‘Let me get more coffee,’ I say. ‘My treat.’
So I scuttle up to the counter again.
As we sip our second cups, Chelsea tells us all about our niece and nephew. ‘Their performing arts school has a performance on Saturday afternoon. You’d both be most welcome.’
We nod our heads enthusiastically, knowing that Chelsea will forget to tell us when and where, and that we probably wouldn’t go anyway. I wish our children had been closer in ages, then perhaps they’d be closer as cousins. When Ellen and Bobby were young, Chelsea was jetting off all round the world and rarely saw them. Now I try to be a dedicated aunty when the children are in the country, but I always feel that I’m being looked down on by Chelsea’s highfalutin friends when I turn up to their concerts or parties.
‘Sophia has a ballet solo and Henry will be playing the violin and reciting poetry in French. In fact,’ Chelsea glances at the Rolex watch her husband bought her last Christmas (I got a new frying pan from Greg), ‘I’d better be going as Sophia wanted to go through her steps with me.’
Lauren and I stand to kiss our sister goodbye. We get the cheek treatment again. I want to hug her, kiss her, but Chelsea isn’t that kind.
‘Thanks, Chelsea,’ I say. Teary once more. ‘I really appreciate this.’
‘Enjoy yourself,’ my sister tells me. ‘I’m sure it will be wonderful.’
Chelsea’s idea of wonderful is a sunlounger on a white sand beach with cocktails on tap. The Kings went to Necker Island last year for their holiday.
‘I can’t wait.’
‘We’ll speak soon,’ Chelsea says. And she glides away from us to her waiting top-of-the-range whatever.
We watch our sister leave. ‘Yes, she is,’ Lauren says.
‘Is what?’
‘Related to us.’
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You were about to.’
Lauren’s right.
My twin sighs. ‘We are Dot Cotton and Pauline Fowler to her Krystle Carrington.’
And I’d like to disagree, but I can’t. ‘She’s lovely,’ I say defensively. ‘We should be kinder to her. We always leave her out of things, and look what she’s done for me.’
A tear slips through my lashes.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ Lauren admonishes. ‘Get a grip on yourself, Annie.’ She snatches Chelsea’s cheque from my fingers. ‘She’s bloody loaded and I want to see how much she’s coughed.’
Then Lauren gasps. ‘Oh, God.’ She thrusts the cheque back at me.
I look at the number written on it. Then I double-check that I’ve got the amount of noughts right. I gasp too.
‘A hundred pounds!’ Lauren shrieks. ‘Mrs Five Grand Watch gave you a hundred quid?’
A hundred pounds. The figures swim before my eyes.
‘I thought she’d stump up the lot,’ my sister says, aghast.
So did I, if I’m brutally honest.
‘This is very generous.’ I force the words out of dry lips.
‘Is it hell,’ Lauren says. ‘I’m going after her. She’s right. This is the very least she could do.’
‘No.’ I put a hand on Lauren’s arm to hold her back. ‘No. Chelsea’s given me what she thought was right. It’s very kind of her.’
‘Pah,’ from Lauren.
‘The rest is down to me.’
Lauren flops in her chair. ‘I got a hundred quid out of Jude today.’ She pulls a bunch of notes out of her bag. ‘I thought that was being miserly. Well, I still do.’ My sister stares at me mystified as I try to fight back my tears. ‘I thought Chelsea would come good.’
Me too. But I say nothing.
‘I can bung in a hundred too,’ Lauren says gently. She puts her arm round me and gives me a comforting hug. ‘What does that give you?’
‘Three hundred and fifteen pounds.’ Not a huge tally. My heart sinks. ‘That leaves me sixteen hundred and eighty-five pounds to raise myself.’
‘Bugger.’ Lauren puts her head in her hands.
‘Bugger, indeed.’
But I will raise it. Come hell or high water. You just watch me.
Chapter 48
A car-wash. A charity car-wash! This lightbulb moment comes to me while I’m puffing round Furzton Lake side-by-side with Blake Chadwick on Saturday morning. That’s what I’ll do to raise my cash.
I expressly forbade Lauren from phoning up and berating Chelsea about the meagre amount of her donation to my good cause. I think my twin thought that our elder sister would stump up whatever money I needed. In my heart, I can secretly confess that I did too. It looks like it’s now going to be all down to my own efforts. Just when I was hoping for an easy ride.
The lake is quiet today. Only the overnight fishermen are up and about, pottering outside their bivouacs making tea, fussing with their fishing gear. Greg isn’t here today – he doesn’t often fish overnight now. He prefers to look the fish in the eye or some such – but I recognise a few of his mates. There’s a wisp of mist in the air. The early chill disguises the fact that we’re in for a bright, sunny day. I wonder why I haven’t discovered the joys of early-morning running before. I’ve begun to really look forward to these sessions and am quietly proud of how much I’ve improved in such a short time. When I put on my trousers for work yesterday, I’ll swear there was a bit more room around the waistband too.
My other co-workers have dropped out of the running circle more quickly. They try to make the evening sessions, but rarely appear at the weekends. When most of them are out on the tiles on a Friday night then perhaps it’s a bit optimistic to expect them to be here first thing on a Saturday morning. Still, Blake’s here, as always. No wonder he looks so fit.
I hate to say this, but my stomach knotted with something that felt suspiciously like excitement when I saw him waiting here for me in the car park this morning. Bad, bad feeling.
Greg turned over in bed as I tried to slip out quietly and I’m sure he was awake, but pretended to be asleep. If he wants to play that game then let him.
‘You’re quiet today, Annie,’ Blake says as our steps pound the perimeter pavement together.
‘Sorry. Deep in thought.’ I must be getting fitter as I can now do running and speaking at the same time.
‘Anything I can help with?’
‘Just working out ways to increase my fundraising efforts.’
‘I contacted all my old girlfriends,’ Blake tells me. ‘I told them I’d put all the compromising photographs I took of them on Facebook if they didn’t cough up.’ He laughs at that.
I think he’s joking, so I laugh too.
Greg is due to go out fishing today, as usual, and I’ve got the day to myself. This is the time for action.
I could set out my car wash at home. Paint a bit of a sign to stand at the front gate. The road is quite a busy thoroughfare at the rush hour and weekends. Perhaps I could entice both my stingy neighbours and the passing traffic. Surely someone would be prepared to pay a fiver for a superb hand car wash in aid of charity? It’s not yet eight o’clock so I’ve plenty of time to implement my plan, wash a couple of dozen cars and have everything packed away by the time my husband comes home.
The thought of it puts a spring in my step.
‘Whoa,’ BC says. ‘What’s got into you, woman? I’m having trouble keeping up with you this morning.’
I know that he’s teasing me, but it makes me feel good anyway.
‘Come on, slowcoach,’ I shout at him as, from somewhere, I find a veritable sprint and leave him behind. Blake picks up his pace and drops in beside me again as we race past the trees, the houses, the ducks, a lightness in my spirit.
I am a resourceful, powerful woman and nothing can stop me now.
Chapter 49
In the depths of the loft I find a massive piece of white cardboard that’ll do just nicely. From the back of the kitchen drawer comes a black magic marker that’s not too dried up.
CHARITY CAR WASH, I write in my biggest, boldest sc
ript. ONLY £5!
As I imagined, I have the house to myself. Greg has gone fishing. No note left. Once upon a time he would have left a little endearment scribbled on the Post-it notepad, but not now. Ellen works every Saturday and my son spends most of it at the pub squandering the meagre wages he’s spent all week earning on Magners cider.
In the garage I find the bucket, some Halford’s car shampoo, a sponge and a chamois leather. It’s fair to say that my car-washing skills are a little rusty as that’s normally Greg’s job, but I’ll soon get my hand in again.
I’ll practise on my own car – a silver Corsa that’s more than a few years old now – while I wait for my first customers to roll up. I dig out my old paint-spattered jeans and purloin one of Greg’s tatty polo-shirts that he uses for decorating. Donning my flowery wellies, I head out into the drive and set my sign up by the gate.
Filling my bucket up with warm, soapy water. I then set about giving my little car a wash. It doesn’t really need it as Greg did it during the week, but it might encourage business. I put in some serious elbow grease so that passers-by can tell that I’m not just tickling the car. This isn’t bad exercise too. It will certainly help with my Get Fit programme. I must remember to thank my husband more fervently in future when he does this for me. I realise with a pang that I do sometimes take him for granted.
When the car’s all washed and clean, I take my time with the chamois leather, polishing off all the streaks so that it dries with a shine that’s like glass. I stand back and admire my handiwork. Not a bad job even if I do say it myself.
Then I wait. And I wait a bit more. There’s a steady stream of traffic this morning zuzzing past the end of my drive, but none of the cars have yet stopped and taken advantage of my offer.
I go indoors, make myself a cup of tea and linger hopefully by the back door. No one even slows down. There’s nothing else for it. When I’ve downed my tea, I fill up my bucket again and rewash my car. It must wonder what on earth has hit it.
An hour later and it’s looking even more sparkling. Still no one has stopped. What am I going to do now? I can’t keep washing my own car as I’m going to take a layer of paint off it. And I can’t really reduce my price as it’s not going to be worth the effort. While I have time on my hands, I even contemplate selling my car to raise the money. But it’s so old now that I’d probably only get a few hundred quid for it and my precious bit of independence would disappear.
A few minutes later and my heart lifts as a car slows down outside the house. Then I see that it’s Lauren and I’m torn between disappointment that she’s not my first bona-fide customer and joy that my sister has turned up unexpectedly. Clearly no chance of Jude visiting this weekend.
‘Hi, sis.’ She kisses my cheek. ‘What in God’s name are you doing?’
I point to my sign. ‘Charity car wash.’
Lauren frowns. ‘Going well?’
My shoulders sag. ‘No.’
‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ is her verdict. ‘I wouldn’t want my car washed by a bag lady.’
I look down at my attire. ‘I’m making a great job,’ I point out. ‘Does it matter what I’m dressed in?’
‘I take my car to a load of fit Polish blokes every couple of weeks. I can tell you that I don’t do it for their car-washing skills. You need a unique selling point.’ My sister purses her lips in thought.
‘A theme or something, you mean?’
‘Hmm.’
‘I know!’ I’m excited now. ‘What if I bake some homemade cakes to give away with each car wash?’
‘Get a life,’ Lauren says.
‘What then?’
‘Shush. I’m thinking.’ She swings her sunglasses between her fingers and chews at her lip.
I shrug. ‘I could probably borrow a costume from work.’
Lauren’s eyes light up. ‘What a great idea.’
‘Is it?’
‘Can we get in there now?’
‘I’ve got a key,’ I tell her. ‘I’d better phone one of the bosses, Blake Chadwick, and ask his permission. But I’m sure he won’t mind.’
‘Don’t just stand there, then. Do it.’ Lauren can be very bossy.
I punch in BC’s number. ‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ I say, my heart fluttering ridiculously at the sound of his voice, ‘but I’m doing a charity car wash and it’s not going all that well. Could I possibly borrow a couple of costumes from the office store to spice it up a bit?’ Now that Lauren’s here she might as well help. If my sister had any objections she would have punched me by now.
‘I like the sound of that.’ Blake laughs down the line. ‘Of course you can.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No worries.’ He hangs up.
‘Let’s get down there,’ I say, and we jump into Lauren’s car and speed away. But she makes me take off my flowery wellies first.
Chapter 50
‘We can’t wear those!’
‘We can,’ my sister insists.
‘I’ll never be able to hold my head up in Goldstone Road again.’
‘What nonsense.’
The costume store at Party Party is vast. There’s everything you could possibly want in here for a great night out. Racks and racks of fancy dress outfits stretch out ahead of us. You can be anything from Napoleon to Elvis Presley.
We, it seems, are going to be Bunny Girls.
Lauren waggles the fluffy pink ears at me. ‘What sells?’
‘Sex.’
‘Exactly.’
‘We’re thirty-nine years old,’ I remind her. ‘Past our prime.’
‘You speak for yourself.’ Lauren holds up the bunny outfit against her and preens in the mirror.
‘Who in their right minds will want to see us dressed like this?’
‘Plenty of jaded middle-aged men. We’ll bring a bit of fun to their otherwise dull weekends down at the DIY superstore.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ I have grave misgivings about this.
‘Come on then. Let’s not hang about. We’ve work to do.’
We also need to have every trace of our venture cleared away before Greg comes home as he’ll have a blue fit if he even gets a whiff of this.
Less than an hour later and my sister and I are in black stilettos, fishnet tights, black satin Bunny Girl corsets and pink fluffy ears. I feel ridiculous. And long for my wellies. Thank goodness it’s a warm day otherwise I’d be freezing my butt off out here. As it is, I’m a bit hot under the collar with embarrassment.
Self-consciously, I smooth down my corset. ‘I feel really stupid.’
‘Do you want to go to Peru?’ Lauren snaps.
‘Yes.’
‘Then shut up whining.’
I shut up whining.
As well as my car-washing dress sense, my informational sign was also deemed inadequate and Lauren has produced another one.
LET THE BUNNY TWINS RUB YOUR BUMPERS!
Let the bunny twins rub your bumpers? I shudder.
HAVE A HAND JOB FOR ONLY A FIVER!
Hand job! Oh, my word. Are we really only offering car washing services?
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ I ask Lauren for the hundredth time.
‘Positive,’ she says. ‘And may I remind you that raiding the costume store was your suggestion.’
‘I didn’t imagine kitting myself up like this though.’
‘What were you going to do, to draw in the punters?’
‘We could have done Elvis,’ I say, trying to suck my tummy in. ‘That would have been funny.’
‘We don’t want funny,’ Lauren points out. ‘We want money. And fast.’ Then she nudges me. ‘Look sharp. Looks like we’ve got our first punter.’
And, sure enough, a sleek black Jaguar pulls in.
Lauren teeters over to him as the man gets out of his car. I have to admit that my sister looks hot, hot, hot and it’s clear that our first customer thinks so too. Picking up my bucket, I follow her.
‘Can we gi
ve you a rubdown?’ Lauren asks.
‘I wish I was ten years younger,’ Jaguar Man says with a chortle.
Make that twenty, I’d say.
‘The sight of you two lovely ladies has made a happy man feel very old,’ he jokes. And that pretty much sets the stage for the rest of the day.
So, while I leap into action with my sponge and soapy water, Lauren flirts shamelessly and wiggles her tail. The man grins from ear to ear. He chortles particularly loudly when I bend over to reach the middle of the bonnet. I sigh as I try to enter into the spirit of this and waggle my tail too as I do it. Jaguar Man gets so excited that I think he’s going to have a coronary.
My sister has our customer by the tie and is making pouty faces at him. I am the oily rag to her mechanic. Or, perhaps, I am the monkey here as, clearly, my sister is happy in her role as the organ grinder. I decide not to share that thought with her, but concentrate on getting a streak-free finish instead.
When we’ve finished he hands over twenty quid and tells us to keep the change. He takes a photo of us both on his camera bent over his bonnet in a seductive manner for another fiver. He also wants to know whether this will be available every weekend.
‘Not on your nelly!’ I want to say, but smile sweetly as Lauren does instead. This is one step nearer to Peru for me and if this is what it takes to get me there, then that’s fine by me.
Jaguar Man jumps in his spruce car and speeds away. I’m not even sure that he’s noticed how brilliantly it’s been washed. Then I look up and notice that there is a little queue of three cars forming.
‘We’ll split them,’ Lauren says. ‘Let’s do a great job, but remember we don’t need to be able to eat our dinner off the damn things.’
‘Right.’ And two more male customers grinning broadly roll into my drive.
By five o’clock we’ve done fifteen cars and have had the same number of commemorative photographs taken. We turn away five who are waiting, promising them that business will resume tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.
I glance anxiously at my watch. ‘We need to get this cleared up before Greg comes back.’ If I could have done this somewhere else I would have, but the logistics of getting water to car stumped us. I’m just hoping that Greg sticks to his usual routine – and there’s no reason why he shouldn’t.
It’s Now or Never Page 14
