When Archie Met Rosie

by Lynda Renham

‘Sorry,’ apologises Shirl. ‘Bill is bringing him. It didn’t seem right you being the odd one out without a bloke.’

  ‘I don’t want a bloke,’ I say hotly.

  ‘They should be here soon,’ says Doris. ‘Bert just texted me.’

  ‘Let’s get you a drink,’ says Shirl, hitching up her bra. ‘That’ll loosen you up.’

  I don’t need loosening up. Honestly, these two. It’ll be good to see Becky anyway. I can tell her about Archie. She’ll be pleased. Perhaps Margaret and I could just swap jobs. I make my way to the bar with Shirl, who’s wearing a dress so tight you can see the outline of her bum.

  ‘That dress is far too tight,’ I say.

  ‘I know. I need to go to one of those slimming clubs. I’ll go after Christmas. It’s pointless going before, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Are you going to your Sam’s for Christmas?’

  ‘Yes, I expect so.’

  ‘What happened to your Frank’s ashes?’ she asks, taking me by surprise.

  ‘They’re on the toilet windowsill.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I didn’t know where else to put them. It’s a bit depressing having ashes in the house …’

  ‘Crikey, remind me not to have a pee at yours. I don’t fancy your Frank watching.’

  ‘I don’t know where I’m going to put them in the new place.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that loo?’

  ‘I don’t want it ruined with Frank’s ashes, do I?’

  We look at each other and then laugh until tears roll down our cheeks.

  ‘What are you like?’ she says wiping her eyes.

  ‘I’ve got to get a tombstone,’ I say.

  Shirl throws back her vodka and orange.

  ‘Doris knows someone who does them cheap.’

  I’m not surprised.

  ‘It’s just I’m still so cross with Frank. What with the debts and Peroxide Blonde Pat and …’

  ‘Forget about her, she’s nothing.’

  I see Crabbers enter the pub. He’s looking smart in a white shirt and tie. He waves and hobbles to the bar.

  ‘I’ll get these,’ he says whipping out a twenty-pound note. ‘I hear you’re getting a new place Rosie. You’ll be needing bed linen, won’t you?’

  ‘I already have bed linen but thanks all the same.’

  ‘Won’t you want new stuff?’ asks Shirl. ‘After all you can afford it after your win.’

  ‘Please don’t mention my winnings Shirl,’ I hiss.

  ‘Ooh sorry,’ she says. ‘I’ll have a vodka and orange,’ she tells Crabbers.

  I take a white wine from the bar and follow her back to the table. Becky has arrived, and I sidle up to her.

  ‘I saw Archie,’ I say.

  ‘Who?’ she says.

  ‘Did you get menus Shirl?’ asks Doris.

  Bert kisses me on the cheek.

  ‘You’re looking perkier,’ he smiles.

  ‘Thanks Bert.’

  I turn back to Becky.

  ‘Archie Bolton,’ I say.

  ‘Oh Alfred. Where did you see him?’

  ‘At his house. It’s a long story but he wanted to know why I’d stopped cleaning, so I had to tell him. Anyway, he wants me back. He’s going to have a word with Moira.’

  Becky pulls a face.

  ‘I hope this doesn’t affect my business with her. I’m not being difficult, Rosie but she does get me a lot of clients.’

  ‘Oh I know,’ I say quickly. ‘I mentioned that to Archie and he said it won’t affect you at all.’

  ‘Oh good,’ she says with a relieved sigh.

  I take the menu from Crabbers and try to relax. Matt Fisher won’t come after me in a crowded pub, surely.

  ‘How are you feeling now?’ asks Crabbers.

  ‘Feeling, how do you mean?’

  ‘About Frank, it must be hard.’

  ‘I’m alright.’

  ‘She’s fine, aren’t you Rosie. She’s got her mates,’ smiles Doris.

  That’s right. I have my mates and now I have my job back with Archie and a new place to live. The only fly in my ointment is Matt Fisher and I just don’t understand what he’s up to.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Moira

  Moira checked the time on her phone. It was nearly six. Harry would be home. From the corner of her eye she saw Sam slide out from beneath the Range Rover. The other mechanic had already gone home. She typed a text to Harry.

  I’m getting the car repaired. It’s got an oil leak and I need it tomorrow for the monthly counsellors meeting.

  It was delivered, and Harry answered immediately.

  I’m still at work. A late meeting. Dad phoned. He wants to speak to us both. I said tomorrow would be best. I’m going straight onto the rehearsal. Holly is eating at Dad’s. I’ll see you later.

  Not another late night, thought Moira. This was getting ridiculous. She threw the phone back into her bag and wondered what it was that Dad wanted to talk to them about. Had he finally seen sense about the house? He’s probably finding it too much on his own. She had warned him. It would be much better for him to live there with them. She’d talk to Harry about these late nights. It seemed to be all the time these days. She only saw him a couple of evenings a week now. Maybe things would be better when the play finished. It was too much for him. Working late and then going on to the rehearsals. They needed to get ready for Christmas too. She couldn’t do everything on her own. She’d talk to him tonight. They’d have a lot to do if Dad has changed his mind about the house.

  ‘It’s done.’

  Moira jumps. She hadn’t heard Sam come into the office.

  ‘Great,’ she said, standing up. ‘What do I owe you?’

  ‘I’ll write you out a bill. It’s eighty-five pounds for the part. I haven’t charged you for the labour.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good of you,’ she said rummaging in her bag for the money. He wiped his hands and then grabbed a pad from the desk.

  ‘But I really should pay for the labour.’

  ‘Nah,’ he said without looking at her.

  A mobile on the desk bleeped and he glanced down at it.

  Moira held out a credit card.

  ‘You do take cards, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re in the twenty-first century, like everyone else.’

  He seemed to growl at her and she struggled to think of what to say that might put things right about his mum. He took the card and slipped it into the machine on the desk. She hovered close to punch in her pin and found herself looking at the text on his phone.

  Dad, we’re all going for a curry. It’s Tony’s birthday. I won’t be late.

  She glanced up at him. He had a son? He didn’t look like the father type somehow. So, he had a wife. Moira wondered what she looked like. Had he told her he was working late too?

  He handed her the card.

  ‘I’ll drive the car out for you.’

  She followed him through to the garage. It was cold there and smelt of oil and his soap. He climbed into the Range Rover and drove it out of the garage. It was snowing outside, and Moira wrapped a scarf around her neck.

  ‘Thanks so much,’ she said walking out into the cold.

  ‘No worries. Sorry it took so long. Your family will be wondering where you are.’

  She bit her lip and then said,

  ‘My husband is working late, and my daughter has gone to her grandad for dinner.’

  She had no idea why she was telling him this. He simply nodded.

  ‘I expect your wife is wondering where you are too,’ she smiled.

  ‘I doubt it. She walked out over a year ago.’

  He looked at the snow.

  ‘Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas.’

  She nodded and went to climb into her car.

  ‘Is there a fish and chip shop nearby?’ she asked impulsively.

  ‘Fish and chip shop?’ he repeated.

  ‘I need to get some
thing to eat. I’m not going to cook just for me.’

  Oh goodness, what must he think of her?

  He stroked his chin and then pulled keys from his pocket.

  ‘There’s a pub around the corner. They do good food. There isn’t a local chippy. I’m going to the pub if you wanted to come along,’ he said casually.

  Her heart fluttered. It was exactly what she had been hoping he would say.

  ‘Well …’ she began, now unsure of herself.

  What on earth was she doing? She was a married woman. This is what happens when your husband keeps working late. She must talk to Harry. This is Rosie Foster’s son. Heaven knows where he lives. In some run-down house on a council estate, no doubt. What an idiot she’s being.

  ‘I really should be getting back,’ she heard herself say.

  He shrugged.

  ‘Whatever. Drive carefully.’

  He turned from her and walked back into the garage. She looked after him for a few seconds and then hurried to the car. She sat in it for a few minutes, trying to warm her hands. She thought he might come out, but he didn’t, and she knew she couldn’t sit there much longer without it looking a bit strange. She realised her hands were trembling and her face when she looked at it in the mirror was flushed. She put the car into gear and headed home. She passed a pub on the corner and wondered if that was the one that Sam was going to. Perhaps she’ll stop at the Chinese near home and get herself something. She fancied she could smell Sam’s soap in the car. How ridiculous. Of course she couldn’t.

  What a strange day it had been.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Alfred

  Moira opens the door and smiles at me. She thinks I’ve come to talk to them about my house. She’s going to get a shock.

  ‘I’ve made a lasagne,’ she says.

  I try not to groan. There’ll be garlic in that. It’s no good telling her that garlic doesn’t agree with me. Harry walks from the living room. I try not to look at his slippers in disgust. He takes my overcoat and hangs it neatly in the hall cupboard.

  ‘You look cold,’ he says.

  ‘It’s snowing. It’s bitter out there.’

  ‘Will you be alright driving back?’ he asks worriedly. ‘Only they say the temperature is going to drop. It could get icy.’

  ‘I’ve driven in snow before,’ I say dismissively. ‘I’m a man not a mouse.’

  Maybe he doesn’t like driving in a little bit of snow, but it doesn’t bother me.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he says.

  He turns to Moira.

  ‘Shall we have dinner?’

  I’m still feeling angry. It probably shows. Cath said I get a look on my face when I’m angry. Harry is probably wondering what’s wrong. What is it with your kids? It seems as soon as you hit a certain age they start treating you like you’re an imbecile. It’s insulting. Moira starts rattling on about Christmas while Harry lays the table. I wonder where our Holly is. She’d better be here. I’m not making any announcements on my own.

  ‘You’re coming to us for Christmas, aren’t you Dad?’ asks Moira.

  I shrug.

  ‘You always do,’ says Harry, pushing a bowl of salad towards me.

  ‘I’ll call Holly,’ says Moira.

  Harry slices into the lasagne. I want to ask him what he’s up to, because I know he’s up to something. I can’t believe he could be so stupid. I know Moira is difficult, but another woman isn’t the answer.

  ‘How’s that play?’ I ask.

  He nods enthusiastically.

  ‘Yes, very good, you’re coming to see it aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  ‘Good, I’ll get you a ticket.’

  ‘I’ll have two tickets,’ I say.

  Harry’s head snaps up.

  ‘Two tickets,’ he repeats.

  Don’t they think I have friends?

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ I say, helping myself to salad.

  Holly and Moira walk in and I give Holly a wink.

  ‘Alright love?’ I ask.

  She nods and gives a weak smile.

  ‘Try and eat something,’ Moira tells her.

  ‘How’s your tummy today?’ asks Harry.

  Holly shifts in her seat.

  ‘It’s okay.’

  They’re going to find out there’s a lot more going on in her tummy than they at first thought. Moira takes my plate and heaps lasagne onto it.

  ‘So what do you want to talk to us about Dad?’ asks Harry.

  ‘Rosie Foster,’ I say bluntly.

  There’s silence. The only noise that can be heard is my cutlery hitting the plate. It’s deafening in the silence. I’m the only one eating it seems.

  ‘Who?’ says Harry, but I can see from his expression that he knows who I’m talking about.

  Moira lays down her fork.

  ‘What about Rosie Foster, Dad?’ she asks.

  ‘You tell me Moira,’ I say crossly.

  I’d better stop eating. Her lasagne gives me indigestion at the best of times.

  She lifts her head proudly.

  ‘I had your interests at heart Dad,’ she says.

  ‘Huh,’ I scoff loudly. ‘Your interests you mean.’

  ‘Moira, did you …?’ begins Harry.

  ‘Yes she did,’ I say pushing my plate away. ‘You’ve got no right to interfere in my life. It’s not your place to tell a cleaner she can or can’t come.’

  Holly grips her stomach.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asks Moira anxiously.

  ‘I don’t fancy it,’ says Holly.

  ‘I don’t know what happened, Dad,’ says Harry, picking up the lasagne. ‘I’ll pop this in the microwave. I think we should eat later when everyone is less upset.’

  ‘Moira went to see Rosie at her job in Waitrose, that’s what happened. She then embarrassed her by calling her a gold-digger. If that wasn’t enough she then phoned Becky and told her to send a different cleaner. What a cheek Moira. I’m not having it; do you hear me?’

  ‘I just thought …’

  ‘I know what you thought, Moira, and you couldn’t be more wrong.’

  ‘I know,’ she says, bowing her head

  ‘I like Rosie,’ says Holly.

  Moira sighs.

  ‘She’s not our kind of person, Holly,’ says Moira softly.

  ‘Well she’s my kind of person, I’ll tell you that much,’ I say loudly.

  Harry looks horrified.

  ‘You don’t mean you’re …’

  ‘What?’ I snap.

  ‘You know,’ he says avoiding my eyes.

  ‘Don’t be disrespectful to your mother,’ I say standing up.

  Harry flaps about. Honestly, I didn’t bring my son up to be such a wally.

  ‘I’m … I’m sorry, I just …’

  ‘Am I not allowed to have friends?’

  ‘Of course … I … It’s just …’

  ‘Now, you both listen to me. I will have whoever I want to clean my house and I’ll have whoever I want round for dinner too. It’s my life. It’s my house and it’s my money. You’re my son, who else am I going to leave it too? But I get a bit lonely and Rosie’s alright. I’m letting her rent one of my houses. I might as well tell you now as have you find out from someone like Celia. Nosy old cow she is. I won’t take in any more of her parcels.’

  ‘And I’m pregnant,’ says Holly.

  I stare at her. Blimey, she chooses her moments.

  Harry’s mouth drops open.

  ‘What did you say?’

  Moira has turned ashen and sways in her chair.

  ‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘No, Holly.’

  ‘I’m having a baby,’ says Holly. ‘Grandad came round to give me moral support.’

  ‘What?’ Harry gasps.

  Moira turns on me.

  ‘You have the gall to come here and have a go at me when all the time you’ve been keeping secret the fact that our daughter is pregnant. How dare you …’
/>   ‘Now hold on Moira,’ I say sharply.

  ‘I went to see Rosie and …’ begins Holly.

  ‘You went to that woman?’ screeches Moira.

  I think she’s in danger of having a heart attack. Her blood pressure must have gone through the roof. She’s leaning over Holly, her face contorted with anger.

  ‘Why did you go to her?’

  ‘I … I …’ begins Holly and then starts to cry. ‘I didn’t know what else to do and she took me to Grandad and they said I had to tell you.’

  Moira slumps in her seat.

  ‘Best to make her a cup of tea,’ I say to Harry and then realise he’s in a bigger state of shock than Moira.

  ‘Where’s that Bell’s whisky?’ I ask.

  Harry looks around the kitchen.

  ‘Top cupboard.’

  ‘Right,’ I say getting up. ‘Holly, get some glasses. Your parents have had a shock.’

  ‘How far gone are you?’ Moira asks in a strained voice.

  ‘I’m nearly six weeks. There’s time to get rid of it.’

  Moira claps a hand to her heart.

  ‘If God hears you,’ she mutters.

  ‘Unfortunately, God can’t get rid of it can he?’ I say.

  ‘I didn’t have to tell you,’ says Holly placing the glasses on the table.

  ‘Who is he?’ snarls Harry suddenly, jumping up.

  It took him a bit of time to realise there was a man involved.

  ‘Did he rape you?’ asks Moira.

  I sigh and pour whisky into the glasses.

  ‘No, I wanted to do it.’

  ‘Oh, Holly, please,’ cries Moira.

  ‘He’ll have to marry you,’ says Harry, frowning. ‘I’ll go round and see the family. We’ll need to get things organised before you start showing a bump.’

  I gape at him.

  ‘Have you lost your marbles? She’s only seventeen. She’s got her education to think of and …’

  ‘I’m on the parish council,’ butts in Moira. ‘I’m a councillor. I can’t have my daughter having an abortion.’

  I take a swig of the whisky. It’s rough but it does the trick.

  ‘This isn’t about you, Moira,’ I say crossly.

  ‘How dare you,’ she bites back hotly. ‘This is none of your business.’

  ‘Okay, Moira,’ stammers Harry.

  ‘I don’t want to marry him. He’s a dick,’ exclaims Holly.