Twelve days. Two gold rings. One BIG secret…

Emily needs a husband…fast. It’s just a few days until Christmas and to finally put a stop to her nagging mother’s matchmaking plans, Emily has convinced her that she’s already married!

And when her excited mum announces that she’s coming to stay, Emily can think of only one man to play the part: gorgeous ex-soldier Sam. It’s the best part of her day, handing him a coffee every morning – but then, Emily never expected to offer him her hand in marriage, too…

All that’s left is for Sam to say ‘I do’ – it’s the perfect plan! So why then, do her ‘pretend’ feelings for Sam seem far too real?

Fans of Debbie Johnson, Holly Martin and Christie Barlow will love this heart-warming read from debut author Carla Burgess.

Marry Me Tomorrow

Carla Burgess

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016

Copyright © Carla Burgess 2016

Carla Burgess asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9780008215392

Version date: 2018-07-23

CARLA BURGESS

was born in Solihull and now lives in Chester with her husband, three children, dog and bearded dragon. Her love of books was sparked when she borrowed Ghost Ship to Ganymede by Robert Swindells from her primary school library and devoured it in one night. It was just after this that she started writing her own stories and inflicting them on family and friends. She began her working life as an editor on a trade magazine where she dreamed of writing about romance instead of tubing, but still felt privileged to be working with words. She has a degree in English Literature and Psychology, and loves animals, the countryside and the sea. Carla’s debut novel, Marry Me Tomorrow, is released this year. You can follow her on Twitter at: @MsBear123

Thank you to the team at HQ Digital UK for all your hard work and support, especially my editor, Charlotte Mursell, and Rhea Kurien, who made ‘The Call’.

For Ian, Isobel, Tom and Cassie – with love.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Endpages

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘Will you marry me?’

The question hung between us, as tangible as the snowflakes floating around our heads. We were standing on the Eastgate, beneath the clock, and the picture postcard streets of Chester were filled with Christmas shoppers. Somewhere in the distance, The Salvation Army brass band struck up ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’, and the fairy lights strung between the black-and-white timber buildings glowed gold in the early evening darkness.

‘I’m sorry. What did you say?’ Sam was looking at me as though I’d gone completely, stark raving mad.

Taking a deep breath, I twisted my gloved fingers together. This was much harder than I thought it would be. ‘Well, what I mean is, will you pretend to be married to me? Just until after Christmas.’

He straightened up from the railing he’d been leaning on and looked away into the distance as though that’s where he wished he could be. I studied him for a moment. He looked so tired and pale and thin. Purple rings circled his brown eyes and stubble darkened his jaw. I didn’t know how old he was, but I thought he was probably in his late thirties. I wondered where he’d slept last night and when he’d last had something warm to eat. His dirty coat looked too thin to protect him from the winter weather and there were holes in his jeans.

‘It would be like a job, see?’ I said.

His eyes returned to mine, narrowed and suspicious. ‘Why?’

‘I lied to my mother about being married, and now she’s coming to visit and I need you to help me.’

He stared at me, his face creased with disbelief. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,’ he said. ‘You’re a grown woman. Why are you lying to your mother about being married?’

Shaking my head, I rubbed my face hard as though I could rub it all away. ‘It’s a long story,’ I said. ‘But basically my mum lives in New York, and she’s been driving me mad with questions about getting a boyfriend and settling down and not being “left-on-the-shelf”. So one day, after she’d got back from being on a cruise for like eight weeks or something, I told her I’d met someone, had a whirlwind affair and got married. I said it as a joke, you know, just being sarcastic, but she completely bought it and went absolutely mad with joy. So I thought, if it makes her so happy I’ll go with it.’

Sam was still staring at me as though I was crazy. His eyes were slightly narrowed and he was shaking his head. I was starting to regret asking him now.

‘That’s really sad. You know that’s sad right?’

‘Yes. Yes I do. But I hadn’t seen her in so long I thought I’d just… I don’t know. I suppose I thought I’d get a convenient divorce if she ever made noises about coming to visit. But then she phoned up last night and she’s coming tomorrow so now I’m stuck.’

‘Ha! Busted.’ Sam grinned, showing surprisingly clean white teeth. ‘So hasn’t she been asking questions about him? Didn’t she ask to see wedding photos? Wasn’t she pissed you didn’t invite her?’

Shaking my head, I said (a little too seriously), ‘We got married as a spur of the moment thing. No guests, no photos, no fuss. He doesn’t like his photo taken, so I don’t have any.’

‘Oh dear.’ Sam scratched the stubble on his cheek and gave me a knowing look. ‘I think someone’s buying their own made-up story.’

‘I am not!’ I bristled.

‘That’s really fucking sad.’ He laughed. ‘Jesus! That’s sadder than me; you know that? Well, thanks for making me feel better about my own life.’ He turned away and started to walk off.

‘What? No. Wait. Where are you going?’

‘Somewhere else. Anywhere away from you and your nutcase fantasy life.’

‘That’s not very nice,’ I said, hurt. I couldn’t believe he was acting this way. Somewhere in my head, in between the panic brought on by my mother’s impending visit and the euphoria of thinking up a solution to my problem, I’d decided that Sam would jump at the prospect of pretending to be my husband, even if it was just on the basis that he would get to sleep in a warm bed. Maybe that was the problem? Maybe he thought he’d have to share the bed with me? ‘You wouldn’t have to sleep with me, you know,’ I bawled after him, ignoring a couple of tourists who turned to look at me.

Picking up the shopping bags by my feet, I followed Sam off the Eastgate and onto the city walls, marvelling at how fast he could walk for such a tired-looking man. ‘Hey! Wait.’ He was almost at Newgate by the time I caught up with him, the floodlit remains of the amphitheatre glowing in the darkness. ‘You’d have your own bed,’ I said. ‘You’d sleep in the spare room. My flat’s nice and warm and there’s food and drink and I’ll buy you some clothes and…’

He stopped abruptly and I cannoned into his back.

‘Listen, lady,’ he said, turning and hitching his backpack higher onto his shoulder.

‘Emily,’ I corrected.

‘Listen, Emily. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Buying someone a cup of coffee every morning does not constitute a relationship.’

‘I know that!’ I said. ‘I’m not completely deranged. I’m only asking you to come and live in my flat over Christmas, while my mum’s visiting, and pretend to be my husband. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, is it?’

Even as I was saying it, I was questioning the validity of that statement. Perhaps it really was too much to ask.

‘Well, it depends how you look at things really, doesn’t it?’ Sam said. ‘You could be a complete nightmare. Your mum could be a complete nightmare. My life could turn into a complete nightmare.’

‘But surely your life already is a complete nightmare?’ I said. ‘Do you really want to live on the streets? I’m offering you the chance to spend Christmas in a warm, dry place.’

He glared at me. ‘You’re asking me to live a lie,’ he said. ‘Lies are how I ended up here in the first place.’

‘Well, maybe lies will get you out of here,’ I said. He turned to walk away and I caught his arm. ‘Wait. What if you come and stay tonight? See how you feel in the morning. Mum will be staying in a hotel anyway, so you won’t be under constant pressure to act like my husband. I don’t even know how long she’s staying yet. But if you could be there when she arrives, that would be really helpful.’

‘You’re really fucking pushy, aren’t you?’

‘I’m really fucking desperate, actually.’ I took a huge breath in and let it out in a sigh. ‘And if you’re not happy with how things are going, you can leave and I’ll say we had a huge row and you’ve left. At least then that clears the way for my divorce.’

He closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Why don’t you just give him a job where he works away a lot? Say he’s a soldier and he’s been suddenly posted abroad. Or say he works on the oil rigs. Or,’ he added, ‘just say you woke up this morning and found a note to say he’s left you because he’s suddenly realised he’s gay. So he’s left and he’s never coming back.’

I looked away, watching the red tail lights of the cars snaking along Pepper Street. ‘I suppose I could do that.’ I was silent for a moment, biting my lip, aware that Sam was watching me. ‘The thing is, I don’t think Mum would believe I ever did get married if I say that.’

He bent towards me and said in a low voice, ‘You didn’t get married. And besides, she’s not going to believe you anyway. Even if I did come and stay, she’s going to wonder why you picked such a scruffy fucker, isn’t she? I mean, what do you do for a living? You’re always dressed smart when you go to work.’

‘Accountant,’ I said vaguely.

‘An accountant?’ His voice was incredulous. ‘You’re an accountant, and you’re begging a homeless bloke to come and live in your flat? Jeez. You really need to re-evaluate your life.’

‘Well, thanks for that,’ I snapped.

‘Well look at yourself. What the hell are you doing? Just get a grip and fuck off. I don’t need your patronising offers of warm beds and hot meals. Bugger off and ask someone who gives one.’

‘Well, I’m sorry I ever thought you were nice enough to consider asking for help. You’re not getting any more coffees from me, that’s for sure.’

‘You can stick your coffee. I don’t even like fucking coffee.’

‘Well, you could have told me that before, couldn’t you?’ I said, my voice rising to a shout. ‘I’d have got you tea if I’d have known that.’ Tears blurred my vision as I turned and stomped away. What a bastard! I’d been buying him a cup of coffee every morning on my way to work for almost four months now. Four months of buying someone something they didn’t want. What a bloody idiot.

The first time I’d bought him one it had been raining hard and he’d been sitting on the floor, soaked through. I’d passed him the coffee and he’d looked so grateful, I’d been touched. Just thinking about what a difference a hot drink could make, made me want to buy him one every day. I’d felt good about myself. Emily, bringer of coffee to the homeless. Emily, the Saint.

Ah who was I kidding? Truth was, I had a bit of crush on him. That big grin he gave me when I passed him the drink. The way he asked how I was every morning. It was the highlight of my day.

How fucking sad.

I berated myself for my stupidity all the way back to my car, and all the while angry tears leaked down my face. I remembered Christmas as a happy time when I was a kid. Now it was just one big stress. A time for reflecting on how crap your life was.

Unlocking my car, I shoved my bags in the boot, putting all of my anger into slamming it shut. Then I stood for a moment, with my hands over my face, trying to pull myself together before driving home.

‘What’s in it for me, then?’

I jumped. He was standing behind me, head on one side.

‘I already told you,’ I said. ‘Warm bed. Hot food. Christmas indoors. But don’t worry about it. I’ll manage.’

‘Are you crying?’

‘No,’ I said, opening my car door and climbing in. ‘I always look like this.’

‘No you don’t, you’re always happy and smiley.’

‘No, this is my face now. The face you’ll see when I pass you each morning, without saying hello or giving you a coffee.’

‘Don’t be like that.’

I gave him a look and went to shut the door, but he stuck his knee out to stop me. Suppressing the urge to slam the door repeatedly on his leg while screaming like a lunatic, I said, ‘Please remove your knee from my door.’

‘I do like coffee, really.’

‘Great. Well, you’re still not getting any more off me.’

He shrugged, and stood there, watching me with dark eyes and a serious expression. He still had his knee in the door. ‘I’ll help you, if you still want me to.’

I stared at him. Did I still want him to? I wasn’t sure now; he was different to how I thought he’d be. Less grateful. More complicated. Still, he’d followed me here. ‘Well, I don’t want to force you into it,’ I huffed.

He sniffed and looked away. ‘I’ll ask around the other homeless guys, if you like? See if one of them’s up for it?’

‘Yeah, go on then.’

He grinned at me. ‘I’ll do it. But if you turn into too much of a nightmare, I’m straight out of there.’ He went round to the passenger side and climbed in.

‘Do you need to tell anyone? Will anyone wonder where you are?’

‘Nah.’

‘Really?’ I frowned across at him as I started the engine and flicked on the headlights. ‘No one will report you missing?’

He shook his head. ‘I come, I go. I keep friends to a minimum. People are baggage that weigh you down.’

‘Really? That’s sad.’

‘Not really. I’m not the one making shit up to please other people. It’s no one else’s business if you’re single or married. You should be able to live your life how you want.’

I blinked at him. ‘Well,’ I said after a moment’s thought, ‘she’s my mum. She just wants me to be happy.’

‘Well, in my experience marriage just makes you miserable.’

I looked across at him. ‘Have you ever been married?’

‘Once.’

‘Ended badly then?’

‘Yep.’

‘Okay, well, hopefully this won’t end badly and you can leave at any time you like. I’ll try not to be too much of a nightmare, as long as you do too.’

He chuckled. ‘I ain’t making no promises.’

I joined the queue of traffic to get out of the city centre and we sat in silence for a while. His stale, unwashed stench filled the car and I wondered if it would be rude to open a window. I’d have to get him some new clothes. And some wash stuff. ‘I might nip to Asda on the way home,’ I told him. ‘Pick up some stuff. What do you fancy for tea?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t care. I’m not a fussy eater.’

‘I’ll get you some clothes too. What size do you reckon you are?’

‘I dunno.’

‘About a medium?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Do you want to come in with me?’

‘No, I’ll wait in the car.’

‘Fine.’

More silence. The traffic began to move and I put the car into gear. ‘So, I suppose you’ll need to know a bit about me if you’re going to pretend to be my husband,’ I said.

‘Go on then.’

‘Okay, I’m Emily Fielding. I’m thirty-four. I’m an accountant. I went to Warwick University. I like all animals, but especially dogs. I have a cat named Roger –’

‘Roger?’

‘I used to ice skate but gave up when I was fifteen after a bad fall. I love music – pop music mostly, but I like a bit of country. I like reading and romantic comedies. Ermmmm what else, what else… Oh, I’ll think of more after. What about you?’

‘What about me? You don’t need to know about me if I’m pretending to be someone else. What’s my name, anyway?’

‘Sam, isn’t it?’ I looked across at him in surprise.

‘My real name, yeah, but what about your faux-husband’s name? What did you tell your mum?’

‘Oh! Well.’ I felt my cheeks flame. ‘Sam, actually.’

There was silence and I could feel him looking at me, eyes wide with terror. ‘Why did you choose that name?’ he asked at last.

‘Oh, it was before I met you,’ I lied, my voice bright and amused. ‘I’ve always liked your name. Quite a coincidence, huh?’

‘Hmmmm.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘You must be out of your mind!’ Lydia hissed, pushing past me into my flat and looking around wildly. ‘Where is he then? Where is he?’

I stared at my best friend for a moment, shocked by the murderous glint in her eye. Shocked that she was here at all, actually. I’d only got off the phone to her ten minutes ago, and yet here she was, standing in my flat, having obviously got straight into her car and driven to mine as fast as she could. I could only marvel at her speed; it took me ten minutes to get from the car park up to my flat, let alone all the way from Lydia’s house.

‘Well?’ She glared at me before grabbing a heavy Christmas musical snow globe off the sideboard and holding it in one hand like a weapon.

‘What are you doing? Give me that; you’ll break it.’ Closing the door, I prised it from her grip and placed it back on the side. ‘There’s no need to stress. He’s in the bath. Come through to the kitchen and I’ll make us some tea.’

‘Tea? Tea? I need wine.’

‘You’re driving, aren’t you?’ I hesitated and gave her a look, noticing for the first time she was wearing pyjamas tucked into long fur-lined boots with a coat thrown on over the top. I winced. Lydia never left home without looking her best. I must have really panicked her for her to come out so quickly.

‘I’ll stay.’

‘There’s no need to stay. It’s all perfectly fine.’ I walked past her into the kitchen. I’d dimmed the lights in the lounge and the fake flames of the electric fire cast flickering shadows across the room. My Christmas tree twinkled in the corner.

‘There’s nothing perfectly fine about this. You must be crazy.’

‘You must be crazy!’ I laughed to soften my words. ‘I told you on the phone that everything was sorted and yet here you are, sticking your nose in.’

‘You phoned me, remember.’

‘Only to let you know that everything was fine. I didn’t expect you to come straight round, threatening to cave his head in.’

‘Emily, listen to me.’ Lydia gripped my arms and stared at me with anguished brown eyes. Her usually sleek blonde hair was uncharacteristically ruffled and fluffed up around her pink cheeks. ‘You don’t know this man. He could be anyone. He could be a psychotic murderer for all you know. A rapist or a violent criminal. A thief… Look how nice your place is.’ She swept an arm out to indicate my lovely flat with its mushroom-coloured carpet and cream sofa. ‘Do you really want him in here, messing up the place?’

‘I’m sure he won’t. He’s seems really nice.’ My throat closed as I said this, making my voice sound strangulated. I wasn’t sure about anything any more. And Lydia was right, I was funny about my flat. I was having a real “what have I done?” moment, but I’d phoned Lydia to make me feel better, not worse. Sam hadn’t said two words to me since we’d got back to the flat. Granted, he’d been in the bathroom for most of that time, but still…

‘Oh yeah, that’s what he wants you to think so you take him in. Now he’s here, he’ll be impossible to move. Do you really think he’ll want to go back to sleeping rough after Christmas?’

‘It’s not like it was his idea. I had to practically beg him to come with me.’

Lydia’s eyes nearly popped out of her head in disbelief. ‘You begged him? You begged?’

‘Well, maybe beg is too strong a word.’ I cleared my throat. Yeah, right. I glanced nervously over my shoulder in case Sam should appear out of the bathroom. ‘But you know I had to do something. Mum’s going to be here tomorrow. What else was I going to do?’

Lydia frowned. ‘Well, not ask a homeless guy to move in with you for a start.’

I shrugged. ‘Have you got a better idea?’

‘How about asking a friend? Someone you know and trust?’

‘Like who? All the guys I know are already married. Their wives aren’t going to be impressed if I borrow their husbands for Christmas, are they?’

‘I don’t know. Isn’t there anybody at work you could ask? Or what about that Will you went out with last year? Dave still sees him down the pub. He broke up with that girl he left you for so I bet he’d help you out.’

‘What?’ I looked at her, incredulous. ‘Why would I want to ask for his help?’

Lydia shrugged. ‘You only went out with him for a month or so, didn’t you? You didn’t seem that bothered when you broke up. I thought you were still on friendly terms.’

‘He went back to his ex-girlfriend, Lydia. I haven’t seen him since.’

‘You weren’t upset about it though.’

‘I wasn’t exactly pleased, either.’ I shrugged and sighed. ‘I suppose I wasn’t that bothered about him really. Which only adds to the question why would I ask him for help? I have no wish to even see him again, let alone spend time pretending to be married to him.’

‘Oh, but you want to spend time with some homeless loser that you don’t know from Adam? He could have lice or scabies or anything.’ She screwed up her face in disgust.

‘Will could have lice or scabies for all I know,’ I snapped. ‘Besides, Sam seems like a really nice guy who’s down on his luck, that’s all.’ I picked up the kettle and filled it with water.

‘Emily!’ Lydia sounded exasperated. ‘Why don’t you just tell your mum the truth? It’s gone too far now. You can’t deceive her like this.’

‘Oh that’s rich! Weren’t you the one who said I should tell her I’d met someone to shut her up?’

‘Met someone, yeah. Not say you were married.’

Sighing heavily, I leaned on the oak worktop and rested my head against the cream cupboard door. ‘It’s going to be okay. Mum’s checking into a hotel so she’s not even staying here. She might only have to meet him a couple of times. We’ll get through Christmas and then in the New Year I’ll tell my mum that we’ve split up. No worries.’

‘Emily!’

‘Well, what else can I do? I don’t have time to do anything else. Mum was really excited about meeting him. She’s bought him a Christmas present and everything.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘I know. It’s a right mess.’

I bit my lip and stared up at the chrome spotlights above my head. The kettle boiled, the water inside bubbling away in much the same way as my stomach.

‘So what’s Sam’s story then?’ Lydia said. ‘How come he ended up homeless? Oh no, please don’t tell me he’s some poor troubled teenage kid and you’ve gone all Cougar on me.’

‘Don’t be daft. He’s a bit older than us, I’d say. Late thirties, early forties?’

‘Oh great. I bet he’s an alcoholic. “Alcopops”.’

‘Don’t!’

‘Or a junkie.’

‘No. I don’t know.’ I covered my face and groaned. ‘I keep telling you: he just seems like a decent bloke who’s down on his luck.’

‘So you don’t know how he became homeless?’

‘No.’ I turned my back to her, reaching up into the cupboard for the mugs. ‘But anyone can become homeless these days. You’ve seen the news. People lose their jobs and get behind on their mortgage repayments and it all goes tits up. Or their relationships break down and they leave. There are loads of reasons. Grief, even. Or illness. And yes, addiction is a big factor, but isn’t that another form of illness? It’s really terribly sad. Circumstances change, and people find themselves out on the streets with no way of getting back on their feet. It’s terrible.’

‘Yeah, I get that.’ Lydia stepped forward to stand next to me and looked into my face, trying to make me look at her. ‘And I know you care about this stuff. But you can’t just bring homeless people home with you. It’s all right feeling sorry for them – for him – but the fact is, he’s a stranger. You don’t know what his story is. He could be a right nasty bastard for all you know.’

‘Or he could be really nice. I do sort of know him, you know.’

Lydia shook her head. ‘No, you don’t. Listen, Emily, I know your interest in this sort of stems from your father.’

‘No, it doesn’t. Not this, anyway. My interest in the homeless, maybe. But Sam’s just this cool guy that I buy coffee for and chat to in the mornings. I needed a favour, and he said he’d help. There’s no need to overanalyse and get all suspicious about it.’

‘But you don’t know his story? You don’t know that he doesn’t have some violent past? Or some crazy personality disorder? He hasn’t told you anything?’

‘Not yet.’ I tried to sound breezy. ‘We’ve only been in for about an hour and he’s spent most of that in the bathroom.’

Lydia rolled her eyes. ‘He could be shooting up or anything.’

My stomach did a slow flip-flop, making me feel sick. ‘Lydia! Stop it. Even if he is, that’s not my business. I’m not actually marrying him, after all.’

‘Don’t be naïve, Emily. He’s going to be living in your home! What if he steals all your stuff to pay for his habit? I cross the street to avoid these people and here you are bringing one home to your flat. You’re insane.’

There was a click and the bathroom door swung open emitting clouds of steam like a scene from a science fiction movie. Lydia craned her neck to get a better look as Sam appeared, clad only in his new pyjama bottoms and rubbing a towel over his hair. My eyes travelled down over his body, taking in the way his broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips. His ribs were visible, but so were the clearly defined pecs. A tattoo snaked down towards the navy waistband of his trousers and another circled his bicep. I felt an involuntary kick of lust and, from the corner of my eye, I saw Lydia’s mouth drop open. He walked towards us, throwing the towel over his shoulder as he did so.

‘All right?’ Sam nodded at Lydia then looked across at me, his eyes wary.

‘Err hi.’ She looked uncertain, as though his appearance had disarmed her. ‘I’m Lydia. Emily’s best friend.’

‘Sam,’ he said, glancing between us again. He’d shaved and his face was smooth and pink, though his hair was still badly in need of a cut. It flopped over his forehead and he pushed it back with his hand as he looked across at me. ‘Does she…err?’

‘Yes, Lydia knows.’ I nodded and turned back to the kettle. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

‘Please.’

‘Well, I don’t know whether to look at you or read you,’ Lydia said, regaining her composure. She eyed a tattoo on his shoulder disapprovingly. ‘Are you covered in girl’s names or is it just the one?’

‘Just the one.’ Sam took the mug of tea I was holding out to him and took a sip, watching Lydia above the rim.

‘You’ll have to cover yourself up in front of Emily’s mum,’ Lydia continued. ‘I don’t think she’d be too impressed to see another woman’s name on her new “son-in-law’s” shoulder.’

Sam glanced down at his tattoo and shrugged. ‘We all have a past, don’t we?’ He looked at us for a moment and then turned and walked back into the lounge. Lydia and I exchanged a look.

‘Why is he walking around half dressed?’ she whispered. ‘What’s that about?’

‘Maybe he’s hot?’ I said, going a bit pink.

‘Yeah, you think so, don’t you!’ she hissed. ‘I can see why you picked him. I still don’t trust him though.’

‘Shut up and drink your tea.’

‘Any biscuits?’

‘Yeah, biscuits would be good,’ Sam called, his voice startling me. ‘I am here, you know. I can hear you fucking whispering. I’m not a million miles away.’

‘Rude!’ Lydia said.

‘I was taught it was rude to whisper,’ Sam said, reappearing in the doorway. He was wearing the pyjama top now and gave Lydia a “happy now?” look. ‘Sorry for any offence caused by my tattoos,’ he said, dripping sarcasm.

‘Don’t be silly,’ I said, struggling to unwrap a tin of Christmas biscuits.

Lydia laughed. ‘I was merely pointing out that it might not be appropriate to flash them in front of Emily’s mum.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

They glared at each other, the atmosphere growing increasingly tense. I managed to remove the wrapper from the biscuit tin and held them aloft with a triumphant flourish.

‘Biscuits!’ I said, my voice a bit too enthusiastic for the current situation. ‘Shall we go and sit down?’

‘Basically, Sam,’ Lydia said, following me into the living room, ‘Emily has just told me about this stupid, madcap idea that she’s somehow roped you into and I’m here to make sure you don’t take advantage of my friend.’ She turned the lights up to their brightest and sat down on the sofa next to me.

‘I’m just doing her a favour,’ Sam said, settling in the armchair opposite. ‘I have no intention of taking advantage of her.’

‘Well that’s good to hear. But I don’t know you, so how can I trust you?’

‘Sam, take no notice of her.’ I shook my head at him. ‘Lydia, be quiet.’

‘No, Emily –’

‘I think I know what you’re saying,’ Sam said. ‘And trust me, I’m not sure about this either. But I’m not about to harm her or rob her or refuse to move out or anything like that. I’ve already told Emily that if I’m not happy I’m leaving. And I’m sure if she’s not happy, she’ll tell me to leave.’

‘And you’ll go?’

‘Yes, of course I’ll go.’

‘Can I have that in writing?’

Sam shrugged. ‘If you like.’

‘I really don’t think there’s any need to do this,’ I said, but Lydia was already fishing a notebook and pen from her bag. She started to write and I looked across at Sam, who was perched on the edge of the armchair, looking uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘She’s a solicitor.’

He shrugged. ‘I’ll sign whatever. Just know that this wasn’t my idea and I have no intention of outstaying my welcome.’

‘Good.’ Lydia thrust the notepad at him. ‘All this says is that you’re staying here as Emily’s guest and that you agree to leave whenever Emily wishes you to. You have no right to stay here beyond that.’

‘Okay, fine.’ He reached for the pad and signed his name at the bottom. ‘As if I would, anyway.’

‘It’s an insurance policy, that’s all.’ Lydia popped the lid back on her pen and put it in her bag.

Sam leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at Lydia from under his brows. ‘You really don’t need to worry about that, you know. And I’m not some psycho. I’m not going to steal from Emily or wreck her place or get violent or anything like that. The only thing I might do is leave early, because it sounds like a right nightmare to me.’

Lydia smiled and reached for a biscuit. ‘So what’s your story then?’ She waved her biscuit hand at him. ‘How did you end up homeless?’

He laughed. ‘I don’t think I want to tell you that.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s none of your business and it has no bearing on anything here.’

‘Well, it kind of does. If you’re an alcoholic or drug addict. Or if you’re violent.’

‘Lydia, leave it!’ I said. ‘Sam, of course you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.’

Sam squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Look, you have my word that I’m not going to get nasty or steal anything. I’m not that kind of guy.’ He rested his chin on his fist. ‘I drink, but who doesn’t? I don’t do drugs. I smoke when I have the money for fags.’

‘If you stopped smoking you might have more money for food.’

‘Fair point.’ Sam shrugged and scratched the back of his neck.

‘What do you do for food. Beg?’

‘There are places.’

‘Where do you sleep?’

He shrugged. ‘Here and there.’

Lydia curled her lip, unimpressed by the lack of information, and Sam laughed again. ‘I’m just doing Emily a favour,’ he repeated.

‘Yeah and it’s such a hardship for you to live in this lovely warm flat when you’ve been living off the streets,’ Lydia said, sarcastically.

‘I didn’t ask for this. Everything has a price. I said when she asked me that it sounds like a nightmare, and it looks as though I was right.’ He looked pointedly at Lydia and then rose to his feet. ‘I could do with a smoke now, actually. Where’s my coat?’

‘On the hook by the door. You can go out onto the balcony.’ I went to unlock the French doors. Sliding them back, a gust of wind splattered me with cold rain and I screwed up my face. ‘Cor, it’s freezing out there! Rather you than me.’ I stood aside to let Sam pass and slid the doors shut behind him.

Turning to Lydia, I said, ‘I think you ought to go, Lydia.’

‘Charming!’ She looked up and glared at me. ‘Here I am trying to protect you and you’re sending me home.’

‘Yes, but you’re making this whole weird situation even more stressful.’

‘Right.’ Lydia got to her feet, swinging her bag over her shoulder and tossing her hair. ‘I’ll go then. But don’t say I didn’t tell you so when it all goes wrong.’

‘I know.’ I followed her as she flounced towards the door. ‘Thank you for coming. I really do appreciate it.’

‘Hmph.’ Lydia flung the door open and stepped into the hallway.

‘Bye then.’

She went to walk off without looking behind but then suddenly doubled back and grasped my hand. ‘Call me, if you need me. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ I smiled at her, grateful for her concern, and she hugged me before striding off down the hall.

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