When Archie Met Rosie

by Lynda Renham

  Archie waves on seeing me and then frowns at the sight of the police car.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asks, looking at the policeman.

  ‘I got lost,’ I say. ‘Stupid really. I went to the wrong pub.’

  ‘The wrong pub?’ he echoes.

  ‘The car park is through there,’ says the policeman, pointing. ‘No parking on double yellows.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’d better park,’ I say, turning to Archie.

  ‘Blimey, Rosie, you gave me the shock of my life.’

  He looks quite handsome in his overcoat and striped scarf. He has a distinguished, intellectual look about him. I wish I’d had a chance to change. I’m wearing a pair of white slacks with a maroon jumper that I bought from Marks, but my boots are scuffed, and my coat has a button missing. I’ll undo them all and then no one will notice. Archie meets me in the car park and I see his shoes are shiny where he’d polished them. I look a right scruff next to him.

  ‘I booked a table,’ he says, hooking my arm through his.

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  He opens the door for me and smiles.

  ‘For a moment I thought you were going to stand me up.’

  He has no idea how close I came.

  ‘Hello Mr Bolton, how are you?’ says a waitress approaching us.

  Oh no, the staff know him here.

  ‘Hello Rachel, how are you?’ asks Archie and then turning to me, ‘This is Rosie.’

  ‘Hello Rosie, this way.’

  She leads us to a table and I feel myself blushing. It’s lovelier than I remembered from the Waitrose do. Beautiful paintings of Japanese women adorn the walls and on the far side of the room is a wall-to-wall bookcase.

  ‘Can I get you drinks?’ she asks, handing us menus.

  ‘I’ll have a beer. My usual,’ says Archie.

  He looks at me.

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’

  ‘Oh no,’ I say quickly, although I can’t think of anything better. ‘I’ve got to work tonight.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ he says. ‘I’m forgetting.’

  I look down at the menu. I wasn’t wrong. It’s dead pricey. Even the fish and chips are overpriced.

  ‘Can I have a cup of tea?’ I ask.

  The waitress smiles.

  ‘What tea would you like?’

  ‘You don’t like that Earl Grey rubbish, do you?’ asks Archie.

  ‘I don’t mind it,’ I say. ‘But I’ll have normal tea please.’

  She must think I’m so common. I’m so relieved when she goes.

  ‘When I saw that police car I thought that you’d had a run in with Matt Fisher,’ Archie says, relaxing in his seat.

  ‘It was stupid of me to go to the wrong pub,’ I say shyly.

  ‘Easily done, now what are you having? I can vouch for the ribs.’

  ‘I only normally have a sandwich for lunch.’

  ‘Let your hair down for once then.’

  ‘I’ll have the gammon,’ I say.

  I used to cook gammon for Frank. It would do us a dinner and then sandwiches the next day and maybe even a salad the day after that. Our Sam likes a good gammon too. I should make it one night and have him and Michael over for dinner.

  ‘Heard any more from that thug Matt Fisher?’ Archie asks, after our drinks have been brought over.

  ‘No,’ I say worriedly. ‘But I have an awful feeling I will.’

  ‘You need to get off that estate.’

  People like Archie think it’s that easy, don’t they? Like I can just up and leave. I can now, because I’ve had a win at the bingo. But if I hadn’t had that win, I’d be stuck, wouldn’t I? Matt Fisher would no doubt still be chasing his money. The only difference is that it would be Frank running scared instead of me.

  ‘That’s what I want to talk to you about,’ adds Archie leaning forward. I can smell his beer. It smells wonderful. I’d love one myself.

  ‘You wanted to talk about Matt Fisher?’ I say surprised.

  I feel a little let down and quickly squash my feelings of disappointment. I shouldn’t be feeling like this should I? I’ve only just lost my Frank. Of course, there is the little matter of his brassy blonde. It does rather colour everything. What in heaven’s name did she see in Frank, with his smelly armpits and pimply back? I know older men can be appealing, I mean just look at Richard Gere. Although the only thing Richard Gere and Frank had in common is their grey hair. I suppose she liked the fact he spent money on her; borrowed money at that.

  ‘Not Matt Fisher exactly, but the little flat you’re going to look at.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I want to show you another property that I think you might like more.’

  I’m taken aback.

  ‘I thought we could look at it after lunch,’ he finishes.

  ‘I have to be at work by six.’

  ‘It’s only one now,’ he grins looking at his watch. ‘There’s plenty of time.’

  I only hope Archie’s kind gesture doesn’t involve a flat with a price way over my budget.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Moira

  Moira paced nervously as she waited for the kettle to boil.

  ‘You’ll wear out that lovely lino of yours if you carry on like this,’ said Celia.

  ‘It’s not lino,’ said Moira, insulted.

  ‘Oh,’ said Celia and quickly popped on her glasses.

  ‘They’re real flagstones,’ said Moira.

  ‘Oh,’ repeated Celia. ‘I thought it was that imitation lino that looks like flagstones. Of course I can see it isn’t now.’

  She made a big show of studying the floor. The kettle clicked, and Moira poured water into the teapot.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure it was the cleaning woman?’ she asked, taking coasters from a drawer.

  ‘I’d seen her before. She works at Waitrose too. Rosie’s her name.’

  ‘Rosie?’ said Moira. The memory of that Friday night when Holly was attacked came back to her.

  Wasn’t her name Rosie? Surely it wasn’t the same woman. What was Dad thinking of?

  ‘She was actually cooking dinner?’

  ‘Yes. Alf was a bit cagey too. He can be a bit sharp can Alf. Rude almost.’

  ‘Oh I know,’ agreed Moira.

  Moira sighed. What on earth was Dad up to now? The last thing she ever imagined was another woman on the scene. She’d fully expected Dad to wither away from a broken heart, not dive into another woman’s arms and most certainly not that of the cleaner. Celia must have misunderstood, surely? There must be a reasonable explanation.

  ‘I’m sure it’s all very innocent,’ said Moira.

  ‘I’m sure,’ agreed Celia and then added dubiously, ‘all the same …’

  ‘Perhaps she’d forgotten something from earlier,’ said Moira.

  ‘It took her a long time to find it then. Her car was still there at ten o’clock.’

  ‘Ten o’clock?’ exclaimed Moira.

  Celia nodded.

  ‘Billy hadn’t come back so I kept popping out to look for him.’

  ‘Billy?’ questioned Moira.

  ‘My cat.’

  ‘Oh, so what time did she leave?’

  ‘It must have been about quarter past ten. It was the break during News at Ten. I remember that, so it must have been about quarter past ten when I looked again. Her car had gone then.’

  Moira shook her head.

  ‘There’s nothing in it. He’s still grieving for Cath.’

  ‘That’s when they get them though isn’t it?’ said Celia. ‘Gold-diggers know when to strike. They go for the men when they’re vulnerable. It wouldn’t happen to us women but men … they’re so taken in. He was probably flattered and all that …’

  ‘Do you think?’ said Moira doubtfully, ‘No, I don’t think Alfie would be taken in by a gold-digger. He’s too tight with his money.’

  Celia dunked her digestive into her tea.

  ‘All the same,
it’s best you’re aware of it. He’s vulnerable. Why don’t you phone the cleaning company she works for?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Moira thoughtfully. ‘I’ll talk to Harry.’

  Celia shook her head.

  ‘The more time goes on,’ she said in a warning voice. ‘He’s got that big house. Martha Sell’s husband was married within six months of her passing. Nothing the family could do.’

  Moira felt her heart lurch.

  ‘I was worried about him getting lonely. We tried to get him to go into a retirement place. Lovely little flat it was. He was adamant he wanted to stay in that huge house on his own. I said if we had the house he could live with us.’

  ‘He doesn’t look lonely to me,’ scoffed Celia.

  Moira put her cup down and began pacing the room again.

  ‘Well if he does marry again it can’t be to his cleaner.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Celia. ‘I like your nails by the way. I couldn’t get away with that colour.’

  Moira glanced at her nails with disinterest.

  ‘It’s the perfect colour for Christmas,’ said Celia.

  What if he wanted to bring her for Christmas, thought Moira. It would be too unbearable for words. She must speak to Harry. They had to stop this madness before it got out of hand.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Rosie

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I say. ‘But it will be way out of my price range.’

  Way, way out of my price range, I’d say. It’s the sort of place I dream of. A nice two-up two-down little house on a new development. Archie must think my idea of a reasonably priced home matches his. We couldn’t be more different. Archie doesn’t seem to be listening and opens the front door.

  ‘How did you get the key?’ I ask, surprised.

  ‘Ah,’ he says tapping his nose.

  It’s lovely inside and I let out a little gasp. I thought the little flat I looked at in Hornchurch was nicely decorated but everything here is perfect. I can smell the newness of the cream shag pile carpets.

  ‘I’ll take my boots off,’ I say.

  We both pull off our shoes and wander through the lounge in our socks. I’m surprised to see Archie’s has a hole in them. I wonder if it would be alright to buy him a pair for Christmas. No, that’s a daft idea isn’t it? Didn’t he say he had hundreds of socks? What do you buy a man for Christmas when he seems to have everything? Anyway, cleaners don’t buy Christmas presents for the people they work for. I’m as daft as a brush me, I really am.

  ‘This is the kitchen,’ says Archie.

  It’s lovely and bright with new fitted units.

  ‘They built these last year,’ he says, opening the back door. ‘There’s a little garden. It’s not much but …’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, a sigh of appreciation escaping me.

  The flat in Hornchurch doesn’t have a garden but I hadn’t minded. After all, I’ve never had a garden my whole life. I did have an allotment once, but I could never find the time to go there and it got overgrown. It would be lovely to have a garden. We go back inside, and I follow Archie upstairs.

  ‘I really can’t afford this,’ I say as we reach the bathroom. A cream coloured bathroom suite greets us. It’s shiny and new.

  ‘No dual flush or remote,’ says Archie.

  ‘It’s still out of my price range,’ I repeat.

  Maybe Moira is right, and Archie is a bit deaf.

  ‘How much is the flat you looked at?’ he asks.

  ‘Seven hundred and fifty a month but that includes the bills,’ I say. ‘I can’t afford more than that and this place, well it is lovely, but it needs furnishing too and I didn’t want to spend all my money on furniture.’

  He waves a hand dismissively.

  ‘Oh, furniture is nothing.’

  It might not be for Archie.

  ‘It’s nice of you to show me around and I’m very grateful but it’s way out of my price range. I just know it is.’

  Surely he has heard me now?

  ‘It’s four hundred a month,’ he says. ‘That’s cheaper than the other flat.’

  I stare at him open-mouthed. Now, maybe I’m stupid and I don’t think I am, but that doesn’t sound right to me.

  ‘You can buy second-hand furniture,’ he adds.

  He then shifts uncomfortably on his feet.

  ‘It’s my house. I bought it last year. It’s a little investment. I’ve got a few of them now. I was going to rent it out but as you’re looking for a place and …’

  How insulting. I’ve stood on my own two feet all my life and certainly don’t need pity. I feel like crying. I know I’m hard up and can’t afford a lovely house. He doesn’t have to rub it in by bringing me to one and hammering it home that I could never afford it on my own. Well sod that for a game of soldiers. I’ve never needed anyone’s help before and I’m not going to start now. I pull the straps of my bag over my shoulder and say angrily,

  ‘I don’t need your charity Archie Bolton. I’ve always made my own way in life and I can carry on doing so.’

  I march angrily down the stairs with Archie behind me.

  ‘Hold up Rosie,’ he says.

  ‘No, I won’t,’ I say.

  ‘Let’s talk about it.’

  ‘No,’ I say while fighting back my shame. ‘I’ll be getting the bus back to work.’

  Pride before a fall, isn’t that what they say? I’ve got no idea where the bus stop is. I’ll no doubt have to walk miles and then I will be late for work. Sod it. Sod everything. I fumble with my boots. My hands are shaking with anger.

  ‘Please wait Rosie,’ pleads Archie.

  I pull the door open and storm from the house. I turn left without a clue as to where I’m going. I feel so stupid. If only Frank were here. At least Frank never looked down on me.

  I realise I’m heading towards a dead end and curse.

  ‘Rosie,’ calls Archie running after me in his socks. He looks a right plonker hobbling along in holey ones.

  ‘Which is the way out?’ I snap.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re so upset,’ he says bewildered.

  ‘How dare you offer me charity?’

  ‘Charity? If I was offering you charity I’d let you stay there for free, you silly cow.’

  I gasp.

  ‘How dare you call me a silly cow?’

  ‘I just dared. Look Rosie. The house is going to be for rent. I don’t need the money. I bought it because it’s the best way to invest money. I’d rather rent it out to someone I know than to someone I don’t who might well trash the place. You’re doing me a favour too, you know. I know the place will be well looked after if you’re in it.’

  I look at his feet.

  ‘You should put your shoes on,’ I say. ‘You’ll get something in your foot.’

  ‘You didn’t give me time. You tore out of there like you had a firework up your arse.’

  ‘Archie,’ I admonish.

  ‘It’s Alfred I’ll have you know.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘My name.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he says. ‘I can’t keep running after you. Not with my dodgy knee. I’ll just get my shoes.’

  I feel stupid now. He waves from the front door and I walk shamefaced back to meet him.

  ‘I didn’t mean to offend you,’ he says. ‘That’s the last thing I wanted to do. I’d rather have someone that I know renting the place that’s all.’

  ‘Well …’ I hesitate.

  ‘If it makes you happier you can pay me the seven hundred and fifty. But if you don’t mind me saying, I think you would be a silly cow to agree to that.’

  ‘Archie,’ I warn.

  ‘It’s Alfred but I don’t know why I keep telling you.’

  ‘Can I think about it?’

  ‘Yeah, course. Add it to the Paris break that you’re thinking about.’

  He smiles, and I smile back.

  ‘Come on,’ he says, hoo
king my arm through his. ‘Let’s get a celebratory drink to you thinking about it and then I’ll drop you back at your car.’

  Can you believe it? Me living in a spanking new two-up two-down. It doesn’t seem possible. I can even park my little car on the drive. I won’t know I’m born. I really won’t. Paris though, I mean I can’t really, can I? Sam will be expecting me over Christmas.

  Oh, what to do? Who thought, me, Rosie Foster, would have such dilemmas.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Harry

  Steph stroked Harry’s chest and leant over to kiss him. Her hand slowly travelled down his torso.

  ‘I’m on my lunch break,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get back.’

  ‘It won’t take long,’ she whispered huskily.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve got it in me,’ he laughed.

  ‘Harry Bolton, you’re useless,’ Steph said playfully. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing with you.’

  She kissed him on the cheek and slid from the bed. Harry admired her naked body and then yawned.

  ‘Do you want a coffee before you go?’ Steph asked, slipping into a silky wrap. The heating was up high. She always made sure the place was warm as toast when Harry visited. It was a small flat and Steph worried that Harry would find it cramped after his own semi, but he seemed happy and relaxed when he came.

  ‘No, I’d better get going,’ he said sitting up and pulling on his trousers.

  ‘When will I see you?’ she asked trying to keep her voice light.

  Harry switched on his phone. It bleeped several times. He looked at the screen and sighed.

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Moira’s been trying to get hold of me.’

  ‘Doesn’t she ever leave you alone?’ said Steph, irritated.

  ‘It must be important. She’s going to the office.’

  He grabbed his tie and jacket.

  ‘I’ll phone you,’ he said, opening the door.

  ‘Blimey, Harry, don’t I even get a kiss goodbye?’

  Harry looked down at the message on his phone.