The Birds and the Bees(11)

‘So, what do you want to do on your last night?' he asked.

She sidled suggestively over to him, reaching behind her to unzip her  dress. It fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, wearing nothing  but some very small black see-through briefs.

‘What do you think?' she said. ‘I bet Stevie never wore anything like these for you, did she?'

Matthew groaned.

Stevie who? was his last coherent thought of the day.



Stevie tucked Danny up with his teddy and read him a story about a  Useless Troll with a very grisly ending, which he listened to with  little-boy rapture, sucking his pyjama collar, until she extricated it  from his mouth. She kissed him good night and thought, The next time I  see you will be the day I see Matthew too. Then the phone went and it  was Catherine doing her mother hen impression.

‘You all set for tomorrow? How are you going to play it? Are you going to let him know you know?'

‘No. I'm just going to be really nice. Not shout or bawl, just be calm and collected and cool.'

All of which she knew was going to be pretty difficult, since she had  discovered that Matthew had taken out most of the money in their joint  savings account, money that he hadn't actually put in. They had planned  to take Danny to Euro-Disney with it that summer. He had probably spent  it on her, but Stevie would try her best not to mention that.

‘Don't let him get away with it entirely, he'll think you're a soft  touch,' said Catherine, who was amazed at her friend's self-control. She  had been witness to the crazy state she had been in when she found out  that Mick was playing about. She half-expected Matthew to cop for that  as well as his own misdemeanours because people did that sometimes,  carry a load forward if they couldn't get emotional satisfaction the  first time – and Stevie had a lot of unfinished business in that past  relationship.

‘Yes, I take your point,' said Stevie, ‘but I want to listen to what he  has to say. If he carries on pretending he went to Aberdeen and that's  obviously the end of the matter, then I'm just going to try and forget  this ever happened.'

‘And will you really be able to do that?' asked Catherine with a gasp.

‘I'm going to have to,' said Stevie, with steely resolve.





Chapter 11




After a night of fractured sleep, Stevie rang the airport and found that  Matthew's plane had left on time, which meant that it was due into  Leeds/Bradford airport just before midday. Allowing time for luggage and  motorway delays, she reckoned he would be home between two and three  o'clock. It felt like an eternity between now and then, and the  anticipation filled her veins with a very unpleasant anxious sensation.

She prayed that there wouldn't be two people in his car when he drew up  outside their house because she wasn't quite sure what her reaction  would be. She didn't think she could be quite as level-headed as  planned, in those circumstances. She just hoped Jo went straight home  and was murdered by Adam MacLean. She presumed that was what part of his  so-called ‘plan' entailed – and for a split second she was dangerously on  his side. Then she remembered how his cruelty had driven Jo into  Matthew's arms. Jo, who had cuddled Danny on her knee and read him  stories in her soft voice. Jo, who had cried on her shoulder and brought  her flowers to say thank you for listening. Jo, with whom she had  traded private stories of her life. Jo, who had helped her plan her  wedding. Jo, who had ruined her son's first chance of a proper family  with a proper dad. Jo, who had been so desperate for love and attention  that she had chased her out of Matthew's heart without a second thought.  It truly was a dog-eat-dog world.                       
       
           



       



Matthew's eyes darted madly around the airport from left to right, then  up and down as if it wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that Adam  MacLean might swing down from a rope SAS style, dressed in black and  carrying a machine gun. Or even explode up through the floor like a  force from hell. Jo, on the other hand, didn't seem half as perturbed as  he expected her to be in the circumstances.

‘Relax,' she said, when she spotted that his head was jerking everywhere  like a lunatic in an asylum hunting imaginary flies. ‘If Adam was here,  there are plenty of security men to overpower him and he would only end  up in prison again.'

Which would be small comfort on the mortuary slab, thought Matthew,  although he didn't voice it. He did not want to admit being frightened.  After all the brownie points he had earned being Jo's Sir Lancelot, he  didn't want to lose them all by being Wimp Boy.

They picked up their luggage from the carousel and then made their way  to the Leeds/Bradford long-stay car park. Matthew did a thorough check  that there was nothing ticking under the car wheels and as he slid into  the driver's seat, perspiration ran in rivers down his forehead. He made  Jo stand well back until he had twisted on the ignition, then felt  almost like crying with relief when all he heard was the engine and not a  boo-boom and St Michael's voice asking him to wait in the queue at the  Pearly Gates.

They both looked very healthy and brown – too much so for it to be  attributed to a sun-bed, plus they were both far too blissed out to have  been exercising on a Welsh treadmill or crammed up in an Aberdeen  conference centre. Matthew was wondering if this really was going to be  worth the fall-out to come, when Jo's long fingers came out and squeezed  his inner thigh.

‘Drop me around the corner when we get there, usual place.'

‘I thought you said he wouldn't be at home!'

‘He shouldn't be, but his shift pattern might have changed. Anyway, I  have to see him some time, it's better that it's now.' She gave him a  big brave smile.

‘I'm scared for you, sweetie.'

‘Don't be,' she said. ‘But … ' She left a long dramatic pause, which made  his sweat glands crank up again. ‘If you haven't heard from me by six  o'clock, call the police, just to be on the safe side.'

‘God, now you really are scaring me!'

‘He threatened his first wife with a chainsaw.'

‘Chuffing hell!'

Jo shook her head. ‘He won't get the better of me, though. Not this time, I promise.'

She looked so determined that Matthew found himself smiling proudly.  What a remarkable woman. She had come so far since they had first got  together; back then, she was little better than a fragile shell with no  confidence. A beautiful woman who really did think she was as ugly and  useless and unlovable as MacLean had driven her to believe. He really  had saved her, Matt thought with a proud inner glow that warmed him  right through. They were so good together – as soul-matched as Cathy and  Heathcliff, Tony and Cleo, Bonnie and Clyde. Jo MacLean was the most  fantastic creature he had ever met. And after they had both done the  necessary business this afternoon, nothing would ever part them again.



When Matthew's car pulled up outside the house at thirteen minutes and  twenty-eight seconds past two, Stevie was relieved to see that he was  alone. She manufactured a smile, which trembled on her lips as she  jumped across the room from the window to stage herself casually at the  computer just before the door opened.

‘Hey there!' she said, pulling her smile as wide as possible in a  semblance of ‘woman overjoyed to see missed fiancé' and sprang up to  give him a welcoming hug. She noticed immediately how stiffly he  reciprocated it.

‘Did you have a nice time?' she said breezily, trying to overcome the  lump of panic that was clogging up her windpipe. ‘Hey, I see you've been  at the sun-beds there. Great leisure facilities, eh?' She did the lie  for him.

‘Yes, they were. Fantastic, in fact. Nice way to unwind – sitting in  the … on the … er … sun bed. Especially after the long hard boring meetings.'

‘Must have been tiring. Bet the journey back was hell,' she said as chirpily as a canary on Prozac.

‘Yes,' he said, stretching and yawning with exhaustion at the imaginary long drive from Scotland.

‘Cup of tea?' she said.

‘No, I'm okay. Stopped off on the way at some motorway services at Scotch Corner.'

Liar. She herded her rebellious thoughts back into line and stretched  the smile a little further, not too much that it was gushing, but enough  to be warm and welcoming and unaccusing. It was harder than she had  thought, trying to be Mrs Nice Person whilst someone was lying their  head off to you, and what's more, you knew they were and you were  sifting through everything they said for substantiating evidence. It was  the little details to give credence to his story that were the most  hurtful of all: stopped off at Scotch Corner; long boring meetings; sun  beds …