by kendra Smith
‘Are you sure this is legal – and everything?’
‘Yes. It’s all legal – lots of people do it,’ she tried her best Reassuring Smile.
He stood there a moment longer. ‘OK, but I don’t want my mum hurt, right?’ And with that he sauntered out of the kitchen.
Charlie drained the last of the tea from her mug, and shrugged at Suzie. ‘He’s just trying to protect me, despite all his bravado, I’m all he’s got.’
‘Look, Charlie,’ Suzie began, as images of her unborn baby chewing a custard cream came to mind. ‘Shall we discuss your diet before—’
‘Diet? Look, if this isn’t good enough for you—’ she said standing up, her hands on her hips, ‘then—’
‘No, no,’ said Suzie quickly, terrified she’d crossed the line, remembered this was the only hope of having a baby, what they’d promised each other. ‘It’s just that having a healthy baby means so much to me and—’
‘I can see that,’ said Charlie, piling up their cups and saucers from the table and banging them noisily on the draining board. She turned to face her. ‘But remember, I’ve had one healthy baby. I’m fit as a fiddle. And I’m only thirty-five – ten years younger than you! You can draw up whatever fancy contract you like, Suzie, about me eating organic custard creams or drinking virgin goats’ milk – but you know what? I need the cash and you need a baby, so let’s just get that straight.’ Charlie’s cheeks were flushed.
‘Yes, Charlie, I know, I know.’ Jesus, this hadn’t started well. Why had this hit such a nerve with this poor girl?
23
Charlie
I shut the door forcefully. Stupid woman. I glance at the cracked TV screen, sigh at the pile of red bills on the hall table and my shoulders slump. Maybe Suzie doesn’t seem quite so stupid any more.
As I wander through to the kitchen and flick the kettle on for another cup of tea, my mobile goes. Suzie’s name flashes up. I answer the call determined to be nice.
‘Charlie, I’ve just pulled in and I had an idea! I was thinking that you really do need transport.’
‘Transport?’ What is she on about?
‘Yes, Dawn mentioned yesterday that an old friend of hers now runs a driving business – he’s doing it to sort of “give back to the community” or something. Been away in South Africa, or maybe it was South America – anyway, Dawn says he’s lovely; I called him and it’s all arranged. No more buses!’
I hold the phone tightly and take a deep breath. I can’t believe it.
‘But I’m not even pregnant yet!’
‘Never mind that,’ Suzie carries right on. ‘You will be and I don’t want you under any stress, OK? You need to make sure you only do light cleaning work from now on.’
For crap’s sake, what on earth does she know about cleaning?
‘Listen, Suzie—’ I start to say, but she cuts me off.
‘I’ve booked you in tomorrow to be picked up at ten – isn’t that right, to get to your cleaning job? You might as well get used to it.’
‘Sorry?’ This woman is so neurotic. I’m almost thinking I might reconsider.
‘You need to get places. Safely. Actually, I think that’s his business name. Anyway, at some point after you’ve had the baby maybe you can use the money to get yourself lessons – he offers driving lessons too, I think – but in the meantime, no more public transport! His name is Daniel Forrester – his business is called, hang on a moment, it’s in my bag, yes, Going Places At Any Age; apparently most of his clients are elderly people who want help to get about, quite sweet, really,’ she continues. ‘A kind of “Uber for the elderly”. He seemed very nice on the phone. I didn’t tell him, by the way.’
‘Tell him what?’
‘About our arrangement – let’s just keep our business private, don’t want everyone in Chesterbrook nattering about it. Look, must go, someone’s tooting me.’ And with that she hangs up.
Bloody woman! Who does she think she is? Tomorrow? I take out some milk from the fridge then slam the door shut. What on earth will I tell him? It will be fairly obvious I’m pregnant in a few months and there’s no ‘dad’ on the scene – and what will everyone round here think when some geezer turns up? No doubt he’s some stuffy old bloke. Dawn says he’s lovely. Yeuch.
*
A horn’s beeping outside. It’s exactly 10 a.m. God, he’s probably some army type who’s really big on punctuality. Left, right, left, right. I stifle a giggle.
The horn goes again. For flip’s sake. I just need to sort out my hair, which has decided that my face doesn’t need to be seen today. I grab a scrunchie from the dressing table, tie it up and glance out the window. Yup, there’s a car parked right outside. Well, he’ll just have to wait.
I catch my reflection in the mirror as I leave my room. It’s sort of schoolgirl chic mixed with cleaning-lady charm. I roll my eyes and gallop down the stairs two by two, narrowly missing the cat, then shove Tyler’s trainers out of the way in the hall so I can open the door.
Yanking the front door closed behind me, I see an old blue Vauxhall Vectra with @goingplacesatanyage painted on the side and a telephone number. I open the passenger door to get in, trip up slightly and then steady myself, ready for a dreary ride.
Oh my God.
It’s him! This won’t be dreary at all. The gorgeous driving instructor.
‘Hello!’ I say awkwardly.
‘Hi there, I’m Daniel,’ he says, turning to look at me. He’s possibly the most exotic man I’ve seen in a long while, and certainly not an old geezer at all. He reminds me of Jude Law, with a close-shaved beard. He’s too rugged to be in rural Hampshire, surely?
‘Nice to meet you!’ He’s smiling at me. ‘Charlie, right? Short for Charlotte? That’s a pretty name.’ He puts out his hand.
I take his hand and smile. It’s warm and soft – and so brown. There’s a fizzing up my spine. ‘Well, no, not short for anything, just Charlie.’ There is no way I am telling him that I am named after a variety of white grape – that is totally uncool. I feel myself redden at just the thought. Why didn’t I wear something different?
‘Where are we going today?’
‘Anywhere you like’ is about to come out of my mouth, instead I quickly say: ‘Stockfields dentists, please.’ I put on my seatbelt.
‘Got an appointment?’ He’s looking at something on the dashboard as he turns the engine on.
The car rattles to life. ‘No. I clean for them.’
Better to honest.
‘Right.’
Just then, he brakes hard as next door’s van screeches out of the driveway; it narrowly misses us. I frown as Daniel’s eyebrows hit his hairline. ‘Sorry, that’s my neighbour – he does come out of there pretty fast,’ I mutter.
‘Someone needs their plumbing done very quickly!’
I laugh. ‘No, I think it’s just the way he drives.’
‘Just as well you’ve got me driving you around with that sort of maniac on the street!’ He turns to grin at me and I notice one of his ears is pierced; there’s nothing in it, but he looks like he’s done a lot more than be a driver all his life. What did Suzie say? South America? There’s something of the Indiana Jones about him that makes me feel very secure indeed.
24
Dawn
As she put the key in the door, she smelt Joyce’s cooking again: smoked haddock. Dawn never cooked smoked fish – she couldn’t stand the smell. The kids barged past her.
‘Yoo-hoo, I’m in here, everyone,’ trilled Joyce. Dawn followed the aroma into the kitchen, and stood in the doorway as Alice and Felix whooshed past her and up to their nanna.
‘Hello, darlings, I’ve just cooked a fish pie!’ She kissed them both on their heads.
‘Hi, Joyce.’ She looked up from her group hug. Dawn smiled. It was nice for Joyce to enjoy her grandchildren. It was quite a different relationship: you could indulge them, you didn’t have to spend hours looking for a gum shield or potty train or supervise making a poster of how photosynthesi
s worked.
Dawn felt a pang in her heart. Poor Joyce – she’d been a widow now for over two years; Eric’s father had died when she was seventy; he’d been seventy-seven. But Joyce was still young at heart at seventy-three – and she did try to stay young. She’d asked Dawn for yet more mascara and hair conditioner in the weekly shop.
She clearly loved Felix and Alice. Dawn had caught Joyce showing Alice how to apply make-up the other day in Alice’s bedroom. Alice had been wearing a headband and Joyce was sitting on a stool next to her, applying some powder with a little pad and showing Alice how to look in the mirror of the compact, ‘like a grown-up.’ Alice, for her part, had put some temporary tattoos on Joyce’s forearm, which she showed off at dinner – and she had explained that the checkout lady at Waitrose had congratulated her on them. Would Joyce find love again? In spite of their differences, Dawn thought she deserved to.
‘I’ve been having a super time while you were out. I’ve made a “deluxe” fish pie – the way Eric likes it, with a few prawns, ooh, and I’ve rearranged your kitchen a tad, love. I think you’ll find it a lot easier to navigate your way around.’
Dawn wanted to shout, ‘But I don’t want to navigate around my own kitchen, I want to potter around it, being able to find all the things I usually use, and to feel happy here’. Instead she said: ‘Great.’ She smiled brightly, hoping the feeling of annoyance in her stomach didn’t filter up to her eyes.
‘And I gave that chap a call, the gardener – he’s coming on Friday.’ It was quite ironic, really. Dawn was married to a gardener, but he never had any time to attend to his own garden and usually let things slip. Joyce had noticed straight away this time. That laurel hedge really needs pruning, and look at all the leaves! You need to get someone in. In fact, thinking about it, Joyce was up to her meddling tricks again.
Ever since she and Eric had got together Dawn tried to suppress the notion that Joyce still thought she was in her early twenties and couldn’t boil an egg. When she’d set up home, Joyce always had something to say about how she decorated, what kind of curtains she chose, how to successfully get grass stains out of Eric’s clothes. And then, when the stakes of a successful marriage rose from merely keeping house to actually providing children for that clean and tidy house, Dawn couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all her fault.
Not that Joyce would ever had said anything, but it was in the air, lingering, especially at Christmas when Joyce came to stay. You could almost feel her wanting to say where are my grandchildren? as she moved Dawn’s scented candles and rearranged the natural-look holly on the mantelpiece; and when she stared across at them at Christmas dinner. Just because she’d had Eric young, at nineteen, didn’t mean that Dawn was going to do the same. Dawn had come off the pill, but things hadn’t been working properly and it had taken ages to get her hormone levels balanced again. She’d fallen pregnant quite late. Now, Joyce was a very sprightly seventy-three-year-old, who lived life to the full. She was very glad Dawn had – eventually – supplied her with two grandchildren.
Dawn took off her pale pink cardigan and hung it on the back of a chair.
‘Oh, you shouldn’t do that – it will end up all stretched.’ Joyce bustled over.
Dawn carefully removed it from the back of the chair and wondered how many incidents of domestic violence in kitchens involved strangulation by pink mohair cardigans. Try to see the best in her, she scolded herself, she’s only trying to help.
‘Have you had a good day?’ Dawn asked.
‘Yes, lovely dear, pottering around – you?’
‘Fine thanks, bumped into an old friend, actually.’
‘Oh?’
‘Do you remember Lucy’s husband?’
‘Oh dear, yes.’ Joyce folded her arms and leant against the kitchen table. ‘I do remember that awful incident when she died. God what was it, that awful thing? An aneurysm, wasn’t it? Really terrible.’
‘Yes,’ said Dawn, feeling that ache again as she missed her old friend – even though it had been seventeen years now, that special friendship had been hard to replace. Lucy had been like an older sister to her, really. And then Suzie had arrived to fill the gap. Funny how life turns out like that sometimes. There was a vase of freesias on the kitchen table. Joyce must have put them there, but she hadn’t been out, had she? She stared at it. Purple freesias. They’d been Lucy’s favourite. There’d been a massive bouquet on the coffin, their perfume so potently sweet on such a sombre day. Dawn shivered.
‘You are looking a bit peaky, dear, are you all right?’
‘Fine, yes, did Eric call when I was out?’
‘Yes, he’ll be home soon – said something about those accounts again. He said he would be a bit late.’
Dawn could hear the kids squabbling in the lounge over the TV channels.
She went in to take a peek. Alice was sitting on top of Felix, telling him that she’d kiss him if he didn’t hand over the remote control. ‘Alice get off him!’ She laughed.
‘Mum! Tell Alice to pis— get off me!’ He tried to shove her off his chest, but she wouldn’t budge. Then he started pulling her hair.
‘Oww!!’ she screeched and flung herself off him, her skirt up by her chest, revealing her new Mini Minion knickers.
‘You hurt me! Anyway, I’ve got a new toy you don’t know about!’ She stood in front of Felix and waggled her finger at him.
‘I don’t care!’
‘You will! It’s got flashing lights!’
She flounced out of the room, just as she heard Eric come through the front door.
‘Hello, everyone!’ He appeared in the lounge doorframe, his hands resting on the top. Dawn went up to him and tried to hug him, but he stood quite motionless. His hands didn’t move from the top of the doorframe. Honestly, it had been weeks since the dinner party incident. Wasn’t he over that by now?
‘You all right?’ she queried, looking up at him and putting a hand out to stoke his salt and pepper hair.
He gave her a tense smile. ‘Bit tired, been at those accounts again with Allan today. I’m exhausted, actually, and my back’s killing me…’ he muttered wearily and turned back into the hall and started taking off his jacket. Rain droplets trickled down the sleeve as he took it out to the hall.
‘Hi, Mum!’ She could hear his voice soften as he wandered through to the kitchen to chat to Joyce. Then there was the chink of china being moved, laughter – and suddenly she felt a bit like a spare part in her own home. As she walked in through the door, they abruptly stopped talking.
After dinner, Dawn was bending down loading the dishwasher when Eric came up behind her. She stood up and turned around.
‘You’re not still mad at me, are you, Eric?’ she whispered.
‘About what?
‘The – you know, the knicker thing…’
‘Oh, dear God, no, I’d forgotten that really, but I have been wondering quite what’s got into you, lately?’ He frowned.
‘There you are!’ Joyce came hurriedly into the kitchen. ‘Can you come and help Felix with his equivalent fractions, Eric dear, never been a strong point of mine! I’m just going to look at my Twitter account!’ she smiled, holding up her phone.
‘Twitter, Mum? What are you talking about?’
‘Oh, it’s marvellous!’
‘What on earth are you Tweeting about?’
‘Eric, my dear. I am trying to “move with the times” you know, spot of social media. My Twitter – what do you call it – handle? is @GreyGardening – it’s a hoot! Just sharing tips on all sorts of things. I’ve got six hundred followers already and met some wonderful people! We all Tweet about gardening, you know, this and that—’ she smiled coyly ‘—new varieties of shrubs, when the best time is to plant bulbs, new gardening gloves I’ve tried, how to make poinsettias last longer indoors. Anyway, you go help Felix, will you?’ she said, swiping at her phone.
Later that night, Dawn and Eric were lying silently in bed; he was reading about some offers
on variegated holly on the iPad, then he turned his attention to ordering some bulk bags of ornamental bark. She moved towards him, reached out and touched his navy pyjama-clad shoulder. Ornamental bark? The combination was not sexy at all. Maybe this search for some frisson was going to be harder than she thought.
‘Eric?’
‘Mmm?’
‘You’re often home late, you’re tired, well, we’re both tired, but I thought…’
He flipped the lid down on the iPad and turned to her. ‘Dawn, I’m doing my best, old girl. The business isn’t bringing in as much as it did last year, I’m working really hard—’ His voice was rising.
Old girl? Suddenly the thought she’d been trying to avoid surfaced like a deep-sea diver desperate for air: my husband is having an affair! That’s it! Classic symptoms. He’s late home and tired. She sat up in bed. She knew what to do.
‘Let’s have sex in the shower!’
His eyes widened as he slowly turned to face her as he sat up on his elbows. ‘Dawn, I am fifty-five years old, I have a bad back and my mother is in the next room, probably listening. Now go to sleep, darling.’ And with that, he patted her on the arm, and turned off the light.
25
Charlie
Daniel’s late. It’s 5 p.m. and pitch-black outside. I look at my watch. Gloria’s already left. It was an exhausting shift. I glance at the clock in reception. Five minutes, now ten. Tomorrow is my clinic appointment and I’m nervous as hell. They are going to implant the embryo – all the tests have been fine, so tomorrow is the Big Day. I feel overwhelmed with an emotion I can’t explain. Fear? Sorrow? The clinic’s client manager was on the phone yesterday going over everything with me. She’s really sweet, talking me it though it all. Trouble is, she only knows half the story.
Suddenly there’s a noise outside – I peek out the window and see the familiar @goingplacesatanyage car and it’s like a weight has been lifted.
‘Hi there, m’lady, your chariot is here. Sorry I’m late, by the way!’ He’s grinning at me as I swing open the car door. How can I be annoyed with him when the mere sight of that tiny tattoo that peeks out on his forearm from under his shirt has me wanting to reach over and roll up his sleeve? An image of me licking the inside of his forearm comes to mind and I quickly shake my head.
