Love-40 by Anna Cheska

insisted on keeping her promise to come here before seeing him perform at the pub. And now … she glanced at her watch, he was going to be in a worse one. He hadn’t liked Liam hanging around last night either – but that was tough luck, because if you couldn’t turn to family in a crisis, then who could you turn to? There was no way she could have turfed Liam out into the night.
    So although her brother was behaving like an idiot … she watched Amanda cooing and simpering at him as if he was the best thing since fake suntan oil, and Liam lapping it up as if the poor fool believed every look and every word … Suzi would always be there for him. Solidarity. She and Liam went back for ever. He had her support. For Suzi, there was never any question.
    *   *   *
    In the interval, Michael accepted a pint from the landlord and a top-up fifteen minutes later from an enthusiastic blonde sitting near the amp. She was alone, he noted and quite sexy. She was dressed in a black top and short skirt showing more than half-decent (and possibly stockinged?) legs. But she was not, unfortunately, Suzi.
    What was Suzi playing at? It had been bad enough last night, dreaming of the evening ahead all through that drive to Dorchester, only to find her and Liam ensconced on the sofa with an empty bottle of wine, into one of their old times scenes that Michael could live without. And now this.
    No, Suzi had said, when Michael arrived at the cottage, she didn’t want to go out because she wasn’t in the mood and anyway, she couldn’t be bothered to get changed. And yes, Michael had already noted the patched-up dungarees and faded T-shirt, but that was his problem. When you indulged in fantasies you were heading for disappointment. Would Michael mind if they all stayed in and ordered a take-away, she’d said. Well, Michael would mind actually, but that was neither here nor there because before you could say vegetable biriany, the menu for the Indian was being waved in front of his face and any chance of a drink down the pub (Michael hated wine) let alone some time with Suzi alone, had – like himself – slunk into the depths of Suzi’s old sofa.
    â€˜You’ve got a great voice.’ Michael had not noticed the blonde approaching his space again. ‘Dead smooth.’ She smiled. ‘Like clotted cream.’
    Michael gulped. Where was Suzi? ‘Cheers,’ he said. Her voice was husky and he’d never heard so much sexual innuendo packed into one sentence before.
    â€˜Would you sing something for me?’ she continued.
    â€˜If I know it.’ Michael drank his beer too quickly and almost choked. At the bar the landlord gave him a nod and he glanced down at his watch.
    â€˜â€œLay lady lay”,’ she whispered, close to his ear. ‘That song is such a turn-on.’
    â€˜Right, er, OK.’ Michael grabbed his guitar. He knew the chords but usually avoided Dylan songs – he could never resist drawling them out in parody. And did he want to turn on the blonde? Probably not. If she turned on any more he’d never make it back to Suzi’s alive.
    *   *   *
    â€˜Fresh air!’ Estelle declared, throwing open the door of the shop. It was getting very dark outside, but what the heck … fresh, moody night-time air was even better. She sniffed. She was drowning in … not the scent of the past or the salty sea air – but the thick, heady aroma of new paint.
    She picked her way back through the pieces of furniture shrouded in dust sheets that she’d pushed into the centre of the shop floor. Climbed over the Chesterfield – in order to reach the paint pot in the corner.
    She surveyed the freshly painted walls. ‘New beginnings,’ she said, raising her glass in a toast, only to find that it was empty. Now, where was that damned bottle of Australian chardonnay? She found it on top of