by Lynda Renham
Chapter Twenty
Alfred
‘It looks lovely,’ says Moira, wiping her finger along the dresser. ‘A good cleaner is worth their weight in gold.’
‘Dad, are you ordering the takeaway or what? I’m starving,’ complains Holly.
‘It’s flipping expensive,’ I grumble.
‘No it’s not,’ argues Holly. ‘It’s a lot cheaper than that posh pub you go to.’
‘I’m talking about the cleaning company your mother recommended.’
‘At least you know they can be trusted,’ says Moira.
‘Can we eat soon?’ Holly groans, swiping at her phone.
‘I wish you’d put that down for just once,’ snaps Moira before turning to me and saying, ‘Well, we have told you more than once that the house is too big. It would cost a lot less to clean something smaller.’
Here we go.
Harry pulls out his phone.
‘Where’s that list Moira? Does anyone want to change their mind before I place the order?’
We’re all silent and then Holly’s phone begins to bleep incessantly. Honestly, I can’t think what these youngsters find to talk about. Harry phones our order through and then his phone starts bleeping too.
‘Honestly,’ I say. ‘How did you lot cope before mobile phones were invented?’
Harry’s face pales as he looks at his message.
‘Everything all right, son?’ I ask.
He looks up.
‘Yes, it’s just the play. There’s so much to do,’ he says, his voice shaking.
‘It is only a play,’ I say, surprised at his white face.
‘It’s ridiculous the hours he puts into it,’ complains Moira.
‘I’ve got my Christmas list,’ says Holly, finally looking up from her phone. She pushes a crumpled piece of paper towards her mum.
‘We need to get things organised for Christmas,’ says Moira. ‘You’re welcome to come to us for the whole of Christmas, Dad, but we will be going to church and …’
‘I’m not,’ interrupts Holly.
‘Yes, you are,’ snaps Moira.
‘I’m seventeen now and …’
Harry slams his hand down on the table and we all jump.
‘That’s enough Holly,’ he says. ‘You’ll do what your mother tells you.’
‘We always go to church together,’ says Moira.
‘My mates don’t go and besides, I don’t believe in God any more so it’s hypocritical.’
‘Holly!’ gasps Moira.
‘Destiny is having a do at her place on Christmas Eve. Her parents say it’s okay and I’m going to that …’
‘You’re not,’ says Moira heatedly. ‘I won’t have you going to that dump on Christmas Eve …’
‘Destiny doesn’t live in a dump,’ protests Holly. ‘Anyway, I’m almost eighteen so I can do what I like.’
‘You’re not eighteen yet,’ says Harry firmly.
Holly looks at him and then rushes from the room in tears.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ says Moira.
At that moment Harry’s phone rings and I’m sure I see his hands shake.
‘I’ve got to take this,’ he says, also leaving the kitchen.
‘Just you and me, girl,’ I say to Moira.
I’ve never had such bad feelings in the house. Cath and I argued sometimes but it was pretty rare for either one of us to leave the room in a huff. These youngsters have far too much if you ask me. Why Holly isn’t going to university, I don’t know. I don’t say anything. What’s the point?
‘I’d better go after her,’ says Moira.
‘That’s probably not a good idea,’ I say. ‘Let me go.’
Honestly, what a crowd my lot are. I take a quick look at Holly’s Christmas list and sigh. ‘iPhone 10. Video camera. Chanel make-up. New boots.’ Does she think we’re made of money? I can hear her crying in the bedroom that she has claimed for her own. Not that she ever comes to stay. This is what I mean about religion. It’s nothing but trouble. I’m about to go in when I overhear Harry talking in the bathroom. Call me a nosy old bugger but a couple of words catch my ears and it doesn’t sound like he’s talking about his play to me. He’s trying to keep his voice low. Something’s up. You don’t come upstairs and shut yourself in the bathroom to talk about a silly play, do you? I go as close to the door as I can, avoiding the creaking floorboard. I don’t want to give myself away.
‘I told you I couldn’t come over. What are you talking about? We’re having a takeaway with my dad.’
I widen my eyes.
‘I did tell you. Don’t you dare Steph? I’m warning you.’
Steph, who the hell is Steph? I start to back away quietly.
‘I’ll give you a ring later, okay. Of course I still fancy you. Don’t be so ridiculous.’
‘Grandad, what are you doing?’
I spin round, twisting my bad knee in the process.
‘Looking for you,’ I say limping forward.
‘I’ve been in my room,’ says Holly.
The bathroom door clicks, and Harry emerges, slightly red-faced and with his hair askew.
‘What’s going on?’ he asks.
I could ask the same question.
‘I came to see if Holly was okay. Come on, let’s go downstairs. Let’s try and have our dinner without any arguments, shall we?’
Holly wipes away her tears.
‘Dad, do I have to go to church?’ she hiccups. ‘I hate it.’
‘Not now Holly,’ he says.
‘It’s not fair,’ she cries before storming down the stairs.
‘Sorry Dad.’
‘No worries,’ I say.
He checks his phone and then wanders down the stairs.
‘I’ll go and get the food,’ he says.
I rub my eyes and sigh. What’s the stupid lad up to? I know Moira’s not easy but surely another woman isn’t the answer. I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes when Moira finds out.
‘Stupid idiot,’ I mutter and then follow him. This is going to be a great Christmas if tonight is anything to go by.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rosie
‘Who was the chicken and chips?’ asks Bert.
‘Did you get the curry sauce?’ chorus Becky’s twins.
‘It’s here somewhere,’ says Bert.
‘Do you want a beer?’ asks Doris.
‘No, I came in my new car. Sam brought it round this evening.’
‘What is it?’ asks Bert.
Men are always interested in cars, aren’t they? I can’t stand the things myself. They’re nothing but hassle.
‘It’s a Vauxhall Astra,’ I say.
The twins burst out laughing.
‘You’re in no danger of getting that nicked on the estate,’ one says.
Becky whacks him around the head.
‘Don’t be cheeky. How did it go at Alf’s?’
‘Who?’ I ask.
‘Alf, you know, you cleaned for him today.’
‘Oh Archie,’ I say. ‘It went well, he drove me home.’
‘Who did?’ asks Crabbers.
It’s so noisy I can barely hear myself think. Everyone seems to be talking at once.
‘Who’s got the ketchup?’
‘Pass a fork will you,’
‘Do you want a pickled onion?’ Crabbers asks.
‘Oh yes, ta.’
‘Who’s Alf?’ he asks again, dropping a pickled onion onto my plate.
‘He’s the bloke I’m cleaning for. You know him. He did your mum’s roof.’
‘What are you doing over Christmas?’ asks Doris, handing me a plate of bread and butter.
I can’t say I’m thinking of going to Paris, can I? They’ll think I’ve lost my marbles.
‘I’ll be going to Sam’s, I expect.’
‘You can come to us Boxing Day if you like.’
‘Thanks Doris.’
‘No one wants to be alone over Christmas.’
‘I’m going to a party on Christmas Eve, I was going to ask if you’d like to come,’ says Crabbers shyly.
‘I don’t think I’ll be feeling like going to a party,’ I say.
I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to Paris for Christmas. I’ve not checked out the cost yet, but it can’t be that much, can it? I’m not keen about going on my own but I’m sure I’ll find an organised trip and it won’t take me long to make friends will it? I’ll look on the internet when I get home. Not that our computer works that well. I think Frank must have been looking at some dodgy sites because I feel sure we’ve got one of those viruses. I’d ask our Michael to take a look at it, but God knows what he’d find. He already doesn’t have a great opinion of Frank. I wouldn’t want to make it worse. It can take fifteen minutes to get into Google and that can’t be right can it? By the time I get into the Paris Breaks page, it will time for bed.
‘It was a nice funeral, Rosie,’ says Bert, making a chip butty.
‘Thanks.’
‘What are you doing with the ashes?’
‘Maybe you can scatter them,’ suggests Crabbers.
The way I feel about Frank at the moment I may well flush them down the loo. Oh, that’s an awful thing to think isn’t it? I wouldn’t really flush them down the toilet. Anyway, how can I be sure they are even Frank’s ashes? I know they’re unlikely to be someone else’s but you just don’t know do you? They could get them muddled up, couldn’t they? You can’t help wondering, can you?
‘What about Southend?’ suggests Crabbers. ‘He liked Southend, didn’t he?’
‘Yeah, we could all go for a day trip,’ says Doris.
‘The kids love Southend,’ says Becky.
‘In this weather,’ I say with a shiver.
‘We can wait until the summer, can’t we?’ says Doris. ‘It’s not like they’re going to go off is it? We could go for a boat trip or something.’
I haven’t collected the ashes yet. I suppose I should. It might look a bit uncaring if I leave it much longer.
‘I ought to get them,’ I say thinking aloud.
‘Well, it’s not always easy,’ says Bert, tapping me on the shoulder.
I’m worried about going home later. Frank always used to meet me at the main doors. I’m a bit of a wreck going up the stairs on my own at night. I won’t use the lift, just in case some bugger plays around with the buttons while I’m in it. I hate the Tradmore Estate and I’ve got it in my head that people know about my winnings. It’s a lot of money to be carrying around. I’m scared when I’m out of the flat and scared when I’m in it. I don’t know half the people Frank owed money to.
Bert looks at me and then says,
‘I saw Matt Fisher at the funeral.’
‘I thought that was him,’ says Crabbers tensing beside me.
After spotting Miss Peroxide Blonde, I hadn’t really noticed anyone else. My stomach somersaults at the name.
‘Matt Fisher?’ I repeat.
There were a few strange faces at the funeral, but Frank knew a lot of people at the dogs.
‘Matt Fisher, the loan shark?’
My heart begins to race. Doris looks angrily at Bert.
‘What did you have to go and frighten her for? Hasn’t she got enough on her plate?’
‘Did Frank owe him money?’ I ask.
Bert sighs and puts down his butty.
‘Word’s going around that you won some money on the bingo.’
‘I haven’t told anyone,’ says Doris quickly.
‘I never knew you won some money,’ says Becky.
‘See, I never even told me own daughter,’ says Doris, clearly vindicated.
‘How much did you win?’ asks Crabbers eagerly.
‘She’s not saying,’ says Doris.
I push my plate away.
‘What are people saying?’ I ask.
‘Just that you had a win at the bingo,’ says Bert.
I sigh. How many people did Frank owe money to?
‘Do you know how much he borrowed?’
‘Matt’s putting it around that it was about five thousand, plus the interest of course.’
‘How much?’ I gasp.
What on earth did Frank spend five grand on?
‘You’ve upset her,’ scolds Doris.
‘No, it’s okay,’ I say.
‘Well, he and Crabbers can follow you home and see you safely into your flat,’ she says. ‘Right Bert?’
Bert nods.
‘Yeah, sure, of course.’
‘Happy to,’ says Crabbers.
This is great isn’t it? I’ll be spending the rest of my winnings on bodyguards. Who’d have thought you’d get up one day with nothing and then that same night have five grand and half of London after you? I’d heard of Matt Fisher, of course. It’s one of those names that sends shivers through you. I’ve never had dealings with him and why should I? What I never had I couldn’t spend, and I’d never take out loans. Our Sam would have a hundred canary fits if he knew about this. What was my silly-arse husband thinking of?
‘I don’t know how much longer you can keep your winnings a secret,’ says Doris.
‘How much did you win?’ asks Crabbers again.
‘I’d rather not say.’
‘No, best not,’ says Becky. ‘That’s why a lot of lottery winners don’t go public isn’t it?’
‘It wasn’t that much,’ I say quickly.
‘What was Frank doing borrowing five grand?’ says Doris, licking vinegar from her fingers.
‘Well, it didn’t go on rent,’ I say, standing up.
‘It’s okay borrowing money,’ says Bert. ‘But just not from loan sharks.’
I’ll need to get new locks put on the front door. Triple locks I reckon. Maybe I’ll get one for the bedroom door too. I’ll also open a new bank account. I’ll go to Halifax. I should have done it earlier really. It’s dim of me to carry all this dosh around. The Halifax doesn’t know me. They won’t know about Frank’s debts, will they?
I kiss Doris goodbye and thank Becky for the fish and chips. I’m grateful to have Bert and Crabbers to see me home. If I wasn’t so scared, I could have enjoyed it and imagined myself a celebrity. Huh, that’s a laugh. The only celebrity status I’ll get is when I’m featured on the front page of the Daily Mirror after Matt and his cronies try to get what they’re owed. I can almost see the headlines, ‘Grandma beaten up in her own home by loan sharks.’
I so hate being sixty.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Holly
‘I don’t think we should,’ said Holly nervously, grappling with her tights. It was freezing in Bradley’s bedroom. You’d think the heating would be on. ‘Your mum might come home.’
‘No she won’t. She’s at work until eight. I told you. Don’t be a prick-teaser Hol,’ said Bradley, fumbling at her blouse.
‘I don’t know,’ said Holly, pushing her skirt down. ‘My mum will kill me if she finds out.’
‘She ain’t gonna find out is she, unless you tell her?’
Holly sighed.
‘Aw, come on Hol. You did promise. We don’t have to go all the way.’
She’d been all prepared earlier and he was right, she had promised. All her mates had done it. She must be the only one left. She didn’t want to be a virgin forever. It was embarrassing. Besides Bradley was real fit and all the girls fancied him. She was lucky he liked her. She knew if she didn’t give in soon he would chuck her and go out with someone else and then she’d look a right idiot. It was bad enough that he kept calling her ‘a little nun’ in front of her friends.
‘Is it because of God?’ he kept asking her.
She hated her parents for the whole God thing. It made her look right prim. She didn’t believe in God so why did she have to go to church with them. Grandad had the right idea. She supposed she’d have to go to that stupid play of her dad’s. Honestly, anyone would think he was Martin Scorsese. The whole thing was embarrassing. It was only a local theatre group fo
r goodness’ sake. Anyway, she hated that church hall, it was always freezing in there.
‘Don’t you have the heating on?’ she asked.
Bradley was busy trying to get her bra off.
‘What?’ he said.
‘It’s really cold in here.’
‘You could always get in the bed,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Come on Holly.’
He stuck his tongue into her mouth and Holly thought she would choke. His hand slid down her knickers and she tensed. She ought to get it over with. Lianne said it wasn’t that bad, just a bit of pain at the start and that was that.
‘You’re a bit sore after but it gets better,’ she’d told everyone. Holly didn’t think she’d be boasting about it.
‘Aw Hol,’ Bradley groaned into her ear.
‘Have you got something?’ she asked.
That’s what she’d seen the girls say in the TV programmes she watched. She looked down at his penis and grimaced. She’d never seen anything so big in her life. That would never get inside her.
‘I thought you were on the pill?’ he mumbled.
She pushed at his chest.
‘No, I’m not …’
‘I’ll use something,’ he grunted, pushing her back onto the bed. She felt her knickers pulled down and before she could protest he had pushed the monstrous thing inside her.
‘Bugger,’ she moaned.
It hurt like hell. No one said it would hurt this much. When did he put the thing on?
‘Brad, Brad, you did put something on, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, course,’ he said huskily.
She couldn’t believe this. There must be something wrong with her. It surely shouldn’t hurt like this. People wouldn’t keep doing it if it was this painful. Suddenly he grunted and rolled off her. She felt the wetness between her legs and panic overwhelmed her. She must be bleeding. If she went to the hospital they’d phone her mum and she’d go insane when she found out.
‘Here,’ said Brad, handing her a tissue and lighting a Benson and Hedges. He jumped up to open the window.
‘You were great,’ he said.
