by Edie Baylis
‘Hurry up!’ the man barked suddenly, his head appearing from one of the doorways further along. ‘Are you standing there all day?’
Fighting the overwhelming urge to disappear, Teagan instead dutifully made her way towards the room, admiring the ornate archways along the length; the base of each arch festooned with the head of an angel.
Nerves fluttering, she entered a large, what would be described as a drawing room, with once opulent velvet curtains now faded and frayed, draped from a huge rear-facing bay window, the swags covered with a liberal helping of dust. The room had countless framed pictures on the walls and ornaments on virtually every flat surface. Small dark wooden occasional tables with turned legs housed more ornaments and a huge cast iron fireplace stood in the centre of one wall, surrounded by beautiful patterned tiles.
Aware that she was staring, possibly with her mouth hanging open, Teagan looked for the man, finding him next to a mustard-coloured upholstered chair with a woman sitting in it. Seeing this lady was of similar age to the man, Teagan knew she couldn’t be the client either. Smartly dressed in a dark trouser suit, the woman’s perfectly styled fair hair hung in a chin-length bob.
‘This is the girl,’ the man’s voice boomed, his tone having lost none of the previous contempt. His eyes fixed on Teagan. ‘I can’t remember what you said your name was?’
Teagan forced a smile. ‘Teagan Fraser. ‘I’m from the Bellevue Agency and...’
‘Hello Teagan,’ the woman smiled. ‘Please excuse my brother. He has a habit of making people feel about as welcome as leprosy.’
Teagan found herself returning the smile, relieved that at least, unlike the man, the woman didn’t appear to hate her on sight. She risked another glance at the man, finding him scowling openly in the direction of his sister.
The woman motioned to a matching chair opposite her own. ‘Come and take a seat.’
‘She’s not paid to sit down,’ the man snapped.
The woman flapped her hand. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Robert. The girl has only just arrived and is probably wondering who on earth we are.’
Teagan tentatively sank into the chair, the springs having seen much better days. She tried not to think too much about how she would get up again without looking like a drowning beetle. ‘Erm, I...’
‘Let me explain,’ the woman interrupted. ‘I’m Helen Shepherd, Mrs Adams’ daughter, and this is Robert Adams, my brother. Our mother is wh...’
‘She doesn’t need a live-in carer!’ Robert barked.
Helen gave her brother a disparaging look, then turned her attention back to Teagan. ‘As you can see my brother isn’t happy about, well, shall we say, your engagement... No offence is meant... we realise you’re only here at the request of the agency.’
Teagan’s heart sank. She was getting the boot? The shortest job in history. ‘Oh, I see... I...’
‘Our mother had a lady, well, we’ve arranged several over the years that came in for a few hours on a daily basis,’ Helen explained. ‘You know, to do cooking, cleaning, that sort of thing and...’
‘Not that you could tell,’ Robert interrupted. ‘The place is like a bloody junk shop!’
‘Yes, well,’ Helen frowned. ‘But anyway... Mother recently took it upon herself to tell the people we organised that they were no longer required.’ She glanced at Robert. ‘We couldn’t believe it actually, but anyway... We were lining something else up, only to be told two days ago that she had sorted it herself! She phoned the agency and... well, here you are...’ She smiled sadly. ‘She’s not quite as she used to be... We think she may have dementia, but she won’t go to the doctors even though she doesn’t know what she’s saying half the time, will she Robert?’
Robert remained silent, his angry expression fixed on the hearth.
‘I know it sounds awful, what with her being our mother and everything, but she talks rubbish and sometimes it gets embarrassing,’ Helen continued.
‘You don’t need to go into details, Helen!’ Robert said, his voice curt.
Teagan smiled consolingly. ‘Any form of dementia is difficult,’ she said. ‘Especially for the family.’
‘Glad you’re such an expert!’ Robert snapped.
‘Robert!’ Helen cried. ‘He doesn’t mean to be rude, Teagan. It’s just that your arrival has been very unexpected. We need to give serious thought about moving her to a proper care home before long.’
‘So you keep saying.’ Robert glared at his sister.
‘What sort of things will I be expected to do?’ Teagan asked, eager to diffuse the clash of opinions between the siblings where their mother was concerned.
‘Are you not qualified?’ Robert snapped, looking Teagan up and down. ‘This is a bad enough situation without having someone who doesn’t have a bloody clue!’
Teagan for once felt both insulted and incensed. ‘I’m both qualified and experienced, Mr... Mr Adams. I’ve been doing this job for seven years.’
Raising his eyebrows questioningly, Robert made a harrumphing sound. ‘You don’t seem sure of what’s expected.’
‘To be honest, I received scant details from the agency. There was little instruction or specifications from Mrs Adams,’ Teagan explained.
Helen sighed. ‘As I said, I’m afraid our mother doesn’t have much concept of reality.’
‘I wish you’d stop talking about her as if she’s a raving lunatic!’ Robert glared at Helen. ‘You don’t need to keep shouting about it to all and sundry.’
‘I’m just being upfront,’ Helen said calmly, giving Teagan a sideways glance before handing her a business card. ‘Feel free to call me with any questions or concerns.’
‘Oh yes, how could anyone forget that our mother is completely mad when you constantly remind everyone?’ Robert snapped.
Teagan cleared her throat uncomfortably. The man was so rude, it was embarrassing. She smiled at Helen and took the card. ‘I probably haven’t explained myself very well,’ she said, keeping her voice light. ‘I’m presuming the usual things will be required. Cooking, cleaning, laundry etcetera. Does Mrs Adams need any additional support, for instance getting washed, dressing, medicine - that sort of thing. I’m happy to undertake anything that is required.’
‘Just her vitamins. They’re the most important thing at the moment,’ Helen said. ‘At least we can keep her body as healthy as possible until we get a formal diagnosis about her mind.’
‘As far as I’m concerned, you can clear all of this stuff out!’ Robert snapped, waving his arm around the cluttered room. ‘Most of the rooms are like this. Some are even worse. She’s such a hoarder and...’
‘I do not require that, thank you!’ boomed a voice from the doorway. ‘Whatever you’re planning, fair children of mine, think again!’
Teagan stared as the owner of the loud commanding voice moved into the room. Small, almost bird-like, the woman looked far too tiny to own a voice like that.
Moving closer, the woman’s beady, yet alert blue eyes focused on Teagan. ‘Ah-ha! You must be my new girl.’
Teagan rose to her feet. ‘Mrs Adams? Pleased to meet you, I’m...’
‘Yes, Teagan. They told me. Don’t take any notice of my children.’ Laughing loudly, the older lady lowered herself onto a high-backed chair.
‘Have you remembered to take your vitamins?’ Helen smiled at her mother. ‘I’ve bought you a new bottle and put it in the cupboard. You’d almost run out.’
Mrs Adams’ beady eyes swivelled to her daughter. ‘Yes, Helen, I’ve seen them. I’m not as incompetent as you believe! And yes, I have taken them, like I always do! Right, so now the girl has arrived, you two can push off and leave us be!’
Teagan swallowed her growing smile. She had no idea how this assignment would go, but from what she’d seen over the last few minutes, she already liked Dulcie Adams.
Four
TEAGAN TAPPED the text quickly into her phone:
Am here. Crap signal. Miss you already xx
Teag
an held her phone up searching for a network signal, but receiving nothing, she knelt on the window seat, wincing as the hard wood pressed into her knees.
Come on, send! She muttered, tilting her phone. She’d promised Joe she’d text as soon as she could, but it was proving easier said than done. Spotting a waver on the network bar, Teagan angled her phone a little more.
Message sent...
Finally! Whether she’d receive a response was uncertain. Putting her phone down, Teagan leant against the wall, her back pressing against dated 1960s floral curtains and looked down into the garden below. From a rear-facing room on the top storey, she was afforded a decent view, although she couldn’t see all of it as it was sectioned by borders of tall hedges and trees. A crazy-paved path ran higgledy-piggledy through well-stocked beds crammed full of different shrubs and bright flowers, bringing a cottage-garden feel to the overall look. Although overgrown, it had a magical feel to it.
Teagan smiled, not thinking she’d ever seen such a fascinating garden. Her mother’s idea of gardening had been to pay some bloke a few quid to pour concrete over the small patch of grass of the rear of their house. ‘Low maintenance’, she’d said.
Teagan scowled. She was here to look after Mrs Adams, not enjoy the garden. After Helen and Robert had left, Mrs Adams had briskly told her to take her things up to her room and then to come back downstairs in half an hour so they could ‘talk’.
Teagan glanced at her watch. She still had fifteen minutes, but she’d better organise her things. Getting up, she walked over to the iron-framed single bed covered with a heavy damask bedspread and unzipped her wheeled case. Sitting on the bed, she winced as it sagged worryingly with a loud groaning of springs.
Taking out her neatly folded clothes, Teagan yanked open one of the stiff drawers on a small chest, smiling to see it lined with flowered paper and a stitched sachet of lavender sitting in the bottom. The high-ceilinged room was old-fashioned, but somehow comforting. Placing some of her clothes in the drawer, she hung more clothes in the wooden single wardrobe.
Jumping as her phone suddenly pinged, Teagan rushed to grab her mobile from the window seat.
Sounds nightmarish. Off out now. X
Feeling a small pang of envy, Teagan wondered where Joe was off to. Was he missing her as much as she was already missing him? Every time she wasn’t with Joe there was very rarely more than a minute that passed without thoughts of him overtaking her mind.
Glancing at the clock again, she realised she didn’t have the time to mull over the endless possibilities of what her boyfriend was doing. It was time to go and speak to Mrs Adams.
Taking a deep breath to calm her increasing nerves, Teagan glanced in the mirror, smoothed her hair down and left her new bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
LENA TAYLOR stalked along the corridor of Feathers like she owned the joint. She flicked her blonde hair extensions over her shoulder flamboyantly, unable to help the smile that weaved across her face, resembling a cherry-red gash every time she thought about the massive possibilities which were now opening up to her.
Oh, she was clever. Very clever. Those snotty bunch of teachers in their stupid tweed suits complete with elbow patches; the ones who’d loved telling her on a regular basis that she’d never amount to anything. Well, they’d been wrong, hadn’t they? So fucking wrong.
Half the people she’d ever come into contact with treated her like shit; all because of her name, but eleven years on, she had more collateral underneath one fingernail than the lot of them put together. She’d love to see their grumpy faces if they found out just how successful she had been in her mission to land on her feet.
And she was nearly there. Almost.
Her family were the same – well, they hadn’t been; not until she’d decided to move to London several years ago. They believed she was purposefully going against what they wanted, thinking it completely unacceptable after what had happened. They believed she was insulting them. Insulting the family name.
But she wasn’t. That was the furthest thing from her mind and they would soon realise that.
Lena couldn’t say she wasn’t upset when, after she’d gone ahead and stuck to her plans, her entire family had ostracised her and washed their hands of her, because she was. She was deeply upset.
But what they didn’t realise was that she was doing it for them. And for herself, of course, but mainly for them. She could have told them why, she supposed, rather than in their eyes, betray them, but they’d have tried to stop her and she couldn’t allow that.
Her eyes narrowed and her painted mouth curled into a sneer. Soon they’d all be grateful. Soon they’d understand why she’d left and once they knew she’d engineered an alliance that would have to be honoured they would welcome her back with open arms. When she pulled this off it would set both her and her family up for life based on reputation alone and then they’d be queuing up to fucking thank her.
And to top it all, she would have achieved vengeance for them in the best possible way.
Lena repositioned her Gucci bag on her forearm, making sure to have a quick glance in the reflection of a dressing room window as she passed, confirming she looked as damn gorgeous as ever. She’d always looked bloody cracking, otherwise she’d have never landed a job dancing at The Feathers in the first place, but thanks to Jonah kindly funding the procedures she’d requested, she now looked even better - if that were at all possible?
Lena unconsciously pushed her over-inflated cleavage out as she strutted along the corridor, making no effort to acknowledge a girl who had come out of a dressing room. One of the girls she used to dance alongside.
She sneered to herself. She didn’t need to be friendly to them anymore. Besides, they were all far too busy falling over themselves keeping in her good books, thanks to her cleverly engineering an intimate involvement with Jonah to need to make the effort. As long as she could pull off the last segment of her mission, she’d have no worries ever again.
Lena grinned. In all truth, even though there had been an ulterior motive, it had been quite a bit of fun working here. There had been good banter with the other girls and apart from the odd bit of rivalry, they’d got on pretty well. She hadn’t even minded donning nipple tassels on the stage and playing up for the punters. It wasn’t much different to what she did for free on a regular basis anyway, so it was hardly a big deal. Of course, there had been the occasional perv, but those sorts were soon ejected. The club wasn’t one of those seedy strip joints like most of the Soho places – this one was far too high-class to put up with tossers.
Lena’s plumped up lips morphed into a sneer. High-class punters meant high-class tips. Still, she was done with all that lark. No need to be pleasant to any fucker. Not now she was officially Jonah Powell’s missus. And soon – very soon, assuming things went to plan – and she would make damn sure they did, she would be Jonah Powell’s wife.
Opening one of the dressing room doors, Lena was relieved to see it was empty. Fishing in her handbag she pulled out a half bottle of vodka and unscrewing the top, gulped from it greedily.
That was better. She needed something to take the edge off all this. She couldn’t completely relax until her future was assured. Shouldn’t be long to wait now though.
Lena inspected her over-painted brows in a mirrored compact case, then quickly cut a line of coke on the dressing room table, expertly snorting it through a rolled up fiver. Inhaling deeply, she savoured the burn at the back of her nostrils. Something else she’d have to hide from Jonah until this farce was done and dusted. And not a moment too soon. And now was the time to start putting the wheels in motion.
Lena scrolled through her contacts list on her mobile until she found the name she was looking for. Although things were not completely in place, it was time to make contact. It had been a long time – a very long time, but Uncle Ron was her best bet and the one who would most likely be able to offer her some insurance, should she need it.
Tapping out
a text, she pressed the send button and leaning back in the leather swivel chair, smiled to herself.
GWEN VELLA WATCHED LENA enter the dressing room and waited patiently for her to leave, but she hadn’t.
Her forehead creased into a frown as she made her way down the corridor. Lena was a shit. She’d never liked the woman from the off - long before the tart had got her claws into Jonah. Lena had been a pain in the arse from day dot. There was something about her and Gwen had enough experience to know when a girl was trouble.
Gwen had run the girls at the Feathers for thirty-two years. Since 1973 in fact. She’d been a dancer herself back in the day, but with such a knack for organisation, Jacky Powell had spotted her potential and handed her the reins, meaning by the tender age of twenty-three she’d been managing both the girls and the show.
And she’d been doing it ever since.
Although when Jonah had taken over from his father she’d been worried for a short amount of time that she might be replaced, it would spoil their friendship or that he might be difficult to work with, but she’d had nothing to worry about. It would have been a different story had the reins gone to Saul, but blessings came in strange disguises and although it had been upsetting for Jacky when his eldest son got imprisoned, it was the best thing that could have happened, otherwise his beloved club and firm would be history by now.
Jonah, however, was a different kettle of fish. That boy was as loyal to his staff and the club as his father had been and Gwen respected him a lot, but she’d always had a different sort of relationship with him compared to the others.
She’d known him since he was a young boy. After the death of his wife, Carole, Jacky had regularly brought his young son to work with him. Not at night of course, but sometimes during the day when there were no punters around, Jonah was allowed to mess about on the stage or play hide and seek in the maze of corridors behind the scenes.
