‘All ready,’ she said. ‘Do you want to do the honours?’
They had had the fairy lights for years, lights that were bundled unceremoniously into the box and stuffed back in the attic year after year.
‘Are we taking bets on whether they work or not this year? It’ll be a miracle if they do.’ He was poised over the switch, smiling.
‘Just get on with it,’ she urged, crossing her fingers as he started the daft countdown in a faux American accent as if he was in the control room at Cape Canaveral, after which the tree lights flickered immediately into life. They shared a smile at that and a warm feeling ignited in her, too. Like any other couple, they had their ups and downs but it wasn’t all bad.
‘Thank God for that. I told you we didn’t need to buy new ones. It’s a complete waste of money. Those will last us for years yet.’
‘You tight so and so,’ she said, laughing, though, as she said it. It was a relief to laugh because now, with the tree up, the fickle lights on, the cards despatched, the presents bought, she could concentrate on the final preparations for her guests.
‘Sit down for a minute,’ Frank said, showing uncharacteristic concern suddenly. ‘You look like death.’
‘Thanks for that,’ she said tartly. ‘That’s just what a girl needs to hear.’
‘You haven’t stopped today. Does it always have to be such a panic?’
‘I’m not panicking,’ she told him. ‘Everything’s under control. I’ve just got a few last minute groceries to get on Monday and everything else is being delivered. It’s all in hand.’
‘There’ll be far too much as usual. We’ll be living on leftovers for a fortnight afterwards.’
‘That’s Christmas for you,’ she said, determined to be cheerful. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way although you’ll have to watch what you eat this year. You’ve got to look after your blood pressure.’
‘I’ll have what I want and to hell with it. Pegging out after a good dinner can’t be such a bad way to go.’
‘Don’t joke.’
‘Who says I’m joking?’ He was sitting in the chair opposite, tapping agitated fingers on the arm. He had changed since the scare and not for the better; the terseness that had always been there under the surface suddenly much worse. It was understandable because he was stressed; worried because the illness had taken him by surprise although it shouldn’t have, not with his family history. She was reminded of her mother’s gloomy forecast when she had first introduced him into her family.
‘Does he have moods?’ her mother had asked, yet another nail in the coffin so far as she was concerned. ‘You really have to watch a man with moods, darling. They can be tiresome.’
In love, in that blissful state, she was in no mood for any criticism of her man and in that age-old tradition her parents’ opposition made her all the more resolved to marry him. Now she had to admit that her mother had been right and Frank’s down moods were beginning to affect her too.
‘It’ll be a nice family Christmas,’ he said, finally managing the smallest of smiles as if he could read her thoughts. ‘Sorry if I’ve been a bit snappy lately but I’m worried about the business.’
‘I know.’ She sighed and wished there was something she could do to help him. ‘Everything will be fine, you’ll see.’
He nodded. ‘I’m looking forward to a few days off. Just the two of us and the kids and we know Monique well enough by now not to be too concerned if the carrots burn.’
‘I’m not worried about that. It’s Amy.…’ She adjusted the cushions behind her back and sighed, remembering the last painful phone call. Amy was not good on the phone, always sounding as if she was looking at her watch, just about to go out somewhere terribly important with no time for a chat. ‘I’m not even absolutely sure that she’ll be here. She has a big presentation to prepare for early in the New Year in Manchester and she sounded as if she was using that as an excuse for maybe not making it.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ For a moment he seemed in a genuine panic. ‘Of course she will. She’s never missed it yet. And what the hell would she do if she didn’t come here? Spend it all alone in that miserable little flat eating a ready meal or beans on toast? You know she can’t cook for toffee.’
‘It’s not a miserable little flat,’ she said, remembering how nice she had made it sound in the Christmas note.
‘It’s not great, either. I told her I would pay the extra rent if she went for that bigger place but she wouldn’t hear of it. But then, that’s my girl,’ he added proudly. ‘Too bloody independent for her own good.’
‘I wish she had some friends,’ Christine continued, watching Frank closely. She knew the cause of some of the agitation; the no smoking and low-fat diet regime was hell for him. She suspected he was still smoking occasionally on the sly because she could smell it on him but she had yet to catch him in the act.
Amy was work-obsessed just like her father and it was no surprise that she was doing so well. She knew in her heart that their daughter would have made a much better job of taking over the family business than Mike, the son who was being groomed to do just that whether he liked it or not. ‘Doomed to take over’ might be a better description of his fate and she really ought not to have said in the Christmas note that he was enjoying shadowing his father when the opposite was the case. He had little interest in the business but, when he failed at school so spectacularly with any hopes of going to university down the pan, going into the family business had been the only option. Frank loved the job and had built things up considerably and being a local firm, Fletcher’s Removals & Storage was often the first choice for people in the area. As for Mike, Christine suspected he was just sticking with it because he did not wish to disappoint his father and that, if he had a free choice, he would prefer to be somewhere else, doing his own thing, doing what he wanted. Sometimes she even wished he would show them what he was made of and simply tell his dad to stuff the job. It would serve Frank right, for he treated him abominably and expected far more of him than anybody else. For some reason he had always had a short fuse where Mike was concerned. She had been present once when he had given his son a right bollocking for a mistake that had, admittedly, cost them dear but it was a mistake anybody could have made and she had seen the look on Mike’s face and had to fight back a desire to round on Frank there and then and tell him just what she thought of him for giving his son a dressing down in public.
But then she had never known her son lose his cool in his life. Mike was laid back, easy going, and, although she loved his choice of girl, she could not help feeling that Frank was right in a way and it might have been better for him if he had chosen somebody with a bit more fire in her belly. Monique was a sweet girl, childlike in many ways, and Mike adored her but she was of a dreamy nature and if she did have a child she would have to grow up quickly. She was also hopeless with money, poor darling, but that was a little secret between them and Christine was pleased she was able to help out. They went shopping regularly and she always bought Monique something from that little vintage shop she was fond of, as well as treating them to lunch, of course. Monique’s parents were divorced, her father re-married and the mother’s whereabouts were vague to say the least, which was so sad and made Christine even more determined to look after the girl. She had taken on the role of mother-substitute with a vengeance.
‘Why doesn’t Amy have friends, Frank?’ she persisted, the thought troubling her greatly. ‘She’s pretty enough and successful but she never talks about any friends and we haven’t seen any around when we’ve been over. I wish she’d find herself a nice man and settle down.’
‘By that you mean you want her to get herself married and start a family – that’s what settling down means to you. Don’t bring that up at Christmas. We don’t want an atmosphere like last year.’
‘That wasn’t my fault. There are so many subjects we can’t mention. She can be touchy.’
‘And so can you.’
She glanced at him, irritated because in his eyes his daughter could do no wrong. Never mind that she had let him down badly, never mind that she had destroyed his dreams of joining him in the family business; she was still his favourite child.
‘She has to lead her own life, Christine,’ he continued, quiet and earnest now. ‘She’s going places in her job and just because she’s decided that marriage and kids is not for her you accuse her of being abnormal.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ she said hotly. ‘I never said that.’
‘Just think before you speak and don’t mention her lack of friends. It’s no big deal. I don’t have many friends, either.’
‘But you’re a man. It’s different.’
‘I’m not getting into that. Look.…’ he glanced at his watch. ‘Would you mind if I popped into the office for an hour? I just have a few things to settle.’
‘I thought things were tailing off,’ she said, trying to hide her irritation, for she knew damned well what an hour meant. She also wondered if Shirley would still be there but she quickly put that thought out of her head. ‘Who on earth wants to move house at Christmas?’
‘You know as well as I do that people do. We have three moves on next week and one is a long trek so the lads will have to get the stuff down to Kent, stay over and unpack next day. It’s going to take forever because it’s a full unpacking set-up and I’ve told the lads they can play it by ear and put the Christmas tree up as well if they have time, even though, strictly speaking, it’s outside our brief.’
‘Off you go, then, but do be back in time for Amy.’ She bit her lip, stopping herself from mentioning the smoking because it really was up to him. He knew the score as well as she did and nagging had never worked with Frank.
‘Stop worrying. You have a rest while I’m out. You look tired out, sweetheart.’ He came over and dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head and just for a minute it was the old Frank and she remembered why she had married him. She was just twenty-one and far too young to get married, upsetting everybody in the process although, seeing she was beaten her mother had rallied round and the wedding itself had been the stuff of dreams with the cream of the Lancashire county set invited.
It sometimes occurred to her that, if her parents had been more supportive of Frank, had liked him a little more, that it might have tailed off but their very opposition, their desire for her to marry into another wealthy local family had made her all the more determined to marry him. Frank was new money if you were talking old values, a little rough round the edges and spoke with a Lancashire accent but it was the twentieth not the eighteenth century and that sort of thing should not matter anymore. How foolish, because it mattered every bit as much. In the event, her parents mellowed over the years, loving their grandchildren, spoiling them, growing to respect Frank in turn although she was sure they never liked him but it was a relief in a way that they were no longer around because she would have hated to admit to them that perhaps with that wonderful thing – hindsight – she had been a touch hasty.
After Frank was gone, she made herself a cup of coffee. The daylight or what had passed for it today was fading fast and although it was only mid-afternoon she switched on the lamps and drew the curtains over. They were not overlooked and they kept the whole house at a constant pleasantly warm temperature but it felt cosier to shut out the late afternoon gloom. She loved this room, the formal drawing room that had been off-limits to the children when they were young. This was the grown-up room with its silky striped sofas and beautiful pieces of antique furniture that she had lovingly collected over the years.
Sipping her coffee, Christine sighed, catching sight of the family photographs on a side table. There was one of her parents and Frank’s parents, of Amy at sixteen, dark hair up in a ponytail, eyes shining, looking so pretty and one of Mike, a year younger, already struggling with his school work whereas his sister just sailed through.
If only Monique would have a baby, then she could take on the role of grandmother with enthusiasm but she could hardly suggest it outright – although she had given more than enough hints. Frank was right yet again for she knew she was wasting her time with Amy. She was tempted to ring her right now but it was a work day for her and you never knew what important meeting she might be in. She rarely rang her at work, although that Janet woman sounded very nice and always put her through if possible.
She would ring Monique instead, knowing that her beautiful, shy daughter-in-law would be much more agreeable to dropping whatever she might be doing for a girly chat. In the event the phone line was busy and she did not bother to leave a message. She would try later.
Chapter Three
Monique Fletcher was on the phone to her lover Sol.
‘Hello darling,’ he said at once, when she picked up even before she recited the number.
‘How did you know it was me?’ she asked irritably. ‘I could have been anyone.’
‘There’s never anybody else there. You are neurotic these days.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t ring me at home on this phone,’ she persisted. ‘To be honest I’d rather you didn’t ring at all but if you do, use my mobile.’
‘You are joking? How could we have an intimate conversation if you’re in the middle of Tesco?’
‘Text me, then.’
‘Like hell. Texts can be traced, darling.’
‘And so can phone calls,’ she replied tartly.
‘What’s your problem? Is he having you watched? Is the phone bugged?’ His voice was full of derision and she very nearly slammed the phone down on him. Solomon Diamond – yes that really was his name – could be rude and arrogant, qualities she abhorred, but on the flip side there was this sexy languorous man that she found unbelievably exciting and attractive. One touch from him and she took leave of all her senses and she hated that she was so in thrall to him. ‘What’s your problem, Monique?’ he repeated. ‘It’s the middle of the afternoon. That husband of yours is at work, isn’t he?’
He never referred to Mike by name, always a variation of ‘that husband of yours’.
‘He is but that’s not the point. He could have answered the phone and then what would you have said?’
His laugh was low, untroubled. ‘Wrong number or I could have pretended I was calling about double glazing and he would have put the phone down pretty damned quick. What happened last week? I was all ready for you, my darling. I even ironed the sheets because I know how pernickety you are.’
She smiled a little at that word but he was not getting round her as easily as that. ‘It’s all very well for you but it’s not easy for me to get away.’ She perched on the chair beside the little table where the phone sat. On the table there was a vase filled with her favourite cream roses. Mike had come home with them the other day. It wasn’t even her birthday but then he was so thoughtful on occasion. She touched one of the petals, dipped her head so that the scent drifted up, feeling suddenly a little sick. This deception was beginning to eat away at her. She was playing a dangerous game and she had to stop. ‘I told you at the start that you mustn’t expect too much of me,’ she said speaking softly although she was quite alone. ‘Christine always wants to know where I am and what I’ve been doing. I’m worried that she’s going to get suspicious if I keep sneaking off to Lancaster for hours on end.’
‘Why should she? You must learn how to lie. It’s a useful trait, Monique. The alternative is to pack all this in, leave that fuckwit of a husband of yours and come and live with me.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said knowing that he would run a mile if she took him up on that. Sol was a loner and liked the single life. She knew she was taking a huge risk. She also knew that he could turn nasty and start to blackmail her any time he liked but she did not think that would happen. Sol was too lazy and too unconcerned about money to be a blackmailer. She had known him for a long time, long before she met Mike, but it was a chance encounter a few months ago that set it all off again. He had been living d
own in London for years but had grown tired of city life and come home. Meeting up with him unexpectedly, she was pleased to see him again. They were both grown-ups so there seemed no harm in going for a coffee with him to have a chat about old times but she had never meant it to escalate, never meant to accept his invitation to pop round to his flat, never meant for things to take off from where they had been left all those years ago. Walking round to his flat that day she had known what was going to happen by the look in his eyes and had felt faint with anticipation. In the event, they never made it as far as the bed that day. It was exciting and dangerous and stupid and she was risking a lot just for a few hours with him, at his flat, in his bed. It was also unbelievably sordid and that was exactly why she had made the decision to put a stop to it. She had tried to end it before but it had not worked. She was weak where Sol was concerned; she had to find strength from somewhere to put an end to it once and for all.
‘Where are you?’ she asked wondering if he was at his shop, if there was anyone listening in as she rewound the conversation in her head. It would be just like him to do something like that, to want to shock anybody who might be browsing amongst his bookshelves. If so, it was asking for trouble because he only had to mention her name and that would be a potential giveaway for there were very few women named Monique around here. ‘Are you at the shop?’ she went on, her alarm making her voice raise a notch.
‘No, of course not, I’m at home. I’ve closed early. It’s been dead all week and Rose wanted to do some shopping so I let her go.’
Rose was the middle-aged lady who helped him out. Rose was an astute woman and that was why Monique was careful never to set foot in the shop in case the sexual electricity that sizzled between her and Sol somehow showed on Rose’s radar. It was unlikely that Rose would know Christine but there was no point in taking undue risks.
‘Will I see you before Christmas?’ his voice was low and confident for he knew damned well the effect he had on her. ‘Here I am all alone about to spend Christmas in solitary confinement with nothing to do except watch crappy programmes on television.’
Best Laid Plans Page 3
