He smiled. The girls from St B’s had looked so good in their crisp white blouses and pleated skirts. He’d bet they’d smelled good too. Not that they’d let a grubby little oik like him close enough to find out. Perversely, the way they’d lifted their noses when they passed him in the street had only made him want them more. Probably because they represented everything he’d ever craved—class, style, money—although he hadn’t analysed that feeling at the time.
Then, one day, when he hadn’t reeked of the council estate any longer, the snooty noses had lowered and they’d given him sidelong glances from beneath their lashes.
How stupid of him not to have seen it before. He’d been dating St Bernadette’s girls in one shape or form ever since he’d owned his first Rolex. Except Chantelle. She was the one exception—and his biggest mistake.
He glanced down at his watch. Scratches marred the surface in a few places, but he would never replace it. He’d saved every penny he could from his first pay packets at Jones and Carrbrothers until he could strut into the jewellers and slap down a wad of cash for it. It had been an important symbol. One that shouted, I’ve made it!
Once it had been paid for, he’d rented a shoebox bedsit and started the process of erasing his past—from the chain-store clothes to the flat vowels of his cockney accent. Nobody who met him now would ever suspect. He took great pains to ensure his rich clients would never guess their family money was being looked after by the son of a petty criminal.
He’d surprised himself by telling Serena his history. Okay, he’d left out some pretty major details, but he’d also let slip more than he usually did. Somehow it didn’t matter if she knew. She wasn’t impressed by his money in the slightest, which, after the initial dent to his ego, had been a huge relief. He was tired of women who earmarked him as a good prospect.
But it was more than that. Despite all their differences, they had a common bond. She knew what it was like to be an outsider too.
He walked out into the hall and headed back to the kitchen. The sight of the crease-free bedcovers through the bedroom door made his insides clench. An image flashed in his mind: he was standing holding a tray while morning sun filtered through the curtains onto a tangle of arms and legs in the duvet. Dark, silky hair sprawled on the pillow.
Abruptly, he reached for the doorknob and pulled the door shut. He had to get a hold of himself. Rushing ahead was definitely not the way to go with Serena.
He was courting her. It was an old-fashioned idea, but it fitted, nevertheless—and it was delicious. A tantalising game. They circled round each other, prolonging the inevitable, but the circles were getting smaller and smaller. Sooner or later there would be an explosive impact.
He would just have to keep himself on a tight leash until then. But that should be no problem. He was used to keeping control when it came to relationships. Women in his past had tried to push and prod him into doing what they wanted, but he’d always remained firmly anchored. He called the shots. He took the lead in pursuing his quarry at the start of the relationship, and he always decided when it was time to end it—normally the instant he saw the glitter of diamond rings in her eyes.
Mel said he was heartless, but he told himself it was for his ex-girlfriends’ protection. There was no point giving them hope of a happy-ever-after. It wasn’t in his genes.
Just as well he didn’t have to worry about all that with Serena. Her heritage was flower-power and free love. As she’d said on their first date, they didn’t need to tie themselves down. They could take the relationship one day at a time and see where it took them, which was great. He felt freer to be himself if he didn’t have to worry about her getting the wrong idea.
He reached the kitchen and hunted for the corkscrew so he could open a bottle of Pinot Noir. He’d just pulled it out of the drawer when the telephone whined.
Please don’t let this be Serena, ringing to cancel!
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, big brother.’ Mel was trying to be chirpy.
‘What’s up?’
There was a pause and a heartfelt sigh.
‘Mel?’
‘It’s Dad.’
Jake’s back straightened. ‘What about him?’
‘There’ve been a few sightings lately.’
‘On the Costa Blanca?’
‘No, not in Spain—here.’
Jake marched across the kitchen and yanked the fridge door open, although when the blast of cold air hit his face he had no idea what he’d come to fetch, if anything. ‘I’ve told you before. I don’t care what that man does, as long as he doesn’t come within fifty feet of me.’
‘It’s been ten years. Aren’t you even curious?’
‘No. He won’t have changed. Don’t fall for his flannel, Mel.’
Her tone was defensive. ‘What makes you think I’m going to see him?’
‘I didn’t say you were. Are you?’
Silence.
‘You were much younger than me when he left. You don’t remember half of what went on—and there was lots of stuff I made sure you didn’t find out. I know you’ve got these fairytale ideas that he’ll come back and it’ll be happy families, but it’s not going to happen, Mel. He’ll pick your pocket the same time as giving you a hug.’
Her voice was quiet. He knew she was on the verge of tears, but he wasn’t prepared to have her hurt. He had to be tough with her now to stop worse pain in the future. All the same, he didn’t want to unleash the anger reserved for his father on Mel.
He softened his voice. ‘I’m sorry, sis, that’s just the way it is.’
‘I know. I just wish it wasn’t, you know?’ She sniffed. ‘I thought I should tell you, that’s all.’
‘Thanks. I’m glad you did.’
Another sniff. ‘Well, I’d better be getting on …’
‘Take care of yourself. I’ll see you on Sunday, okay? Don’t cry for him, Mel. He’s not worth it.’
‘I’ll try. Bye, Jake.’ There was a gentle but despondent click as she put the receiver down.
Jake resisted flinging his phone against the dark slate tiles of the kitchen floor and carefully placed it back in its cradle. Hadn’t that man done enough damage in the past? Why couldn’t he have just stayed disappeared? He wrenched the door of the glass cabinet open. He’d bet last year’s salary that the reason for Charlie Jacobs’s return was not a good one.
JAKE walked back towards the bottle of wine. Grinding the corkscrew into the cork felt good. Just the scent of chocolate and cherries as he poured it into a goblet eased the creases from his forehead. The doorbell chimed.
He walked into the hallway, glass in hand, and checked the screen of the video entry system. The camera looked down upon a head of dark, glossy hair. She was fiddling with her nails. Suddenly she turned and stared straight at the camera.
He actually jumped back slightly, almost as if he’d