When Archie Met Rosie

by Lynda Renham

I’m harsher than I mean to be and when I see tears well up in her eyes, I feel suddenly guilty. But it is my home, damn it. I just wish she’d respect that.

  ‘We should leave,’ says Harry.

  He’s angry with me, I can tell. Moira rushes from the kitchen. Harry looks at me, blows his nose viciously on a tissue and says, ‘you can be a bit sharp sometimes.’

  I nod.

  ‘Yes, sorry but she does push it.’

  ‘We’ll get a cleaner for you. I think that’s probably the best thing.’

  ‘It probably is,’ I agree.

  He looks at the photos on the dresser, blows his nose again, and turns to leave.

  ‘You know where we are if you need anything. I’ll pop in at the end of the week.’

  ‘I’ll be alright,’ I say. ‘Holly showed me how to do internet shopping.’

  He nods and turns to leave. I wait until I hear the car scrunch on the driveway and then fill the kettle. It’s good to be home where a loo is a loo and the towels are there to be used.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rosie

  Domino’s said they don’t name pizzas after people, not even if they killed them. I thought that was a bit unreasonable and told them so.

  ‘If you hadn’t knocked him down with your pizza van I wouldn’t need to be asking for a pizza to be named after him, would I?’

  They couldn’t really argue with that and offered me three more pizzas and five hundred pounds. I had to accept, didn’t I?

  ‘Are you ready?’ Sam calls.

  I check my hair one last time and reluctantly follow Sam out. We’re leaving for the funeral from Sam’s house. I didn’t want to leave from the Tradmore Estate with all those gaping eyes and twitching net curtains. Brian stands by the hearse, smoking a Marlborough Light. He quickly stubs it out at the sight of me.

  ‘Alright then Rosie? A sad day,’ he says nodding solemnly.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, glancing at the battered hearse.

  It’s only a dent in the side, but you just don’t see dents in hearses, do you?

  ‘You want me to walk in front for a bit?’ he asks.

  I shake my head. I don’t think Brian walking in front of the hearse puffing on a Marlborough Light is quite what people expect to see.

  ‘Take it slowly though,’ says Sam ushering a tearful Michael into the car.

  I don’t think Michael is crying for his grandad. He hardly had anything to do with him. It’s the coffin that sets you off, isn’t it? I’d got some flowers from Marks in the end. They’re better quality aren’t they, and likely to last a bit longer. I sit in the back with Michael and Sam gets in the front with Brian. Michael puts his hand on my knee.

  ‘Are you alright Nan?’

  ‘Yes I’m fine.’

  Doris and Bert follow behind in their car with Shirl and Bill. I stare through the window at the coffin. I can’t believe Frank’s in there. Well, I hope it’s Frank. You can’t really be sure, can you? I certainly wasn’t going to go checking. It seems to take forever to get to the crematorium. I have visions of the hearse breaking down. Can you imagine that, everyone getting out and pushing the hearse into the crematorium? That would be a first wouldn’t it? We finally get there, and I let out a sigh of relief.

  As I watch Frank’s coffin being carried in, I can’t help feeling that I’ve let him down. I’d got a cardboard coffin in the end. It’s nice enough. It has poppies around the bottom. A few people asked if it was because he’d been in the forces. I had to laugh. Frank didn’t get out of bed until eleven. I can’t imagine the army contending with that, can you? It was hard choosing the right coffin. I did ask about a Millwall one, but it cost a lot more to have it personalised. As it was, the poppy one was over four hundred pounds. I ask you, four hundred quid for a cardboard box. I can’t imagine what a horse and cart would have cost. I did look on eBay as Doris had suggested, but it seemed all wrong somehow. They did have cheap coffins. I just wasn’t sure how they would deliver it. It’s not the sort of thing you want left outside your door if you’re not in when they deliver. How can people afford to die these days? The cost of living is bad enough. You’d think the government would make dying more affordable, wouldn’t you?

  Several of Frank’s mates are standing outside the crematorium smoking roll-ups. I pat down my new skirt and with Sam beside me, follow the coffin in. I’d bought a new top and skirt from Primark. I’ve still got £4,800 left from my win. I’d had to transfer it from the holdall to a little black clutch that Doris had lent me for the funeral. It barely closes with all the notes inside it. I’d rolled them up and secured them in an elastic band but still the damn thing wouldn’t shut. I had to squeeze it with all my might to get the clip to catch. The thing is bursting and the only other things in it are a comb and tissues. Doris waves from her seat at the front and dabs at her eyes. Doris always weeps at funerals. Doesn’t matter whose funeral it is. Often, she won’t even know the person. Shirl smiles encouragingly.

  The funeral was cheaper than I thought it would be. Sam had paid half. He’s a good sort, my Sam. He isn’t a bit like his dad, thank goodness. That and Domino’s Pizza’s five hundred softened the blow considerably. There are more people here than I imagined there would be. They’re probably hoping for a free booze-up later. They’ll get a surprise. It’ll be pizza and coke.

  I still can’t believe Frank’s gone. It’s harder to come to terms with a loss when it’s sudden isn’t it? The service is lovely though. Frank couldn’t have asked for better. I didn’t know what music to suggest and eventually chose the Millwall anthem for when they bring in the coffin. It’s a bit dramatic and takes everyone by surprise but I think Frank would have liked it. He wasn’t big on music. He always said classical music was for toffs. I quite like it myself and chose a piece from Mozart’s requiem for the committal. Frank’s mates don’t know what to make of it all. I’d chosen a poem by Keats too. Well, you’ve got to have some culture, haven’t you? I sniff and Michael hands me a tissue. I don’t like to tell him it’s a flower allergy.

  ‘Thanks Mike.’

  He puts my arm through his.

  ‘It’s okay Nan,’ he whispers.

  I do want to cry for Frank, but nothing seems forthcoming. Doris is looking earnestly at me and nodding her head to the other side of the church. I follow her nod and see a blonde woman with over-backcombed hair sobbing into a tissue. She’s wearing a fancy black fur stole over her shoulders. I don’t recognise her at all. I look back at Doris and shrug my shoulders, but my stomach does a little somersault. If that little sod was having it away with some backcombed dolly bird, then I’ll … Well, I can’t kill him, can I? He’s already dead. Her shoulders shake with her sobs.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Sam asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say honestly.

  But whoever it is, she’s sobbing for England.

  The coffin disappears through the curtain and she sobs even more. She’s beginning to get on my tits now. The service ends and I’m relieved to get outside.

  ‘He was a good bloke,’ says his mate Billy. ‘Heart of gold. You were a lucky woman.’

  ‘Nice words your Sam said,’ says Pete.

  I can’t take my eyes off the blonde. Her mascara-streaked eyes meet mine and she hurriedly turns away. I don’t believe it. What a two-timing little sod. Here am I spending a fortune on his funeral. Okay, so it wasn’t a fortune, but it could have been if I had forked out for a horse and cart. Huh, I should have thrown him on a pyre and saved myself even more money. I don’t believe it. Well, I do, if I’m being honest. All those late nights when he was supposedly having a pint with the boys, and to think I believed him. I can see now that the so-called boys knew all about it too. They’re all looking shamefaced. Am I glad I didn’t get booze for the little toerags?

  ‘Shall we look at the flowers?’ Sam asks.

  ‘You go on ahead. I’m just going to talk to some of your dad’s mates.’

  ‘Back to yours is it?’ asks Billy. ‘Laid on a s
pread, have you?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I smile.

  ‘That was a nice service,’ says Crabbers.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  At least he’s wearing his glasses. I’d hate him to give his condolences to the wrong woman.

  ‘Got home okay then on Friday night?’

  ‘Yes, Archie walked me to the flats.’

  ‘That was good of him.’

  I look past him to the blonde woman. He follows my gaze.

  ‘Do you know her?’ I ask Crabbers.

  ‘No, she doesn’t look familiar to me.’

  Doris takes my arm.

  ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ she whispers.

  ‘He was having it away with some tart,’ I say angrily.

  ‘Well he’s gone now.’

  ‘That doesn’t make it better Doris. I wonder how much money he spent on her.’

  ‘You don’t think …’ begins Crabbers.

  From the look of the fur around her shoulders I imagine Frank spent a fair bit.

  I march over to her. Her tear-filled eyes widen in horror.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ I say coldly.

  ‘Oh … I …’ she stammers.

  ‘Knew our Frank intimately, did you?’

  My eyes lock onto her tear-filled ones. She’s more distressed than I am.

  ‘We knew each other from the dogs. We were friends.’

  ‘Yeah, I can believe he met you at the dogs,’ I say scathingly.

  ‘I …’

  ‘How dare you come to the funeral? Do you think I’m stupid?’

  She dabs at her eyes.

  ‘He would have wanted me here.’

  ‘Well I don’t so you can bugger off.’

  I turn on my heel and collide with Doris.

  ‘Don’t show yourself up,’ she says.

  ‘Huh,’ I scoff. ‘There was me feeling guilty that I’d put him in a cardboard box.’

  ‘Still it was lovely.’

  ‘He didn’t damn well deserve it.’

  ‘Still, you don’t have to get a headstone.’

  ‘Doris, you’re not helping.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Shirl joins us, grabs me by the arm and says,

  ‘What a pig. She must be thirty-five if that.’

  That’s what hurts. I suddenly feel very old. That’s me finished with men. They’re nothing but trouble and heartache. Frank didn’t even have life insurance. That’s consideration for you.

  Sam puts an arm around my shoulder.

  ‘Who is that?’ he asks, following my eyes to the blonde woman who is now tearfully making her way to the gates.

  ‘Oh some trollop your dad used to chat to in the pub.’

  ‘She’s very upset.’

  ‘Crocodile tears. He spent a lot of money in the pub. Let’s get home and tuck into those pizzas. Your dad would have approved.’

  As if I give a toss what Frank did or didn’t approve of, the shagging little so and so. I don’t feel guilty about the horse and cart now. No not in the least.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rosie

  I wasn’t going to do murders. That’s what I said wasn’t it? I don’t mean I wasn’t going to murder people. Although I could quite easily murder my Frank if he wasn’t already dead. I can’t believe he was getting his leg over with some peroxide bimbo. It has been on my mind for days. I barely ate any of the pizza at Frank’s wake. Mind you, they went so quickly I don’t imagine I would have got much of a look in, anyway.

  ‘Do you think you should have some tests?’ Doris had asked.

  ‘What kind of tests?’

  ‘You know, for sexually transmitted diseases.’

  I’d fallen into my chair.

  ‘I can’t go to the doctors at my age and ask to be tested for that kind of thing. They’ll wonder what I’ve been up to.’

  ‘You just tell them,’ said Shirl.

  ‘What? Tell the doctor my dead husband had been dipping his wick? I can’t do that.’

  ‘You don’t know what she had,’ said Doris soberly.

  ‘You could go to one of those sex clinics. At least they wouldn’t know you there.’

  ‘You did do it with Frank didn’t you?’ asked Doris.

  ‘Of course, well not much. But we did it.’

  Frank wasn’t a fantastic lover. Not that I’ve had many. Well, I’ve had one apart from Frank. Guy was his name. Good looking he was too. I can’t remember why I chucked him. I sometimes think I’ve lost out. I’ve no real idea if Frank was good in bed or not. I’ve got nothing to compare it with, have I? Apart from Guy all those years ago and quite honestly, I can’t remember what that was like. Anyway, that’s why I’m now sitting in the waiting room of the sexual health clinic. I’ve got one hour before I meet Becky. I’m going to help her clean up after a murder in a maisonette in Ilford. I wasn’t going to do murders, like I said, but one of her girls is off sick and as it’s my first day as a regular cleaner, she wanted me to shadow her. So it seems I don’t have any choice in the matter. I think this is going to be a very traumatic day in more ways than one. Yesterday I agreed to go for training. Well, I had nothing else to do. Let me tell you, cleaning up after a crime scene isn’t just mopping up blood. I was there a whole day. I was knackered by the end of it. It was embarrassing as I must have been the only over-sixty there. Most of them were youngsters. I did think of asking if they did concessions, but in the end changed my mind. After all, I don’t want the whole world knowing I’m sixty, and it would have been a bit demoralising if they’d sent me home because they were concerned about my blood pressure. I learnt a lot about bodily fluids. It was interesting. But I’m not sure about cleaning up after the real thing. I felt quite ill during the mock-up session. I can’t begin to tell you how much skin and body fluids get scattered around the room. I came over all faint during the training and a lovely young woman called Lucy took me for a cuppa. She didn’t seem in the least fazed by all that blood and gore.

  The thing is I need a job. I know I’ve got just under five grand, but I don’t want it trickling through my fingers. You don’t spend that kind of winnings on the rent, do you? You need to think through what you’re going to spend it on. If our Frank had got his hands on it, it would all be gone by now. No, now I’m on my own, I need to earn more.

  You don’t half have to dress up for this cleaning malarkey too. You can’t just throw on a pinny. You have to get a biohazard suit, full facemasks and loads of gloves. I look like something out of Star Wars. I only wish I’d had this getup when I wanted to rob Lloyds. There’s no way anyone would have recognised me. It would have been difficult making my getaway though, but I don’t think anyone would have tried to stop me. Oh well, maybe I’ll hang onto one for when times get hard again.

  ‘Hello,’ says a kind-looking nurse. ‘Come this way please.’

  I walk past several girls who look younger than our Michael. They’re tapping away on their mobile phones. They’re here for the morning after pill, I suppose. Shirl says they do it all the time. It seems wrong to me. I never put it about when I was their age. It’s a whole other world now isn’t it? They have it too easy these days, if you ask me. Listen to me, blathering like an old woman. Here I go again. Ever since Frank died I’ve really felt my age. I follow the nurse into a small consulting room.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  I’d been rehearsing this for the past two days and still it comes out all wrong.

  ‘My husband is dead. It was sudden, but it looks like he may have been, you know, with some other woman. Not while he was dead, obviously, but you know, before, and I’m worried I’ve caught something.’

  She doesn’t bat an eyelid.

  ‘Right, shall we take some swabs and put your mind at ease.’

  ‘Yes, let’s do that,’ I say while really not wanting to open my legs to anyone.

  Honestly, who’d have thought, me, Rosie Foster, would be having tests for syphilis and all sorts, at sixty. It’s not decent is it?
Not at sixty. I suppose it’s fashionable when you’re thirty but I’m not thirty am I?

  ‘We’ll let you know the results in a week. I wouldn’t worry. It’s pretty unlikely.’

  I pull my headscarf back on and don my oversize sunglasses. I could be mistaken for Victoria Beckham with these monsters. Well, you don’t know who you might see do you? If I’m here, who knows who else might be? I reach the bus stop just as the bus turns the corner.

  Becky is waiting outside the maisonette. It’s not what I expected. I thought there would at least be a police cordon. I’d pictured us walking through a row of policemen too. I watch too much rubbish on Netflix, that’s my problem.

  ‘Hiya Rosie, how are you doing?’ Becky asks.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘My mum said the funeral went well. You know as well as can be expected.’

  I nod. The last person I want to talk about is Frank.

  ‘So, what happened here?’ I ask looking up at the flat.

  ‘Jealous boyfriend. He left her in the bath tub apparently, so the bathroom is where we have to focus. There’s no one living here now which is good.’

  ‘Right,’ I say feeling my stomach churn. ‘What about the other rooms?’

  ‘Yeah, we have to clean the whole flat. I’ll get your stuff. Haven’t you got your car?’ she says looking around.

  ‘It was nicked.’

  ‘It’s a bit heavy to carry on the bus.’

  ‘My Sam is bringing a car round tonight.’

  ‘Oh good,’ she sighs. ‘I like my girls to have their own supplies. After this I’ll take you to the house that will be your regular.’

  I help carry the boxes of cleaning chemicals from the car and follow her up the stairs.

  ‘We can get our gear on here’ says Becky when we reach the landing of the flat. I pull on my biohazard suit with trembling hands.

  ‘I’ll clean the other rooms if you like,’ I say.

  What am I doing in a flat where a murder was committed? I cling onto my holdall tightly.

  ‘You can leave your things in the hallway,’ says Becky eyeing up the bag.

  ‘Oh right,’ I say.