Love Your Neighbour: A laugh-out-loud love from the author of One Day in December. Kat French

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      Because the simple, inescapable truth was that from the moment Marla Jacobs had opened the chapel doors and deliberately insulted him, Gabe had known with utter certainty that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

      It was just a shame that she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

      A few feet away from Gabe, Tom was leaning against the bar, his BlackBerry in one hand, a glass tumbler in the other. He wasn’t usually given to drinking after work, but then today wasn’t the usual kind of day. He looked from the flashing message icon on his mobile to the whisky, and after a moment’s pause he tipped the twelve-year-old malt down his throat. Fortified, he clicked the message open with a grimace.

      Hey u!

      Don’t forget we’re due at docs at 6.15. Don’t be late, receptionist is a jobsworth and don’t want to miss appt!

      Luv Em xx

      Yeah, he knew what a jobsworth the receptionist was. He also knew what a drama-queen Emily could be, and that she didn’t trust him to remember their appointment without reminding him at least ten times. He was starting to feel more and more backed into a corner with every passing day, and he didn’t like it one bit.

      He nodded at the landlord for another whisky.

      Emily sat in the darkening lounge and listened for long seconds to Tom fumbling to get his key in the lock. His inaccuracy and muttered curses spoke volumes of his lack of sobriety. So that was where he’d been. Drowning his sorrows or Dutch courage, she wasn’t sure which and she was beyond the point of caring.

      She watched his face as he came into the room on unsteady legs, his hand on the wall for a second as he reached out and flicked the lamp on. Being bathed in light did little to enhance his cause. His dishevelled hair looked as if he’d spent the last half an hour scrubbing his hands through it and his loosened tie was off centre.

      ‘Emily,’ he smiled and opened his eyes wide in the style of a drunk person attempting to appear sober. ‘I’m late,’ he muttered. ‘Fucking boss called a meeting.’

      His words rolled together as he dropped on the sofa opposite her.

      ‘In the pub?’ she asked, her heart beating too hard in her chest. She needed him to talk to her. To really talk, like they used to, talk like lovers rather than strangers on a train platform.

      ‘I haven’t been to the pub,’ Tom tried.

      ‘You reek of whisky, Tom.’

      He shook his head. ‘Just to toast the deal. Had to do it. Fucking boss.’

      ‘So you said.’ Emily forced her voice to stay calm. ‘And did your fucking awful boss make you have another one? And then another? Because you’ve had so much you can barely stand up.’

      Tom looked affronted, the kind of indignant that only a skinful of alcohol can induce.

      ‘Or maybe, just maybe it was your fucking awful wife that made you turn to whisky, Tom.’

      He shook his head and scrubbed his hands in his hair. ‘I don’t want to piss in a fucking bottle,’ he mumbled. ‘And I don’t want to crack one off into a paper cup with … seventies porn.’

      Emily stared at him. He sounded like a teenager who didn’t want to do his homework, and she resented being cast as the nagging mother. ‘So it was the quality of the pornography that bothered you? Well, you should have said, Tom, I’d have picked you up a copy of Playboy from Bob & Aud’s.’

      Tom half laughed, most probably because Bob & Aud’s local shop was just about the most conspicuous place possible to buy top-shelf mags.

      ‘Don’t laugh at me, Tom. Don’t you dare laugh at me for wanting your baby.’

      The exaggerated smile fell from his face, to be replaced by something perilously close to pity. He’d gone from teenager to pantomime dame within seconds. Fury burned bright in Emily’s heart, because it was the only thing she had besides tears.

      ‘Keep your pity, Tom. Save it up along with your precious semen for someone who’s interested, because as of right now, that person isn’t me!’

      He reached out for her and missed as she stood from the chair and stalked from the room, and she heard him curse as he slipped from the sofa to the floor. Served him right. She’d never felt less loved or understood by the man she’d married, and it hurt even more than not being able to conceive his child.

      The following afternoon, Emily stepped out into the sunshine and locked the chapel doors. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes and squinted towards the funeral parlour. Going by the amount of banging she could hear, there was still someone at work over there. Maybe she could try and speak with Gabe one to one, plead Marla’s case whilst she was safely away at that tricky meeting with the local bakery. They had a Star Trek wedding in a few weeks’ time and the bride had her heart set on a four-foot-wide Starship Enterprise cake.

      The front door of the funeral parlour was locked, so Emily made her way around the back and clicked open the gate. She stopped short at the sight of a huge, vintage black hearse with its bonnet popped and a pair of navy overall-clad legs poking out from beneath it.

      ‘Hello …’ she called out hesitantly, bending down a little to make sure Gabe heard her.

      ‘Just a sec, darlin’,’ a deep voice rumbled up, and a moment or two later the owner rolled smoothly out from beneath the jacked-up chassis. Emily looked away quickly. His overalls were un-popped right down the front, affording her a prime view of his conker-brown chest and a six-pack that would make Jonny whimper.

      It wasn’t Gabe. This guy had none of Gabe’s brooding Heathcliff qualities, but he had his own charms. He made Emily think of sunshine and freedom and surfers with lips that tasted of sea salt. He jumped up when he saw her and wiped his oily hands on the front of his overalls.

      ‘I was looking for Gabe?’

      He shook his head and shrugged his arms out of the sleeves of his overalls, turning slightly to reach for a T-shirt that hung on the car aerial. Emily swallowed as she glimpsed hard muscles and a large tattoo inked across the smooth skin of his back before the peach-soft pale blue cotton slipped over his head. It clung to him like a second skin.

      He shoved the overalls off, and Emily thanked her lucky stars that he did at least have jeans on, although she couldn’t help but notice how the faded, frayed material did precious little to disguise his attributes. He balled up his work gear and chucked it aside, then stuck out his hand with a wide grin.

      ‘Nah, sorry, sweetheart. The main man isn’t around. I’m Dan. Will I do?’

      She took his big brown hand and shook it.

      ‘I’m Emily, from the chapel.’

      ‘Well hello, Emily from the chapel.’

      Dan’s blue eyes danced when he smiled again.

      He leaned inside the kitchen and hooked a couple of bottles out of the fridge.

      ‘Fancy a beer?’

      If it had been a different СКАЧАТЬ