The Trouble with Great Aunt Milly

by Alice Ross

  ‘Oh, do let Francesca have a look. Then we can compare wedding dresses – in private, of course.’

  Matt reluctantly passed the picture to his fiancée who gawped first at the photo, then at Carmen, then back at the photo.

  Shit, shit, shit. She’s freaked.

  Just then, the baby monitor hollered, causing Matt and Francesca to jump three inches from their seats.

  ‘Ah,’ chuckled Jonty. ‘That’ll be the little fella. Obviously knows you’re here and wants to say hello. I’ll bring him down. You’ll fall in love with him, Francesca. I know you will. They all do, don’t they, Car?’

  Carmen nodded. ‘Can’t help but. He’s quite a looker, our Ben.’

  Please, please, please prayed Matt, as Jonty scuttled out of the room, let Ben be a looker and let Francesca fall in love with him.

  Ten minutes later Jonty reappeared, a spotty child in blue pyjamas with a mop of carrot-red hair, over his shoulder. ‘Here he is,’ he declared triumphantly. ‘Sorry about the delay but I had to change his nappy. That organic broccoli doesn’t agree with him, Car. Covered in it, he was. I’ve changed his jim-jams and his bedding. Still, he’s here now and he’s just dying to say hello to Aunty Francesca. Would you like to hold him, Fran?’

  Before Francesca could reply, a bewildered Ben had been dumped in her lap.

  ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ enthused Carmen.

  Matt tried not to notice the trail of green snot creeping from the baby’s nose to his mouth.

  A horrified Francesca evidently had noticed and appeared to be doing her utmost not to gag.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, Fran,’ said Jonty. ‘Bounce him up and down a bit. You like that, don’t you, little fella?’

  A reluctant Francesca began bouncing the baby up and down.

  ‘Do you like that, Ben?’ asked Matt, deciding he’d best make some effort to join in the proceedings.

  Ben replied by puking up what was left of the organic broccoli, all over Francesca’s cream silk dress.

  Chapter 8

  James stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and padded over to the bathroom sink. He squirted a dollop of shaving-foam into his hand and was about to apply it to his face when he stopped. The image staring back at hi m from the mirror was not good. Not good at all. His hair needed a serious cut, and complimenting his unhealthy pallor were dark smudges under his eyes – a testament to the fact he’d hardly slept the last few nights. Maybe he should think about taking a break. With the exception of Great Aunt Milly’s funeral, he couldn’t remember when he’d last taken time off work. But before he pursued that idea he needed a haircut. And he needed one now.

  Kinks ‘n’ Kurls held the prestigious honour of being Little Crumpton’s only unisex salon. For the past twenty-five years it had been owned by Mandy’s Aunt Janine - a cheery buxom blonde who, several decades before, had borne a striking resemblance to Baywatch babe, Pamela Anderson - an accolade she still clung to, despite now being three-stone heavier and in her early-fifties.

  The salon’s proportions fell into the “compact” category. Facing the door, on the rear wall, squatted twin backwash sinks. The other two walls housed the hairdressing stations - three on the right and one on the left. An archway led off to the kitchen and loo. Every inch of space in between was crammed with towels, hair-care products, rollers, driers, trollies and magazines. There was no reception area or desk, the telephone residing in the kitchen, screened off from the rest of the salon by a red curtain.

  James pushed open the door and the little bell above tinkled his arrival.

  Janine, wearing a short pink skirt and spotted blouse, was at one of the sinks removing perming pins from the head of a little body swathed in a crimson towel.

  ‘Hi Janine. And is that Mrs Brooks under there?’

  ‘Hello James,’ chirped the two women.

  ‘How are you, love?’ asked Janine. ‘We haven’t seen you for ages.’

  ‘Obviously.’ James pointed to his unkempt mane. ‘Think you could do something with this today?’

  Janine sucked in a breath. ‘Hmm. There’s a lot of it. What do you think, Mrs Brooks?’

  ‘Well, I can’t see him from here,’ said Mrs Brooks, head tilted to the ceiling. ‘But he always looks a bit of all right to me. If I was twenty years younger …’

  James gave a snort of laughter. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Mrs B. What’re you doing tonight?’

  ‘Don’t you go getting me excited now or I’ll have to pop a blood pressure tablet. What you doing about the lad’s hair, Janine?’

  ‘Of course we’ll sort him out,’ chuckled Janine. ‘Can’t have him going about looking like that. I’ve another appointment after Mrs Brooks, James, but Helen’s helping me out today. She’ll be here any minute. Why don’t you go through and make us all a nice cup of coffee while you’re waiting.’

  ‘Okay. Two sugars is it, Mrs Brooks?’

  ‘Best not, love. I have to get home. I’ve left my Sid in charge of Elkie and she’ll be running rings around him. You’ll never guess what she did to him the other day …’

  While James busied himself making coffee in the kitchen, Mrs Brooks regaled an amusing story involving her cat, her husband and a tub of double cream. James and Janine roared with laughter.

  He’d just finished stirring the coffee when the bell above the door heralded Helen’s arrival.

  Still chuckling at Mrs Brooks’ tale, he picked up two cups and negotiated his way back into the salon. There he came to an abrupt standstill. Because it hadn’t been Helen’s arrival the bell had signalled, but Janine’s next appointment: Alex Corr. The smile slid from his face, which, by the unimpressed expression on Alex’s, did not go unnoticed.

  ‘Oh, and this is James, our local vet.’

  ‘We’ve met.’

  Janine, still busying herself with Mrs Brooks, appeared oblivious to the frosty edge to her tone. James was not.

  ‘Why don’t you take a seat, Alex, while I finish off here,’ suggested the hairdresser. ‘Help yourself to a magazine. There’s a pile on the trolley over there.’

  Alex smiled her thanks, picked up a magazine and sat down in one of the styling chairs.

  James didn’t move. He couldn’t. He was frozen to the spot. What should he do? Act normally, of course. Exactly as he’d resolved to do the last time he’d seen her. But what did acting normally involve in this situation? Should he stand or sit down? And if he did sit down, where should he sit? Of the three remaining seats one housed a pile of towels, the other, Mrs Brooks’ handbag. The only free one was right next to Alex.

  ‘Would you like a coffee, Alex, love?’ he heard Janine asking. ‘Makes a mean cup of coffee does our James.’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Alex, not even glancing in his direction. ‘I’m trying to cut down on caffeine. If I drink too much it gives me palpitations.’

  ‘My Sid’s the same,’ piped up Mrs Brooks, her head now being rigorously towel-dried by Janine. ‘But will he stop drinking it? Of course he won’t. I said to him only the other day …’

  As she launched into yet another hilarious tale about her other-half, the three women giggled companionably.

  This time James didn’t join in. Still holding the steaming coffee cups, a horrific thought had occurred to him. If he stayed in the salon he’d have to have his hair cut in front of Alex. At that particular moment he could think of nothing more embarrassing.

  ‘I think I’ll pop back later,’ he blurted out.

  The three women gawped at him.

  ‘Because you’re so busy,’ he added.

  ‘Oh, but there’s no need. Helen will be back any minute. Oh look, here she-’

  But James had already plonked down the cups, pushed past a bewildered Helen, and was furiously pelting down the street.

  *

  Following their disastrous evening at Jonty and Carmen’s, Matt hadn’t mentioned babies again. He’d mentioned very little, given Francesca’s stomping bad mood.
And still there’d been no sex. How many days had it been now? He didn’t dare count but it must be double figures. Christ! How was he supposed to concentrate? Especially with bloody Sasha strutting her stuff every day in her Shag Me outfits. Rather intriguingly, it appeared that his cheeky rebuff the other day had fuelled her interest.

  ‘Your hair looks very … clean,’ she’d purred, the day after his rejection.

  ‘Clean is good,’ he’d replied. ‘Although dirty can sometimes be good, too.’

  ‘Oh, dirty can most definitely be good,’ she replied, a mischievous smile playing about her shiny lips. ‘Very good indeed.’

  And so it’d continued. With Matt’s erection growing harder and harder under the desk. Until his phone rang. Francesca - informing him she was taking Mimi to the vets.

  ‘Hope they bloody put her down,’ he’d huffed as he hung up.

  ‘Who? Francesca?’ Sasha had tittered.

  But, flirting aside, Matt was incredibly busy. He had to secure the Petticoats pitch. After the disastrous evening at Jonty’s, Francesca had informed him there was no way on this planet she would have a baby. And if that was what he wanted, he could sod off and pester someone else. Plus, she’d done nothing about finding another agent, mooching around the apartment all day in jog-pants, watching crappy DVDs. This pitch was therefore Matt’s only hope – precisely why he was working around the clock. He was knackered, living on his nerves. Paranoia was even setting in. He’d had the strangest feeling of being followed the past few days. No, the sooner he secured this pitch and things got back to normal, the better.

  *

  James had not long been acquainted with Anya before concluding she was a strange one. Her behaviour lately though, was worrying. Three times today he’d noticed her watching him – an unfathomable expression on her face. And when he’d caught her eye, she’d acted kind of … coy. Coy? Anya? He must be imagining it. She was the very antithesis of the word. In fact, had he been forced to choose one word to sum up his business partner he would’ve chosen “scary” or even “terrifying”. What’s more, he still hadn’t fathomed the reason behind their lunchtime assignation. Surely it hadn’t just been about learning more about him and his family. Still, in the absence of any better ideas, he’d humoured her. After all, what harm could possibly come from chatting about his brother’s wedding? But now she was exhibiting an unhealthy interest in his social life. Never before had she shown a flicker of interest in his life outside work. And the lack of interest was mutual. He didn’t have a clue what she got up to in her spare time – other than, if her biceps were anything to go by, spending an inordinate amount of time at the gym.

  *

  Matt was exhausted. He’d had a crap day at work and was now preparing for a crap evening in the apartment. Every evening lately had been crap, with Francesca moping and stomping about. It had also just occurred to him that there’d been no sex since the evening of Great Aunt Milly’s funeral. How long ago was that now? Decades? Centuries? Eons? No, his only pleasure at the moment was his flirting sessions with Sasha. Although, on reflection, all they did was increase his uncomfortable condition.

  He’d been staying at the office later and later over the past couple of weeks. Not only because he was flat out on the Petticoats pitch, but because there was nothing to rush home for – other than Francesca’s miserable face.

  This evening though, it wasn’t a whingeing Francesca in baggy joggers that greeted him, but a smiling, effervescent one in full make-up and tight white jeans.

  ‘Guess what?’ she gushed, throwing her arms around his neck the moment he entered the living room.

  His spirits soared. Had she realised what a cow she’d been lately? Did she feel guilty because he was slogging his guts out and she was doing bog all every day? Did she want to make it up to him?

  He dropped his laptop case on the floor, snaked his arms around her waist and lowered his head to kiss her. But in a flash she wriggled away and skipped down the hall. Matt followed.

  The scene in the bedroom increased his bewilderment: clothes, shoes and accessories strewn over the bed, and two large, obviously filled-to-capacity suitcases either side of the door. His heart sank. Was she leaving him?

  ‘I’m going to New York,’ she announced.

  Relief whooshed through him. Ah ha. So that was it. She’d got some work at last. About bloody time.

  ‘Wow, that’s great, babe. What’s the job?’

  She laughed. ‘It’s not a job. It’s my hen party.’

  Matt furrowed his brow. ‘Your hen party? But I thought you were going to Cornwall for a spa weekend.’

  ‘That’s what the girls told me, but they’d really booked a week in New York. We’re going tonight.’

  Matt couldn’t take it in. ‘But what’s wrong with Cornwall?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Come off it, Matt. Where would you rather go? There’s no comparison.’

  Oh but there is. A very expensive comparison. Probably totalling a couple of grand at least.

  The doorbell sounded.

  ‘That’ll be the taxi. Help me with these cases would you, babe.’

  A stunned Matt helped with the cases.

  ‘Oh and don’t worry about Mimi,’ she shouted as the cab pulled away. ‘She’s at Hotel Kennel Heaven.’

  Where else would she possibly be? muttered Matt. And, more to the point, how much was that costing?

  ‘How much?’ Matt nearly dropped his mobile.

  The Kennel Heaven receptionist repeated the figure.

  ‘I take it that’s for the week?’

  ‘No, sir. That’s our daily rate.’

  Matt seethed as he drove to the “hotel” to pick up Mimi. Fourteen-hundred quid to kennel the dog for a week. What did they have there? Diamond-encrusted lamp posts?

  What was Francesca thinking? He’d honestly believed she’d grasped the seriousness of their situation, understood how precarious their finances were and that changes needed to be made. But obviously not. As usual she’d thought no further than herself and that sodding dog.

  ‘You sure this your dog?’ asked the bewildered Chinese kennel assistant, trying to persuade Mimi to go with Matt. Mimi, meanwhile, lay spread-eagled on the floor, glaring venomously at her enemy and refusing to move an inch.

  ‘Not mine. My fiancée’s,’ he explained, trying to curb his impatience. ‘She’s obviously a little confused. You see, there’s been a bit of a mix-up. My fiancée booked Mimi in here because I was supposed to be away on a business trip but it’s been cancelled at the last minute. So, there’s no need for her to stay here now. I can take her home with me and we can have a nice time together, can’t we Mimi-kins?’

  Mimi growled.

  The kennel assistant eyed him warily. ‘Hmm. I not sure. I go get boss.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need for that,’ said Matt dismissively. ‘She’ll be fine once we’re home.’ And in a flash he scooped up the dog, tossed a couple of twenty pound notes at the girl and legged it back to the car.

  Chapter 9

  Despite being physically and mentally drained, James donned his shorts and vest and went for a run after work. He’d had a stressful day, operating for four hours on a kitten that had been struck by a motorbike. It had been touch-and-go a couple of times but, on the whole, the operation had gone well and the chances of the animal recovering were high. He ducked his head as he ran past Alex’s cottage. He hadn’t seen her since his spectacular exit from the hairdressers a couple of days ago. He’d completely surpassed himself there. Janine had been so concerned about him she’d even mentioned his strange behaviour to Mandy, who’d then proceeded to quiz him:

  ‘I don’t suppose it had anything to do with Alex being in the salon, did it?’ she’d asked with her usual perspicacity.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he’d tutted, cheeks flying scarlet. ‘I just remembered I’d forgotten to do something, that’s all.’

  The look she shot him, told him she didn’t believe a word of it. A
nd why should she? It didn’t take a genius to work out that every time Alex Corr was around he became a quivering wreck. If he didn’t get his act together soon, the entire village would be talking about his lack of sanity. They might even have him certified. Maybe he should be certified. Maybe he wasn’t right in the head. After all, what other thirty-four year old bloke would act like a complete moron every time an attractive girl appeared? Certainly not his brother. Nothing ever fazed Matt. And thinking about his brother, maybe he should spend some quality time with him before he tied the knot. They could-

  He didn’t notice the little body crouching on the pavement until he flew over it and landed flat on his face on the pavement.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ gushed Alex. ‘I was-’ She broke off. ‘Oh. It’s you.’

  James opened his mouth to confirm her observation but nothing came out. It was the shock of the fall he quickly reasoned. And nothing to do with Alex hovering over him in cut-off denim shorts which made her tanned legs seem endless.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  Still he couldn’t answer. He began to panic. He really should get up. Sprawled on the pavement was not a good look. But if he got up, he’d have to-

  ‘Let me help you up.’ She bent down to him.

  ‘No!’ he snapped. Then, noting the terrified look on her face, ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean- I’m fine. Honestly.’

  He scrambled to his feet. Then, in the absence of any better ideas, began furiously brushing the dust from his arms.

  Alex stood before him, nibbling her bottom lip. ‘Well, I’d, er, better get on.’ She indicated the hedge.

  ‘Oh, right, yes. Me too. I’ll, um, see you around.’