Cheryl’s whole body ached with flu-like stiffness. She felt as if tears had been dragged from every part of her body and dried her out until she was so brittle she could have snapped and shattered into small pieces. The weekend had been a torturous long one in which everything around her was flavoured with Gary. Even when she put on the TV, it was to find the opening scene of The A Team – his favourite film. She drank a full bottle of wine on the Friday evening to try and numb her, but it had the opposite effect. She was sick through the night and Gary appeared to her in technicolour dreams, soothing her brow, promising that he would go downstairs and fetch a glass of water for her and a couple of paracetamol – but he never came.
Usually on Sundays, Cheryl did her laundry, but today she sat huddled in her dressing gown on the sofa and watched the hands of the clock crawl forwards. Instead of a cosy home-made Sunday lunch with Gary, she ate half of a Pot Noodle and let depression squeeze her until she felt ill.
She was glad when Monday came and she had to get up and go off to work, even if it was to a new client that wasn’t one of her favourites. Six months ago her first call of the week had been to two wonderful old gentlemen, brothers Maurice and Wensley Herbert, and their ancient Pekinese, Gerald. But Wensley died just before Christmas, then Gerald had to be put down and after that Maurice lost the will to live. Cheryl was convinced he had died of a broken heart. He had left Cheryl a very sweet note thanking her for looking after them all, which made her think that he had run to death with his arms outstretched in welcome. Monday mornings were a lot less bright for not seeing the Herberts. This one was especially dull and as she left the house to catch the bus, the weather reflected her mood perfectly: cold and miserable and full of dark clouds.
There was no one in the client’s house and the central heating had been turned off, so it was freezing and there wasn’t any hot water either. She earned every penny of her money at this place as it was little better than a pigsty every week and she always wondered how a single person could make such a mess. She rolled up her sleeves, put on her Marigolds and got out her Fillit Bong, but cleaning in that empty house gave her too much time to think and Gary took over her whole head.
She made a ridiculous promise to herself that if she hadn’t heard from him by half-past ten then she would give him a quick call. She knew she shouldn’t, but she also knew that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself because her resolve was at a low ebb. At ten-thirty exactly she got out her mobile and pressed speed-dial number one.
Her mouth was watering with nervous anxiety as the dialling tone burred. She should ring off, but what would it matter because even if he didn’t answer, he would see that he had missed a call from her. With a sinking heart she heard his chirpy-as-ever voicemail kick in, asking the caller to leave a message. She listened to the end, drinking him in and then clicked off before the beep. She wanted to speak to him so much, she had to. Maybe his phone was on silent. She’d try his mum’s house. She brought up her contact list. Ann Gladstone – Gary’s mother – was the first name she came to. Cheryl pressed the small telephone icon and the call was answered almost immediately.
‘Hell-ow and who’s calling?’ Ann answered in her familiar, friendly voice.
‘Hello Ann, it’s Cheryl.’
There was a pause. ‘Oh, it’s you is it?’ There was no warmth at all in Ann’s words and Cheryl was hurt by her tone. Ann had always been so welcoming to her. Cheryl supposed now that loyalties of blood had been called upon, she was out in the cold.
‘I . . . I just wondered if Gary was there.’
‘No, he isn’t,’ came the blunt response.
‘Oh. Is he doing okay?’ Cheryl asked, feeling an ache in her eyes as though tears were threatening.
‘Huh. Apart from the fact that you chucked him out of his home, yes,’ snapped Ann.
Cheryl’s mouth opened in a half-gasp. That wasn’t really fair. She wondered how much Gary had told his mother.
‘Ann, it wasn’t as simple as that . . .’
‘Look, it’s none of my business. I don’t want to get involved,’ clipped Ann, even though it sounded as if she was very much involved.
‘He’s all right, though?’
Ann huffed. ‘Well if you mean by “all right” that he hasn’t slashed his wrists then yes, he’s “all right”. Sorry if that disappoints you.’
Cheryl quickly protested. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Fancy ringing up to check on the effect you’re having on him!’ Ann’s usually quiet voice rose in volume. ‘Well know this, lady, he’s more than all right, he’s well rid. Don’t ring this house again and embarrass yourself.’
She was still chuntering to herself about the cheek of it all when she disconnected the call, leaving Cheryl in a pool of tears that she thought would never dry up. She wished she hadn’t rung. Now she would be waiting all day for him to ring her back. And if he didn’t return her call it would really hurt.
Chapter 14
Della walked into the office and though everything looked the same as she had left it on Thursday when she’d shut the door intending never to return, it felt very different now. All the furniture was in the same position, the carpet was the same colour, the light was the same wattage, but the ambience had been stripped and replaced with one that fizzed and spat and felt like a living entity. There were no messages on the answer machine, no one would ever have known that the office was unmanned on Friday. She could have gone to Whitby after all, which was another reason to snarl in the general direction of Jimmy Diamond and Ivanka.
She so wanted to just carry on, business as normal at Diamond Shine, putting her heart and soul into finding new cleaners and matching them up with clients for Jimmy, pretending that the last few days hadn’t happened, but the knowledge that she was being betrayed by two people in the world of whom she was most fond could not be unknown.
It felt as if the whole weekend had been taken up with brain activity about the situation and the more she thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded. She had gone into work that morning having decided that the best way forward would be to ring Connie and tell her that she had made a mistake in saying she would join forces with her. She needed to speak to Connie anyway because she still had the envelope of receipts which needed to be put back in Jimmy’s drawer. She presumed that Connie had calmed down too. They’d had their tantrum, and in the cold light of day had put their temporary angry insanity to bed.
Now Della was armed with the knowledge of Jimmy’s relationship with Ivanka, she would be able to watch out, take notes, engineer events to give her ammunition should she have to take him to court for constructive dismissal. That path would be so much easier to tread. She was about to pick up the phone and punch in Connie’s number, but it rang before her hand touched the buttons. Pookie’s PA, Paula was on the end of the line. Or Princess Paula, as Della thought of her. She suspected Paula had been knocking Pookie off for years behind his wife’s back and was full of her own importance because of it. She batted away the irony that she understood that mindset a little too well.
‘Hi. Can you put me through to Jimmy? I’ve got Pookie on the line for him,’ Paula said in her faux-plummy voice.
‘He’s not in until tomorrow,’ Della replied. At least that’s what Jimmy had told her, but she couldn’t rely on anything that came out of his mouth, it seemed.
‘Oh. Er . . . Pookie had to return early from his golfing weekend. Jimmy said he might do the same. Oh well, never mind then. Pookie, no doubt, will be in touch tomorrow.’
Della chose her next words carefully and tried not to let them sound like a snarl.
‘You can’t keep Jimmy off a golf course once he’s on there. Hope they’ve had a nice time.’
‘Sounds like they did. Pookie arrived a bit late but he got there in the end so whatever you do, don’t drop him in it and say that he popped by your office.’ Paula laughed, but it was too jolly and clearly fake. ‘Thanks anyway,’ she said.
‘Pleasure,
’ said Della dryly as she slowly replaced the phone upon the receiver. Pookie must have been cacking his pants all weekend thinking that he had dropped Jimmy in the dung. So it wasn’t just Jimmy, Ivanka and Pookie who thought she was an idiot, it appeared that Paula was privy to Jimmy’s deception as well. Something dark and nasty started to swirl inside her, then it rose up and swallowed any ideas she’d had about pulling out of Connie’s plans.
Della settled into her seat. The first job of the day was to sack Ruth Fallis. Someone was going to bear the brunt of her annoyance this morning; it might as well be that thieving old bag.
*
Gary hadn’t rung by the end of Cheryl’s shift. She sat on the bus and tried to imagine what the conversation between Gary and his mother would be. How much of a twist would Ann put on what had passed between them earlier? Would she say that Cheryl had phoned her to make sure Gary hadn’t been missing her so much that he had decided to hang himself? Thinking back, Ann had been deliciously scathing to Cheryl about Gary’s ex, weighting her with the qualities of a she-devil. Maybe it was her turn now to be the evil one. The thought of the once-friendly Ann, who always gave her a hug when she saw her, turning against her and slagging her off gave her a physical pain in her gut.
Cheryl shifted her attention to the view through the window so that no one would see her eyes filling up. Was this all life had intended for her? To live by herself in a tiny little rented house cleaning other people’s bogs? It was a terrifying thing to be given a peep into a future that appeared to have no hope in it.
*
The phone call to Ruth Fallis wasn’t a pleasant one. Della could usually deal with the Ruth Fallises of the world all day every day, but there was something about the woman that made her want not to be professional but to squash her like a fly. Stealing from old ladies was deplorable and wouldn’t be tolerated. The call stretched Della’s patience to the limit, especially when Ruth’s argument sank to the depths of a lot of swearing and slagging off everyone and everything to do with Diamond Shine. Ruth was always more comfortable arguing on a fish-wife level though and couldn’t deal with Della’s controlled and non-negotiable half of the conversation. She ended up telling Della to ‘piss off, you frozen-faced bitch’ and slammed down the phone. It was water off a duck’s back to Della, who was relieved she had an excuse to get rid of the woman.
Ruth didn’t need the money; Jock Fallis wasn’t without a bob or two, in fact the only reason that Della could think of why Ruth worked at all for the pittance Diamond Shine paid was to sniff out possible leads for Jock to pursue, and obviously to line her own pocket when she thought she could get away with it. Della had just replaced the handset on the receiver when there was a courtesy knock on the door and in walked Connie with the envelope of evidence which Della had left with her on Friday.
Connie was wearing a bulky blue swing coat which made her look like Demis Roussos on steroids. The woman knew nothing about style, thought Della, and then realised, to her own surprise, that the thought was more sympathetic than scathing. Connie’s cheeks seemed to have sunk since Friday and paled by five shades.
‘I brought you these back,’ said Connie, handing over the receipts.
‘Thanks,’ said Della, waiting for Connie to carry on speaking: Let’s just forget this, shall we. I’ll pretend you didn’t say anything and you can pretend I was never here. But she didn’t. Instead she peeped into Jimmy’s office and the kitchen and stood in front of Ivanka’s desk, staring at the empty chair as if trying to visualise the girl sitting there.
‘I haven’t been here since he moved into the place,’ said Connie, looking around at Jimmy’s Kingdom. ‘I thought it was much smaller.’
‘He had the kitchen wall moved to make this part of the office bigger,’ Della answered. ‘And had the windows enlarged.’
‘New windows?’ asked Connie.
‘Yes.’
Connie gave a small humourless laugh.
Then the phone rang and Della recognised the number on the caller display.
‘It’s Ivanka,’ she said.
‘Pick it up,’ said Connie, sitting down on the seat at the other side of Della’s desk.
Della placed her finger up against her lips, warning Connie to be quiet, then pressed the speaker-phone button.
‘Hello Ivanka, my dear,’ began Della, sounding very un-Della like in the syrupy tones of sympathetic warmth. ‘How are you?’
Cough, cough, sniff. ‘I am much better, thank you, Della.’ Sniff. ‘I will be in work tomorrow.’
‘Don’t you rush back if you are still poorly,’ said Della, looking directly at Connie, who was hearing the voice of her husband’s mistress for the first time. ‘I would rather you stayed off until you are fully recovered.’
‘I am sure I will be fine tomorrow,’ sniff, cough. ‘I have had plenty of time in bed over weekend.’
I bet you have, mouthed Connie at Della.
‘Well, if you are sure. You take care and rest today.’
Sniff, cough, sniff. ‘Thank you, I will.’
And the line went dead.
‘She sounds so young,’ said Connie.
‘She is. But not up here,’ said Della, tapping her temple with her finger. ‘Have you heard from Jimmy?’
‘No,’ replied Connie. ‘He never rings when he’s away “on business”.’ She gave the words a hefty weight.
‘You could ring him on the mobile you now know he has,’ said Della.
‘I’ve been very tempted to do that this weekend,’ replied Connie.
‘He’ll be bringing you some chocolates,’ Della said. ‘They’re from a shop in Hampshire called Simone le Bon. They’re being delivered here this afternoon. Very expensive rose creams – your favourite, I do believe.’
Connie felt something in her stomach rise up and not in a pleasant way at the thought of one of those chocolates passing her lips.
‘I shan’t be eating them,’ replied Connie, her mood visibly dropping now. Della could see her shoulders slump and heard the sigh leave her and prepared herself for what Connie had to say, that she was going to roll over and let Jimmy kick her. She was such a different creature to the one Della had fashioned of her over the years. Not that Della wanted to feel anything for her that wasn’t on a purely business level. She had to keep in her sights that Connie had information about her now that she could use against her with Jimmy. They were as dangerous as each other to each other.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ asked Della.
‘No thanks,’ replied Connie. ‘I’ve got things I need to do today.’ Della saw her throat rise and drop with a gulp before she continued. ‘Have you had any more thoughts over the weekend?’
‘I’ve done nothing but have thoughts over the weekend,’ huffed Della.
‘I’ll be honest,’ said Connie. ‘I expected you to have changed your mind.’ Della opened her mouth to speak but Connie wouldn’t let her. ‘If you have, I won’t blame you. And I won’t say anything, you can rely on me for that.’
Della doubted it, but she didn’t contradict her on it.
‘I changed mine,’ Connie went on.
I knew it, thought Della. So, to plan B then. Proceed to collecting evidence against possible future constructive dismissal court case.
‘. . . but only for a minute. There is no way back for me,’ Connie said with a steely determination in her voice that seemed out of place for the sad-looking, frumpy, soft woman sitting across from Della. ‘I’ve secured the base in Maltstone and I’m just off to the retail park in Batley to buy office equipment.’
‘Really?’ said Della.
‘So please pretend we never had a meeting—’
‘Whoa there, I’m still in,’ blurted Della. ‘There’s no way back for me either.’
‘Wow,’ said Connie, with delighted surprise in her voice. ‘Well, I’m glad.’
‘Today I’ll get you a list of all the women waiting for an interview and all the ones we already employ. Jimmy has some good work
ers on his books. I happen to know that a few of them would respond very well to the carrot-dangle of a pay increase if you were considering poaching a few from us. Off the top of my head: Cheryl, Astrid, Hilda, Gemma, Val, Ava, Wenda Marie and Sandra are his best. I’ll round up all the companies who I think might be possible future customers and those who have approached us – you can contact them with a lower quote. I’ll drop off the information by the end of the day. You’ll have as much as I can give you to blast Diamond Shine to kingdom come if you work at it from the outside.’
‘And you work at it from the inside,’ added Connie.
‘Precisely.’
‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’ Connie unzipped her cavernous handbag and started rooting around in it until she had found the mobile phone. ‘This is for you. I’ve put in the number of my new mobile next to our company name.’
Della raised an impressed duet of eyebrows.
‘New company name? You’ve thought of one then. So what are we going to be called?’ asked Della.
Connie allowed herself a wry smile as she answered, ‘Lady Muck.’
Chapter 15
Connie had a wonderful day wandering around Staples and Ikea and filled up her car with everything the small office might need, from a desk to a waste paper bin and everything in between. She had also ordered a sign to be placed next to the door of the office in Maltstone: F. U. J. Financial Holdings. It was anonymous enough, if a little tongue in cheek.
Connie called into the estate agency, paid the bond and the advance rent and Tom Stamp handed over the key. The owner was apparently happy to let her move in immediately. So a delighted Connie drove over to Maltstone, parked up on Wheatfield Lane and tugged all the contents of her shopping haul up the stairs.
Armed with a small toolbox and the allen keys supplied in the Ikea boxes, Connie set about erecting her new desk. Connie’s father had never been on the scene when she was growing up so her mother had acted both parental roles and been the one who mended plugs, put up pictures and fixed the leaky taps because workmen cost money that they didn’t have. Connie had put her first set of shelves up in her bedroom before her fifteenth birthday.
Afternoon Tea at the Sunflower Café Page 7
