The Lost Ticket, page 18
“So, I got you a little something . . .” Dylan went over to his bag on the counter and pulled out a small object, wrapped in tissue paper. He handed it to Libby. “Don’t get excited; it’s nothing fancy.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Sorry if you think it’s stupid.”
Libby started unwrapping the gift, aware Dylan was watching her. Inside was a piece of white fabric, and as she unfolded it, she saw it was a baby’s onesie, on the front of which was a drawing of a red London bus.
“Oh, Dylan.”
“It’s the 88,” he said, pointing at the number on the front of the bus. “I’ve got a mate who runs a stall in Camden Market and she made it specially.”
“It’s gorgeous. Thank you.” Libby felt tears pricking her eyes, and she put the onesie down and picked up another plate to put in the dishwasher so he wouldn’t see her face. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever given her such a thoughtful present before.
“I’m sorry it’s small. But I also wanted to say something . . .”
Dylan trailed off, and when Libby glanced up at him, he was staring at the onesie, chewing his lip. He cleared his throat before he spoke.
“I know we haven’t known each other very long. And I know that we haven’t even really hung out properly, unless you count riding the 88 bus, which I’m pretty sure doesn’t actually count as a date. And I know that you’ve had a crazy few months with your ex being such a prick and moving to London and finding out you’re pregnant and . . . Sorry. I’m waffling.”
Libby could see Dylan’s cheeks were almost as red as the bus on the baby onesie.
“What I’m trying to say is: I think you’re amazing,” Dylan continued. “The way you organized this whole poster campaign to try and help Frank. The way you’ve taken the pregnancy news in your stride. And I know you’re nervous about doing it on your own, but you’re going to be a brilliant mum; this kid is bloody lucky to have you. And I want you to know that I don’t think you need anyone else to do this with. You are going to absolutely smash it all on your own.”
He paused again to draw breath, his eyes still focused on the gift.
“But I also wanted to say that you don’t have to do it all on your own, if you don’t want to. I mean, I don’t know the first thing about babies, so I’m not sure I’d actually be much help, but I want to be there for you, if you’d like. As a friend, or . . .”
“Or?” The word was out of Libby’s mouth before she realized it.
Dylan looked up from the onesie now, into Libby’s eyes. The nervous expression had gone and was replaced with something else, something that made her chest contract.
“Or as more than friends,” he said, not taking his eyes off hers.
Libby didn’t speak, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then Dylan stepped forward, very slowly, until he was so close that she had to tilt her head up to see his face. His dark eyes were fixed on her mouth, and Libby felt such a rush of emotion that she closed her eyes. A second later she felt his lips brush against hers, so softly they were barely there. She let out a small gasp as his hand found her cheek, gently pushing her hair back from her face. She opened her eyes, and stared into his face as it hovered above hers. And then Dylan kissed her again, this time with an urgency that took Libby by surprise. She reached up and put her hands on the back of his head, feeling the curve of his skull under the soft shaved scalp. Dylan let out a small moan, and Libby felt it reverberate through her whole body.
* * *
• • •
“AH, we were wondering where the two of you had got to.” Frank was watching Libby as she walked back out into the garden, and she was grateful it was dark and he couldn’t see how flushed her face was.
“Sorry. I . . . I couldn’t find the cake forks,” Libby said, not looking him in the eye. She lifted up the knife to cut a slice and noticed that her hand was still trembling.
“No! We need to sing first,” Esme said.
“Oh, there’s no need,” Libby started to say, but Esme was already launching into “Happy Birthday,” followed by the other two.
Libby laughed and caught Dylan’s eye. Even in the low candlelight, she could see his face was flushed too, and she had a sudden urge to drag him back into the kitchen and pick up from where they’d left off a moment ago. When the singing had finished, there was a round of riotous applause.
“I’d like to propose a toast, if I may,” Frank said, once the clapping had died down. He lifted up his wineglass and turned to face her. “Libby, I want to thank you for your kindness over the past few months. I know we might not have had the outcome we hoped for—”
“Yet,” Esme interrupted, and Frank smiled.
“Quite right, Esme. But whatever happens, I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done, Libby. I feel blessed to be able to call you my friend, and I know that Dylan and Esme feel the same.” Libby could still feel Dylan’s eyes on her, and she smiled. “I also wanted to say that all three of us will be here for you over the coming months, as you enter this exciting new phase as a mother. I know that right now it must all feel very daunting, but please know that we’re here to support you every step of the way. So here’s to the very happiest of thirtieth birthdays, dearest Libby!”
An echo of “Cheers!” went round the table as they all clinked glasses.
Libby felt tears threatening again. “Thank you,” she said, blinking them away. “The last few months have been . . . well, they’ve been life changing, and that’s mainly because of meeting the three of you. I feel very lucky to have you in my life.”
“You are very lucky,” Esme said with a grin. “Now let’s have cake.”
“Yes, boss!” Libby started to cut large slices. As she did, she heard the sound of the doorbell from inside the house.
“Do you want me to get that?” Dylan said.
“It’s fine. I’ll go.”
She jumped up from the table and made her way into the house, licking cake off her fingers as she did. Behind her, Libby could hear Esme say something and Dylan laugh. The sound of his voice sent a thrill of excitement through her body, and Libby smiled to herself as she reached the front door. She pulled it open, and her stomach dropped.
“Surprise!”
CHAPTER
32
Simon was holding a bunch of flowers so huge, he could barely see over the top of them. Libby didn’t say anything, too horrified at the sight of her ex-boyfriend standing on the doorstep minutes after she’d kissed another man.
Simon stepped forward, peering at her through the petals. “Happy birthday!” He tried to hand Libby the flowers, but as he did, he staggered and had to lean against the wall to steady himself. “Sorry. I started the celebrations a bit early.”
A strong smell of lager hit Libby, and she found her voice. “What the hell are you doing here, Simon?”
“It’s your birthday!”
“And?”
“And I saw on Rebecca’s Instagram that they’re away, and I hated the thought of you all sad and alone on your big day.”
“Well, thanks for your concern but I’m fine, so you can go now.”
“I wanted to talk to you as well, Libs. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the baby and everything and I—”
“Libby, can I get more wine from the fridge?” Dylan’s voice came through from the kitchen.
“Help yourself,” she called back.
Simon was looking at Libby, bewildered. “You’re having a party?”
“I’ve got some friends round for dinner.”
“Who?” He moved his head to one side, trying to see past her into the house.
“No one you know. Look, I don’t know why you’re here but—”
“Can I come in and meet them?”
“No! Go home, Simon.”
She watched his face fall. “I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”
“You can’t turn up here unannounced. Not after everything that’s happened.”
“But I wanted to see you and . . .” He trailed off, staring at her with his brow creased as if trying to work out a difficult sum. “I guess I’ll go, then.”
He thrust the flowers toward her, and this time Libby took them—anything to get rid of him.
“Good-bye, Libby.”
Simon turned around too quickly and staggered at the top of the stairs. As he began to make his way down the steps, Libby could sense him focusing all his attention on placing one foot in front of the other. When he reached the bottom, she heaved a sigh of relief. She was turning back into the house when she heard a heavy thump and looked round to see Simon sprawled face-first on the paving stones.
“Oh, crap!” Libby dropped the flowers and ran down to him. “Are you okay?”
Simon didn’t respond, and Libby bent down next to him. He wasn’t moving, and she was about to shout for help when he turned his head toward her and grinned. Libby opened her mouth to yell at him, then spotted the blood.
“Jesus, you’ve cut your head.”
He put his hand to his forehead, wincing as he touched it. “Oops. That’s embarrassing.”
“You’d better come inside and clean it up.”
“No, I’ll be fine.” Simon started to pull himself up tentatively, like a toddler learning to stand. Libby took his arm and helped him.
“You can’t go home like this; you’ve got blood running down your face. Come on, there are plasters in the kitchen.”
Libby helped him back up the steps: not an easy task, as he was swaying left and right. She finally got him and the ridiculous bouquet of flowers through the front door and down the hall to the kitchen.
“There’s a first aid kit in here somewhere,” she said in a low voice, hoping the others in the garden wouldn’t hear her. But Simon ignored her as he walked through the kitchen toward the back door.
“No—” Libby started to say, but it was too late.
“Woo-hoo, par-tay!” Simon shouted, staggering out into the garden.
From Libby’s position in the kitchen, she could see past him to the scene outside. Frank, Esme, and Dylan all stopped talking and were staring at Simon. Frank and Esme both looked confused at the sudden arrival of another guest, but Dylan’s expression was different. He was sitting up tall in his seat, his eyes narrow as he glared at Simon with undisguised contempt. Libby stepped out into the garden.
“This is Simon,” she said to them all, but her eyes were fixed on Dylan. “He’s just here for one minute to—”
“I’m the father of Libby’s baby,” Simon interrupted, and Libby saw Dylan’s eyes narrow, as if this was confirmation of what he’d suspected.
“Oh, good evening,” Frank said, reaching his hand out toward Simon. But Simon ignored it, and when Libby glanced at him, she saw he was staring back at Dylan. For a moment nobody spoke, and she felt the energy shift.
“You have blood on your head,” Esme said.
“I’m just getting Simon a plaster before he leaves,” Libby said, but she didn’t move. Simon and Dylan were still eyeing each other across the table.
Frank must have sensed the tension too, because he gave a loud cough. “Would you like a drink, Simon? A glass of water, perhaps?”
“Got any beer?” Simon said, and he finally turned from Dylan and half sat, half slumped into a seat.
Libby hurried back into the kitchen. Rebecca kept a first aid box in one of the cupboards, but Libby couldn’t remember which one, and she started pulling doors open as fast as she could. In the background she could hear Simon’s slurring voice from the garden, and as she frantically searched, she imagined all the totally inappropriate things he could be saying to her guests. To Dylan.
At last she found the green box and rushed back outside. Simon was midflow.
“And then one year I took her to the Ivy for her birthday and afterward we—”
“Here, I’ve found it,” Libby interrupted.
Simon turned to her. “Thanks, Piglet.”
She winced at his use of her old nickname; why had she ever put up with him calling her that? She opened the first aid box, her hands shaking, and pulled out a bottle of TCP, some cotton wool, and a plaster.
“You should clean it before you put the plaster on,” she said, thrusting the bottle at Simon.
“Would you mind doing it for me? I’m feeling a bit dizzy.”
Libby gritted her teeth, but she knew the sooner she got it done, the sooner he’d leave. She put some TCP on a piece of cotton wool, conscious of everyone watching her. When she stepped toward Simon, he closed his eyes as if waiting for a kiss. Libby took a deep breath and began to dab his cut, acutely aware of how close she was to his face and how Dylan was watching her every move.
“You’ve always been an excellent nurse,” Simon said, opening his eyes and smiling up at her. “Thank you, Libs.”
“How’s Olivia?” Libby said as she ripped open the plaster, and the smile disappeared from his face.
“She’s fine.”
“Who’s Olivia?” Esme said.
“She’s Simon’s new girlfriend,” Libby said, pressing the plaster on his cut with a little more force than was perhaps necessary. “It turns out that when he said he wasn’t ready for commitment, he just meant he wasn’t ready for it with me.”
“Libs, it wasn’t like that,” Simon said. “I know I hurt you with our breakup, but it wasn’t all my fault.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Whose fault was it, then?” There was a sharp tone to Libby’s voice, and Simon looked at her, surprised.
“You have to take some responsibility for what happened to us,” he said. “I mean, maybe if you’d taken a bit more—”
“Don’t you fucking dare!”
They were the first words Dylan had uttered since Simon arrived, and his voice was low.
“What did you say?” Simon said.
“I said, don’t you dare try and blame Libby.”
“Excuse me, but I’m not sure this is any of your business. Who the hell are you anyway?”
Dylan ignored the question. “I know guys like you. Pricks who treat women like dirt and then try and blame it on them.”
Simon let out a sharp laugh. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough to know you’re bad news.”
“Are these the friends you’re keeping now?” Simon said, turning back to Libby. “Because I’m not sure they’re the kind of people I want my child growing up around.”
“Simon, stop it,” Libby said, but he ignored her.
“I mean, I know you’ve always liked a charity case, but this is a bit much, even for you.”
“Fuck off and leave her alone,” Dylan snarled.
“I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one who needs to leave, you freak.”
There was the sudden sound of scraping chairs, and before Libby realized what was happening, both Simon and Dylan had sprung to their feet. Only Simon was so drunk that he wobbled and fell against the table, knocking a glass of red wine everywhere.
“Sit down, both of you,” Frank said sharply, but neither of them listened, their bodies straining toward each other across the table.
“Do you want to sleep with her? Is that it?” Simon spat at Dylan. “Because let me tell you, you’re barking up the wrong tree there, mate. Libby prefers her men a bit more manly, less jewelry and stupid hair.”
“You little—”
Esme let out a scream and Libby sprang forward, putting her body between them.
“Stop it!” she shouted. “Both of you, stop it now!”
No one moved, the air electric. Libby looked between Dylan and Simon, their faces both twisted in anger. She needed one of them out of the house before they killed each other. She took a deep breath. “Simon, you need to l—”
“Oh, I don’t feel well,” Simon groaned, and he sank back down into a chair and put his face in his hands.
“What’s the matter?”
“I feel dizzy.”
“How did he cut his head?” Frank asked.
“He fell off the bottom step outside,” Libby said.
“Maybe he has a concussion.”
“He doesn’t have a concussion,” Dylan spat. “He’s faking it.”
But Libby had to admit that Simon was looking pale. “Should we call one-one-one?”
“No, I’m okay,” Simon said. “I just need to rest for a minute; then I’ll leave.”
“I don’t think you should be going anywhere if you’ve hit your head,” Frank said, and when Libby looked at him, he shrugged in apology. “I’m sorry, Libby, but he’s not safe out there on public transport, not like this.”
“Jesus, can’t you see he’s putting it on?” Dylan said.
“Piss off,” Simon said, glaring up at Dylan. “I really do feel—”
“Will you two give it a rest?” Libby said. She looked at Dylan. “I’m sorry but Frank’s right. I can’t let Simon travel back to Surrey in this state.”
“You don’t need to look after him, Libby.” The aggression had disappeared from Dylan’s voice, and he was looking at her imploringly. “You don’t owe him anything.”
“I know I don’t. But I can’t let him roam the streets when he’s this drunk; he might get hit by a bus or something.”
Dylan opened his mouth to reply, but then he stopped and his whole body seemed to deflate. “Fine.”
All the laughter and joy from earlier had gone, and when Libby looked at her friends, their faces were serious.
“We should probably be heading off,” Frank said, pulling himself up. “Libby, would you like one of us to stay and help you with Simon?”
“No, I’ll be fine, thank you.”
