Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [138]
`It's the first hour of our first date. We might fancy each other rotten, but we don't actually know each other terribly well yet. Before you start angling for an invitation to meet my parents, why don't we see how we get on over breakfast? Because I'm warning you now, if you eat with your mouthopen and slurp your tea, I'll go off you straight away. Or,' he went on calmly, holding up his hand as Bev let out a squeak of protest, `when you see the way I mop the tomato ketchup off my plate with my fried bread, you might go off me.'
The restaurant at this ungodly hour was virtually empty. Bev, her mouth sullen and her arms folded, leaned against the counter and listened to Johnnie laugh and joke with the middle-aged woman serving the food. She wondered what she'd done to deserve such a punishment.
`Just black coffee for me.'
`Rubbish.' Johnnie was encouraging the woman to pile his plate higher and higher with chips, bacon, mushrooms, black pudding - ugh - and beans. `Got to keep your strength up. Busy day ahead.' He grinned down at Bev's miserable face. `Hey, don't worry! I said I'd buy you breakfast, didn't I? This is on me.'
Bev's stomach, rumbling away like a volcano, was so loud that even the woman serving the food heard it. `Double of everything for you too, love?'
`Yes please,' said Johnnie.
`But no black pudding!' yelped Bev.
It was lucky that the Mercedes was so filthy already, otherwise it would have been too much to bear. As it was, Bev's heart was in her highly polished ankle boots as they bounced along the muddy woodland track. The motorway was far behind them now. This was Devon as only the cows truly knew it. Except, of course, no self-respecting cow would be seen dead in such a gloomy, godforsaken forest, they had far more sense than that. You only found cows in rolling fields, up to their ankles in grass and daisies
and buttercups… what were those kind of fields called? Ah yes, meadows, such a pretty word.
Nothing so green and pleasant around here, Bev thought sourly. Not a meadow in sight.
Just millions of trees, dank and dark and dripping with rain, a narrow stony track pitted with puddles the size of paddling pools, and acres and acres of mud.
At last the track reached a clearing in the forest. Practically numb by this stage, Bev gazed ahead at the army-style trucks lined up next to a massive khaki tent. People in camouflage overalls were emerging from the tent carrying guns. Others milled about, smearing their faces with mud, checking their weapons, wrapping camouflage netting around their heads and studying maps.
`Well?' said Johnnie. `What d'you think?'
He was actually looking pleased with himself. Bev, who couldn't possibly tell him what she was really thinking, said, `You're in the SAS, is that what you're trying to tell me?' He laughed.
`It's paintballing. Haven't you ever done it before?' `Amazingly, no.' Bev marvelled at his gall. `And I'm not going to do it now.'
`Come on, it's fun!'
`No it isn't. How can it possibly be fun?'
`But we've come all this way!'
`Read my lips, Johnnie. Enn oh, spells NO.'
He had friends here. People recognising the car began to wave. Bev ignored them.
`Please,' said Johnnie. `You'll enjoy it.'
`I will not.'
He shook his head.`Miranda said you were a good sport.'
`She lied,' said Bev, deeply insulted. `I am not. I've never been a good sport in my life.'
`I'm really disappointed.'
`Ha, you think you're disappointed! I got up at four o'clock this morning to have a bath, do my hair and put my make-up on-'
An earsplitting whistle echoed around the clearing, making Bev jump. More people poured out of the tent, ran towards the first truck and leapt - like lemmings on rewind - into the back.
The next moment the man with the whistle materialised beside the passenger door of Johnnie's car. Six foot six of scary-looking sergeant major glared witheringly down at Bev. The door was wrenched