by Hazel Osmond
Surely if she moved in with Edith, it would only be a matter of time before she starting wearing support stockings and buying a ‘nice piece of fish’ for her tea.
That ‘no’ wasn’t coming out, though. She made another effort to say it. Then she made the mistake of looking directly at Edith and saw the hope burning in her eyes. Ellie pictured Edith among all those empty, echoing rooms in her house and felt intensely sad. She thought about all those times Edith had pitched up at her flat, unannounced and looking for company. How was she going to manage that when she wasn’t living right round the corner?
Ellie heard herself saying, ‘You’ve been thinking about this a lot, Edith. How would it work?’
‘Well, you would have the top floor as your own. You’ve got a bathroom up there and two other good-sized rooms. You can have a sitting room or a study as well as your bedroom, arrange it as you like.’
‘I could get it redecorated, get some new carpet?’
‘Of course, and I’ve done a bit of research into having a shower installed.’ Edith reached down for her handbag and extracted a sheaf of leaflets from bathroom suppliers. ‘It would take a few weeks, of course, but you could use my bathroom while it was being done.’ She held out the leaflets.
‘Mrs Radjewzki at the day centre, her nephew Stanislaus is a plumber and he’s already given me a quote. Very reasonable, and he could fit us in almost at once.’ Edith’s eyes twinkled. ‘He’s very fond of his aunt, and luckily his aunt is very fond of me.’
Ellie put the leaflets on the table and couldn’t hide her amusement. First Lesley and now Edith: this was the second time today that she had been mentally mugged by small, doughty people.
She looked at Edith again, at all that hope, and before she could change her mind, said, ‘Edith, that’s a brilliant idea.’
Edith stared resolutely at her pudding, and after a while Ellie handed her a napkin and Edith gave her eyes a good wipe and blew her nose.
The meal turned into a bit of a celebration after that; it was like a light had gone back on inside Edith.
Later, with Edith snoring happily away in the spare room, Ellie went back over her decision and convinced herself it was a good one. She was getting to stay in an area she liked and her rent would be more or less what she was paying for the flat before Sam went. Being able to keep an eye on Edith would take a whole lot of worry off her mind too. She could subtly make sure she was eating properly and actually getting some rest.
Edith hadn’t seemed to mind the few stipulations that Ellie had set. On Monday morning Ellie was going to ring some cleaners to come and blitz the whole house, and Ellie had already been on the internet and ordered a new cooker and fridge. All Edith had to do was find somebody to run a flamethrower over the garden.
Ellie had no idea why she was feeling so elated. Perhaps it was all about making a fresh start in a place where she had never lived with Sam.
She looked around the sitting room, at the empty spaces that marked where Sam’s possessions had been. It already felt half lived in; the entire flat did. There were too many reminders of the fact that a couple used to live here.
She stood up and started turning off the lamps.
She’d always thought that when she moved from this flat, it would be into a house with Sam, the next stage in their life together. That thought should have upset her, but she found herself having very few feelings about it at all.
She pulled the sitting room door closed behind her and walked towards her bedroom.
Time to move on.
Her brothers would tell her she was mad. Lesley would tell her she was mad. Everyone would tell her she was mad. But sometimes being mad was the most sensible thing you could be.
Two weeks later and Ellie was putting her books on her new shelves in her new home, the swirly carpet and hideous wallpaper a distant memory. Everything past the turn of the stairs was pale and calm, except for the bathroom, which was currently ripped out but would be back gleaming and white by the end of next week. Stanislaus had promised, and what Stanislaus promised, he delivered. Usually ahead of schedule.
Ellie wandered through her rooms and that feeling of elation sprang up inside her again. It was all hers. Nobody to negotiate with over what went on the walls or what colour the bedding should be. Queen of all she surveyed.
Down in the garden, two lads were sitting reading newspapers and smoking, their backsides on a couple of boxes, their legs stretched out in front of them. A few square yards of lawn could now be seen among the brambles, but it looked like it was going to take a while. Shame Stanislaus didn’t do gardening; he’d have had it cleared and an ornamental pond in by now. With hot and cold running water.
Ellie heard the front door open and Edith’s voice waft up the stairs. She went out on to the landing and peered down. ‘Hello, Edith. I’m sorting out my books.’
Edith shouted something back that might or might not have involved putting the kettle on and Ellie went back to cosying D. H. Lawrence up with Jane Austen and had a good laugh over what that particular pairing would have been like. The next book she pulled out of the storage box was Wuthering Heights, and she held it away from her as though it was somehow dangerous. She wasn’t going to open it and look inside. She didn’t need to. There was already a large, unpredictable Yorkshireman rampaging around her head.
She put the book between Gertrude Stein and Virginia Woolf and gave a nod of satisfaction; that would keep the bugger in check.
Edith called up the stairs about biscuits and Ellie called back. It felt good to be living with another heartbeat again, and so far Edith had proved to be a surprisingly easy housemate, certainly easier than Sam. She had a better social life than Ellie’s, so she wasn’t in a lot, and she didn’t seem to expect Ellie to do anything at all for her. When Ellie did, though, she was delighted, but there was no ‘poor little old lady’ act. They had fallen into an easy routine and Ellie knew that she was getting as much out of the arrangement as Edith. Sam leaving had brought home to her how much she needed Edith to make her feel part of something that had slipped away with the death of her parents. Ellie had her brothers, of course, but they had families of their own now, other pressures on their time. Edith was her link with her past. She was happy to sit and listen to Edith’s stories about growing up in Canterbury and then India and delighted to discover things about her father’s childhood that she had never got around to finding out from him herself.
If Sam leaving had made her feel as if she was drifting, all familiar points of reference gone, Edith was anchoring her again.
Ellie straightened a few more books.
Yes, it had been a brainwave on Edith’s part, this living together.
Ellie had even got used to everybody and anybody calling them ‘the odd couple’.
She walked back out on to the landing to retrieve her clothes from the black plastic bags they had been stored in while her wardrobes were being built. Edith had got the guys doing the garden to bring them up from the ‘glory hole’ next to the kitchen, where everything in Edith’s house got dumped until she could find a place for it.
As she untied one of the bags, Ellie froze. She stared at the jumble of old crockery and saucepans inside. Moving quickly to the next bag, she ripped it open with her nails and pulled out an old lampshade and a moth-eaten sari. Tearing the other three bags revealed more of the unwanted stuff she and Edith had sorted out last weekend to go to the charity shop.
Ellie grabbed a statue of the Taj Mahal and hurtled out of the room and down the stairs into the kitchen, where Edith was arranging bourbon biscuits on a plate.
‘Edith,’ she said breathlessly, ‘when do the guys from the charity shop come for the jumble stuff?’
‘Oh, they’ve already come, dear. Came this morning while you were at work.’
Ellie sat down. ‘They took the stuff from the glory hole?’
‘Yes, dear, except for your clothes, of course, silly thing.’ She gave a little grin. ‘I got those moved
beforehand. Didn’t want any silly mistakes happening.’
Ellie put her hand over her eyes. ‘And my clothes in the tumble-dryer? Tell me they’re still in there …’
‘No, dear, I took them out and put them into one of your clothes bags so everything would be together for you.’ As Edith finished talking, her eyes strayed to the Taj Mahal in Ellie’s hand. A look of consternation spread over her face and she sat down quickly in the chair next to Ellie. ‘Oh dear,’ she said in a tiny voice.
In her head Ellie counted up the items of clothing she still had. There was the stuff she had on – jeans, a sweatshirt and her most broken baseball boots, which she wore for decorating. There was the silk kimono dressing gown. Her denim jacket was hanging over a chair in her bedroom. And then … nothing.
She groaned. Then somehow the groan turned into a giggle and once it had started, she couldn’t stop. Edith watched her horrified, as if she were worried that Ellie was becoming hysterical and should be slapped. Ellie kept right on laughing. The giggling turned into full-blown laughter and soon she had her head down on the table. Her poor clothes, unloved by Jack and Sam and goodness knows who else, had been hauled off in a van and were now being picked over in a charity warehouse. That had to be worth a laugh, didn’t it?
After a while Ellie felt Edith’s hand on her arm and raised her head.
‘Ellie dear, I cannot apologise enough. You must let me help you buy some more clothes.’ Ellie waved away the suggestion, but Edith was adamant. ‘And perhaps you should go to Selfridges, use one of their personal shoppers. That way you could get some help, buy something different than you normally choose.’
Ellie started to howl with laughter again. Good grief. How bad had her dress sense become that a woman currently wearing a canary-yellow cardigan with a purple sparkly skirt was offering her fashion advice?
Jack was driving back from a meeting thinking about how Gavin would take being fired. Could go either way. Devious git was already rubbishing the agency at every opportunity. If it had been down to him, he would have got rid of him before the board meeting. Perhaps via a second-floor window.
Jack stopped for the lights. The weather was warming up and he wound down the window, enjoying the feel of the sun on his arm. He watched the people rushing by and caught a glimpse of a woman walking by the park. Lovely legs. She was wearing a skirt that did a nice little flip along the hemline every time she took a step. Pretty top from what he could see of it and quite spectacular hair. Bit like Ellie’s. The clothes all had a kind of French look. Perhaps she was French. The traffic edged forward. Jack continued to watch the woman as she swayed her hips, her skirt doing its little flip and her hair bouncing gently.
As the car drew level with her, Jack turned to see whether the view from the front was as appealing as the one from behind.
Damn. He had to slam the brakes on to avoid crashing. It was Ellie. Ellie not wearing jeans and a shirt. What was all that about? The last time he’d seen her look so hot was when she went off for that supposedly dirty weekend in Barcelona.
Jack watched her as far as the park entrance and then she disappeared from view. Why did she have to go through the park? Why couldn’t she have stayed walking down the road?
Jack turned his attention back to the traffic, but in his head he was still seeing those hips swaying hypnotically. Perhaps hinting that she should smarten up hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He could feel himself growing excited imagining getting hold of those hips and running his hands round … Jack swore softly as a cyclist veered in front of him. He needed to stop thinking about this, stop thinking of Ellie like that. Stop thinking of Ellie at all.
Even in her bag-lady phase it had been pretty difficult to stop himself from imagining her naked. How the hell had she done that to him? How had he careered from being irritated by her to this?
Time to nip it in the bud. This was getting too tricky, making him do unprofessional things. Like with that slime-ball Jubbitt Junior. If Mrs MacEndry hadn’t talked him out of it, he’d have sent that letter telling him where to stick his account. As it was, he could barely hold himself back from pinning the guy to the wall and shouting at him every time he thought of the little pervert touching Ellie’s thighs.
Jack shifted in his seat and cast a wry glance at his groin. Exactly what he needed when he walked through reception. Rachel never missed a trick. He’d have to be extra clever in the way he arranged his briefcase and jacket.
This was definitely not good. He might have turned into someone he didn’t quite recognise outside of work, but he wasn’t ready to start seducing his employees yet. Especially not when this particular employee had a hot brain to go with that body. The kind of brain that could get you to tell it things. Get you to open up and before you knew it, you were hooked.
Jack flicked on the indicator.
Getting hooked, caring about someone. That only led to one place.
He concentrated on negotiating the tricky entrance to the car park and nosed his car into the space reserved for him. Time to think about something else, something calming. Like sacking Gavin. Not about grabbing Ellie by the hips, sinking himself into her and making her hair bounce on her naked shoulders.
CHAPTER 16
Gavin put his face close to Jack’s. ‘You know what you are? You’re a complete Philistine.’
Jack surveyed him coolly. ‘Actually, I’m from Yorkshire. Similar, but we have a much better cricket team.’
‘Yeah, cricket and rugby,’ sneered Gavin, ‘and whippets and pigeon racing. That’s what passes for culture oop North, eh, Jack?’
Jack briefly considered decking Gavin. The idiot had seemed to take his sacking on the chin in front of the other directors – he’d had long enough to see it coming – but then he’d ambushed Jack as he was going out for lunch. He was spoiling for a fight. Well, as much as a designer-clad fashion-plate who didn’t like physical contact could spoil for a fight.
Now there was quite a little audience, which was presumably what Gavin wanted: a nice dramatic exit. His creative David against Jack’s soulless Northern Goliath.
‘Look, Gavin,’ Jack began, ‘I don’t know what point you’re trying to make here. You got a good deal. The board has been more than—’
‘Blah, blah, blah,’ shouted Gavin. ‘Listen to you with your facts and figures. You’re turning this agency into a sausage factory. Put good ideas in one end and they all come out the other end looking the same.’
Jack scowled, which was usually enough to send people scurrying, but Gavin seemed determined to have his time in the spotlight.
‘I’m going where people really appreciate creativity,’ he said loudly. ‘I’ll be there at the award ceremonies next year, up on the stage, and do you know what, Jack, I’m going to piss on you.’
‘I’ll look forward to that,’ Jack said.
Gavin was getting bolder and Jack sensed that he wanted to be hit. The stuck-up git had even taken off his Prada glasses and put them in his top pocket.
Gavin took a step towards Jack and gave him a hefty push. Jack, caught off guard, stumbled back and then stopped.
Grabbing hold of Gavin by the throat and shaking him until the buttons fell off his Paul Smith shirt was very tempting, but then Gavin would do him and the agency for assault. Better to weather the tantrum.
Gavin gave Jack another shove.
Jack stood his ground.
Gavin pushed Jack again and then clicked his fingers under his nose. ‘Not so macho now, then, Jack the lad, eh?’ Gavin spat out. ‘Do you know I’m really enjoying this, Jackie boy. I’ve got the upper hand. And do you know what I’m going to do with it?’
Before Jack had time to answer, Gavin had waved one of his hands around dramatically and then used it to give Jack another hearty push. Jack didn’t even flinch this time, but he was finding the temptation to lay Gavin out on the floor harder and harder to resist.
Ellie, watching from near the lifts, felt uneasy. Why couldn’t Gavin see
that this was the calm before the storm? Jack had lowered his head slightly, but more ominously he was standing as though he had moved all his weight forward. It reminded Ellie of the way her mum’s cat used to look when it had caught a mouse and was deciding whether to eat it or chase it some more.
Gavin carried on, seemingly unaware of the danger. ‘You know, Jack, I’m going to be delighted when you get kicked out of this agency. I will laugh myself sick when the scales fall from people’s eyes and they see you for the uneducated, domineering jerk you are.’
Suddenly Jack’s head snapped up and he said, ‘Finished,’ and Gavin said, ‘No,’ and Jack said, ‘It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact. You. Soft. Idiot.’
Gavin tutted contemptuously.
‘Right, Gavin,’ Jack said, folding his arms, ‘you’re going to pick up your box of toys and walk out that door right now without saying another word. You’ve had your little hissy fit, now sod off.’
Gavin played up to the audience and folded his arms too. ‘No,’ he said defiantly. He gave a little centre-stage smile. ‘What are you going to do about that, then, Jacko mate?’
Jack flashed Gavin a look that was all teeth and no smile. ‘First I’m going to strip us both naked. Then I’m going to fight it out with you here, man to man, like in the film Women in Love … You must have seen that, Gavin … cultured man like you.’
There were a couple of nervous giggles around the room, but then people realised Jack wasn’t laughing. His eyes were dark and glittering dangerously.
Ellie saw Gavin shift uneasily. Doubtless the script he was acting out had ended with Jack hitting him. Nowhere was there anything about nude wrestling. He gave a nervous-sounding laugh.
Jack put his head on one side. ‘Don’t believe me?’
Gavin stuck his chest out and tried to look unconcerned.
‘OK,’ Jack said, and slowly took off his jacket. He walked over and laid it on the reception desk. Then he returned to Gavin and started to roll up one of his shirt sleeves, folding the striped, crisp material over and over up to his elbow.
