Not OK Cupid: A sparkling rom-com you won't want to put down! Read online

  When Ally stepped into the kitchen, Sam’s face was an unhealthy red as he stabbed cocktail sticks through sausages. Gavin, standing close beside him, looked very pleased with himself.

  ‘Ooh, cocktail sausages!’ Ally inserted herself between the brothers. ‘Yum.’

  Kaitlyn made a face and went back to chopping celery into batons.

  ‘How’s the colouring-in going?’ Gavin the banker asked Sam the graphic designer.

  Sam’s fist closed around a cocktail stick.

  ‘Great,’ said Ally, as if the question had been directed at her. ‘I still draw, and paint. You remember when you tried to buy my self-portrait in school?’

  Kaitlyn looked up sharply from the celery.

  ‘As a joke,’ said Gavin. He cleared his throat and avoided his fiancée’s eyes.

  ‘Oh. Wasn’t very funny. Then again, neither was that stand-up you tried to do at the talent show. Bet you still get embarrassed, thinking of that stony silence? Never mind . . . I’m sure you’ve got funnier in the last fifteen years.’

  Gavin’s jaw set as he ripped open a packet of profiteroles, then had to get on his knees to pick them up from the floor. Sam nudged Ally with his shoulder, the hint of a smile on his lips.

  When the food was done, Ally helped carry the trays and ice buckets to the garden. Clooney was gone, but she heard a bang and spotted him dumping weeds in a compost bin at the side of the house. He took off his gloves, revealing a tanned – and ringless – hand.

  Result.

  He smiled at her and disappeared on to the driveway.

  Please let him not be close to Mrs Kinsell. Besides anything else, she really wanted to paint the dog: she’d only sold two paintings since spring, though her ad was going to change that.

  They set up trestle tables in the garden. Just as the sun went behind a cloud, the other guests started arriving. Sam shot Ally a pained look, took her hand, and introduced her to an endless line of aunts, family friends and people his mum went to church with. Ally squeezed his hand whenever someone asked her a tricky question, and Sam squeezed hers whenever her mind wandered.

  Gavin stood with a group of men that laughed loudly every few minutes, spilled beer on the grass, and ogled any woman under thirty. When she met their eyes they smirked at her, brazen, and dropped their eyes to her cleavage. These must be the cousins Sam had warned her about.

  Shame, because one of them was hot.

  At seven on the dot, Gavin held up an empty wine glass and tapped it with a knife. The buzz of conversation stopped, and the thirty or so guests turned to look at him.

  ‘Thank you everybody for coming,’ he began, and launched into a very dull speech about the history of his relationship. Ally’s mind wandered back to Gardener Clooney’s hands, but she snapped back when she heard Sam’s name.

  ‘And today we finally meet Sam’s fiancée,’ Gavin said, gesturing at Ally with his glass. ‘I hope he hasn’t paid her to come along. Perhaps it was premature of me to say he was punching above his weight with pretty girls. Or girls with sight.’

  Gavin’s group snickered.

  ‘Yeah,’ Ally called out. ‘From what the girls at school used to say, being premature has always been a problem for you.’

  Subtlety had never been her forte, but Gavin’s group seemed to appreciate directness. They laughed a lot louder than they had at his joke.

  Gavin and Kaitlyn glared at her. Ally put on her sweetest Barbie smile and held up her glass of Prosecco to them.

  Gavin seemed to lose his way after that, and abandoned his prompt cards unread. ‘Anyway,’ he shot another venomous look at Ally, ‘today is a momentous occasion because our two families are meeting for the first time. Thanks to all of you, our beloved friends and relatives, for joining us. And my brother came along, too.’ He winked as if it were a joke, and the crowd laughed. Ally made a mental note to grind her heel into his instep before she left. ‘We want to give our special thanks to our parents, who’ve generously agreed to front the wedding costs. So please join me in a toast to my future parents-in-law –’ he raised his glass to a couple standing near Kaitlyn – ‘and to my parents.’ He indicated Mrs Kinsell, leaning heavily on a black walking stick. Then Gavin turned and pointed the champagne glass at Gardener Clooney.

  Mr Kinsell.

  Gavin and Sam’s father.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sam’s dad. She’d been flirting with Sam’s dad. Perving on him.

  A bottle of brain bleach wouldn’t be enough.

  Sam’s dad – his DAD – stood looking all handsome while his wife (oh shit, Sam’s mum) made a speech to thank the guests for coming. He glanced around at the crowd and smiled when he saw Ally. Then his eyes travelled to her left.

  To his son.

  Holding her hand.

  Ally pressed her cheek into Sam’s shoulder, both to avoid his dad’s eyes and to hide her blush.

  Not only had she imagined screwing her best friend’s dad, but she’d blown it as Sam’s fake fiancée. Gardener Clooney – Mr Kinsell – Sam’s dad – would tell Sam his fiancée was a cheating slut, or he’d work out their relationship was a sham. Either way, that prick Gavin would revel in his brother’s humiliation and never let him forget it.

  She had to fix this.

  Everyone clapped at the end of Mrs Kinsell’s speech. Ally hadn’t heard a word of it, imagining the look on the woman’s face if she knew her ex had been flirting with her future daughter-in-law. Although . . . Ally strained to remember the conversation, and her cheeks blazed. He hadn’t flirted. Just smiled and stared. Shit, of course he’d stared. He’d wondered who this strange woman in his garden was, talking nonsense about parasols and how much she loved . . .

  Great. Now he thought his son was dating a nymphomaniac cheating slut.

  She’d even told him she was an artist, when she was supposed to be a nurse.

  She really had to fix this.

  The polite applause stopped, and everyone looked at Mr Kinsell.

  ‘It’s great to see you all here,’ he said in that deep melty voice.

  No, no, no. That was a rasping jarring voice. Not sexy. Yuck. He probably smoked sixty a day and that was why it was so deep, even though that made no sense, and he’d stink of cigarette smoke. And cough up black stuff in the morning. Ew. Who’d want to wake up next to that?

  Everyone clapped again, though Ally was sure she’d only tuned out for a moment.

  ‘Let’s go and chat to Gavin.’ Ally seized Sam’s arm and marched him across the lawn.

  ‘Why?’ Sam hissed, dragging his heels. ‘Are you a masochist?’

  Ally ignored him. It was crucial she was with Sam and Gavin when their dad told them what she’d done. Damage limitation.

  Sam had got away with this lie for three years, and she’d ruined it in three minutes thanks to her irrepressible libido. She was the worst fake fiancée ever, not to mention a terrible friend. Perving on his dad.

  What the hell was he doing gardening, anyway? He didn’t even live here any more. Unless Sam’s scheming was working and he was getting back together with his wife . . .

  Shit. If she’d thrown a spanner in those works, Sam would never forgive her.

  Ally brought Sam to a halt beside Gavin and Kaitlyn just as a middle-aged woman descended on them.

  ‘Gavin!’ She took Gavin by the shoulders, kissed both his cheeks, then turned on Sam. ‘Sam!’

  ‘Aunt Jill,’ said Gavin with an ingratiating smile. ‘Have you met my fiancée, Kaitlyn?’

  Once Aunt Jill had finished making a fuss of Kaitlyn’s expensive dress, it was Ally’s turn. ‘Oh, now, look at you. What a beauty you’ve got yourself, Sam.’

  Ally appreciated that, because it made Kaitlyn do the cat’s-bum face again.

  ‘What do you do, dear?’ Aunt Jill asked.

  ‘I’m a lawyer,’ Kaitlyn answered immediately. ‘Specialising in criminal law.’

  Ally watched Mr Kinsell out of the corner of her eye. He stood by the buffet
table, pouring wine and soft drinks for a stream of guests. Just before Mrs Kinsell reached the table, he moved to the other end and ducked down to unpack a crate of beers.

  ‘And you, dear?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Hmm?’ Ally dragged her gaze back to Jill. ‘Oh. I’m an art—a nurse. An art . . . ery nurse. An artery nurse. I specialise in arteries.’

  Jill’s eyes lit up and she turned her back on Kaitlyn to face Ally. ‘A nurse? That’s very interesting.’ She slipped a stockinged foot out of a pink, peep-toed shoe and pointed it at Ally. ‘I’ve had this lump on the side of my toe for months—’

  ‘Oh, Dad’s free,’ Sam interrupted. ‘Excuse us, Auntie Jill. We haven’t said hello yet.’ Ally stared in horror at Mr Kinsell, who was arranging the beers on the tablecloth. Why couldn’t they stay and examine Jill’s bunions?

  Sam steered her away. ‘At least it wasn’t a rash,’ he whispered, with a shudder.

  Ally’s feet dragged of their own accord, and tried to stop altogether when Mr Kinsell caught sight of her.

  She did the only thing she could think of. Lagging a few steps behind Sam so he wouldn’t see her face, she locked eyes with his father and mouthed, ‘Sorry. Explain later.’

  He raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, a high voice said, ‘Sammy!’

  Mrs Kinsell was heading towards them, leaning on the arm of a woman who could only be her sister. It was like looking at before-and-after pictures for some revolutionary medical treatment, with the sister at least a stone heavier and a boulder robuster than Mrs Kinsell.

  The sister eyed Ally as they approached, and Ally tried to smile. It felt maniacal.

  ‘Hi, Mum. Aunt Virginia.’ Sam kissed his mum on the cheek, and she drew him into a one-armed hug. He glanced from his mum to his dad, and shuffled closer to Ally. ‘You remember Ally, Mum?’

  ‘Of course.’ Mrs Kinsell’s smile faded when her eyes slid down Ally’s tight blue dress. Mrs Kinsell wore a long skirt with tights covering her bare ankles and a long-sleeved blouse. Conservative. Smart. Not calculated to show the most flesh possible without actually breaking the law.

  The sisters exchanged looks.

  A thump vibrated through Ally’s shoulder as Sam dropped his arm around her. ‘Lots of romance around, isn’t there? Me and Ally. Gavin and Kaitlyn. Must be something in the air. How are you, Dad?’

  Ally fought down a wince, and adjusted her face to neutral. Something similar seemed to pass over Mr Kinsell’s face.

  Sam’s mum looked up at him. ‘Hello, Marcus.’

  ‘Hello, Julie.’

  ‘How’s your new place?’

  ‘Fine, thank you.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s cosy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know this place gets chilly in the evenings.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Aunt Virginia, looking straight at Marcus. ‘It’s not good for the joints. Especially ones that have already been through the wars.’

  Silence fell.

  ‘Great weather today, though,’ Sam said. ‘Suits the occasion. Love and happiness and all that. Bet Gavin can’t wait to be married. We can’t, can we?’ He squeezed Ally’s shoulder.

  ‘Yeah. I mean, no. Can’t wait.’

  ‘A summer wedding would be nice.’

  ‘Mm,’ Ally said, then thought she ought to make more of an effort. ‘We could have the reception outside. Like this.’

  ‘Great idea!’

  Ally risked a glance at Sam’s father. He had an eyebrow raised again, and caught Ally’s eye. She looked away.

  ‘Sammy, your tie’s crooked.’ Mrs Kinsell leaned in and tugged at the knot around Sam’s neck. Ally stepped to one side to give them space, and found Mr Kinsell square in front of her.

  ‘So, Ally,’ he said, in a low voice. She bet his chest would rumble if she put a hand on it.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, in a very high voice indeed.

  Her pulse hammered in her veins as he looked down at her. Those brown eyes were dark and deep, contrasting with his blue shirt.

  ‘Pleasure to meet you,’ he said in his chocolatey voice. ‘I should have come to say hello earlier, but I was on gardening duty. Forgive me.’

  Forgive him? Was he playing with her?

  ‘It’s a beautiful garden,’ was all she could think to say.

  ‘I always think it’d make a good painting.’ His eyes glinted. Penetrating. Penetrating . . .

  Mrs Kinsell’s voice carried into the silence. ‘It does get lonely, yes.’

  ‘About that painting,’ said Mr Kinsell, his eyes still fixed on Ally. ‘Come and meet Debbie, and you can give me a quote. My dogs are upstairs where they can’t decimate the buffet.’

  ‘I wouldn’t charge,’ Ally said hurriedly. ‘Not for family. I’ll give you a call when I have an opening.’

  ‘Of course I’ll pay. You have to eat, family or not. And you must meet Debbie. Don’t want you turning up for our appointment and finding out you’re allergic to her, do we?’

  That was bullshit and he knew it; she could see the glint in his eyes. But if she refused to let him get her alone and quiz her about her behaviour? Then maybe he’d do it right here, a few feet away from Sam and his ex-wife.

  ‘OK,’ said Ally. One of her heels sank into the grass.

  Ally followed Mr Kinsell inside, through the kitchen and up a flight of stairs in silence. Now they were alone it was her chance to explain, and she didn’t have a clue what to say.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, stopping on the landing. Well, there was no point putting it off. Mr Kinsell turned to her, looking bemused. ‘I thought you were the gardener.’

  He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Oh, crap, forget I said that, I mean—’

  He grinned. ‘It’s OK. I am the gardener. Or, at least, I was. But Julie asked me to come early to help get the house ready, and I couldn’t leave those weeds to choke the bluebells.’

  A breeze fluttered in from the small window at the end of the hall and carried the scent of his aftershave to Ally’s nose. Citrus, spice, and something deep and masculine, like leather. She hoped it was fake leather. No cow should have to die for cologne, even for a scent as bewitching as this.

  She breathed in and tried to remember what he’d said. ‘Uh . . . well, you know what I mean. I didn’t think you were related to Sam or I wouldn’t have been so . . . casual.’

  ‘I like casual. Kaitlyn never says more than two words to me. Come and meet Debbie. She’s in my room. Well, not my room any more, though I still have stuff to move out.’

  Ally ground to a halt. Alone with him, in his bedroom? She’d self-combust.

  Wait. His bedroom? Why not our bedroom? This had been the marital home, after all.

  With a deep breath she followed him through a door and exhaled in relief. Not a bedroom, and it was clear why it was his. This was a man cave, all dark wood and charcoal furniture, with manganese-blue walls warm in the sunshine. It had the neglected look of a room in the middle of a house move: the shelves lining one wall were mostly empty, with isolated piles of CDs, DVDs and books among the dust. Another wall had a large discoloured rectangle on the paint, as if something had hung there and blocked the sunlight from the paint. The only furniture was a huge, squashy grey sofa, and a TV stand minus the TV.

  Mr Kinsell picked up a cardboard box from behind the door, and began packing away books. ‘What do you think?’ He nodded at the window. Underneath it, a cocker spaniel was curled up in a massive dog bed like a single bean on a dinner plate. Squashed up beside it, a Newfoundland had one hind leg jammed into a cocker-spaniel-sized bed. He raised his head and thumped his tail at Ally.

  ‘Oh my gosh, the cuteness.’ Ally dropped to her knees and held out a fist to each dog. The cocker spaniel opened one eye, gave a cursory sniff, and went back to sleep. The Newfoundland ran his wet nose over Ally’s knuckles like a vacuum cleaner, whined, and rolled over to expose his stomach.

  ‘That means belly rub,’ Mr Kinsell said.

&nb
sp; There was a lot of belly to choose from. Standing up, the dog must have been as tall as her. He wriggled his butt as she rubbed the thick fur.

  ‘Why is there a bear in your living room?’ she asked.

  ‘Julie wouldn’t let me put him in the kitchen. He eats her friends.’

  ‘He’s not going to eat me, is he?’

  ‘No. He had the postman this morning, so he’s full.’

  ‘That’s a relief. I take it this is Debbie?’ She jerked her head at the cocker spaniel, who snored.

  ‘Yep. And that’s Harry.’

  ‘Debbie and Harry?’

  He shrugged and gave her a sheepish smile. ‘Never got over my Blondie obsession.’

  Ally glanced at the bookshelves, but the row of CDs was too far away for her to make out the titles. ‘Are you going to see them next month?’

  ‘They’re touring?’

  ‘Uh-huh. I’m going to see them at the O2 on the twenty-fifth.’

  ‘I didn’t know. It’s not really fair of me to leave the dogs in the evenings, anyway. A walker comes in while I’m at work, but they like company in the evenings. Especially that massive softie.’

  ‘How much does he weigh?’ she asked.

  ‘Seventy-two kilos.’

  Ally eyed the belly again. ‘Man. He’s heavier than me.’

  ‘Get a treat inside him and he’s heavier than me. It’s my fault. We used to go running for an hour, morning and evening, but Debbie just wants to sleep these days. Harry won’t leave her side, so the three of us crawl along like some kind of outing for disabled snails. Sometimes I can coax him to chase a Frisbee.’

  ‘You could carry Debbie and run with him.’

  Mr Kinsell snorted with laughter. ‘I’m probably less fit than her. I haven’t run since October, when the mornings got cold and I got lazy.’

  ‘You look fit,’ Ally said without thinking. She cringed. ‘Er, I mean, you did all that gardening without breaking a sweat.’

  ‘It’s not exactly a triathlon. Anyway, enough about my laziness. If I start to feel guilty I won’t be able to have a burger from the barbecue.’ He put a final stack of books into the box and straightened up. ‘I was hoping to talk to you about Sam.’