Second Hand Jane Page 18

  “Women do that?” Brianna asked, frowning.

  “And men.”

  Jess raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Yep, really. Honestly, you two have no idea what celebrities have to put up with.”

  No, Jess thought to herself, she obviously didn’t and the taste tester she had experienced of life in the limelight—finding an unflattering photo of herself plastered in the papers—had left her cold.

  “You don’t know that he’ll think you’re fickle,” Brianna said, earnestly tucking her bobbed hair behind one ear. “Tell him that you’ve decided adventures sports just aren’t for you after all but that you are happy to be his cheerleader. If he is as keen on you as you are on him, he will understand.”

  “I hope so because I have never felt this way before about anyone and girls, I am absolutely bloody terrified I’ll lose him.” Nora sniffed, her eyes filling.

  Brianna pulled a tissue out from her sleeve and handed it to Nora. “It’s clean, I promise. If he’s a keeper, you won’t lose him. Have a bit of faith in him,” she advised wisely as both she and Jess got up and wrapped their arms round their friend. When they broke away, she blew her nose and managed a small grin before draining her glass with a slurp. “Anymore wine going?”

  “So how did your protest go, Brie?” Jess asked as she filled Nora’s glass and sat back down.

  Brianna bought Nora up to speed with the play group she was so passionate should stay and her ties to it with Harry having gone to it twice weekly as a tot.

  “You really are a sucker for a good cause.” Nora shook her head. “Dublin’s down-and-out would be lost without you.”

  “I would hardly call a group of mammies passionate about their community having a centre where their children can meet to play ‘Dublin’s down-and-out,’ Nora.” Brianna was indignant.

  For Jess, however, as Brianna mentioned “a group of mothers” in the same sentence as “community centre,” the penny had at last dropped. Gosh, she could be so thick, she thought, tipping her wine down her throat. Hang on, though, perhaps the group of mothers about which Nick had been so derisive were nothing to do with Brie and her band of merry mammies? Then again, what were the odds of more than one group of mums up in arms over the demolition of a building in a city the size of Dublin anyway?

  “Er, Brie, what building is it that you’re trying to save?”

  “The Bray Community Centre. I thought I’d told you that?”

  “Um, no, you didn’t, actually.”

  “Ah, well, no matter.” She shook her head, her face growing animated as she began to relay the latest. “The protest went really well. RTÉ even showed up with their cameras rolling. The infuriating thing is that the company behind the proposed project refused to meet with us. Bloody cowards, whoever they are. All they care about is money. I tell you, girls, they march in and destroy the lifeblood of small communities but I’m not going to let them destroy mine!”

  Nora clapped her hands and drawled in an American accent, “You go, girl!”

  Oh dear, thought Jess; now was not the time to mention the fact that she was ninety-nine percent certain the cowardly company Brianna was on about belonged to Nick. She already seemed to have made up her mind that he wasn’t right for her and revealing that it was him behind her latest cause’s proposed demolition would definitely not endear him to her. She decided she’d keep quiet about it for now and see how her date went tomorrow night. If they got on well and decided to see each other again as she hoped would be the case, then she’d have to come clean and tell Brianna. It would be up to her then as to whether she still wanted to have them both round for dinner.

  For some reason, Owen’s face floated before her but she batted him away, having a sneaky scoop of the cheese ball instead while Nora was fossicking in the fridge for further supplies.

  They had broken out the chocolate and were cracking open the third bottle of vino when Brianna piped up with, “That Nick chap you set Jess up with is cooking her dinner tomorrow night.”

  Bugger, Jess thought; she’d wanted to steer clear of any conversation regarding Nick.

  “Whaat! When did that happen?”

  “He invited me over when he dropped me home last week.”

  “But you didn’t tell me that when I rung you. I thought you’d never hear from him again after your Oscar-winning ‘Drunk Woman’ performance.” Nora looked most put out.

  “Well, you didn’t exactly give me a chance to tell you, did you? You were too busy issuing orders about my needing to upgrade my knickers and before you ask, for your information, I have done so.”

  When Pete arrived to pick his wife and Nora up shortly after eleven after a hard night bashing a little black ball around a court, he looked perturbed when Jess answered the door. He didn’t like to ask why she had a pair of lacy green knickers on her head nor why Nora was taking aim at his wife with the matching bra.

  ***

  Jess woke the next morning with the nagging headache that signified she probably shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine last night. Oh well, she thought, squinting and sitting up; it had been fun, and she and Brianna had successfully completed their mission, which was to get their friend laughing again. Besides, she decided, shrugging into her dressing gown and padding through to the kitchen, the headache was nothing that poached eggs on toast and a good strong cup of coffee wouldn’t fix.

  She spent her morning finishing her column for the week. Her inspiration this week had come from last night’s girly get-together. It had been brewing since her encounter with the snooty shop assistant from the haute couture shops she had ventured into with Brianna and been cemented by the lass on the checkout at Tesco’s the day before. She’d decided to write about the unspoken and universal language that existed between women and how some women were part of the sisterhood and some definitely weren’t.

  Having emailed her final draft off to Niall, she was debating whether beans on toast was a good idea for lunch or whether she might be better going for something like a chicken wrap from the Spar shop down the road when the phone rang. It was Nick.

  The conversation was short and sweet as he was on his way to a meeting. Jess crossed her fingers and hoped it wasn’t over in Bray. He told her he would swing by around seven thirty to pick her up. She’d hung up thinking he had sounded very masterful and she’d felt her stomach knot in excitement at the thought of the night to come.

  For once she didn’t have to spend hours agonising over what to wear because Nora had taken it upon herself the night before to choose what outfit she should wear. “You need to dress to impress for a man like Nick because Ewan told me he usually dates model types,” she’d declared knowledgably as she hauled a cream sixties swing dress out of Jess’s wardrobe. “This, girlfriend, is the perfect dress for in-home dining.” Handing it to Jess, she disappeared back into the wardrobe again, reappearing a few moments later looking like the cat that got the cream as she held up a pair of matching heels. “Wear your hair down,” she ordered bossily before picking up Jess’s new bra and pinging it across the room at her.

  Nick was fifteen minutes late and Jess had just finished re-checking her makeup in her powder compact for the third time since she’d plonked her bottom down on the cold vinyl in Riverside’s foyer. She jiggled her crossed legs in an effort to stop thinking about the fact she needed the loo and to prevent the bare backs of her thighs from sticking to the seat. Brianna always said she had a Woolworths bladder but this was down to nerves, Jess thought, peering out into the dark for any sign of slowing headlights. She was loath to wait outside on the street for him and not just because of the nip in the air but because the last time she had loitered out there waiting for a ride, a passing Japanese tourist had said, “Kon niche wa—how much?”

  Taking a deep breath in order to calm the butterflies, Jess glanced down at her dress. At least she knew she looked good. She sent Nora a mental ten out of ten for choice of outfit because as she had tottered past in her cream
heels, Puff the Magic Dragon had just about fallen out the window between drags. She’d also bumped into Gemma from across the hall for the first time in ages. Dressed as per usual in head-to-toe skin-tight black and clutching a water bottle, she was of course coming back from a workout.

  “Jess—wow! You look fantastic. Have you got a hot date?” She’d winked but then she’d ruined it by going on at her about joining her down at the gym again.

  No chance, thought Jess, wondering whether Gemma was on some sort of commission. Perhaps she got free membership if she managed to recruit new members. Jess’s musing as to Gemma’s motivations were interrupted by a toot. Nick was outside. As she pulled open the heavy doors, the sounds of Justin Timberlake emanated forth. She ran over to the car and as she climbed into the seat next to him, her heart skipped a beat. He looked gorgeous in a crisp white shirt and jeans, his hair still wet from a shower. He turned the music down and as he leaned toward her, she caught a whiff of that same delicious aftershave before she lost herself in the kiss that followed.

  It wasn’t until a group of lads walking up the Quays began calling out, “Whoa! Go on, get in there, mate!” that they broke apart. Nick grinned cheekily at her before revving the engine and expertly weaving the car out into the evening traffic.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’m sorry. This has never happened to me before.” Nick lifted the bed covers and gazed dolefully at the culprit.

  It’s never happened to me before either, she thought. Jess felt as deflated as Nick’s partner in crime. It happened—she knew that, of course—but why did it have to happen to her tonight? “It’s okay,” she lied.

  “It’s not you, Jessica; it’s me.”

  My God, all these clichés, Jess thought. “It happens. Don’t worry about it—truly, Nick, it’s fine.”

  “Not to me it doesn’t. It’s the stress of this bloody community centre business.”

  “It’s not going well then?” Jess squeaked, feeling like Judas knowing what she now knew.

  “No, it’s not. This bunch of hormonal homemakers is holding everything up with their whingeing to the Council. They have no idea about the real world or how much money is riding on this thing.”

  Jess felt her face heat up and was glad that the room was dimly lit. He would not be impressed if he knew that one of the hormonal homemakers to which he referred was her best friend and actually, she thought, she didn’t particularly care for the vehemence in his tone.

  They lay side by side in his Californian King-sized bed under crisp white sheets, their heads resting on the twin pillows. At that moment in time, Jess wished she still smoked; it would have given her something to occupy herself with instead of lying next to him in an awkward silence.

  The evening had started off so well too, she thought, closing her eyes and wishing herself away. When they’d arrived back at Nick’s, he’d unlocked the front door and she had been assailed by a delicious smell that she’d pinpointed after several discreet sniffs as rosemary and roasting lamb. Yum—lamb was her favourite and her mouth had watered as she decided that Nick was definitely a smooth operator. Sitting on his designer white couch, she watched him set the scene by lighting candles and putting a CD on his stereo.

  He disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with two balloon-like wine glasses, a rich red liquid swimming well under halfway in each of them. Accepting the glass, she took a tentative sip. It was delicious and she made a mental vow not to knock it back—she didn’t need to go down the blackened teeth road again.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I do. It’s very, um, full-bodied.” She hoped that didn’t sound like a hair advertisement.

  “A bold, meaty red is how it was described to me. I bought it from a boutique vineyard in Mendoza, Argentina. The Argentines are voracious meat eaters and the owner assured me that it is the perfect accompaniment to roasted meat. I hope you like lamb?” he’d asked, sitting down next to her. His thigh brushed hers.

  “I come from a country where the sheep outnumber the people, so yes, I like lamb.” She’d smiled. In the background, his state-of-the-art stereo began crooning something low and throaty. Norah Jones perhaps? Jess wondered, trying to distract herself from the warm pressure of his leg next to hers.

  “Did I tell you how lovely you look tonight?” Nick murmured, taking her glass out of her hand and placing it on the glass-topped table in front of them. “That’s a beautiful dress.”

  Jess sent a telepathic thank-you to Nora and felt a shiver of anticipation as he moved toward her. She felt as if she were starring in a seduction scene from a movie and she definitely hoped it would venture into the realms of the pornographic before the night ended.

  He was such a good kisser; closing her eyes and leaning into him, she allowed herself to relax and enjoy the sensation of his body next to hers. His hands began to roam freely and she quivered involuntarily as he reached her breasts, stroking them gently through the sheer fabric of her dress. He’d pulled away then, leaving her feeling slightly bereft as he got up to tend to the meat.

  “There’s nothing worse than dry lamb,” he’d said, tossing her a mischievous look over his shoulder, and Jess got the distinct impression he was well aware of the state he was leaving her in.

  By the time he served their meal, she had composed herself again and smoothing her hair down, Jess got up to join him at the opposite end of a large glass-topped table. All this glass—it was definitely not a child friendly home, Jess noted, imagining the field day Harry would have putting his fingerprints everywhere. But then why should it be?

  Nick had excelled himself: the lamb was cooked to perfection, the roast potatoes were crunchy on the outside and deliciously moist and fluffy on the inside, and the side serving of spring vegetables, even though it was autumn, were al dente. Jess wasn’t surprised by the excellence of the meal; she knew enough about Nick now to know he was the type of man who wouldn’t attempt to do anything unless he could do it well.

  “You obviously enjoy cooking because this is superb,” she said, her knife sliding into a perfectly pink piece of lamb. Her mind flashed back to another conversation with a surly farmer from the North who had followed this theme and she shook the images it conjured away.

  “I do when I get the time but I have a limited repertoire.”

  “Well, it’s broader than mine.”

  “That surprises me.” He raised an eyebrow. “I really enjoyed reading about your culinary adventures, trying all the different cuisines on offer around Dublin. It was very amusing. You are a talented writer, Jessica.”

  Jess flushed, unused to praise and unsure how to accept the compliment gracefully. She decided to brush it aside. “I managed to combine my two great loves with that series, eating and writing. It was lots of fun but I am afraid I am the kind of girl who needs to be shown how to do something ten times before I master it. It all went in one ear and then flew out the other.”

  Nick laughed. “Which country’s cuisine was your favourite?”

  “I would have to say I enjoyed the Creole course the most. Probably because it was so different to anything I have tried before but on a weekly takeaway basis, I am definitely an Indian fan. What about you?”

  “I love Thai. There’s a great restaurant just down the road from here that I usually eat at once a week. They do wonderful fish cakes. Perhaps I could take you there and convert you sometime?”

  Jess felt her cheeks stain again. “That would be lovely.” For him she would definitely forfeit her Malabari Prawn in favour of fish cakes.

  Nick served a wine, which he told her would offset the sweetness of the dessert he’d prepared. His knowledge of wines was impressive, Jess thought, raising her glass to her lips. All she knew about the crushed grape was that if it was crisp and cold, then she usually liked it. As for dessert, well, it was a foregone conclusion that it wouldn’t be the Tesco’s Bavarian chocolate pie that usually made an appearance at any dinner parties she held.

  It was a rame
kin of crème brulee that was placed in front of her and even she knew that this was a temperamental dessert. Nick’s, however, was set just right and when he produced a miniature blowtorch to caramelise the sugar, Jess had almost swooned. Just wait until her mother heard about tonight, she’d thought, dipping her spoon into the deliciously delicate custard—Marian would go into orbit. It had been such a long time since she’d been treated like a princess, Jess realised, and she had to admit to loving every minute of it.

  Nick had been insistent she leave the dishes when she had stood up in readiness to clear the table, suggesting they go through to the living area and enjoy a post-dinner drink instead. Her head swam at the sight of all the different spirits on display, clustered together on a silver tray atop a unit that also housed his vast CD collection. She wondered what types of music other than the jazz CD currently playing he liked as she decided upon a Baileys on the rocks. Sitting curled into the corner of the couch with her heels discarded on the floor beside her, she took a sip of the icy liquid, deciding that it was indeed just as the advertising proclaimed, like liquid silk. Nick had opted for a whisky. It was a man’s drink, she thought, trying to stop her mind from wandering below the belt as she forced herself to pay attention to his adventures in Dubai earlier that year.

  “You make it sound like a city built of gold.” She laughed, looking at him over the rim of her glass. He had replied that it might as well have been for the vast amounts of money that circulated around the city built on sand.

  Their eyes had locked then and she had seen the unspoken promise of what was to come as his had darkened. With a suggestive half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Jess had allowed him to take her by the hand and lead her through to his bedroom where, he’d assured her, they would be far more comfortable.