Rosie continued to spin while giggling down the phone to a most-likely laughing Granny when the doorbell went. Libby was used to Kira dropping in unannounced on the weekends when they didn’t have to work, so she didn’t think to grab a dressing gown before she answered the door. When she pulled it open she was still laughing, in only her pajamas, and covered in pancake detritus – only to find herself staring up at a large man filling her doorway. Her laughter died and her eyes widened in shock. Dr Grantham stared at her, taking in the full effect with a slow body-sweep of his eyes, after which he shifted uncomfortably and swallowed. Three thoughts went through her head simultaneously: number one, he could wear the shit out of a pair of jeans; number two, when he wasn’t shaved for work his thick, dark stubble was a joy to behold; number three, she should never answer the door in her pajamas.
‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered as he glanced behind him down her corridor. His eyes flicked down to her tiny shorts-and-T-shirt combination again before he started moving. He put a large, warm hand to her stomach to gently push her back, and followed her inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. She started to feel ridiculous: her shorts were covered in small Darth Vaders, and her ancient over-washed T-shirt, which had shrunk considerably, leaving her midriff bare, had an ‘I had friends on that Death Star’ slogan stretched tight across her breasts, with a forlorn-looking Storm Trooper beneath. Her hair, which she hadn’t yet had time to control, was falling free down her back and over her shoulders in thick, gloop-covered waves.
‘Do you always answer the door like that?’ he asked, dragging his eyes back up to hers, that frown and goddamn single-eyebrow raise very much in evidence.
She put her hands on her hips and stood her ground, squashing the urge to run to the bathroom and cover up. He’d already seen her in a lot less than what she was wearing now, she reasoned; but somehow the intimacy of him being in her flat and staring at her in her night gear made her feel unaccountably shy. In the club when she was performing she was someone else, not the Libby who woreStar Wars-themed sleep shorts and screwed up pancake mix on a Saturday.
‘I thought you were Kira,’ she told him. ‘And how I answer the door is none of your business. In fact,Iam none of your business so you can just – ’
‘Hi, Jamie,’ Rosie’s excited voice called, and Libby closed her eyes in frustration. ‘Mummy made it snow inside, see?’ She twirled on the spot and a cloud of flour was shaken off her clothes and hair. ‘Ooh!’ she shouted as she came bounding up to him. ‘You can talk to my granny. She makes Porkshire Fuddins, and she don’t ever get shampoos in your eyes when she washes hair.’ With that crucial information imparted, Rosie shoved the phone into Jamie’s hand, complete with sticky congealed egg coating, and before Libby could make a grab for it he was talking to her mum.
‘Hello, Mrs Penny? That’s quite an impressive resume you’ve got there.’ Libby reached again for the phone but he leaned away from her. He was too tall to snatch it from him without some serious physical contact – something Libby was not going to risk, especially not when he was on the phone to her mother and with Rosie in the room. Dr Grantham chuckled at something her mother said on the phone and Libby rolled her eyes.
She could just imagine how excited Rita Penny would be at the prospect of her daughter receiving a gentleman caller, seeing as nothing had happened along those lines since Libby was seventeen. Thank God she hadn’t let him meet her parents when he dropped her and Rosie off at their house last weekend. She’d even made him park two doors down so her mum wouldn’t ask any questions.
‘Yes, I work with your daughter. She’s a very capable student, you should be very proud.’ Libby’s hand, which had been outstretched for the phone, dropped to her side. For some reason his words made her chest tight.
Proud of her?
After the shame of a teenage pregnancy in the family, Libby was hoping that one day her parents would be able to feel that way.
‘Well, Rosie and Libby are coming out with me on my boat today,’ she heard him say through a smile as he watched her narrow her eyes at him. ‘Yes, we’re going to make a start on Rosie’s pirate training – she tells me this is her career of choice. I’m hoping they won’t mind if I bring my dog along as well.’
Libby clenched her fists by her sides as Rosie gave out a loud, high-pitched squeal. It would be considered child cruelty if she turned down his offer now, and as she took in Rosie’s excited face she knew that despite the fact it would be fun to tell this arrogant tosser where to go, it was going to break her daughter’s heart to deny her both the boatandthe dog experience. How on earth did he have a boat anyway? They were in London for varp’s sake. Scowling up at him, she held out her hand for the phone, and after a little more banter with her mum he handed it over.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ her mother breathed, the Irish accent filtering through more strongly in her excitement. ‘He sounds like a fantastic young man. What does his father do?’
Libby rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t know that, Mum, I – ’
‘Well, can – ’
‘And, no – I’m not going to ask him. I barely know him. Look – ’
‘Oh, I bet he’s from a good family. And adoctor. I knew you’d meet a nice doctor if you went to medical school.’ There went her mother, a staunch feminist, setting back the movement she’d supposedly supported fifty years with one old-fashioned statement. ‘Just you wait till I tell Eileen Martin about this. Always on about her daughter married to a pharmacist. Is he Catholic?’
‘Mum,’ she snapped, ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Oh! Of course, go, go. Sweets, I’m not sure that your pancakes are the best choice to make him for breakfast. Better maybe to ease him into your cooking skills. Some toast might be – ’
‘Love you, Mum,’ she said as she disconnected. Then she turned back to Jamie, who was still watching her. ‘Rosie, go to your room for a second please.’
‘But Mummy!’ Rosie cried, stamping her foot in frustration. ‘I don’t want – ’
‘Goto your room,’ Libby snapped, and Rosie blinked up at her, the smile she had been sporting since the flour-snow dying on her lips. Her bottom lip trembled for a moment before she turned on her heel and stomped away.
‘Hey, look, you didn’t have to – ’ Jamie started, but Libby was now boiling mad and not about to let him intimidate her.
‘Howdareyou come into my home uninvited,’ she said, her voice shaking with rage. ‘How dare you offer something to my daughter, something you know I can’t give her, something that if I refuse now she would never forgive me for.’
‘Okay, I’m sorry, I – ’
‘I don’t know what this is and I’ve no idea why you’re here, but I’ll have you know that I’m a good mother, andIdecide who I want my daughter to spend time with. To be frank, men who are happy to go to strip clubs but then sneer at the women they’ve come to see perform are not top of my list of people I would like Rosie to be around.’
‘Look, I said some bloody stupid things.’
‘You said what you thought, Dr Grantham,’ she told him, her voice devoid of expression, and he flinched at the use of his surname. ‘At least you were honest. I presume you’re either here now out of guilt for your behaviour, or on some sort of “save the stripper” mission to convince me to make a respectable living whilst still attending medical school – which by the way is totally impossible. If it’s the first option, then I’m not interested in pity, the second makes you a pious wanker and I’ve had enough of both of those.’
‘Crap,’ Jamie muttered, pulling his hand through his thick hair, leaving it standing up in short tufts. It was the messiest she’d ever seen him. Even when he’d been punched in the club he’d still looked immaculately turned out. ‘Look, I seem to be buggering this up royally but today was actually just my attempt at an apology. I shouldn’t have said what I did to you that night and I shouldn’t have said what I did to Pav in my office.’
