by Jules Wake
I swung my legs off the sofa. ‘Am I being a boring old bat? Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No,’ he waved his hands as if wanting to push me back into place, ‘you’re fine lovie. It could be a late one. Might go up to town.’
I flopped back into the sofa.
‘Really? I thought you said you were going to the pub.’
‘Yeah, well the lads might have plans.’
I’d have thought Kev and Jason, who both worked in the building trade and needed to be up at an ungodly hour, would have been preparing to turn in, not go out on the lash.
‘Yeah, not sure I can keep up with that. Don’t wake me when you come in.’
‘Will do … I mean, I won’t.’ He bounded over, shrugging into his coat, which had already been in his hand and plonked a quick kiss on the top of my head. ‘You’re the best Tilly.’
After he left, unable to help myself I checked my email.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
You should be used to a good laugh. Your team are a right bunch of comedians. Reckon you’re doomed to disappointment tomorrow night. Two of your strikers on the bench … not a chance in hell you’ll beat Chelsea.
Stephen King, best book Misery. Have you read it?
Unfortunately, I was inclined to agree with him, not that I’d let him know that.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Just a mid-season slump, we’ll soon bounce back. And let’s see your result before you start singing.
Not read any Stephen King, although I saw Misery (liked it) and The Shining (did not like it – scared the pants off me).
Tilly
Chapter 12
‘Ooof.’ I bounced off Marcus’s chest as I dashed around the corner. He was wearing another of his fine wool suits, which I could bet probably cost as much as I earned in a month, and once again he made me think of an elegant swan among a brace of unruly ducklings. Today, I was rocking the Audrey Hepburn does Paris look with a white shirt, a black pencil skirt, but not the pure wool, neatly tailored sort my sister would wear, and a striped neck scarf.
‘In a hurry?’ His lips narrowed into a firm line of disdain.
‘Yes,’ I gasped.
‘Tilly, this isn’t good enough.’
‘What?’ I frowned and then I remembered. ‘Oh bollocks … I mean. I’m sorry. I forgot again. Honest.’ My foot tapped as my stress level suddenly spiked, remembering Alison’s comments the day before. ‘We could do tomorrow. I promise I won’t forget.’
‘Where are you off to?’
‘Er …’ I examined the corridor walls. Inspiration was in short supply, so I fessed up. ‘I’ve got to nip to Fox’s to get some supplies. Well, one supply actually. It’s this special hypo-allergenic adhesive we use for facial hair. George Fordingbridge is popping in for a publicity shot and he’s got very sensitive skin, so we need the non-allergic stuff.’
‘What? The George Fordingbridge. The actor?’ His voice held a touch of fan-boy excitement.
I just about refrained from rolling my eyes.
‘It’s a theatre. We get quite a few of those actor types through the door.’
My dry tone made him straighten and rub at the collar of his shirt and immediately I said, ‘Sorry. I guess he is quite a big name and I’m used to it.’
‘Yeah.’ His rueful expression made me glad I’d jumped in with the apology. ‘Yeah. A visit from the under-secretary of the Department for Business, Energy & Industrial Strategy doesn’t quite cut it on the name-dropping front. That was the highlight in my last job. Because clearly, here, it’s not name dropping. Takes a bit of adjustment. You’re all so blasé about it.’
‘Soon you’ll be name dropping with the best of us.’ I squeezed his arm and as he flinched I realised what I’d done. He probably wasn’t used to us touchy, feely types either.
‘I tell you what …’ Oh God, I was probably going to regret it. ‘Why don’t you come with me?’
‘As it’s the only way I’m going to pin you down today.’ He gave a sudden grin, like a cat that had swallowed a canary and the golden goose in one neat swallow. ‘Yes. I could do with some fresh air. And perhaps we can talk about developing a system that stops you running out of things. And we can further refine the discussion with a proper meeting tomorrow.’
Damn. I’d walked right into that one.
From the end of November onwards, stepping out into Covent Garden is magical and as soon as December first hits, it’s positively enchanting. There’s a pervasive atmosphere of Christmas that seems to seep into every nook and cranny of the historic buildings and pavements. There’s nowhere else quite like it in London with its cobbled piazza, the columns and porticos, the old houses – all of which lend themselves perfectly to the traditional trappings of Christmas. Everywhere you look it’s as if a festive wand has been waved, leaving a drape of evergreen here, a touch of holly berry red there and a dust of shimmering gold just about everywhere. This year’s crowning piece dominating the north side of the piazza was a huge topiary stag, head turned to look out over the shoppers and tourists like the king of some faraway forest transplanted to reign over the urban domain for a few weeks. Diamond studded with twinkling brilliant fairy lights, the stag made me think that at any second he could make a mighty leap and bound away back from whence he came.
Christmas brings out the fanciful in me. I can’t help myself. I loved this time of year and the infectious attitude in the streets.
‘Come on,’ I said, darting around the tourists who were busy taking selfies of themselves and the street artists, to take a roundabout route designed to take in the new Lego display which I was hoping had now been unveiled.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Officially to Charles Fox. Unofficially,’ I beamed at him, ‘the long way around.’
I’d been watching the twitching tarpaulins for a couple of days now waiting for the display to be completed.
I led him through the quieter streets to avoid the tourists who were out in full force and then cut across the corner of the piazza, my heels slipping on the cobbled stones in my haste. I did need to be quick but there was always time for this.
I stopped and turned to Marcus with a big smile, grabbing his arm. ‘It’s finished.’
He looked a little startled and I dropped his arm to get closer to the barrier to peer at the amazing scene of brilliantly coloured bricks. There were elves, with curly-toed slippers, gift boxes complete with bows, Santa with a rounded belly, a flowing beard and his scarlet suit finished off with ermine trim. It never ceased to amaze me how little squared off bricks could be transformed into these varied shapes.
Even Marcus, Chief Philistine, leaned closer to take a second look at the incredible detail.
‘I must bring my neph … my family to see this,’ he said.
I stopped suddenly as we moved off, putting my hand onto his sleeve and looking up.
‘Oh!’
‘What?’
Disappointed, I shook my head. ‘I thought I felt a snowflake. The weather forecast man said that there was chance of snow today.’
‘In the Scottish Highlands possibly, but not down here.’
Giving the sky a last hopeful look, I led him through the old apple market, giving the stalls a quick inspection, ticking them off in my head, reassured that all were present and correct. Leather clutches in pale pastels on the corner, Devore scarfs third stall in, the new girl on the end with the rather fabulous felt flower brooches, the usual bloke in his cloth cap with the silver jewellery made from old cutlery, the weird and wonderful clocks in the middle of the row.
I stopped quickly while Marcus overshot me, carrying on before he realised I’d ditched him. My eye had been caught by a new stall with the most fabulous silk scarves and more importantly the perfect present. I reached up to touch one of the lengths of silk, coloured with swirls of teal, pink and black and embellished with litt
le dark grey bugle beads that gave it additional weight and movement. It could have been made for my sister. The colours would suit her perfectly and, even better, would jazz up one of her little black suits no end as well as co-ordinate with her fancy shoes and handbag.
‘Er, Tilly?’
‘Sorry, I just spotted this. Isn’t it gorgeous?’
‘Seriously.’ His eyebrows rose in horrified surprise, clearly taken aback at me even soliciting his opinion, let alone having one. I was too used to shopping with Felix. ‘It’s not my thing, but…’ he shrugged his shoulders.
I eyed his usual white shirt. ‘No, I can see you don’t do colour. Do you mind?’ I pulled out my purse and thrust my bag at him.
Before he could complain, I’d haggled the price down from thirty-five pounds to twenty-seven and eyed up another scarf for me come payday.
I almost skipped the rest of the way down through the other market stalls, swinging the white paper carrier bag with its twisted cord handles to and fro.
‘You’re really pleased with yourself, aren’t you?’ observed Marcus.
‘Yup. It’s the perfect present. I love it when that happens. You just see something and it’s exactly right. The best presents are things you didn’t know you wanted but you love them.’
‘No, the best presents are useful things.’
‘Well you would say that, wouldn’t you? I bet you love getting things like socks, slippers and pants.’
‘Pants?’ he raised an eyebrow. ‘Slippers? You do have a dim view of me.’
‘Well, what’s your best present ever?’
‘Er … What, ever?’
‘OK, last Christmas. What was the best thing you received?’
His face fell. ‘Quite a cool tie.’
‘Cool? I’ve seen your taste in ties.’ Bland in the extreme in varying shades of grey.
‘I don’t wear this one any more.’ His clipped tone suggested he’d said too much and immediately regretted it.
And I couldn’t leave well alone. ‘Oh dear. Present from an ex?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK.’ His clipped tone recommended that I didn’t pursue that line of conversation any further. ‘What’s the worst present you’ve ever been given? Apart from the pants and slippers. You must have a dodgy aunt or someone who always buys naff presents.’ I paused by my favourite jewellery stall but decided not to risk his patience any further. ‘My Aunt Jane, Dad’s side of the family, bought me one of those tartan travel rugs. I don’t even have a car. Mind you, she bought one for Christelle too and Christelle loved hers. It was a nicer colour than mine.’
‘Ah, now I can top that. My Mum’s sister bought me a slanket.’
‘A slanket?’ I slowed my steps and shot him an incredulous look. He so was not a slanket type of guy.
‘Blanket with sleeves. Purple.’
I pinched my lips but couldn’t hold back the unladylike snigger. ‘I know what it is … but … you.’ I started to laugh while with a nudge he urged me to keep walking.
Trying to keep a straight face now that I’d got my giggles under control, I said, ‘You’ll never be short of a fancy-dress costume. You can go as Barney the Dinosaur.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ he said in a grave, dry voice that had my insides curling with interest. He really wasn’t my type but there was something rather appealing about him.
‘Doesn’t she like you?’
‘Hmm I always assumed she did … maybe you’re onto something. Or she just worries that I can’t afford the heating bills since I moved out of home into a place of my own.’
‘How long ago did you leave home?’
That smile burst out. ‘Over ten years ago.’
I was dying to ask if the place of his own was shared with anyone but it would sound as if I was interested in him and I wasn’t. He was a work colleague. And once this pesky project was over, I wouldn’t have to have anything more to do with him. The thought didn’t give me as much pleasure as I thought it would.
‘Look, it really is snowing,’ I said, as we emerged from the Piazza. White flakes twirled and danced through the sky and I stopped dead lifting my face up and closing my eyes.
‘What are you doing?’ I could hear the bemusement in his voice.
I waited a bit longer, until I felt a snowflake settle on my eyelashes. I fluttered them. ‘Angel’s kiss. When a snowflake lands on your eyes, it’s like a kiss from an angel. As soon as it snows, you have to wait for the first kiss before you can move. Me and my sister always used to do it.’
‘I’ve never heard of that before.’ He had that superior I’m-humouring-you-but-you’re-barking-mad look on his face.’
‘Of course you haven’t, it’s a family thing. But I love the snow. It’s magical, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s cold, wet and everything grinds to a standstill at the first sign of it settling.’
I gave him a pitying look; the man really did have no soul.
The shop had had its Christmas make-over and the window featured a Cinderella panto theme, with Cinders’ skin sparkling with crystals, the ugly sisters with animal print hair extensions and mice wearing the most amazing feathery rainbow false eyelashes. With the familiar buzz of anticipation, I pushed open the door, shaking the snowflakes from my hair.
‘Is this a regular occurrence? Running out of things?’ asked Marcus as I stopped to pick up a palette of pastel eye shadow, a sneak preview of the new spring collection apparently.
‘No,’ I said airily, putting down the palette quickly. ‘Only occasionally. Just specialist items.’
‘Tilly! Brilliant timing. Look, what’s just come in.’ Ava, the girl who’d worked there for the last eighteen months, darted over and grabbed my wrist, dabbing at my skin with a loaded sponge to leave a smear of iridescent blue, the liquid colour shimmering with radiance.
‘That’s gorgeous.’ I held my arm to the light.
‘And it comes in eight colours including pearl and copper. Isn’t it to die for?’
‘It is,’ I looked with naked longing at the display of little pots lined up in front of a poster of a woman with the same blue painted on her face in a snakeskin design and then remembered Marcus standing beadily watching me. ‘I’ve just popped in to get some spirit gum, the non-allergen one.’
She pulled the bottle from the shelf. ‘On account?’
‘Yes please.’ I could see her giving Marcus an appraising look and clearly liking what she saw.
‘Nothing else?’ The smile she shot his way had ramped up to downright flirtatious.
‘No. Not today,’ I said, trying to sound professional, fighting an odd urge to stand in front of him and protect him from her downright frank interest.
‘You always say that … and then you remember loads of things when you’re in here.’ She turned to Marcus. ‘The LMOC’s one of our best customers.’
I gave her one of those please-stop-talking half grimace half smile and very subtly nodded my head Marcus’s way. ‘This is my colleague Marcus. He’s just started working at the LMOC, in IT.’
‘IT eh? Shame, we won’t be seeing you as often as we see Tilly in here.’ She gave him a very obvious wink. ‘They’re always running out of things.’
It was one of those bang your head on the desk, ‘doh’ moments.
We’d only taken three steps down the street, the snow having stopped as suddenly as it had begun, before Marcus said, ‘Shall we talk stock control systems?’
Chapter 13
Bliss. The hot water lapped around my body, loosening the knots in my neck. Once, I might have tried to persuade Felix to join me in the bath and work his way up. Looked like it was just me and a good e-book. Recently my libido had been feeling very neglected. The fortune I spent last - no, it wasn’t last month – it was way back in September when I had spent a ridiculous amount on a new lacy push-up ultra-bra which had delivered the promised balcony but, sadly, my Romeo didn’t appear to be the least interested in scaling it.
; ‘Drink, modom.’ Felix appeared with a gin and tonic, the cold glass condensing immediately in the steamy atmosphere. ‘Candles?’
‘Why not?’ I raised myself out of the bubbles, trying to look more come hither than I felt. ‘Coming in?’
‘Just check my …’
Before I could say another word, he’d vanished and I nearly choked, the tonic in my drink had gone walkabout.
A small part of me wilted. OK, so I was being contrary but did my bum look big in the bath or something? A girl could get a complex. Clearly, he’d rather play with his computer than me. At least I was trying to make an effort. Maybe he realised my heart wasn’t really in it. It had its own ideas at the moment, sending my system into a tizzy whenever Marcus appeared in my vicinity. How did that happen when I wasn’t sure I even liked him that much, let alone fancied him?
I brooded a while and then picked up my Kindle to lose myself in an old Sophie Kinsella book I’d read before. I loved re-reading books. Did Redsman? At the end of the chapter, with a suddenly empty glass, I switched to the email app.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Wouldn’t want you to go without your pants. ;-)
R
What! I sat up quickly, water sloshing over the edge of the bath. This was new territory and even when I scrolled back to my previous email and the reference to seeing The Shining, I wasn’t sure. Was this flirty?
I typed a one word response
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Cheeky
My fingers hovered over the touchscreen. Was this straying over a line? I let the gin do the talking and pressed send.
He immediately back came with:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
It would be if you made a habit of it.
R
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
I’ll have you know I’m a very respectable young lady, with a fine selection of pants, thank you very much.
