Summer Daydreams

by Carole Matthews

Everything glares at me, accusing. The phone is silent. No one is ringing to order handbags any more. The glossy magazines have all stopped calling. So soon, they’ve moved on to the next new thing. Already, I’ve dropped off the radar. Another insignificant blip to be overlooked.

  Only Tod is texting every day, but I don’t reply. What have I to say to him? Nothing that he’ll want to hear. Nothing good. Nothing positive. Nothing that will bring our money back. Nothing that will undo this terrible cock-up.

  Olly has been doing his best. I can’t fault him for that. He has phoned and phoned the police, who aren’t the slightest bit interested in our story. He’s phoned and phoned the bank. The response is much the same. He’s pleaded with the business manager, reasoned with his manager, argued with the bank’s Company Fraud Department and has threatened them with exposing the story on Watchdog. But they remain unmoved by our plight. They have hearts of stone. The only thing he has learned is that the Cody’s bank account, as soon as our transfer had cleared, has been stripped of all cash. Somewhere, on the other side of the world, they have their hands on our money. As easy as that. Under the bank’s averted gaze, they have got away with this audacious theft scot-free.

  The only thing I’ve done since the bombshell dropped is phone the factory in China. They wouldn’t cancel the contract, and who could blame them? It’s a lot of money to forgo. But they have agreed to delay production and they’ll deliver all the handbags here for me. Twenty grand’s worth of them. What do you suppose I’m going to do with that lot, eh? We’ll have to find storage for them, but I don’t have to think about that for now. It’ll be another few weeks before they rock up on our doorstep. At least we’ve rescued something out of the disaster, is Olly’s viewpoint. But, frankly, I’m not jumping round the room doing a happy dance.

  ‘Mummy, we need to see the ducks today,’ Petal says.

  ‘They’ll be hungry without us.’

  ‘Not today, Petal,’ I say. Olly has been looking after our daughter. I don’t know why but, at the moment, I’m just finding her chatter too bright, too relentless. I simply want to be quiet, to be by myself.

  ‘We should go out,’ Olly suggests. ‘Take a walk. Get some fresh air. You haven’t been out of the flat for days.’

  Haven’t I? I guess not. I look around me. The place is untidy, toys everywhere. Most days the bed goes unmade and I’m not the slightest bit bothered. No one else is concerned about anything, so why should I be? Nearly every day Olly has been going out for interviews, but nothing is forthcoming. At this rate we’ll be on skid row sooner than we think. I wonder if we’ll even be able to hang onto this place. I wonder if I even care.

  ‘It’s sunny out there.’

  But it’s raining in my heart.

  ‘Let’s take Dude for a stroll.’

  At that, the dog wags his tail. Someone’s keen, at least.

  ‘OK.’

  Olly looks relieved. Then, as I go to get up, tiredness over-whelms me. ‘On second thoughts,’ I say. ‘You go. Take Petal and Dude. I’ll just stay here.’

  He sighs. ‘You can’t “just stay here”, Nell. This is doing you no good.’

  What ’s this exactly?

  ‘Petal, go and put your shoes on.’ She skips out of the room and my husband comes to kneel down beside me. He strokes my leg as if I’m injured, then he sighs before he says, ‘I know you’ve been hurt, Nell. It’s a terrible blow. But life goes on.’

  Does it?

  ‘It isn’t the end of the world.’ His tone is soft, cajoling. He toys with my fingers and I want to shake him off. His touch, for the first time ever, is irritating.

  It is the end of my world, I think. How can he not see that?

  ‘No one is ill.’ He looks anxiously at me. ‘No one has died.’ Something inside me has died, I want to say. I’m empty. A shell. But no words will come.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ I tell him.

  ‘I’m trying to, Nell.’

  I round on him. ‘You never wanted this business to succeed. Secretly, I think that you hoped I would fail all along.’

  There’s a stunned expression on his face. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘You know it’s true,’ I say bitterly. ‘This was never what you longed for.’

  ‘Nell,’ he says, ‘I admit, in the beginning, I was scared about it. But I’ve changed. Surely you must see that?’

  ‘You don’t care,’ I hiss at him. ‘No one cares.’

  Petal comes back into the room. She has on her shoes. I wonder if she’s going somewhere.

  ‘I don’t believe that you mean that, Nell,’ Olly says sadly. He stands up and the pain on his face is unbearable, so I turn my eyes away. ‘Petal and I will go out for a while. When we’re gone try to decide what you want, what you need. Do something to help yourself.’

  Help myself? I don’t know how to do that. I want to say something good, something that will stop Olly looking at me like that, but still my fogged brain won’t let anything go to my mouth.

  I hear Olly and Petal walk heavily down the stairs. Then the front door slams and I’m left alone.

  Chapter 71

  Olly skirts round me for the rest of the day. He keeps Petal out of my way too.

  I sit in my pyjamas and watch The Jeremy Kyle Show, which reduces me to tears. Then it’s Homes Under the Hammer, 60

  Minute Makeover and five episodes of Coach Trip back to back. I can’t remember what else. The mindless programmes, chewing gum for the mind, nearly manage to block out the flashback images of the villainous Yves Simoneaux, the duplicitous Marie Monique and the devious Lola Cody that are playing on a constant loop in my head. Nearly, but not quite. Food comes and goes. I think I eat some of it.

  Eventually, Petal, bathed and in her pyjamas, is presented to me. Is it her bedtime already? How long have I been welded to this sofa? All day? Surely not? Only Dude, curled into my side like a limpet, is appreciative of the amount of time I’m spending on the sofa. If I could move, I would, but my legs have no strength and my mind even less.

  My daughter’s face is scrubbed and shiny. She smells of strawberries. She climbs up on my lap and her tiny body moulds to mine.

  ‘I love you, Mummy,’ she says. ‘Don’t be sad.’

  I hold her tightly and a chink of light shines through the darkness. She is my world. Not handbags. Not shopping channels. Not factories in China.

  ‘I love you too,’ I say.

  ‘Daddy will make everything right,’ she assures me.

  But I think that Petal’s optimism might be misplaced. No one can make this right. It’s a disaster of my own making and I have to somehow learn to live with the consequences.

  ‘Come on, Petalmeister.’ Olly peels her away from me and carries her off to her bedroom.

  When he comes back, he budges Dude out of the way and sits next to me on the sofa. We both stare blankly at whatever is passing across the screen.

  I take hold of Olly’s hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll try to do better.’

  ‘Oh, Nell.’ He sighs at me.

  ‘I love you. I do.’

  ‘I love you too,’ he says. Olly gazes deep into my eyes as if he’s trying to fathom what’s going on behind them. I would help him out if I could, but I don’t know myself. ‘Whatever happens. I love you.’

  We go to bed and lie very still in each other’s arms. I stare at the ceiling, but for once I don’t feel despair crushing down on me. At some time in the dark hours, I must fall asleep.

  When I wake up, Olly is gone.

  His side of the bed has clearly been abandoned several hours earlier. I listen for sounds of him pottering about, making breakfast, as he always does, but the flat is silent. Dude is still slumbering on the floor, so he’s not out walking the dog. A feeling of dread grips me. In my heart, I know that this is bad.

  In a stupor, I climb out of bed and search the flat for him. I check all the rooms, which doesn’t take long. He’s not in the shower, or in the office. When, ev
entually, I check in the yard, I discover that his precious Vespa has gone. I call his mobile, but he’s not picking up. One of the big holdalls is missing and his wardrobe is half-empty. I press one of his shirts – my favourite – against my face and inhale his scent. There’s no doubt about it. Olly has definitely gone.

  I slump onto the bed. Who can blame him? I’ve done nothing but push him away recently. Everything has been at the top of the list but him. Well, now it seems that he’s had enough. Didn’t Constance warn me as much? I should have listened to her. My eyes burn with tears. What have I done? What will I do without him? He has always been my rock, my best friend, my lover, my life. Until bloody handbags came and got in the way.

  Petal will be distraught. He’s a fantastic father and she adores him. I could see how he would leave me – goodness only knows I’ve tested him enough – but I can’t believe that he would simply walk out on her.

  I call his mobile again. Not answering. I check the flat again. I thought, at least, that he would leave me a note, say something. But there’s nothing. The Olly I know would talk this through, he wouldn’t just up and leave us. Petal is still asleep. I look down at her face, untroubled, peaceful. I don’t want anything in her life to cause her pain. Particularly nothing that I’ve done, that I could have prevented. I have to find Olly and talk to him. We have to sort this out.

  Just when I thought that my life couldn’t possibly get any worse, it has. But, in some ways, it also feels as if I’ve woken from a terrible nightmare. Unfortunately, the reality is just as painful. The shock has jolted me out of my catatonic state. If Olly has left me and Petal alone, then I have to cope, I have to get on with my life. I can’t sit watching daytime television and feeling sorry for myself. I have to get a grip.

  First of all, I need to find my husband. But where would he go? What would he do? I can’t think that he’d go very far as he’d want to stay as near to Petal as possible.

  Think, Nell, I urge myself. Think. Where would Olly go?

  It hits me like a body blow. I know someone who would take him in like a shot.

  Chapter 72

  Olly sat outside the shop on his scooter waiting for it to open. He knew the owner of Vroom very well by now. He and Ben had been at school together. They’d bought their first scooters at pretty much the same time. They’d done numerous runs down to Brighton on them. When Ben eventually set up his own business, Olly had been one of his most regular customers. He’d continued to support him over the years. Maybe he’d not been the highest-spending client he’d ever had, but whenever he’d needed work done on the Vespa this is where he’d brought it. He hoped that loyalty and a long-term friendship would count for something.

  Olly checked his watch again. Ben would be here before long. He sat back on the scooter and tried to relax. It was shaping up to be a perfect day. For the weather, at least. The sun was already climbing in the sky, the clouds were wispy, insubstantial. He saw the jet trail of a plane streaked across the sky and wondered where it was heading. Despite the warmth, there was a chill in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to doing what he had to do. Who would? Yet it had to be done. He could see no way round it.

  When Nell woke, she’d be furious that he’d left without telling her. But, if he’d told her what he had planned, she would have tried to talk him out of it. Probably quite rightly.

  Still, he wouldn’t be going anywhere, if he couldn’t get some cash – and fast.

  A few minutes later and Ben pulled up in front of him on his own scooter – a 1960s Lambretta SX200 that had been lovingly restored from a rusting shell.

  Ben took off his helmet. ‘Hey, mate. Early for you.’ He stuck out his hand and shook Olly’s firmly. ‘Have you been here since sun up?’

  Olly shrugged. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ He opened up the shop as he talked. Olly followed him inside.

  ‘I need to sell the Vespa.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Times are hard,’ Olly said.

  ‘Thought you’d sell the missus rather than part with the old Vespa Rally.’

  ‘Ha, ha.’ The laugh sounded as forced as it was.

  Ben stopped in his tracks. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. Deadly.’

  ‘Fuck me,’ Ben said. ‘I never thought I’d see the day.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘Everything all right?’

  Olly shook his head. ‘Not really.’ He took a deep breath.

  ‘Can you take it off my hands? I need the money like yesterday.’

  Ben rubbed his chin and puffed out a breath. ‘I’m not really into buying at the moment, mate. Times are hard here too. Tell me where they aren’t.’

  ‘I know. But I’m desperate.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘You know its history.’ Ben had more than likely done everything on it that had ever needed doing. ‘You know that it’s been treated like a baby.’

  ‘Never known a more pampered pet.’

  ‘Then you know what this is costing me.’

  Ben pursed his lips. ‘Let me lend you the cash.’

  ‘I couldn’t be sure to repay it. The scooter has to go.’

  Ben sighed and spread his hands. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘I’ll give you fifteen hundred quid for it. That’s all I can manage.’

  It was lower than the market value, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  ‘Done.’ Olly stuck out his hand and they shook again. Fifteen hundred quid should just about be enough money. It would have to be.

  Chapter 73

  ‘I want Daddy to take me to nursery,’ Petal says.

  I do believe she stamps her little foot.

  ‘That won’t do you any good, miss. Daddy has had to go out,’ I explain. ‘He’s busy today.’

  Busy making a new life without us.

  My daughter pouts. She has woken up scratchy and all my attempts to cuddle and mollycoddle her have been rebuffed. Perhaps she senses something unpleasant is in the air. Unpleasant? That’s an understatement. Her world will be rocked when she finds out that Olly has walked out.

  I can’t be the one to tell her. He will have to face that himself.

  When she’s finished her breakfast, each mouthful a battle, I wrestle my moody child into her cardigan. God help her teachers today.

  She drags her toes along the pavement all the way to nursery, ruining her shoes, and I don’t have the strength to tell her off. Is this the sort of thing that Olly and I will have battles about in the future? Will the buying of school shoes become a matter of strife between us? I drop her off in the playground and, gratefully, hand her over to a teaching assistant. Some of the other mothers are there, but they all stare at me and no one speaks, so I hurry off.

  I steel myself to walk to my next port of call.

  Ten minutes later and I’m standing outside Jenny’s flat. It’s a tired council block on the other side of town to where we are. I wonder if we’ll soon, by force of circumstances, become neighbours.

  As I knock on the door, I feel that I should have some sort of speech rehearsed. My heart is in my mouth. If Olly is here, if he has come to her, then I have no idea what I’ll do. Should I rant, rave? Should I calmly accept my culpability in this?

  When there’s no answer, I knock again. Perhaps they’re in there together and simply won’t answer. Opening the letterbox, I peer in. I can see right into the living room, but there’s no sign of life. Olly’s holdall isn’t by the sofa. Maybe I should be grateful for that. I try his mobile again. If I can hear it ringing inside Jenny’s flat then I shall just fall to the floor and die on the spot. It doesn’t. Wherever he is, it’s clear that my husband isn’t here.

  Thwarted, I walk back into town and, inevitably, find myself rocking up at Live and Let Fry. The shop is already open and, inside, I can see that Phil is gearing up for the day ahead. As yet,
there are no customers.

  ‘Hey,’ I say as I go in.

  ‘Hello, Nell, love,’ he says. ‘What brings you in so early? Come and give me a hug.’

  I let myself sink into Phil’s arms.

  He pats my back as if I’m a small child. ‘How’s the big bad world of designer handbags?’

  Tears spring to my eyes. ‘Very big and very bad.’

  He holds me away from him and can obviously read the bleakness on my face. ‘Oh, no,’ he says. ‘What’s happened now?’

  ‘Have you got five minutes to spare?’

  ‘Nell,’ he says with a sigh. ‘I have all the time in the world for you, love.’

  Constance comes out of the back carrying a tray loaded with salt and pepper pots. ‘Hello, Nell.’ Then she sees my expression. ‘You look like a lady in need of tea.’

  ‘And sympathy,’ I add.

  Her eyes crinkle with kindness. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Phil and I go and sit together. How many times have these café tables served as my therapy couch, my confessional over the last year? How much emergency tea have they provided? What would I do without Phil and Constance? Well, I hope I never find out as I’m certainly going to need them now.

  When Constance joins us and we’re all furnished with restorative cups of tea, I go on to explain that, this morning, on top of everything else that has happened in such a short space of time, Olly has left me.

  Constance shakes her head. ‘Not Olly,’ she says.

  ‘I thought that too, but there’s no sign of him. No note. He’s not answering his mobile.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I went round to Jen’s. Before I came here. I thought that he might be there.’

  ‘No,’ Constance says. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘But you knew that they were getting close, didn’t you?’

  ‘I had my suspicions,’ she admits. ‘Jen is very impressionable and Olly’s a lovely man, but I don’t think it went very far.’

  ‘Very far?’

  ‘Anywhere at all,’ she corrects.