The Payback Plan

Chapter 8

8

Oliver hadn’t known what to expect in the WI hall but it hadn’t been a giant rainbow flag hanging on the wall behind the raised stage and what felt like every poster from every movie and stage play his father had ever starred in, decorating the walls.

It was a sweet gesture but it was also a lot and he almost backed out in the first minute. But then Paige’s words came back to him.

Have you never just done something for someone for no other reason than because you knew it would please them?

The answer to that had been easy – yes. For Bella. And where had that got him? A red-headed whirling dervish with a hamster in a cage on his doorstep. But her prompt had reminded him why he’d said yes to Bella in the first place.

Guilt. Repentance. And talking to the WI somehow felt all part and parcel of that. Plus, he didn’t really want to turn out like Great-aunt Bessie.

For fuck’s sake, he’d known Paige for three weeks and already knew about her aunt with a china fetish.

What was even happening now?

Still, standing in front of them all, their eager faces smiling at him, Oliver wished he’d inherited his father’s ease with strangers. Just being around him had given Oliver confidence and he missed him fiercely in this moment. But then he found Paige in the audience smiling and nodding at him and he relaxed.

If she could turn up here today, her hair scrunched into tiny balls all over her head, secured with multi-coloured bands and in a jumpsuit that looked like it had been inspired by a Tellytubby orgy without a single qualm, he could certainly give his standard spiel about his father – the one everyone wanted to hear – and be back home on the couch next to Casper in an hour.

So, mentally wrapping his father’s red cashmere scarf around his neck, he launched into the version everyone knew, and the appreciative audience lapped it up without interruption. Laughing at the funny anecdotes, clutching their hearts when he told the story of the night his father had proposed to his mother and hanging on his every word about when Roger finally won his Oscar.

There were questions – none he hadn’t answered before about a zillion times – and then it was all over and he was being ushered to a table where the BAFTA and Oscar had been placed and was given a plate of Meryl’s scones with Edna’s strawberry jam and locally sourced clotted cream.

Of course, there were also pictures, phones coming out everywhere to snap a memento of the day and then Doris haranguing everyone to pose both individually and as a group with him for the quarterly newsletter which apparently came out next week. Oliver had a moment of worry that they might find their way on to social media but it wasn’t like the paps didn’t know he was in Cornwall.

He’d just become a boring recluse. Attending a WI meeting would only confirm it.

People asked politely if they could touch and hold the Oscar for their photos and he nodded amiably. Paige was right, the awards were far less intimidating taken down from on high. And if he was going to break his father’s strict no-touching rule, he might as well do it with a bang.

‘C’mon, Paige – your turn,’ Doris bossed as she interrupted a conversation Paige was having nearby with someone he thought was called Caroline.

She turned, a ham and cheese sandwich triangle in her hand and he almost laughed out loud. ‘You are seriously the worst vegan ever.’

Shrugging, she said, ‘Let’s just call me… vegan curious.’

‘Or maybe, a carnivore with occasional vegan tendencies?’

Her mouth twitched a little but she didn’t get a chance for a comeback as Doris got them back on track. ‘Over here Paige. A photo with Oliver and Oscar.’

‘Oh no.’ Paige shook her head, her alien-like bobbles unmoving on her head. Anybody else would have looked ridiculous but Paige just looked like… well, Paige. The one that had landed on his doorstep in a windswept frizz of red curls and ridiculous T-shirt slogans like the one she was wearing today beneath her heavy ex-army surplus duffle.

In my defence, I was left unsupervised.

‘I don’t do pictures.’

Doris scoffed. ‘Nonsense. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have had this marvellous morning that is going to be talked about for the next decade. Far more exciting than anything Pippa could have offered. You must .’

Oliver watched as Paige plastered on a smile but there was a slight wariness to her expression. Clearly, she wasn’t comfortable with the idea. Which made him wonder if it was a camera-shy thing or a him thing.

‘Seriously, I take a hideous picture. Even my baby photos are awful. I’m the most unphotogenic person you’ll ever meet. Just mention my name if you want to put something in the magazine.’

Doris looked like she was about to push some more and Oliver watched as a flash of what looked like… anxiety? flared in Paige’s hazel eyes before the shutters came down.

‘Dorry,’ he said, diverting the older woman who preened a little at his use of her pet name. ‘I was surprised to see the rainbow flag. I hope you don’t mind me saying but I wouldn’t have thought the WI was a bastion of progressive ideology.’

Diverted, Doris gave a chuckle. ‘We do have a conservative reputation that’s for sure, but a few years ago Caroline and Nell – she couldn’t make it today – were both widowed within a few weeks of each other. They’d been good friends for years and then, a year later they were lezzers.’

Oliver choked on his sip of tea at the word choice. He couldn’t decide if he was weirded out more by a word he was pretty sure was very unPC coming from a non-lesbian person or the fact that it had come out of the mouth of an octogenarian who was wearing a string of pearls around her neck.

The pearls, she’d told him, were in honour of Oscar.

Doris ploughed on through Oliver’s coughing fit while Paige patted him on the back. ‘And they were moving in together.’

Caroline, obviously hearing her name, joined them, nodding and beaming. ‘Yep, lesbians,’ she said as if she was still couldn’t quite believe it herself. ‘Took us both by surprise. But it did explain why I was always fascinated with boobs.’

More than a little fascinated with boobs himself, Oliver could understand.

‘They were nervous coming out to us,’ Doris recounted. ‘Thought we might kick them out of the group. Utter nonsense.’ She tutted, clearly still affronted by the notion. ‘Caro and Nell are as much a part of our group as anyone else. So, unbeknownst to them we held several secret craft night sessions and patchworked the rainbow flag from scraps of fabric from our own clothes so they knew they would always be welcome.’

‘It was such a relief,’ Caroline chimed in, smiling at Doris, her eyes all misty.

‘Love is love.’ Doris grinned.

Oliver, now recovered, raised his tea cup. ‘Amen.’

The other three did the same and he caught Paige’s eye as they all tapped them together with a muted clink. She was eyeing him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. Like she was trying to puzzle him out? Maybe passing judgement?

Whatever it was, it was intense for a beat or two then she seemed to snap out of it and smiled at him, a genuine smile and he felt like he’d passed some kind of test he hadn’t known he’d been sitting.

Maybe for the first time she was seeing him as a good guy instead of the asshole who jilted her friend at the altar. More importantly, maybe he was, too?

* * *

Oliver was contemplating that fact later that night sitting in the darkened media room as he stared down the Oscar – the BAFTA had been returned to its shelf on high – and a bottle of his father’s expensive vintage cognac which had also been under a don’t touch order.

In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

It had been a cathartic day in lots of ways. And a much longer one than he’d initially hoped. Far from being home within the hour, it took almost four hours to depart the hall. Every time he’d tried to edge away, someone else would pounce, regaling him with some Roger Prendergast anecdote or other from St Ives or talk about how something had resonated for them in one of his plays or films.

He’d even been shown pictures of single daughters and granddaughters.

Not to mention that somehow, he’d been finagled into letting the six-year-old grandson of one of the women take the Oscar to school when it was his turn for show and tell.

Maybe they’d been spiking his endless cups of tea with gin.

He laughed at the thought mostly because it was preposterous but also because he’d had three generous slugs of the cognac and was on his way to hammered. Casper was upstairs somewhere with Paige who’d been head down in some work ever since they’d arrived home. Pavarotti was asleep in his cage, the lights of the flickering television shining in the reddy-gold streaks of his seemingly untamable quiff.

It was quiet, apart from Groundhog Day playing on the screen but the volume was low and Oliver was barely paying it any attention as he stared at the Oscar. Seeing him being treated today like a curiosity – a fancy one for sure but still a curiosity – and not some revered precious jewel had been normalising.

And the pleasure the WI women had derived from holding it, the pleasure he’d derived from watching them had helped break down the mystique of it. Oscar could be touched and held and enjoyed and that was okay.

Their stories today had also given him a deeper insight to his father. He was well used to hearing important people talk about his father’s acting greatness. Critics and peers and industry boffins. About his abundant talent, his formal training, his unrivalled technique – blah blah blah . But that wasn’t what the WI women had talked about. They’d talked about how something in a film had touched them or meant something to them in some way and it felt authentic rather than pandering or ego stroking.

And it had made him see his father in a different light. Not as a performer but as a conduit for people’s memories and emotions. It had certainly given him something to think about as he went forward with the book. More nuance and context.

He’d been grumpy all over again this morning as a painfully chipper Paige had dragged him to the hall but he was inordinately pleased he’d gone. For the first time in a long time he’d seen his father as a human being, something he’d felt less and less as he’d grown from a boy into a young adult.

Moving to the States to live with his father when he’d been fifteen had been his attempt to bridge that gap and they’d gone on to have what many of his friends would describe as an enviable relationship. Roger had been happy to have Oliver with him and very keen that they have a grown-up relationship.

That they be buds. Pals. But, deep down, Oliver had craved a deeper connection with his father. He’d wanted a dad. Not another friend. And he’d re-discovered a little of his dad with these women today.

His phone pinged and he reached for it absently.

Here’s your latest from HAMSTER FACTS! Did you know hamsters love toys? No – not that kind.

Oliver blinked. Either he was drunker than he thought or the work experience kid had been let loose with the texts today. For pure amusement value, he’d given up blocking them ages ago.

As well as wheels they love balls, tunnels and are especially fond of chew toys. Stimulate them daily by switching up their environment on the regular. Press 1 for links to recommended hamster safe products. Standard messaging rates may apply.

Oliver glanced over at the sleeping rodent. Chew toys, huh? His gaze swivelled to the Oscar, his golden hue a little dull in the dark without his spotlight glowing glory upon him. A smile spread across his face as a delightfully tipsy idea floated to the surface.

Pushing to his feet he grabbed Oscar around the middle and took three strides to Pavarotti’s cage. The rodent stirred when Oliver lifted the latch, one eyelid fluttering open, blearily assessing his visitor then shutting again. He was clearly too exhausted from his new fitness regime to be bothered by the interruption especially from his bro dude.

‘Sorry, old mate,’ Oliver said to Oscar, ‘I’ll break you out after a couple of days.’

Manoeuvring the one foot, eight-pound statue into the corner of the cage just behind the amazing wheel of lights and colour, he smiled to himself as he settled it into the nesting fluff. He wasn’t sure how Pavarotti would take the intimidating proportions in the morning or the fact his cage was rapidly resembling some kind of bizarre Las Vegas-style theme park but, with his cognac goggles firmly in place, Oliver thought it was hilarious.

Heading back to the couch, he admired his handiwork. Oscar look dour as ever and maybe the shock of waking to a one foot golden, graven statue in the morning may not be good for Pavarotti’s heart but it sure as fuck felt damn good right now.

His father would be pissed . And somehow that felt extra good.

Oliver raised his glass in salute. ‘Cheers.’ And took another slug.

Muted footsteps from behind alerted him to the imminent arrival of Paige but it was Casper who arrived first, leaping onto the couch and assuming his regular position stretched out on his side, his head propped on top of Oliver’s thigh.

‘Hey bud,’ Oliver crooned and absently fondled a soft, floppy ear, earning himself a couple of tails thumps.

‘You are still down here,’ Paige said as she rounded the couch in the semi dark and took a seat on the end cushion that Casper had so graciously left for her. ‘It was so quiet I thought you must have gone to bed. You normally have the TV up so loud I can follow along upstairs.’

Oliver shrugged. ‘No point having the best surround sound system money can buy if you’re not going to use it.’

She was wearing a polar fleece tiger onesie – because of course she was. But her hair was out of those ridiculous balls and was fluffed around her head in its usual disorder and the central zipper of the onesie ended at a point between her breasts that left a generous amount of cleavage exposed.

He was reminded of Caroline’s quip today about breasts and his gaze lingered on the pillowy flesh. If he pulled on that zipper would she just peel out of that thing like a banana? Blinking at the crazy thought, he took another drink. Do not go there, knob head.

After the way he’d treated Bella, it was a miracle this woman hadn’t murdered him in his sleep as some kind of sisterhood revenge. The last thing he needed was to develop some kind of sexual fixation on his jilted bride’s friend. Paige might be tolerating him because he’d been able to help her out of an accommodation bind but women stuck together.

Everyone knew that.

Still, maybe he could just lay his head there where it looked all warm and soft and drift off to sleep. Or maybe he was drunker than he thought…

She glanced at the top shelf above before turning her gaze on him, a tiny frown knitting her brows together in a little V, reminding him of the V of her cleavage, all soft and squishy.

Jesus, dude … get your shit together.

‘Where’s Oscar?’

He pointed. ‘In there.’

She turned her attention to the cage, squinting into the dark, her eyes widening a little as they zeroed in on the statue dominating the cage like some ridiculous golden phallus.

‘ Ohhh- kay,’ she murmured as her gaze pulled back to him before moving quickly to the bottle on the table. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘Nope. Not yet. Well…’ Oliver grinned. ‘Perhaps a tiny bit tipsy.’

‘I see. And what are we drinking?’

‘My father’s very best vintage cognac he’d been saving up for who knew what.’

‘Ah…’ She nodded. ‘We’re having a little day of rebellion then?’

Oliver laughed, short and sharp. He liked that Paige was insightful and not reticent to speak her mind round him. Too many people in his life had pulled their punches because of who his father was. Even Bella had rarely called him on his bullshit.

‘Something like that.’ He lifted the bottle. ‘You want one?’

‘No.’ She shook her head.

‘Not a drinker?’

It was her turn to laugh, the flickering light from the TV making the merriment in her eyes shimmer. ‘I’ve been known to indulge in my time but I’ve just brushed my teeth. Plus, someone clearly has to be the responsible party here tonight in case you decide to really let it rip and poor Pavarotti wakes up to a couple of Tonys in his cage as well.’

Oliver’s lips twitched at the idea – a real Hollywood bro hang out – but he dismissed it as physically impossible. ‘And that’s you, huh? The responsible party?’

‘Apparently,’ she quipped but the shimmer dimmed a little and Oliver was reminded of that moment at the WI hall today when Doris had been pushing for a picture and Paige’s shutters had come down.

Curious and curiouser.

‘Sounds boring,’ he said with a tease, hoping to lighten the mood. Hoping if he gave her enough space she might elaborate.

‘That’s me.’ A really big, really fake smile pushed up the corners of her mouth. ‘The boring one.’

Oliver’s gaze dropped to the zipper in her cleavage. Not from where he was sitting . ‘I have a tiger onesie that begs to differ.’

She shrugged. ‘Another sibling purchase.’

‘I think I’m going to have to meet this brother and sister of yours. They seem fun.’

‘Yeah,’ she murmured, the carnival clown smile softening into something much more natural. ‘They are. Now’ – her voice turned brisk – ‘I’m off to Bedfordshire.’

Levering forward at the hips, she looked over her shoulder at him. For a moment he thought she was going to warn him to go easy or something boring but instead she shot him a wry smile. ‘Do you think I can trust you not to put up your father’s awards on eBay or something equally as impulsive?’

‘Ooh…’ Now that would be kinda awesome. ‘Probably not.’ He wasn’t sure this strange mood he was in could be trusted with anything. Picking up his glass, he downed the last finger of cognac, sucking in the velvety kick on an indrawn breath. ‘Better hit the sack too, just in cases.’

‘ Love Actually ?’

‘Ha!’ He pointed at her. Or at least in her general direction anyway. ‘You got it.’

‘I’m not a complete heathen,’ she said, rolling her eyes as she stood.

Oliver also pushed to his feet, flicking the TV off with the remote, plunging the room into darkness apart from the muted light spilling over the awards on the top shelf. Casper had already disappeared up the stairs by the time Oliver was following behind Paige, her tiger stripes swaying from side to side with all the natural grace of the animal itself which was really quite hypnotising.

She took the first two stairs and he dragged his eyes off her ass as he realised he really hadn’t thanked her for today. ‘Thanks,’ he said. Her foot faltered on the third step. ‘For today. Seriously. I know I made a fuss about going but it’s given me a much deeper insight into my father. It was something I truly hadn’t expected.’

Slowly, she turned, her elevation equalising their heights and putting her far closer to him than was good for his sanity right now. Her full lips were a ripe, red rouge as her familiar zestiness tickled his nostrils. The lush rise and fall of her cleavage was right there in his peripheral vision, daring him to look. To touch.

To prove that it was indeed as soft as it looked.

Oliver’s mouth turned dry as the shavings in Pavarotti’s cage and the air in his lungs followed suit. The low, slow thud of his pulse beat loud in his ears as the air around them seemed to bloom, thick with possibility.

‘Even if you were roped into taking Oscar in for young Stevie’s show and tell?’

Despite the intimacy encroaching around them, Oliver laughed, ‘Yes.’

She laughed too and they were both laughing and it felt damn good. But it didn’t ruin the intimacy; if anything, it intensified as his gaze zeroed in on her mouth. It was close – so close he could smell the minty note of her toothpaste on her breath.

Would she taste minty? Would the mix of cognac and Colgate be as heady in actuality as it was just thinking about it? The thick surge of blood beating through every pulse point in his body demanded he find out.

‘You’ve been a real godsend, Paige Barker, you know that?’

He hadn’t planned on saying that – hell, none of this was planned – but it was true. Except it appeared to not be the right thing to say as she seemed to flinch and the shutters slowly came down on her laughing eyes.

Which was more than Oliver could bear. So, he leaned in and kissed her, sliding in before they shut for good.

Also not planned. And, for a second, they both just stood there in the startling moment, bodies tense, joined only by two sets of stiff, unmoving lips, Oliver unsure about his next move.

Smooth, dude. Real smooth.

Should he withdraw and apologise? Brace for a kick to his balls? Or slide his hand into her hair and deepen the damn thing like every cell in his body was demanding? The moment stretched, one beat, two. A couple of seconds suspended in time, the fate of the kiss hanging in the balance, his heart not beating at all right now, also suspended as if the very next beat depended on how the moment played out.

Then she made a little noise at the back of her throat, the kind of noise that came from deep primitive places and her entire body relaxed, the tension holding her rigid oozing away, her lips softening on a sigh that Oliver felt right down in his own primitive places.

His heart kickstarted and he breathed her in as his lips moved gently, opening a little, brushing across her mouth, probing, coaxing, growing a little bolder as she responded to the deepening, kissing him back a little.

Chaste and tentative for sure but definitely reciprocal.

A hot, giddy rush of triumph and pleasure surged straight to Oliver’s head and buzzed through every cell of his body. He’d had a lot of first kisses in his life. Many had been way more X-rated than this but none of them had been with this giddying woman who had confounded him from the start and was confounding him even now. The taste of her lips like the taste of his father’s cognac – ripe, full-bodied, off-limits.

Addicting.

Alas, it did not last long, her abrupt withdrawal a confusing moment for both of them if the way she stared at him was any indication. Her breathing was as ragged as his as her tongue absently touched her bottom lip like she couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

Clearing the thickness from his throat, Oliver broke the burgeoning silence. ‘Paige?—’

But she shook her head vigorously, cutting him off, which wasn’t a bad thing given he had no idea what he was going to say next.

‘Don’t,’ she whispered.

Oliver wasn’t sure what she meant by ‘don’t’. Don’t talk. Don’t look at me. Don’t try and make this better? So he just said, ‘Okay,’ because he’d say anything right now to ease the torment from her features.

‘Don’t do that again.’

He faltered at the edict but didn’t hesitate in his response. ‘Okay.’

‘I mean it, Olly. It can’t happen again.’

It was the first time she’d ever called him Olly and somehow amongst all the fucked-up confusion of the moment, it felt… significant . ‘I understand.’ If that’s what she wanted, he’d of course respect it.

Even though he seriously fucking wanted to kiss her again.

One more long look was followed by a stiff little nod before she turned away and bolted up the stairs, two at a time.

Oliver stood on the spot long after Paige had disappeared from sight, his brain turning around and around like a washing machine on a spin cycle. Easing himself down on the step, he was conscious of not only the ache in his balls but the tightness in his chest. He’d just had the best damn chaste kiss of his life with his ex’s friend.

Jesus.

Casper found him at that moment and sat his ass on the step beside Oliver, snuggling in for a pat which Oliver absently doled out. ‘I think I fucked up, buddy.’

The dog thumped its tail as if in agreement and Oliver gave a mirthless half laugh. Yeah… that was pretty much par for the course for him.