Free Don't Want To Miss A Thing by Jill Mansell Page A

parked outside, the red Escort she’d been so proud of, even though it was years old. Another fresh wave of grief hit him as he realised he would have to deal with sorting out all her belongings. Oh God, Laura, I don’t want to do this, it’s time for you to come back and take charge again . . .
    The doorbell shrilled downstairs, jangling his nerves still further and making him think – just for a wild moment – that maybe this was Laura, ringing the bell because she’d forgotten her key.
    Dex hurried down the staircase with the holdall and pulled open the front door.
    ‘Oh hello, dear, haven’t seen you for a long time!’ It was Phyllis, who had lived in the house next door for the last fifty years. Her white hair was like dandelion fluff around her wizened face. ‘Is Laura here, dear? Only I asked her to buy me some second-class stamps the other day, but she hasn’t brought them round yet and I need to pay my electricity bill.’
    He couldn’t tell her on the doorstep. Dex found himself having to invite Phyllis into the house and make her a cup of tea beforefinally breaking the awful news. It was almost unbearable, being the one to make an eighty-year-old woman cry.
    ‘Oh my word, oh no, I can’t bear it. Such a lovely, lovely girl.’ Phyllis’s gnarled fingers trembled as she pulled a hanky out of the sleeve of her cardigan and wiped her faded eyes. ‘And Delphi, that poor little angel. Whatever’s going to happen to her now?’
    ‘You OK?’ Henry, in his habitually crumpled grey suit, was looking concerned.
    ‘What do you think?’ It was midday and Dexter wasn’t dressed. He hadn’t been asleep when the buzzer had gone but he’d still been in bed. Now, having dragged on a pair of jeans, he rubbed his hands over his bare chest and wearily indicated the kitchen. ‘Help yourself if you want anything. What’s up?’
    They’d worked together for years and over that time had become friends of the odd-couple kind. At the age of thirty-seven, Henry Baron was a classic case of not judging a book by its cover. At six foot five and muscled to the hilt, he attracted attention wherever he went, chiefly from women enthralled by his resemblance to the actor Idris Elba, particularly if Idris Elba happened to be playing the part of a renegade boxer who had never been to school and had battled his way through life with his fists.
    In fact, and it had taken Dexter some time to discover this, Henry had been bullied at his tough inner-London school for being highly intelligent and refusing to fight. He’d eventually graduated from university with a first in Maths, was terrified of predatory women and had battled to overcome a stammer all his life.
    As a rule, he made a good job of it.
    But, unlike the rest of the team at work, Henry was quiet, domesticated, conscientious and . . . well, kind. He was a gentlegiant, a good bloke. Which, right now, was the very last thing Dex needed.
    Dammit, he didn’t want anyone else making him cry.
    ‘You haven’t been into work,’ Henry was saying now. ‘And your phone’s been switched off. We were worried about you.’
    Of course they were. ‘Don’t worry.’ Dex shrugged. ‘I’m still alive.’
    ‘How did it go yesterday? Sorry,’ said Henry with a grimace. ‘Dumb question.’
    Dexter exhaled slowly. The funeral had been every bit as horrific as expected. But it was over now. He and Laura’s friends had said their final goodbyes to her and afterwards there had been a certain sense of closure. For the rest of them, if not for him.
    ‘It was awful. Everyone was crying, saying what a tragedy it was for Delphi. Then they asked me what was going to happen to her and I said I hadn’t decided yet but she was being looked after by a foster family. And they all told me it was the best place for her, she’d be fine, there were loads of families out there who’d love to adopt Delphi and give her a wonderful life, because obviously I couldn’t do that myself.’ Dex