Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [143]
And shall I glance at him, smile and say hi, or just ignore him? Which would be more casual? Help, I've forgotten what to do, I can't remember how to be normal, oh, this is horrible-
`Quick, sit down, it's starting.' Florence waved the TV flipper at the screen, upping the volume as the continuity announcer began to introduce the next programme. Chloe, squeezing past Tom and Florence, lowered herself into the last empty armchair. Miranda sank cross-legged on to the carpet.
`There's plenty of room next to Danny,' Florence protested.
`I'm fine, I prefer it on the floor.'
The moment the words were out, Miranda regretted them. Florence and Tom sniggered like teenagers. Danny raised an eyebrow. Florence said to him, `Make a note of that in your diary.'
`Sshh,' Miranda said crossly. `I thought we were supposed to be watching this.'
`And now,' purred the continuity announcer, `a new documentary from the award-winning team of Delancey and Vale.'
`I didn't know you'd won awards.' Chloe was impressed. `Well,' said Danny, `mainly my Blue Peter badge.' `Let's settle down now,' the announcer lowered her voice,
`for an absorbing hour of… Streetlife.'
`That was brilliant,' said Tom an hour later. He rewound the videotape to one of the interviews with Florence. `And she's not bad either.'
`To think I fantasised about being spotted by a Texan oil billionaire.' Florence sighed. `What did I end up with instead? Some old pervert who gets his kicks dressing up as a vicar.'
Chloe, sticking up for Tom, said, `Only once.'`Ha, that's all you know,' gurgled Florence. `He hasn't taken that cassock back to the hire shop yet.'
It hadn't escaped Danny's notice that Miranda wasn't at all her old self. She was quieter these days, ill at ease in company and lacking her usual exuberance and wit.
He cornered her in the kitchen after the programme, where she was making coffee.
`Miranda, are you okay?'
Miranda flinched and shot an anguished glance in the direction of the door. Wouldn't someone please like to rescue her? Please?
`I'm fine.'
`You've been different recently.'
`Oh? I don't think I have.'
Danny felt for her. She could barely bring herself to look at him.
`Is it Miles?'
Miranda swallowed. So that was what he thought, was it? That she was still torn apart with grief.
She wasn't. It was the end of September, ten weeks since the accident. She was over it now. And if that sounded brutal, she had, after all, only known Miles for a few short days.
Still, Danny didn't need to know any of this, did he? Miranda's skin prickled with shame. It seemed a terrible thing to do, using Miles as an excuse for her odd behaviour. Still, not nearly as terrible as the way she'd feel if Danny knew the real reason she was being odd. And Miles wouldn't mind, would he? If he was watching me now, thought Miranda, he'd be roaring with laughter at the mess I've gone and got myself into.
Danny was still waiting for a reply. She shrugged and nodded and carefully measured coffee into the jug.
`Yes, it's Miles, but I don't want to talk about it.' Terrified that Danny was about to be sympathetic, she felt herself going hot again; she could sink low, but not that low. Hurriedly she added, `Just don't be nice to me, okay? Let's change the subject. How's it going with that blonde girl? Still seeing her?'
Danny leaned against the fridge and folded his arms across his chest. He gazed at her thoughtfully for a second, then smiled slightly, his dark eyes softening.
`Oh yes. I had dinner with her last night, as a matter of fact.'
Ah. Bugger. Changing the subject was all very well, but this wasn't the reply she'd been expecting. Subconsciously, Miranda realised, she'd been rather pinning her hopes on something more along the lines of, `Blonde girl? What blonde girl?' Accompanied, preferably, by a puzzled frown.
`Dinner! Terrific!' She plastered