Summer Daydreams

by Carole Matthews

  Jen shrugs. ‘It’s the least I can do.’ She straightens up and rubs her back. ‘Feeling a bit better?’

  ‘Yes.’ I’m still not exactly ready to sing from the rooftops, but I don’t feel quite as bleak as I did earlier. I can manage, I think. With the help of my friends, I can get through this.

  Chapter 77

  Olly sat outside the office of Home Mall for the rest of the day. It was only when night started to fall that he realised this wasn’t the neighbourhood he should be hanging around in after dark in a hire car. Besides, no one had been back here all day and it was doubtful whether they’d turn up at night.

  Jet-lag was now catching up with him and he was in danger of falling asleep in the car if he didn’t move. A rap against the passenger window made him jump. His head spun round. Standing there was a young woman, a girl, dressed in something that looked like it might have come from the local sex shop.

  ‘Hey, honey,’ she said.

  Olly groaned inside. He should have known that once dusk descended he’d be a sitting duck for the ladies of the night. At least the windows were up and the doors locked.

  ‘Want to taste some sugar?’

  He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he knew he didn’t want to.

  ‘Just leaving, miss,’ he said. She was maybe only seventeen or eighteen. Her face was hard but he could tell that she had once been pretty. He wondered how long she’d been doing this.

  ‘Aw, don’t go.’ He noticed that she weaved a little more than was necessary. ‘Stay a while.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He held up his hand and then fired the ignition.

  ‘Another time?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ he answered politely.

  ‘Fuck you,’ she said, sweetness suddenly disappearing. Her fist banged against the window.

  Heart pounding, he pulled forward and then swung the car round. She was still shouting abuse at him as he drove away. Tomorrow he would leave the area a little earlier. All he wanted to do was find the Codys, not wind up in a body bag somewhere or in the boot of his own rental car.

  Olly had booked a motel on his mobile earlier that afternoon and he now went in search of his bed for the night.

  Just off the Palmetto Expressway was the Eezee Motel. It had cost him the princely sum of forty-four dollars a night including taxes. As he swung into the forecourt, he could see why.

  A burly, bored desk clerk with one eye and a livid scar down one side of his face checked him in and handed over a key. Olly drove down the car park and pulled up outside his room door, which was right on the pavement. Not the best for security. It was a double-storey building notable only for its total lack of charm. There was a tiny swimming pool, also in the car park, but the water was an interesting shade of green.

  It was the sort of place that any self-respecting serial killer would feel right at home in.

  Inside the room things didn’t improve much. It looked like it had last been decorated in the 1980s and that was also possibly the last time it had been cleaned. On the carpet there was a stain that could well have been blood. There was a king-size bed with a rough brown cover and a bedside table that may once have been varnished. In the bathroom, the shower was straight out of Psycho. With the sole aim of keeping costs down, this cockroach-ridden dump was to be his home for the next few days. Hopefully, he could do what he’d come to do quickly and get home to Nell and Petal just as soon as he could.

  Throwing down his bag, somewhat reluctantly, Olly lay on the bed. His stomach rumbled and he remembered that he hadn’t eaten since he’d arrived. There was no way he was going to go out again tonight. This was the sort of neighbourhood where they took pot shots at tourists just for fun. Hunger was the least of his worries. Now he just needed to sleep, for tomorrow he had to stay sharp. He wished that he could call Nell, just hear the sound of her voice. But, if he talked to her, his resolve might well crack and he needed to stay focused on the task in hand. Instead, he flicked through the photos of his wife and his daughter on his mobile phone and went to sleep with them close to his heart.

  The next morning, he risked the Psycho shower and, thankfully, didn’t get stabbed through the curtain. He didn’t get any hot water either, but he didn’t fancy complaining to the desk clerk who looked like he might want to rip his head off given half the chance.

  Back in the beige Chevrolet and he headed once more towards Opaville and the offices of Home Mall. On the way, he pulled in at a scruffy burger outlet and bought a breakfast treat of synthetic bun, plastic egg and dubious hamburger. But at least it was food. It didn’t taste of anything but it filled a hole and he did briefly consider eating the paper bag it had arrived in for extra calories. He would have hardly noticed the difference. The coffee he washed it down with could easily have been used as paint stripper.

  Fortified – in a manner of speaking – Olly made his way to his stakeout point.

  When he arrived, the two mechanics that he’d seen yesterday were still working in front of the beaten up garage on a beaten up car, albeit a different one this time. This one looked like it had bullet holes all down the side. He felt an unwelcome gulp travel down his throat. Olly held up a hand and waved in a cheery manner. Both of the mechanics glared at him and, heads down, returned to their work.

  Surely it wouldn’t hurt to ask them if they knew anything about the owners of Home Mall. What choice did he have? There was no one else to ask anything round here.

  Reluctant to leave the air-conditioned car, he stepped into the alley and walked across to them. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  As he approached, both of the mechanics looked up. He noticed that one picked up a monkey wrench and gripped it tightly. Not necessarily a good sign.

  ‘Hello, guys,’ he said, his English accent morphing into Julie Andrews’ territory. ‘Just wanted to ask a question.’

  They didn’t look impressed by that idea either. They both wore ripped sweats, grimy wifebeater vests and bandanas. They were both as wide as they were high. Each sported tattooed sleeves. It looked like they worked out. A lot.

  ‘The offices over there’ – Olly, as casually as he could, flicked a thumb backwards – ‘does anyone ever come and go?’

  ‘Depends who’s asking.’ The man holding the monkey wrench stood and squared up to him.

  Olly’s heart pumped erratically. But at least it was still pumping.

  ‘My name’s Olly Meyers. I’m here from England,’ he said, perhaps unnecessarily. ‘The guys who own this place took me and my family for over thirty thousand dollars.’

  Now he had their attention. The other man, still crouched by the wing of the car he was working on, whistled low through his teeth. ‘Thirty thousand? That’s a lotta dough, man.’

  ‘All the money we had.’ And more. ‘They cleaned us out completely. I’m here to get it back.’

  The man moved the toothpick he was chewing to the other side of his mouth. ‘You’re one brave mother to hang round here.’

  ‘I have no choice,’ Olly said. ‘I’ve spent a lot of money and have come a long way to make this wrong right.’

  They both nodded at that.

  ‘I’m Diego,’ the beefier of the two said. Obviously, the owner of the place. ‘This is Andrés.’ He glanced up at his friend and gave a barely perceptible nod.

  Though he was the smaller of the two – it was a relative term – Olly was relieved to see Andrés relax his grip on the wrench.

  ‘There’s a big, fat safe in there,’ Olly said, nodding towards the shabby offices. ‘I’d certainly like to take a look inside it.’

  Diego raised his eyebrows at that. ‘A safe?’ He pursed his lips, chewed it over in his mind as he chewed on his toothpick.

  ‘Sometimes someone comes along, opens up,’ the man continued. He stood up and leaned on the bonnet, hood, of the car.

  ‘Maybe two, three times a week. They don’t stay round long.’

  ‘You don’t know who they are?’

  ‘This ain’t the h
ood to be asking questions in, bro.’

  ‘I don’t know what else to do.’

  ‘They haven’t been in a day or so. Maybe you’ll get lucky today.’

  Unless the Codys had already scarpered with their ill-gotten gains.

  But what else was he to do? Any phone numbers that he’d found on the internet were all now dead. ‘That’s my only plan,’ Olly admitted.

  The mechanics exchanged another glance. ‘I’ll ask some of the guys,’ Diego said. ‘See what we can find out.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully. ‘I’d really appreciate that. Diego smiled. One of his front teeth was gold. ‘I like that you “appreciate” it.’

  Were they laughing at him or were they really planning to help? How would he know? They could think he was some naive jerk fresh off the boat and way out of his depth. Quite probably, they were right. Still, there was nothing more he could do.

  ‘Thanks again,’ Olly said. He didn’t want to push his luck too much. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’

  ‘I’d like to take a trip to England,’ Andrés said. ‘See Buckingham Palace and shit.’

  ‘It’s nice,’ Olly said. ‘You’d like it. If you ever come over you should contact me.’ He would probably run a mile if they did.

  They both turned back to their work, conversation closed. He left well alone and went back to his hire car. Settling himself outside the offices, he hoped that Lola Cody or someone, anyone, would turn up and answer some questions for him. He wished he’d bought a newspaper or a book to read. It was going to be a long, hot day. The temperature was already climbing high and it would probably hit ninety or more before it was done. How did anyone survive summers like this? Give him good old temperamental English weather any day of the week. Switching on the radio, Olly fiddled with the buttons until he eventually found a station that wasn’t hip hop. Miami Beach FM kicked out easy listening tunes.

  Olly risked winding down the window, but the air outside was hotter and more sticky than it had been in the car. He felt like he was in The Wire or The Sopranos or some other gritty, late-night American cop drama. But this was real life and the future of his family was at stake.

  Then The Beach Boys came on the radio. ‘California Girls’ pumped out and, for a few minutes, he pretended that he was in Miami on holiday, kicked back, and just enjoyed the tune. There’d be time enough for trouble later.

  Chapter 78

  Jen stays over. She sleeps in Petal’s single bed while my knobbly-kneed daughter and I curl up together in mine.

  ‘When does Daddy come back?’ Petal demands. ‘He keeps me warmer than you.’

  ‘Soon,’ I say. ‘He’ll be back very soon.’

  The bed just seems so empty without Olly in it. I lie there awake while my child wriggles incessantly and I wonder where he is. Where is he sleeping? Is he sleeping alone? Maybe he wants to come home but can’t get back. Perhaps he’s hurt? Is someone holding him against his will?

  Then I remember that he’s taken his Vespa with him and has gone off on his own accord. His treasured record collection is still here, so I’m assuming he’ll be back for that at the very least.

  Despite the fact that my husband’s not here, I manage to grab a few hours of sleep and I feel significantly better when I wake the next morning. Petal’s nowhere in sight, but I can hear her voice coming from the kitchen. I check my phone but there’s no message, no text from Olly. Nothing.

  When I pad through, Jen is already up and about. She’s in my dressing gown, so I’m wearing Olly’s and the scent of it threatens to make me feel sad again. I wrap it round me tightly. Petal is sitting expectantly at the table and there’s porridge on the go. Last night Jen rustled up dinner for us out of nothing.

  ‘Morning,’ I say with a stifled yawn. ‘Good grief, you’re organised.’

  ‘You need to eat something.’

  I don’t tell her that eating in the morning is now beyond my limited capabilities.

  ‘Sleep well?’ my friend asks.

  ‘Not too bad. How did you fare on the sofa?’

  ‘It was fine,’ she says. ‘I can stay here until Olly comes back. If you want.’

  Does she sense my hesitation? as she adds, ‘You could do with an extra pair of hands, Nell.’

  I think she just wants to keep an eye on me and, you know, I rather like the sound of someone keeping an eye on me.

  ‘OK. That’s very kind of you.’

  ‘Want me to walk Petal to nursery? Then I’ll go home and get some stuff?’

  ‘Why don’t we walk Petal to the nursery together? I could do with the fresh air.’ To be honest, I still feel too shaky to face the mothers of the playground by myself again. ‘We can take Dude.’

  I think even the dog has been pining for Olly as he’s been off his food like me.

  ‘Yay! Yay! Yay!’ That’s Petal. Dude wags his tail enthusiastically. If only humans could be so easily pleased.

  ‘Cool,’ Jen says.

  We all fight for the bathroom and, eventually, we’re all dressed and head out together. We drop Petal off at nursery and then Jen and I walk back into town. She links her arm through mine and the simple contact soothes my frayed nerves.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ Jen says when we reach the place where we need to part ways. ‘If you need me, just text me.’

  ‘I’m fine. Really.’ Then, ‘You’ve been great, Jen. Thanks.’

  ‘No worries.’ She hugs me and I feel small against her. ‘I’m just glad that we’re mates again. Laters.’

  I watch her walk away, before I say, ‘Come on, Dude.’ Turning down Market Place, the dog and I walk back towards home. On our way we pass Betty the Bag Lady. No more lingering to look in the window for me. Instead, I cast a furtive glance to see what’s displayed in the window. Betty still texts me regularly asking me to call her, but I have never done so.

  The window, as always, looks stunning. I feel so sad that we couldn’t have remained friends. It would be nice to feel that I had an ally in the business and didn’t seem to just constantly accumulate enemies. Still, it wasn’t to be. I quicken my pace and, as I do so, the shop door swings open. Coming out is Betty. I don’t know who’s more shocked – me or her. We both stop dead in our tracks.

  Betty is the first to speak. ‘Nell,’ she says.

  ‘Hi.’

  Her face breaks into a smile. ‘Good to see you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Is it? ‘Good to see you, too.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to contact you for ages.’

  ‘I know.’ Now I feel shifty. I study the pavement. ‘I’m sorry I’ve not returned your calls. I’ve been so busy.’

  ‘I know! It’s amazing.’

  I shrug. ‘It was all after Chantelle Clarke appeared on the television with one of my bags. Everything went crazy.’

  ‘I was so pleased to see that.’

  ‘A big PR agency in London organised it for me.’

  Betty looks taken aback by that. Is it so pathetic of me to want to brag about it? I feel that it is. I’ve no need to.

  ‘That was me,’ Betty says softly. ‘Chantelle is a friend of mine. I passed on the handbag you gave me.’

  Now it’s my turn to be taken aback. ‘It was you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I… I… didn’t know.’ I was aware that Betty had some celebrity friends, but I had absolutely no idea Chantelle Clarke was among them.

  ‘That’s why I was trying to call you. She desperately wanted another design. She adores your handbags.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know.’

  Now she looks at me closely. ‘Is everything OK with you, Nell?’ I realise that Betty looks her usual immaculate self and that I quite probably don’t.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lie. ‘Everything’s fine. Couldn’t be better.’

  ‘I’d love to put in an order,’ Betty says. ‘Everyone’s been asking for your handbags in my shop.’

  ‘They have?’

  ‘Yes. Of course. They’
re great.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like them.’

  ‘Really? Why would you think that? I loved them. If I’m honest, I just couldn’t believe you’d created them without saying a word to me. I was just stunned. You’ve such a talent. I thought of Chantelle straight away.’

  ‘Oh.’ How could I have read this all so wrong?

  ‘You weren’t mad at me for doing that, were you? I did worry that I’d offended you somehow.’

  ‘No, no,’ I stammer. ‘I just didn’t realise it was you.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ she says. ‘I thought we’d fallen out!’ Betty glances at her watch. ‘I just have to shoot out, Nell, but now that we’ve made contact again, I’d love to stock the bags. Would you let me?’

  That is music to my ears. Not that it’s going to get us out of our current mess, but at least it shows that someone has some faith in me.

  ‘Yes. God, yes.’ I’ll give her the biggest discount I possibly can.

  ‘I’ll call you later,’ she says. ‘Promise me this time you’ll return it.’

  ‘I will,’ I say sincerely. ‘Of course I will. And thanks.’

  ‘No worries,’ Betty says. She touches my arm tentatively.

  ‘Lovely to see you again, Nell.’ Her concerned gaze roves over me. ‘Take care of yourself. Don’t work too hard. I’ll catch you later.’

  She waves at me and I watch, dumbfounded, as she trips off down the street.

  What can I do to make it right with Betty? What can I possibly do to thank her? I have been holding a grudge against her completely without foundation. She could have thought I’d turned into some stuck-up bitch who believed herself to be too good to return her calls. Who could have blamed her? I haven’t behaved well towards her. I have blanked this woman thinking that she’d spurned me, when all along it was her who orchestrated my big break.

  So much for Della Jewel. Looks like I did send flowers to the wrong bloody woman after all.