When Archie Met Rosie

by Lynda Renham

  He’s sitting with some puny-looking bloke who has a serviette tucked into the top of his shirt. He looks a right plonker.

  ‘Alright Alf?’ says Fisher. ‘Take a seat. I ain’t seen you in a while. I ‘eard about your wife. I was sorry to ‘ear that.’

  ‘It’s Alfred to you,’ I say firmly, sitting down.

  Puny dribbles humus down his chin and I grimace.

  ‘Is this your sidekick?’ I ask, removing my scarf. ‘Or are you babysitting?’

  ‘This is Rick,’ says Matt.

  ‘Alright?’ says Rick.

  ‘No I’m not. I’m cold. It’s sodding Christmas and I hate Christmas shoppers. So the last place I want to be is here.’

  ‘Don’t be a bah humbug,’ says Matt. ‘Have some food. These mezes are the business.’

  ‘No ta,’ I say. ‘I’ve had my dinner.’

  No doubt the food’s got garlic in it and that always plays havoc with my stomach.

  ‘So, what can we do for you, Alf?’

  I snap my head up.

  ‘Alfred,’ he corrects.

  ‘I never thought you could stoop so low as to bully women.’

  ‘Calling yourself an old woman?’ laughs Puny, spitting out bits of lamb kofta. He’s disgusting, he really is.

  Matt opens his mouth to speak.

  ‘I’ve not finished,’ I say. ‘Now if grown men are stupid enough to take out a loan with you, then that’s up to them. I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t give bullies like you the pleasure of having me by the balls …’

  ‘Now, ‘old on Alf.’

  ‘Alfred,’ I bark. ‘Can’t you get someone’s name right? Your mother brought you up better than this.’

  ‘Who is this daft old colossal wank weasel?’ asks Rick.

  I’ll give him colossal wank weasel. The Greek music is getting on my nerves. If I want Greek music I’ll go to Greece.

  ‘I’m not as daft as you look,’ I say to Rick.

  This throws him, and he mulls over the words while eating his meze.

  ‘Can I have a Coca-Cola?’ I ask the waiter.

  ‘Have a decent drink,’ says Matt, holding up the wine.

  ‘I’m driving. There are some of us who abide by the law.’

  Matt wipes his mouth on a serviette.

  ‘So what’s your gripe Alfred,’ he says, emphasising my name.

  ‘I remember you when you were a young lad. You were a bully then. I told your mum you’d come to no good.’

  He laughs, his even white teeth sparkling. They’ve been polished. No one has teeth like that. No one would want teeth like that. What an arse ‘ole.

  ‘I’ve done alright as it ‘appens,’ he says.

  ‘I don’t call what you do, successful.’

  ‘Why don’t you take a long walk off a short plank,’ sidekick Rick snarls, suddenly jumping up. ‘In fact, why don’t I help you?’

  ‘Is he a joke?’ I ask Matt. ‘He’s good entertainment. I’ll give you that.’

  ‘Sit down Rick,’ says Matt, looking embarrassed.

  ‘Rosie Foster,’ I say, pushing Rick back into his seat.

  Matt has the decency to lower his head.

  ‘Her cockwomble husband …’ begins Rick.

  ‘Can’t you just stuff humus in your mouth,’ I say irritably. ‘I hope this dipstick here didn’t speak to Rosie using that colourful language.’

  ‘Frank owed me five thousand,’ says Matt. ‘It’s on the grapevine that she had a big win at the bingo …’

  ‘Ten thousand or more,’ adds Rick.

  ‘So everyone’s entitled to it are they?’ I say downing the Cola. ‘As it happens it was a small win. Ever heard of Chinese whispers? That’s what happened to Rosie’s win. It’s been whispered about so much that no one even knows now what she won.’

  ‘He owed me five grand,’ says Matt stubbornly.

  ‘Without interest, how much did he owe you?’

  Matt hesitates.

  ‘Two grand.’

  I puff out my cheeks.

  ‘It’s criminal what you do. I’ll give you the two grand. You don’t go near Rosie again.’

  Matt sniggers.

  ‘No way. I need my interest and …’

  ‘Fine,’ I say standing up. ‘Let’s go round to your mum and get what she owes me. I’ll give it to you out of that.’

  I pull on my overcoat.

  ‘Alright, alright,’ says Matt. ‘Don’t be so hasty. I don’t want my mum bothered.’

  ‘And I don’t want Rosie Foster bothered.’

  Matt takes a toothpick and pokes at his shiny teeth.

  ‘Okay,’ he says finally.

  I hold out my hand.

  ‘Shake on it.’

  ‘You can’t let this cockwomble …’ begins Rick.

  ‘Shut the fuck up,’ says Matt, putting his hand in mine.

  ‘Great,’ I say. ‘Enjoy your meze. Mind you don’t choke on your own tongue,’ I say to Rick and leave the restaurant.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Rosie

  Sam peeks into the cupboards.

  ‘You’ve got good storage space,’ he says.

  ‘Do you think I should take it,’ I say lowering my voice. ‘Only if I don’t say soon, they’ll offer it to someone else.’

  ‘As long as you’re sure you can afford it.’

  After the debacle with Moira in Waitrose I’d felt sure I wouldn’t be able to afford it. But Becky had called, and I had felt much better.

  ‘Stupid cow,’ she’d fumed down the phone. ‘She wanted me to send someone else to Alfie. I said I didn’t have anyone else. That you were perfect for that job, and so you are. She went on and on about how it wasn’t professional for cleaners to fraternise with the clients …’

  ‘I didn’t fraternise,’ I’d argued.

  ‘I know. Anyway, she threatened to cancel her contract with me. I’m so sorry, Rosie. I don’t think Alf will be too pleased though when someone else turns up on Friday, but that’s not our problem is it?’

  ‘I only made him a shepherd’s pie,’ I’d said.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Rosie. Anyway, I’ve got a new client in Hornchurch. They want three hours so it’s more work for you anyway. Alf was only two.’

  I hadn’t liked to say that more hours were far from what I needed. But at least I still have a cleaning job and the murders when they come up. My supervisor, Karen, was very nice about the fracas with Moira and said that customers do get a little obnoxious around Christmas time and that Karen felt I had handled it very well. Of course, I won’t be going to Paris now, so I told Brian I wouldn’t be needing time off after all and that cheered him up. So it seems I can afford the flat if I want it. It does worry me that I still have one of Archie’s books. I really ought to return it. I’ll pop it in the post. That’s the best thing. I really don’t want Moira getting all arsy with me again. I feel really sad about Archie. I really enjoyed our little chats, especially when we talked about books. I feel myself getting tearful and force myself to stop thinking about Archie. But I really liked him. Not in a sexual way, you understand, but as a friend. It was someone to share my interests with. I’ve never had that before. Shirl and Doris are good friends and I don’t know what I’d do without them, but they’re not interested in books and travelling. Archie lit my life up I suppose. I know it was daft, but I bought him some socks from Marks and Spencer. I thought he would appreciate a decent pair. I couldn’t have given him Primark socks, could I? Although there’s nothing wrong with Primark but Marks would last longer. I’ll give them to Sam instead. He’ll appreciate them.

  ‘You’ll feel safer here,’ Sam says breaking into my reverie.

  I nod.

  The day that Matt Fisher had come into the store had been a bit unsettling and I’d gone to Sam’s that night for tea. He said I could have stayed at theirs, but I didn’t want to be a burden. Besides I had to go back to my flat sometime. Sam had taken me home but there had been no sign of Matt Fisher or that puny bl
oke. I’d locked all the doors and taken the bread knife to bed with me. I’m not sure why. I don’t think I could stab anyone if my life depended on it. That’s not strictly true is it? I mean, surely I would, if my life depended on it. I’d be a stupid cow if I didn’t. There’s not been much noise from the neighbours. I hope Matt hasn’t murdered them. I don’t like to knock.

  ‘I have got other people interested,’ says the estate agent.

  ‘She’s taking it, aren’t you Mum?’ says Sam.

  ‘Yes,’ I say decisively.

  ‘Wonderful,’ she smiles. ‘If you’d like to come back to the office, we can complete the paperwork.’

  Sam nods at me.

  ‘Afterwards we can go to the Harvester,’ he says.

  I wish our Sam would find a nice girl; someone decent and kind. He deserves that.

  ‘Can you spare the time?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve left Joe in charge. I can take a few hours off.’

  I look around the flat and feel a little flutter of excitement in my stomach. I’ll need some couches. Doris says she knows this place in Stratford that does second-hand furniture.

  ‘Decent stuff,’ she’d assured me.

  The estate agent closes the front door and I stand looking at what will be my new home.

  ‘I’ll meet you at the office,’ she says, shaking my hand.

  I can’t believe it. I’m getting off Tradmore Estate. It will be a struggle to begin with, but I’m used to struggling. Still, in a few years I’ll get my pension and I’ll have my bereavement allowance too and if I keep on working for the next few years then I should be okay. I’d rather work than sit at home all day anyway.

  *

  ‘I haven’t been to Harvester for years,’ I say.

  ‘Nor have I,’ smiles Sam.

  We give the waitress our orders and celebrate my new home with a glass of orange juice.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Matt Fisher?’ Sam asks.

  I shake my head.

  ‘No. I don’t know why.’

  ‘He knows he shouldn’t harass women. It’s not the thing to do. Dad was an idiot.’

  ‘He didn’t have a lot of sense,’ I agree.

  ‘How are the murders going?’

  I raise my eyebrows.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ I say. ‘Or I’ll have the police knocking on the door. They’re going okay. It’s only occasionally. Just as well really.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ he laughs.

  Sam’s eyes light up as the waitress brings our roast chicken.

  ‘It’s on me,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll pay for my own.’

  ‘You won’t,’ I say firmly.

  I hesitate and then say quietly,

  ‘I lost one of my cleaning jobs though. Archie, the bloke I told you about. His daughter-in-law got it into her head that I was after his money.’

  Sam looks surprised.

  ‘You lost the job?’

  I nod.

  ‘She phoned Becky and said I was taking liberties …’

  ‘What a cheek,’ he says angrily.

  ‘I only made him a shepherd’s pie, but I’ve been borrowing books from him and he invited me round to share the shepherd’s pie …’

  Sam cocks his head.

  ‘Nothing happened,’ I say. ‘Anyway, the daughter-in-law came into Waitrose, her nose in the air and told me not to go back. Becky has got me something else but …’

  ‘What a cheek, accusing you of being after his money. I’m not having that.’

  ‘Don’t go starting trouble Sam.’

  ‘It’s a cheek,’ he says.

  He’s right of course. She had a nerve. I expect she’ll accuse me of stealing Archie’s book. I’ll post it later.

  ‘I do miss going there. He’s a nice bloke and, well … I do miss company.’

  He squeezes my hand.

  ‘You can always come to us, you know that.’

  ‘I know. But I don’t want to be a burden. Anyway, I’ve got my little jobs.’

  ‘You shouldn’t overdo it though, Mum. You’ve got a little bit of money now and your bereavement allowance. Take it easy. You don’t need those murders, not really. You can always have dinner with us a couple of nights a week. That will save a bit on food.’

  ‘Thanks, love, and I probably will. In the meantime, let’s enjoy this.’

  ‘Let me and Michael know when you’re moving in and we’ll get a van.’

  ‘That’ll be great Sam.’

  Everything is working out for once, except for my job with Archie, of course. I’m really sad about that. I’ll put the book in the post. I won’t put a Christmas card in with it as I’d planned. Moira might think I’m trying to get in with Archie again and I couldn’t cope with another run in with her. It felt funny not going to Archie’s house. I wonder what Becky told him. He’ll think he’s upset me. I could text him. No, on second thoughts, best not. I’ll no doubt just get myself into more trouble. I can’t believe how much trouble has come my way since Frank died. I never realised how peaceful life was before that.

  Chapter Forty

  Alfred

  I click the kettle on and take two plates from the kitchen dresser. Rosie should be here soon. Cleo purrs around my legs. At that moment the doorbell goes, and Cleo and I stroll to the front door together.

  ‘Here she is,’ I say. ‘She’ll have your treats, I’m sure.’

  I open the door.

  ‘Good morning Rosie …’ I begin and stop.

  Becky stands there with a woman I’ve never seen before.

  ‘Morning Alf,’ says Becky cheerfully, but there’s a worried frown across her forehead.

  ‘Where’s Rosie?’ I say, looking behind them.

  If that Matt Fisher has …

  ‘Rosie can’t come any more,’ says Becky. ‘A few personal issues, you know how it is …’

  The words sound rehearsed.

  ‘No, I don’t know how it is,’ I say brusquely. ‘Is she alright?’

  ‘Yes, oh yes, she’s fine. Don’t worry.’

  Becky flushes.

  ‘This is Margaret. She’ll be doing your cleaning now. I’ll show her around, shall I?’

  I stand in the doorway, the stubborn mule that I am.

  ‘It’s not like Rosie not to tell me,’ I say, feeling hurt.

  Cleo turns her back on Margaret and skulks into the kitchen.

  ‘I really can’t divulge much Alf,’ says Becky unhelpfully. ‘It’s confidential.’

  ‘She’s alright though, isn’t she? Nothing’s happened?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ says Becky quickly. ‘Don’t worry, Rosie is absolutely fine.’

  ‘But, she doesn’t want to clean for me any more?’

  Becky shrugs uncomfortably and pulls a face.

  ‘Right, well that’s that then. Come in Margaret,’ I say opening the door wider.

  It just goes to show, you really don’t know people, do you? Obviously, when I’d shown her my little house, I’d upset her more than she’d let on. Or perhaps she finds me too friendly, the idiot that I am. Well, that’s that. I’m not giving any more thought to it. If she doesn’t want to come and clean, then she doesn’t. I’m not going begging to her.

  ‘I’ll show Margaret round,’ says Becky.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, picking up the newspaper.

  *

  Becky had been dreading telling Alf that Rosie wouldn’t be coming any more. Moira had been quite clear that her phone call to Becky should be confidential.

  ‘My father-in-law doesn’t need to know that his previous cleaner was dishonest. I’d like you to get the key from her please.’

  ‘Rosie isn’t dishonest,’ Becky had responded, struggling to keep her temper.

  ‘She took liberties. I hope very much you impress it upon the new cleaner that she is there to clean. I prefer them not to have keys.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Becky.

  It was bad enough telling Rosie that Moir
a had cancelled her.

  ‘The thing is,’ she’d told Rosie. ‘There’s nothing I can do. It was Moira who hired us in the first place.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Rosie had said but Becky could tell she was upset and now Alf looked right fed up and he was usually a cheery soul. Bloody Moira, thought Becky. If anyone was after Alf’s money it was her.

  Alf buried his head in his paper and Becky fought back the desire to tell him the truth. What was the worst that could happen? Moira would put the word around that Becky’s agency hired untrustworthy staff, that’s the worst and Becky couldn’t afford for that to happen. She’d got loads of clients through Moira; all her church and counsellor friends. It would be a big blow if she lost those. She sighed heavily.

  ‘Right I’m going for a walk,’ Alf said suddenly.

  ‘Okay Alf,’ said Becky.

  ‘There’s angel cake if you want it. Help yourself. What’s not eaten will only go in the bin.’

  ‘Thanks Alf, we will.’

  The front door slammed, and Becky cursed.

  ‘Everything alright,’ asked Margaret.

  ‘Yeah fine,’ said Becky. ‘I just think I might be cleaning up after one of my own murders.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  Moira

  Moira tried the key in the ignition again. There was a clicking sound and she sighed. She’d no doubt flooded the engine. At least it had spluttered a bit before. She checked the time on the dashboard clock. She’d have to phone. She would never make the parish council meeting now. She stepped from the car and watched as a blue Mini pulled up and parked across the driveway.

  ‘Typical,’ she mumbled, striding towards it.

  She stopped as a well-built man climbed from the car. He reminded her of the character in a drama she and Holly had been watching on Netflix. He had the same rugged good looks. He studied her critically and Moira felt herself turning hot.

  ‘You’ll have to move that,’ she said, pointing at the Mini. ‘You’re blocking my drive.’

  He looked at the Mini.

  ‘So I am,’ he said flippantly. ‘Are you Moira Bolton?’

  He had a rough way of talking but there was an undertone of softness to his voice. Although, right now, his brown flecked eyes were flashing angrily her way.