Chapter 5
‘Blimey, girl. Look at the state of you.’
Tommy hadn’t even seen her in person yet; all he was doing was observing her on the CCTV. Having buzzed her into the house, he greeted her in the silver and cobalt hallway beneath the matching chandelier in the shape of a glittering alligator that he’d commissioned last year from a stained-glass artist in Cornwall.
‘Sorry about the car,’ said Nella as he gave her a hug. ‘It’s not going to be fixed until after Christmas.’
‘Hey, no worries, plenty more where that came from.’ He wasn’t kidding; Tommy owned several vehicles, most of them a lot flashier than the Honda she’d skidded into the stone wall. ‘So long as you’re all right. Apart from looking like Frankenstein’s monster,’ he added with a grin. ‘And speaking of Christmas, what d’ya think?’ He pushed open the double doors – ‘Ta- daaaaa ’ – revealing the sitting room in all its gaudy, glittery glory.
‘Ouch,’ said Nella. ‘My eyes.’
‘Come on! You know you love it.’ He was beaming, proud of himself. ‘I did it all for you!’
‘Why?’
‘To cheer you up after your accident. I thought you’d be pleased!’
Had it really only happened yesterday? It felt like so much longer ago than that. She’d called Tommy last night from her hospital bed and told him where she was. A hyperactive nightmare in so many ways, he was also big-hearted and loved nothing more than to treat any friends in need of cheering up. Nella knew his taste in interior design was blingy, but this time he’d outdone himself; virtually every inch of the vast living room was covered in black and gold Christmas decorations, with a swirling light show being projected onto the walls and ceiling so everywhere seemed to be alive and undulating like snakes.
The Christmas tree was black, huge and swamped with lights and baubles, and there was a bottle of Krug waiting in a crystal-encrusted ice bucket on the circular gold dining table. It was always Krug. When you’d come from nothing and built up a fortune through hard work, charisma and a few dodgy dealings along the way, these details were important. Tommy as a teenager had had a chance encounter at a beach party in Marbella with a world-famous female soul singer whose appetite for beautiful younger men was well known. It was his first time meeting a proper celebrity, her glamour had enthralled him, and she in turn had been openly amused by the stars in his eyes. Up until that moment lost for words, Tommy had found himself blurting out, ‘What’s your favourite drink?’ and she’d replied, ‘Krug, my darling. Always. Why, are you going to buy me a bottle?’ Whereupon Tommy had said, ‘I can’t afford it right now. But I will one day. And that’s a promise.’
Utterly charmed, she’d bought him a drink instead. Seven years later, having made his first million, he’d found out her London address from a paparazzo friend. Having delivered the magnum of Krug to the singer in person, he told her she had inspired him to turn his life around and become a success. It wasn’t true, of course – he’d been hell-bent on succeeding since the age of twelve – but she’d been delighted enough to accept his invitation to officially open his next nightclub. Nella suspected they might even have had a fling, despite the fact that the woman was old enough to be his mother.
‘You did all this by yourself?’ she said now, as Tommy eased the cork from the bottle.
‘Don’t be daft, I hired that company you booked for the last party, didn’t I? Paid them double to come in this morning so it’d be done by the time you got here.’ Impatient as ever, he poured her a glass too quickly so the foam overflowed and dripped onto the deep-pile white carpet. ‘Here you go. Cheers, treacle. You do like it, don’t you?’
Treacle. His crazy accent, a three-way mix of Scottish, Mancunian and cockney, never failed to make her smile. She said, ‘It’s all very you . Which is just as well, seeing as this is your home.’
‘Except I’m not gonna be here over Christmas, am I? So I thought you might like to move in for a couple of weeks while I’m away. That’s why I did all this, for you . You’d rather be here than in your flat, wouldn’t you? Like, who wouldn’t? It’s a no-brainer.’
Her flat was several miles away, in Stretford, and if you lifted it up and magicked it over here to Didsbury, it would fit neatly into Tommy’s kitchen. This six-bedroomed home was his absolute pride and joy.
‘If you’re sure? That’d be great.’ She nodded vigorously. ‘Thanks! And it makes sense to have someone keeping an eye on a place like this.’
‘Good point. Thieving gits around here’d jump at the chance to break in if they knew it was empty.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to a bloody good Christmas for both of us. Cheers, doll.’
There was no thieving git like a reformed thieving git. Nella knew that at the age of eighteen Tommy had served six weeks in prison for flogging TVs and other electrical equipment that had been stolen by two of his uncles from a carelessly unattended van in Coventry.
But she didn’t need to remind him of this; these days Tommy Kessler was a reformed character. Allegedly. And there was still the matter of the questionable taste in decor. He loved animals, though, and was a soft touch when it came to helping out good causes and raising money at charity auctions, which was why there was a ten-foot-tall wire sculpture of a stallion in his back garden.
All in all, she was ridiculously fond of him. As the Christmas lights flashed and danced around them, she clinked her glass against his and said, ‘Cheers.’
Ping went her phone, signalling the arrival of a text, and she dug it out of the top pocket of her denim jacket. It was a message, she saw with an unexpected jolt of pleasure, from Nick Callaghan.
Hope you had a good journey. I enjoyed our Brief Encounter. (It was my grandfather’s favourite film too.)
That was all. Short and sweet, with no kiss at the end. But it made her smile to know he’d been thinking about her.
‘Uh oh.’ Tommy did an exaggerated double-take. ‘Who’s making you look like that?’
Damn Tommy and his perspicacity; he never missed a thing. ‘I’m not looking like anything.’
‘Course you aren’t. Come on, spill.’
‘It’s just the guy I told you about, the one who helped me after the accident.’
‘ Just ,’ he mimicked. ‘And his name is?’
Typical Tommy, straight to the point. She briefly considered making one up, but it wouldn’t fool him. ‘Nick Callaghan.’
Two seconds later, he held up his phone. ‘This one? Wouldn’t trust the guy further than I could throw him.’
This was typical of Tommy too. Snap judgements were par for the course. Nella said patiently, ‘Why not?’
‘Too good-looking by half.’
‘You mean better-looking than you.’ She grinned, because Tommy had a narrow, mobile face with big dark eyes, a beaky nose, and eyebrows that each danced to their own tune. He might not be classically handsome, but women were drawn to him nevertheless, such was the power of his charisma.
‘Blond hair, eurgh.’ He took another look at the photo on the screen and shuddered. ‘I bet it’s bleached.’
‘It isn’t,’ said Nella.
‘Now you’re defending him.’
‘Only because you’re saying he dyes his hair, and he doesn’t.’ If you looked closely enough, which she had, you could always tell. Besides, he wasn’t the type.
‘Sleep with him, did you?’
‘No! Oh my God, I was in hospital!’
He was laughing at her now. ‘So? I’ve never let that stop me.’
She wouldn’t put it past him either. ‘Well, that’s just unhygienic and you should be ashamed of yourself. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about his looks, because I’m not going to be seeing him again.’
‘He just sent you a text that made you smile. Like this .’ Tommy tilted his head and did his best impression of a simpering lovestruck Disney princess.
She definitely hadn’t simpered, nor was she lovestruck. Nella shot him a warning look. ‘Watch it. He offered me a job.’
‘Did he now? The sly bastard! And?’
‘I said no.’
‘Because I’m a brilliant boss,’ he teased, ‘and you love working for me.’
‘Well, that, of course,’ said Nella. ‘But mainly because you pay me more.’
‘Course I do.’ Tommy winked at her. ‘I’m not stupid.’
It wasn’t until several days later, when Nick went along to the Angel Inn at lunchtime, that he had the chance to engage Esme in casual conversation. With an ulterior motive, needless to say. Having finished her lunchtime shift in the kitchen, she was now sitting at the bar with a coffee, waiting for the shower of sleety rain to pass overhead before setting off.
‘That must have been a nice surprise, seeing Nella again the other day.’ Joining her at the bar, Nick ordered a drink for himself. ‘I suppose you got to know her when she was living here with her grandfather.’
‘I did. She was a good girl.’ Esme nodded easily, evidently happy to chat while the rain was keeping her in here.
‘She was telling me all about him,’ Nick went on.
‘Ah, Vernon. God rest his soul.’
‘Nella really loved him.’
‘He came through for her when it counted. Well, somebody had to, didn’t they? But Vernon stepped up. They only had each other, after all.’
‘Yes, she told me she didn’t have any other relatives.’ Nick nodded slowly like a serious journalist as Esme dipped her spoon in the frothy topping of her cappuccino. Where did natural curiosity tip over into downright nosiness? He hadn’t pressed Nella for details at the time, but she’d been occupying his thoughts ever since. He wanted to know more about her. Was it wrong to be sitting here in the Angel, digging for more information?
‘None.’ Esme took a sip of the hot coffee. ‘Why d’you want to know?’
Maybe honesty was the best policy. He said steadily, ‘We met on Friday, she went home to Manchester on Saturday. And I’ll probably never see her again. But I’d like to know more about her. I’m . . . interested.’
‘Doing all right for herself, is she? Up in Manchester?’
‘Seems that way. I offered her a job.’ He shrugged. ‘But she has a better one up there, apparently.’
‘Ah, she turned you down and now you can’t get her out of your head. A tale as old as time.’ Esme chuckled. ‘I’m glad the girl’s doing well. Deserves it, after the start she had.’
Nick said, ‘You don’t have to tell me anything if you’d rather not.’ Which was a massive double bluff and he’d kick himself if he’d just blown it.
Taking her time, Esme tipped some more brown sugar into her cup and stirred again. Finally, after taking another sip and giving a nod of approval, she said, ‘Vernon Hughes lost his wife in childbirth. They married young and two years later she was gone. But he was a good man, Vernon, and he brought up their daughter on his own. Never remarried. And by all accounts Geraldine was a sweet girl until she was fifteen, then she fell in with the wrong crowd and started getting into trouble. Not that kind of trouble, not then. Drink and drugs, it was. And people encouraging her to live a different kind of life. She went off travelling with them all over Europe, only coming back when she needed more money, even though her poor old dad hardly had any to spare. Then she took up with some chap and that was when Nella was born, but he was a liability too. They carted the baby around with them for a few years, before going to live in one of those off-grid communes. Then the father died of a heroin overdose and Geraldine took Nella off to some place in North Wales. I know Nella went to school there, but by all accounts she was the grown-up who had to look after her mother. She did everything while Geraldine spent most of her time in bed. So sad. Unbearable, really. But she coped because she thought she needed to cover for Geraldine, otherwise the authorities would take her away and then what would happen to her mum?’
Nick was shaken. Jesus, it was unbearable to think about. He said, ‘How old was she then?’
‘Let’s see . . . She was nine when her father died. We’re talking about the next few years after that. Then Geraldine died when Nella was fourteen. The drugs took her at last. And that’s when Nella came here, moved in with Vernon. Began to live a normal life for the first time, bless her heart.’
Nella hadn’t mentioned any of this. He couldn’t imagine what she’d had to go through. What kind of an effect did that have on a young girl, having to parent her own mother whilst putting herself through school? It made Nick feel sick just picturing her experience in his mind. And you’d never guess at any of it to look at her. He shook his head and said, ‘Poor kid.’
Esme checked her watch, finished her coffee in one gulp and eased herself down from the stool. ‘Right, I’m off. Time to pick the grandkids up from nursery. I know, I don’t look old enough.’ She beamed at him and reached for her umbrella, because the sleety rain was still falling outside. ‘There you go. Now you know about Nella. She’s a good girl, that one. Shame you let her get away. Maybe you should have upped your offer.’
A mental image came to him of Nella Hughes touching her bruised temple and telling him she was lucky because it could have been a lot worse.
‘Maybe I should,’ he said.