The Dating Game

‘That’s right.’

‘My mum died in hospital.’

Julie sat back on her heels. Danny had talked a lot about Scott but very little about his parents, she now realized. While there had been mention of a housekeeper—a Mrs Inkpen—Julie had assumed that the mother worked as well as the father, necessitating someone to stay with Scott. ‘I didn’t know that, Scott,’ she said softly. ‘How long ago did it happen?’

Scott looked as though he was regretting his outburst. ‘Two years ago,’ he mumbled.

‘I’m sorry she’s dead; you must miss her.’

‘Sometimes I do, yeah...but my dad always took me to the soccer games, so that’s still okay.’

The scrape on Scott’s other knee was not nearly as dirty. As gently as she could Julie cleaned it up, then applied antibiotic ointment and two new pads. ‘Use this tape, Mum,’ Danny suggested.

The roll of tape had Walt Disney characters printed on it in bright colors. Julie used lots of it and asked, ‘How does that feel?’

As Scott stood up gingerly, Danny interposed, ‘I bet a popsicle’d make him feel better.’

Julie laughed. ‘I bet you’re right. I still have a few chocolate-fudge cookies, too.’

‘We could go over to your place and play in the tree house,’ Danny added.

‘The cookies could be emergency rations,’ Scott said, brightening.

‘As long as you’re home by five-thirty, Danny,’ Julie said, packing two brown paper bags with cookies and juice, then watching as the boys wobbled down the driveway on their bikes.

So Scott had no mother, and Danny no father; maybe that was another reason why the boys had become friends. Even if Scott’s father was a lawyer, he was doing a good job with his son, she thought generously, and went inside to slice the carrots.

The first Saturday night she was free, she might just take herself to see that film Wayne had offered to take her to. Alone.

One thing was sure: she wouldn’t go with Wayne.

* * *

Because Scott had a dentist appointment at four-thirty on Wednesday, Teal left work immediately after court recessed. He hadn’t let Mike say a word all day, and he’d been able to cast more than a reasonable doubt on several of the prosecution’s main points. Which, for a man who had had less than five hours’ sleep, wasn’t bad.

He glanced at his watch. He didn’t have a whole lot of time; the most difficult thing about being a single parent was the inevitable conflict between his work and his son’s needs.

He navigated the traffic with absent-minded skill, and, when he drew up next to the house, honked the horn. The last thing he’d told Scott this morning was to be ready and waiting.

Scott did not appear. Teal leaned on the horn. He and Danny might be in the tree house, in which case they would have to scan the neighborhood, lower the rope ladder that kept enemies at bay, and then slither to the ground, clutching to their chests forked twigs that doubled as guns and slingshots.

But there were no bicycles leaning against the back porch. Impatiently Teal got out of the car, a tall, commanding figure in a pin-striped suit, and scanned the garden himself. ‘Scott?’ he called. ‘Hurry up, we’re going to be late.’

When neither boy appeared, he took the back steps two at a time and let himself in the door, which was firmly locked. There was a note propped on the kitchen table. ‘School got out erly, a pipe berst,’ it said. ‘Gone to Danny’s.’

His son might be a hotshot soccer player. But he was a lousy speller, Teal thought, and rummaged for the scrap of paper bearing Danny’s phone number. He finally located it at the very bottom of the pile and dialed it quickly. A busy signal burred in his ear. Grimacing, he glanced at his watch and dialed it again. Still busy.

It was probably Danny’s mother talking. In which case the phone could be tied up for hours, he thought with total unfairness. He’d better go over there right now. And he’d better hurry.

Danny lived six houses down the street in a stucco bungalow with a painfully tidy garden, which Teal disliked on sight. He parked on the street and marched up the narrow concrete path to the front door. The brass knocker was tarnished; Danny’s mother wasn’t quite the perfectionist that the garden would suggest. He pressed the doorbell and waited.

No one came. Through the open living-room window he could hear music, very loud music that was undoubtedly drowning out the sound of the bell. Feeling his temper rise, he pressed it again.

This time when no one came he pulled the screen door open and was about to pound on the door when the breeze wafted it open. Didn’t she know this was the city, and that she should keep her doors locked? Stupid woman, he fumed. He went inside, wincing at the sheer volume of sound coming from the stereo equipment. Diana Ross, unless he was mistaken, singing something sultry and bluesy accompanied by a muted trumpet. It was not music calculated to improve his mood; he didn’t want to hear a sensual, husky voice or the evocative slide of a trumpet over melancholy notes in a minor key. He had closed off that part of himself a long time ago.

Noises from the kitchen overrode the music. Teal strode down the hall and stopped in the doorway.

The four occupants of the kitchen all had their backs turned to him. Danny was leaning against the counter holding an imaginary trumpet, wailing tunelessly. Scott was perched on a stool licking cookie dough from his fingers. A scruffy gray cat was sitting on the counter next to him, washing its oversized paws much too close to the bowl of dough for Teal’s liking. And, finally, a woman with a sheaf of streaked blonde hair held back by a ragged piece of purple ribbon was standing near the stove. She was singing along with Diana Ross, belting out the words with clear enjoyment.

Teal opened his mouth to say something. But before he could the buzzer on the stove went off, adding to the racket. The woman switched it off, swathed her hands in a pair of large mitts and bent to open the oven door.

She was wearing an old pair of denim shorts with a frayed hem, and a blue top that bared her arms and a wide strip of skin above her waist. The shorts must once have been jeans, which had been cut off. Cut off too high, Teal thought with a dry mouth, his eyes glued to the delectable, lightly tanned curves of her thighs, and the taut pull of the fabric as she leaned over to lift a cookie sheet out of the oven. He was suddenly angry beyond belief, irrationally, ridiculously angry, with no idea why.

‘Perfect,’ she said, and turned round to put the cookies on the rack on the counter.

She saw him instantly, gave a shriek of alarm and dropped the metal pan on the counter with a loud clatter. The cat leaped to the floor, taking a glass of juice with it. The glass, not surprisingly, smashed to pieces. The boys swerved in unison, gaping at him with open mouths. And the woman said furiously, ‘Just who do you think you are, walking into my house without even so much as ringing the doorbell?’

Scott was right, Teal thought blankly. Danny’s mother was beautiful. Quite incredibly beautiful, considering that she had a blob of flour on her nose, no make-up, and clothes that could have been bought at a rummage sale. He searched for something to say, he who was rarely at a loss for words, struggling to keep his gaze above the level of her cleavage.

‘Hi, Dad,’ Scott said. ‘Boy, you sure scared the cat.’

‘His name’s Einstein,’ Danny chimed in. ‘Mum says that’s ‘cause he bends time and space.’

Teal took a deep breath and said with a calmness that would have impressed Mr Chief Justice Mersey, ‘He certainly bent the glass—sorry about that. I’m Scott’s father, Mrs Ferris...Teal Carruthers.’

‘Julie Ferris,’ Julie corrected automatically. Ever since Robert had walked out on her that last time, she had disliked the title Mrs. ‘Did you ring the doorbell?’ she asked, more to give herself time to think than because she was interested in the answer.

‘I did. But it couldn’t compete with Diana Ross.’ He added, wondering if her eyes were gray or blue, ‘You should keep the door locked, you know.’

‘I forget,’ she said shortly. ‘I’m used to living in the country.’

Why hadn’t Danny warned her that Scott’s father was so outrageously attractive? The most attractive man she’d ever met. Teal Carruthers wasn’t as classically handsome as Robert, and looked as though he would be more at home in sports clothes than a pin-striped suit; but his eyes were the clear gray of a rain-washed lake, set under smudged lashes as dark and thick as his hair, and his body, carried with a kind of unconscious grace that made her hackles rise, was beautifully proportioned.

‘Do you always let the cat sit on the counter?’ he added. ‘I thought nurses believed in hygiene.’

‘Are you always so critical?’ she snapped back, and with faint dismay realised that the two boys were, of course, listening to every word.

‘If my son’s to spend time in your house, I’d much prefer you to keep the doors locked,’ he replied with an air of formal restraint that added to her irritation. What was the matter with her? She normally liked meeting new people, and certainly she had no desire to alienate the father of her son’s best friend.

‘That makes sense,’ she said grudgingly, straightening the cookie sheet on the rack. Then she reached for some paper towel and knelt to pick up the shards of glass. Luckily they hadn’t pierced the floor covering; she didn’t think that would fall in the category of apple-pie order.

‘I’ll help,’ Scott said.

As she stooped, Teal was presented with a view of delicate shoulderbones and the shadowed valley between full breasts. Her fingers were long and tapered, and the afternoon sunlight was tangled in her hair. He said flatly, ‘We’re late for your dentist appointment, Scott. I tried to phone you here, but the number was busy.’

‘Darn,’ said Julie. ‘I bet Einstein knocked the phone off the hook again.’

Scott’s face fell. ‘I forgot about the dentist.’