The Birds And The Bees Part 2

Catherine smiled. 'But nothing. In fact, I'll come with you for the first session if you like, for moral support. They're always giving out free day pa.s.ses, aren't they, these gyms, trying to get you to join up? You can blag me one.'

'Oh Catherine, that would be fab,' said Stevie, her smile lit up with grat.i.tude.

'Which gym?'

'Well, Matthew goes to the Gym Village one, so maybe I'd be better going to the otherWell Life.'

'Ooh, posh and expensivego and do it immediately. Ring up and find out how you join before I go home.' Catherine slid the cordless phone over the table.

So, Stevie started the three-point plan that would totally absorb her over the next six days and get her man back for her.

1) have great new-image hairdo 2) join gym and start to get thinner 3) practise pretending to have suspected nothing about his affair Easy.

Chapter 5.

Listening to the gently shus.h.i.+ng waves, savouring the scent of sun oil that smelt of coconuts, and lying next to a long, leggy woman with a Supermodel-type body nearly covered by a white bikini with a s.e.xy little rhinestone clasp between the twin swells of her small but perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Matthew waited for the guilt to kick in. A stray thought visited plump, ordinary little Stevie at home. She would be sitting at her computer, writing love stories for the lonely and rejected, blissfully unaware that she was about to join them in exactly five days' time. It made him feel guilty only for not feeling guilty.

He really had not meant for this to happen at all. He had been content enough with Stevie and sliding himself gradually into the role of dad for Danny, until he had found Jo MacLean, one of the new designers, crying by his black Punto in the company car park the day after Valentine's Day. He had only seen her a couple of times before but, Jo MacLean, with her big brown eyes and her long, dark hair and her even longer legs, was someone once spotted, never forgotten. They had spoken once, after a meeting in late January. A few of them had hung around the buffet table drinking the last of the coffee. He'd found himself puffing up in front of her, trying to impress, implying things. Then a fortnight later, there he was, offering her his handkerchief in the cold and the rain and asking if she wanted a coffee in the little cafe around the corner from work. There she had spilled out her life to hima relative strangerso desperate was she for consolation. She had told him how she had recently moved into a new house with the husband she so needed to get away from but didn't know how to because he watched her every move. She poured out stories of horrific verbal and physical abuse and Matthew had sat and patiently listened. Who could have predicted what she would be doing to the rest of his body, so soon after he'd offered up his shoulder?

Despite being flattered by her attention, at first, he really had only genuinely wanted to help her escape Adam MacLean before the big Scot went too far one day and killed her. He had told Stevie all about her at the beginning, when it had been innocent, and, horrified that someone could be treated so badly, that she had offered herself as a friend to Jo too. Stevie just couldn't bear to see anyone being unhappy, especially when she was so happy herself, planning her wedding to the man of her dreams.

It hadn't felt right to keep bringing Jo into his home when he knew he was falling in love with her, but Matt couldn't help himselfhe just had to see her whenever he could. Then, when Jo admitted she felt the same about him, he had almost exploded with Pools-winning pleasure. Jo and Stevie got on so well, which made it both harder and easier, but either way messier. The longer it went on, the more hurt people were going to get, but he couldn't give Jo upit was not an option. Jo was a drug and he was hooked.

They hot-footed it to the sun to plan how he would finally leave Stevie and little Danny, and orchestrate how Jo could escape the Incredible McHulk. Matthew would have to make sure that he watched his back there. There was no telling what MacLean would do to Matthew, if he had no reservations about hitting a woman as fragile as Jo.

Propping himself up to look at the vision on the sun-bed next to his, Matthew knew it was all going to be worth it though. He couldn't feel any guilt because there was no room for it in his heart, which was just too full of desire for this gorgeous being. She was perfectwell, except for the scar on the top of her leg where Adam's kicking boot went in once. He had always. .h.i.t her where the bruises didn't show, she said, although she looked pretty undamaged now, and in fantastic shape. And all the s.e.x with that fantastic shape had almost succeeded in blowing his head clean off his shoulders. s.e.x that was long and languorous in bed, like this week. s.e.x that was fast and furious as it had had to be back home, like the time in the back of Stevie's car, which he'd felt a bit bad about, but it still hadn't stopped him. Obviously, Stevie hadn't been there to witness it; he had merely borrowed the car to take Jo home the night when she had come up to see the wedding dress. It had been quick, steamy, and very erotic. s.e.x that was dangerous and exciting, like when they did it up against a wall of an unfinished house on Jo's estate, her long slim legs around his back, pulling him further and deeper into her. She had been very noisy but he wouldn't have cared if the whole British Army and the Pope had come around the corner at that moment; it would just have given it all an extra edge and he would have carried on even more enthusiastically. As he came, he remembered that Stevie would be was.h.i.+ng up the pans and dishes in which she had just cooked them all supper. He realized then how much his feelings for Stevie paled in the face of this beautiful, long-limbed, washboard-stomached woman who needed his love and protection so much. She made him feel like he'd never felt before: a giant, a hero, a prince, Robin Hood crossed with Shrekafter the latter had taken the magic potion, obviously.

At first it crossed Matt's mind that Jo was so desperate to get away from Adam that she might be using him as a stepping stone, until she had suggested the two of them fly away abroad in order to plan the final logistics of partner-leaving, wedding-cancelling and moving in together. Then she had gone down on him in a staff toilet to seal her intentions. By the time his breathing had got back to normal, he had booked the flights and the five-star hotel on his already overloaded Visa card.

Now he was here and it was heaven. He kicked away a stray spore of remorse, imagining Stevie, ironing his s.h.i.+rts and looking forward to him coming home. She would be worrying about him driving all the way from Aberdeen and not having a clue that he was 1,500 miles in the other direction sponging up the Spanish sun, blood running like sangria through his veins making him permanently half-drunk with l.u.s.t.

Stevie would be okay, he had convinced himself of that. Well, heartbreak didn't kill you, did it, and she had come through far worse. She would have to move out (thank G.o.d the house was still solely in his name!) so that Jo could move in. Little Danny would forget him soon enough. It wasn't as if he had got used to calling him 'Daddy' or anything, and kids adjusted. He tried not to let the thoughts in about Danny's Euro-Disney trip because that really would make him feel bad. Especially as the savings for it were financing his Majorcan expenses. He would put the money back in the account, obviously. He wasn't a thief.

If asked, he would say he got the tan in the leisure facilities at the Aberdeen hotel, while Jo would say she had been under the sun-bed at the Welsh health farm. At least Stevie would never know he'd jetted off with another woman to the sun. That detail really would be too cruel.

Chapter 6.

Lindsay flicked at Stevie's long, honey-coloured hair and together they studied the difference it made to her reflection. First she pulled it back, then she swooped it forwards until she looked like Cousin Itt from the Addams Family.

'Know what? I think you should have it all lopped off. To here,' said Lindsay, making a chopping motion on her client's shoulders.

Stevie's eyes registered horror. 'A bob?' She wasn't convinced.

'Not quite,' said Lindsay, shaking her head vehemently. 'I don't think that would suit your face shape. You could end up looking like a child of royal first cousins. Something funkier, I think. Nice and choppy and really easy to do yourself at home.'

Stevie gulped. She was just about to change her mind and ask for a trim when she heard Catherine's voice in her head nagging her: 'What's the point of booking in with the top stylist at Anthony Fawkes and then not taking her advice?'

'And a few really pale highlights running through it as well,' Lindsay went on. 'I think it will make you look a h.e.l.l of a lot younger.'

Younger.

There. She had spoken the magic word. At thirty-six, Stevie was five years older than Jo, who had just recently had her thirty-first birthday. Stevie had bought her the (size ten) bikini they had both spotted on display in a shop window and wowed at. It was glistening white with a glittery rhinestone clasp at the front. Wouldn't that be ironic if Jo had it on nowmodelling it for Matthew on a Balearic beach whilst she was oiled up to b.u.g.g.e.ry with Piz Buin. Stevie smacked that thought away before she showed herself up by crying in public, supplanting it with one of Matthew's delighted face when he saw her new image.

'Okay, let's do it,' said Stevie, taking a deep breath as the scissors went in for the kill.

Two hours later and she was staring at herself in the mirror, from varied angles, admiring the shorter, chopped style, brighter in colour at the front and the sides and infinitely lighter in weight. She was astounded how much thinner her face seemed. If only it could have done the same to her b.u.m.

'I'm stunned!' said Stevie, who was. Whatever the damage on her Switch card was, it would be worth it. It cost a lot, but she didn't care. The plan had started to work. Now there was just the rest of her body to sort out.

Adam smoothed the plaster over the wall with the trowel. Apart from the colour, there was no evidence that his temper had given way and that he'd cannoned a fury-loaded fist into the wall. He knew that losing it was not the way forward, not this time. He had tried that one with Dianeand where had that got him? Shouting and screaming and breaking things and being totally out of control had done nothing but drive her right out of his life. And scare the neighbours. And lose his cat for him.

He thought back to that fateful day. The scene of devastation was burned onto his brain like a top quality colour photograph: Diane screaming and running out towards her car with a hastily packed suitcase and Humbug the striped tabby in his basket whilst Adam stood there holding a roaring chainsaw. The neighbours' curtains had twitched, but no one dared to ring the police. Diane had given him that look he had seen in his mum's eyes too many times when his da' came in from the pub. Some folks turned jolly with spirit, not big Andy MacLean. The whisky went straight into his fists, and then the fists went straight into his mammy and his sisters and little Adam. Blood will outthat's what they said, wasn't it?

Adam MacLean knew what he looked like with his archetypal boxer's nose, scarred cheek, powerful build and a voice that could vibrate owls out of trees. He also knew exactly how Jo would suppose him to behave if she left him for another man. And, likewise, what old Matty Boy (who was probably enjoying the last days for quite a while when he could maintain total control over his bowels) would expect from him. So, as he did the plastering repair, Adam MacLean had been thinking it all calmly and methodically through. And now he had a plan.

Chapter 7.

Kitted out in her new tracksuit bottoms, trainers, snazzy Adidas top and a very strong bra that totally flattened her generously proportioned chest so that she didn't give black eyes to either herself or people on adjacent treadmills, Stevie presented herself at the gym for her induction hour with Hilary. She was horrified to find that Hilary was in fact a bloke. Not just an ordinary bloke either but a young, fit, tall, love-G.o.d bloke with a killer smile and a backside that could crack open Brazil nuts. Then again, she of all people should have known that a name didn't always guarantee the s.e.x. Midnight Moon had asked her to use a pseudonym, as 'Stevie' suggested she might be male, and Midnight Moon readers were very specific that only women writers were able to tap into their feminine needs. Their pen-names needed to conjure up softness and romance and sweetness, which is why her fellow writers Paul Slack and Alec Sleaford became Paula Sheer and Alexis Tracey, and why she herself was published under Beatrice Pollen, her darling late granny's name. It was from Granny Bea that Stevie inherited her creative talents, her warm, considerate heart and her big, sky-blue eyes.

As if monitoring her whilst she went on the workout machines to ascertain what she could, or rather couldn't, manage wasn't embarra.s.sing enough, Hilary weighed her in the office, took her height, blood pressure and worked out her body ma.s.s index, which basically cla.s.sified her as a crate of lard. To be fair, the gorgeous Hilary didn't seem all that horrified by the way she puffed after doing three sit-ups or turned aubergine on the StairMaster. At least the weighing scales didn't flash up 'one fat bird at a time please'.

She paid a huge cheque over for a year's subscription, because that way Stevie knew she was fully committing herself to her cause, plus she was seduced by the offers of a free month and a special 'mystery' gift pack. Catherine was sitting in Reception when Hilary officially welcomed Stevie to the club, alas not with a big tonguey snog, but with a complimentary water container, a gym bag, an introductory booklet of money-off vouchers for the sun-bed, various ma.s.sages and treatments, and a free seven-day pa.s.s for a friend of her choice, who at that moment was eagerly waiting for it, clad in some pretty impressive pink and grey gear. Stevie wolf-whistled as she approached her.

'It's our Kate's,' explained Catherine.

'Must be nice, to be able to fit into your seventeen-year-old daughter's clothes,' said Stevie.

'It is, until you see me naked and discover that most of my body is made up of stretchmarks,' exaggerated Catherine who, considering the major brood she'd had, had managed to stay remarkably slim, give or take a little rounded tum that she was always moaning about. 'By the way, Steve, the hair is fab.'

'It looked better when I'd had it done this morning, before I had fourteen litres of sweat dampening it down.'

'Makes you look a h.e.l.l of a lot younger. No bull.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

Stevie beamed. First stage of 'getting Matthew back' was mission accomplished, then.

The two gym-bunnies had a go on a few machines. Catherine was surprisingly fit. Then again, she was forever running up and down stairs and gardens after the kids, plus she took the dogs out walking and she went to a yoga cla.s.s every Thursday evening. She liked yoga and did a lot of fifteen-minute stretches during the day and evening, which helped her relax in a way that smas.h.i.+ng plates against the wall and tearing her hair out wouldn't. She knew that for definite because she'd tried those too. Then they went off for a coffee in the very luxurious cafe after a slow walk past the spinning cla.s.s to check out some very nice male bottoms.

Stevie's stomach suddenly made a noise like a mortally wounded hound as they waited in the queue.

'Have you eaten?' said Catherine.

'Not really,' Stevie said.

'What's that supposed to mean? You either have or you haven't.'

'Er...no, then.'

'You won't lose weight by not eating.'

'Try telling that to people on hunger strike.'

'You know what I mean,' said Catherine, who was suddenly concerned. She had been waiting for Stevie to start cracking up. Her friend was far too composed for it to last. Not eating sounded suspiciously like the start of it. Again.

'I'm not deliberately not eating,' said Stevie. 'I just haven't felt hungry.'

'Right, well, you're having something now. You go and get those seats over there and I'll be with you in a minute.'

It was no good protesting with Catherine. It was never any good protesting with Catherine. Eddie had tried that one quite a few times and had been beaten back into a perpetual state of 'give in', so Stevie retired to the small metal table by the window as instructed. She did feel a bit shaky, all that exercise and hairdo-ing with nothing in her stomach but cappuccinos and half a slice of unb.u.t.tered toastwell, since Madman MacLean came around smas.h.i.+ng up her life anyway.

Catherine brought over big frothy coffees in pseudo-soup bowls, two flat toasted panini sandwiches, the length of Stevie's leg, filled with ham and Brie, and two enormous chocolate-covered slabs that smelt suspiciously of peanut b.u.t.ter.

'Do they sell this sort of stuff here?' said Stevie open-mouthed. She had been expecting two lettuce leaves and a spring onion on something brown and inedible.

'Course they do, it's not Stalag 17. Some people just come in for lunch, not to exercise.' Catherine stuck the sandwich in her mouth and pulled it out quickly. 'Ow, ow, owwatch it, that cheese is molten.' Then her face froze and she gave Stevie a sharp nudge. 'Braveheart alert at three o'clock,' she said through one side of her barely moving mouth, like ventriloquist Roger De Courcey with Nookie Bear.

'What?'

Stevie twisted around to see the unmistakable figure of him, resplendent in black tracksuit bottoms and a black T-s.h.i.+rt, with his luxuriant red hair flowing behind him. He looked like a muscular Duracell battery.

'Oh b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he's seen me,' said Stevie, as the big man's eyes locked onto hers and he started to come over. In slow motionlike the Terminator.

'Want a minute to yourselves?' said Catherine. 'You are in this together, after all.'

'Don't you dare leave me with that...that caber t.o.s.s.e.r without an armed escort!' said Stevie.

'Don't be daft, Steve. He's not going to do anything to you herethe place is packed. Anyway, I really do need the loo and he looks as if he wants to talk to you.' Catherine got up, just as Adam MacLean reached the table and nodded her a stiff h.e.l.lo as they crossed paths.

'I didnae know you were a member of ma gym,' he said, looking down at Stevie.

His gym? Crikey, he was possessive!

'Well, I am,' said Stevie, taking a diversionary sip of coffee, which burnt her lip, and then she accidentally bit it as well in an unfortunate reflex action.

'Can I sit down forrr a wee minute, please?' he said. Civilized for him, thought Stevie, who glared at him but didn't say no, which he obviously took to mean yes, because he dropped his big-honed body into the chair that Catherine had vacated.

'Have you hearrrd anything?' he asked, his eyes compulsively drawn to her swelling split lip.

'No,' Stevie lied. 'Have you?'

'No. Jo left her mobile behind too, funnily enough. Probably so I couldn't ring her. The number she left for the health farm doesn't exist, of course. No doubt she'll tell me she wrote it down wrang.'

'Oh.' Stevie felt a little guilty about fibbing then after he had been so candid, but she didn't want to give him any details that might trigger him to go off and kill Matthew. She had one dead lover, she didn't want another, she thought with black amus.e.m.e.nt. It was, however, a thought that quickly soured in her head and made her feel slightly sick.

'I have a plan to stop aw this nonsense,' he said.

'So have I,' said Stevie stiffly. She suspected her plan of hair-dos and gentle body toning might be slightly different from his, which would involve hi-jacking a plane and forcing Matthew to jump out of it above the bit of sea with the most sharks in it.

'You see, ba ma way of thinkin', it's aw to dae with basic psychology...'

Stevie cut him off with a mirthless little laugh. Like he would know! The only thing he knew about heads was that they were meant to propel forwards at great speed into someone else's nose. Most likely someone he was married to, too.

'Please don't take this wrongly, Mr MacLean but I'll handle this in my own fas.h.i.+on,' she said bravely. Her lip throbbed and she was fighting back some annoying tears, and she didn't know if they were down to bodily pain or his frustrating, hateful presence and all he stood for.

Adam pulled out a card from his tracksuit pocket and slammed it on the table, which made both her and the plates jump.

'Sorry, I'm a wee bit heavy-handed.'

You can say that again, she thought.

'Here's ma card. If you change yer mind and want to hear whit I have to say, then gi' me a ring. We could smash this thing up before it gets too big and get back tae being happy.'

She didn't like the way he said 'smash' with such relish, or maybe it was just his accent. Either way, she wouldn't have fancied his chances in a lullaby-singing compet.i.tion.

'That is, if you seriously want tae get yerrr man back.' He looked accusingly at the feast on the table. Not exactly food for a seriously devoted body sculptor, he thought. Then he was off, just as Catherine made her perfectly timed return.

'So?' she said, and then jumped back. 's.h.i.+tyour lip! He didn't hit you after all, did he?'

'Like he'd dare,' said Stevie, but knowing he'd dare quite easily. 'No, I burnt my lip on the coffee.'

'And?'

'Then I bit it and it hurt.'

'No, you clumsy tart, I meant "and" as in "and what did he want"?'

'Oh, he says he has a plan to break up Matthew and Jo,' Stevie said unenthusiastically.