies within it?

Deep in thought, I close the doors to the wardrobe, tell Stevie we’re leaving, and close and lock the door behind me.

Asher is not the guy I thought I knew. He’s got a secret. A big one. And now that I know, I can’t un-know it.

As I rush down the street, one thought overrides all the others: I wish I’d never touched that box.