Afternoon Tea at the Sunflower Café

by Milly Johnson

  Cheryl stared out of the window at the white bumps of snow-covered cars in the street. There was no let-up in the weather and the forecasters were now saying that it could go on for a week. At least she might have a few days respite from the phantom egg thrower.

  She thought of how beautiful Edith’s garden would look today – like a frozen fairyland. Was the old lady okay? Did she have enough food in? Was she warm enough? Cheryl picked her notebook out of her bag and found Edith’s number. She shouldn’t ring really, but she did.

  Lance answered.

  For an initial second, Cheryl was relieved that someone was there with the old lady. She wasn’t alone, she had someone on hand who would watch out for her. Then sense kicked in: this was Lance. This was the nephew she had been about to disinherit.

  ‘It’s Cheryl. The cleaner,’ she gulped. ‘I’m just ringing to see if Edith is okay in this weather.’

  ‘Thank you, she’s fine,’ came the clipped but polite reply.

  Cheryl very badly wanted to hear Edith’s voice. ‘Can I speak to her?’

  ‘She’s having a lie down. I’m happy to pass a message on for you.’

  Edith very rarely took naps during the day. She might have been ninety-three but she always fought against them, so she could sleep properly at night, she said.

  ‘She’s not ill, is she?’

  She heard Lance’s breath of impatience before he answered her. ‘Look, I’m sure you mean well but I’m here so she isn’t alone. Oh and whilst you’re on the phone, let me just say that there will be no need for your services this week as my aunt has a hospital appointment.’

  ‘I can reschedule,’ Cheryl answered quickly, which seemed to annoy Lance considerably. His voice dropped all politeness and acquired a nasty hiss. Cheryl had a sudden vision of him as a giant snake, coiled around the phone.

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, you annoying bitch. I’d appreciate you keeping your nose out of our business. Isn’t this slightly above and beyond the call of your duties? If you ring again, I’ll ensure my aunt sacks you and moves to another cleaning firm. Now piss off.’ And with that he put the phone down.

  His words hit Cheryl like a thump. She would be heartbroken if he persuaded Edith to sack her or fixed it so that she didn’t see the old lady again, and she had no doubt that he would carry out that threat if he had to. She shouldn’t have rung. But then again, she wouldn’t have been able to rest thinking that Edith might be alone. Lance might have given her an earful but it was worth it to know that her old friend had company. She was being overdramatic thinking that Lance might do her some harm and should chill out a bit. She’d been watching too many thrillers on the TV. Even Lance’s slimy presence was better than none, she decided, if it meant he would keep Edith safe.

  *

  Della’s call was answered by the familiar voice of Joyce, the manageress at Sunset Park.

  ‘Morning, it’s Della Frostick, Moira Frostick’s daughter. I won’t be able to get up there today to see Mum.’

  ‘Morning, Miss Frostick. Isn’t the weather terrible,’ replied Joyce. ‘I’m just glad I live on the premises. But don’t you worry, there’s no change. She was calling out for Gillian again quite a bit through the night.’

  She always calls for Gillian, said Della to herself. Never me.

  ‘She’s having her lunch at the table by the window, watching the snow come down. She’s very calm. I’ll tell her you rang.’

  Her eyes won’t even flicker, thought Della, putting the phone back down. She thinks Gillian is her daughter because she always wanted Gillian to be her daughter. Not Della. Not Della who grew in her belly like a poisoned seed and then emerged with the sole purpose of ruining her life.

  Chapter 32

  The snow didn’t stop falling until that night, then the rain started. Then the temperature plunged to Siberian-type numbers in the early hours of Monday morning and South Yorkshire was gripped by a plague of treacherous black ice. Even the council gritting lorries had some hairy moments on the roads. One skidded into a Barnsley footballer’s Ferrari, which would make the front cover of the Chronicle that week. No buses were running, nor taxis and everyone wished they had a pound for every time they heard the words quoted: ‘Well, in all my born days, I’ve never seen the weather as bad as this.’

  The cleaners knew they wouldn’t get paid for the work they had missed, which was doubling the attraction of taking the risk and working for Lady Muck, as much of an unknown quantity as she was. Now they had been introduced to a company that seemed to have workers’ interests more at heart, their discontent with their present situation started to bubble and foam.

  Jimmy was like a caged tiger at home. When the girls weren’t able to earn, it was as if he could visualise money slipping through his fingers and he hated that. And Ivanka was being very teasing on the phone and driving him half-mad with lust. He hadn’t had sex with her since they were in Spain and he was due a fix. He hoped she wouldn’t find out what he and Connie had done on Saturday night. He’d been so horny – and she’d been there and warm and willing and familiar. He knew he had used her and he felt slightly bad for that. Oh, the irony – that he had been unfaithful to his mistress with his wife. It was all so screwed up.

  Connie had been due at the bank on Tuesday morning to open up an account in the name of Lady Muck but had rescheduled it for Thursday out of earshot of Jimmy. She was as frustrated by the weather as he was. She had limited time to implement her plan and didn’t want to let any of her customers down by not turning up to clean. More snow came down in the afternoon, soft white flakes of innocence that everyone was sick of the sight of now.

  It was with joyous relief, then, that on Tuesday night the temperatures rose, a melting rain fell all night and all that was left of the snow and ice were a few stubborn hillocks of white on the pavements. It was business as usual on Wednesday, thank God. Jimmy hoped that Ivanka had thawed as well and got that stupid Lent business out of her head. He would take her to that posh French place in Wakefield after work for an early dinner which might loosen her knicker elastic.

  Connie watched her husband shoot off towards his car like a cheetah on performance-enhancing drugs. Being trapped at home with him for so long had aptly demonstrated how much her marriage was dead in the water. His body had been grumping around the house but his head had been with his mistress, she knew that. And yes, it hurt that she might as well have been invisible for all the notice he took of her, apart from Saturday night, when a blow-up doll would have served the same purpose.

  At least with her not even showing up as a blip on his radar, it had given her the opportunity to do some research on her laptop on the kitchen table whilst she was cooped up in the house. She read stories of how businesses had sabotaged their competitors and realised how many evil – yet inventive – people there were out there. Releasing bags of mice and cockroaches in rival restaurants, making fake bookings, computer hacking . . . there were lots of stories to rake over. There were some tactics that she wouldn’t have sunk to in a million years, but a little computer hacking was well within the remits. In the secret A4 file which Della had given her she found the access information for the Diamond Shine website, which Jimmy thought only he had.

  Jimmy presumed his wife was playing Candy Crush on her laptop, which was understandable, as she did drop the odd exclamation about how evil chocolate was as she made a little secret tweak here and there to his company website.

  Chapter 33

  Connie hadn’t needed to do an assessment on Mr Savant’s house. He had requested a three-hour clean once a week which, he said, was the adequate arrangement he had with his last firm. He sounded like a man with exacting standards who knew what he wanted.

  From the outside, his house Crow Edge was an imposing, tall, gothic revival building with its arched windows and steeply pitched roof. It reminded Connie of a creepy gingerbread house. Mr Savant fitted the house perfectly, with his long pale face and smart black attire, but he was scrupulously poli
te as he herded Connie quickly into the warmth of his house and out of the cold.

  Connie found herself in a huge square hallway with a heavily carved magnificent staircase winding upwards to the next floor. Tapestries and old portraits hung on the red-painted walls and there was even a suit of armour standing to attention in the corner. The furniture was ornate, baroque in style with deep rich colours. Connie thought it was beautiful, even if it did remind her of a set on a Hammer Horror film. She could see why some of the girls had imagined it could be haunted.

  Music was playing, an orchestra with a string-heavy base and a man’s voice talking. Connie was knowledgeable about classical music but she couldn’t place this. Mr Savant must have sensed the workings in her brain because he offered the title.

  ‘Pygmalion.’

  ‘Oh. I haven’t heard of that one.’

  ‘Better seen than listened to, as two of the characters have silent roles,’ Mr Savant smiled. ‘But I have seen it so many times that I can imagine it all. Anyway, let me not waste any more of your precious time. Once I begin to talk about opera, I’m afraid you’ll not be able to stop me. Please come through to the sitting room.’

  The room echoed the style of the hallway, with dark oak panels and two huge wooden bookcases filled with hardback books, and Connie presumed, rightly, that the grandeur would be repeated throughout the house. The music was coming from a vintage gramophone with a highly polished horn on a table in the corner.

  ‘This room will only need minimal attention. Never use a mop on this floor,’ Mr Savant warned. ‘Only a floor duster. I don’t want the oak boards to warp.’

  Connie made a note in the small pad she had taken out of her bag. She followed Mr Savant from room to room recording his instructions, noting how very tidy and clean everything was. She couldn’t understand why none of the Diamond Shine girls wanted this job because it would be far easier than some of the houses she knew they must have to do. And Mr Savant was quiet and looked every inch the caricature of a retired undertaker, but he was very courteous. He invited Connie to make herself a cup of tea if she ever wanted one and to help herself to ‘anything she desired from the refrigerator’. Connie thanked him but said she preferred to just get on and clean.

  She started upstairs. As with Brandon Locke’s house, only one of the bedrooms seemed to be occupied but she had three hours to fill so she vacuumed and dusted all of the bedrooms then started on the bathroom, putting out fresh towels and mopping a floor that was shining already. She vacuumed the staircase and polished the beautiful dark wooden rail until it shone. Next she wiped down the surfaces of the kitchen and the fronts of the units. She opened the fridge door to get right into the grooves of the seal and was surprised at the stocks of food inside. On the lower shelves were vegetables, butter, milk – standard ‘fridge fare’ but the top two shelves were crammed full of cakes: éclairs, meringues, scones oozing clotted cream. There was a fat Victoria Sponge and a cheesecake covered in crushed chocolate. Connie averted her eyes as she wiped.

  Pygmalion was starting to grate on her by the time her hours were up. There was no singing, just music and that man’s voice talking, informing the audience in whatever tongue he was speaking how he had fallen in love with a statue he had created and was begging the Gods to make her come to life and return his affection.

  Mr Savant paid Connie cash and she left wondering how anyone could think that the warm beautiful house might be haunted. She didn’t believe in ghosts. She wanted to but if there had been such things, her mother would have been in contact by now, as she had assured her she would. ‘When I’ve gone, I’ll let you know I’ve found him,’ she said. ‘I’ll find a way, I promise.’ But she never had.

  Chapter 34

  There was a delegation of cleaners led by Hilda waiting for Della when she came back from her lunch break. Oh goody, she thought, because she knew what this would be about, but she tried to look serious and impatient.

  ‘Have you got five minutes, Della?’ Hilda asked. ‘We’ve got summat to say.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ replied Della with a weary sigh, as if expecting trouble. She took off her coat and hung it up, aware that Ivanka might have slunk into the kitchen out of the way but would be listening to every word.

  ‘ We think it’s time Jimmy gave us a pay rise,’ began Hilda, sitting down in the chair at the other side of Della’s desk, the others spread behind her like a peacock’s fantail.

  ‘Good luck with that one,’ huffed Della.

  ‘Some firms out there are paying two pounds an hour above minimum wage.’

  ‘And giving bonuses,’ added Wenda.

  ‘And another thing, that Des’s Warehouse stuff is crap. I’ve got more disinfectant in my bleeding spit than there is in that “Bugzoff”. It couldn’t kill a bloody germ with a rocket launcher at point blank range.’

  ‘Well, I can only ask Jimmy for you,’ replied Della. ‘I can’t sanction anything, personally.’

  ‘ Ve haven’t had a pay rise in a long time,’ replied Astrid, towering over everyone at the back.

  ‘Like I said, I can only put what you tell me to Jimmy.’

  ‘When will he be back? Shall we wait?’ asked Hilda.

  ‘He’s out all day at a sales conference, so there’s not really much point,’ Della said, knowing that there was no such conference because she had rung up and checked, so God only knew where he was, but she would bet her life that Ivanka would ask for an extended lunch break so she could meet up with him. ‘I promise you, I’ll tell him what you’ve told me.’

  ‘We’ve got a list of demands,’ said Hilda firmly, sounding like someone out of Die Hard. She slapped a folded sheet of A4 paper down on the desk. ‘Tell him from us that we’re not happy, Della. If he doesn’t want a mass walk-out, then he needs to do a bit of thinking and digging in his pocket. We don’t want to leave Jimmy in the lurch so we’re asking for some compromising.’

  Jeez, who’d have thought that the girls had so much loyalty for Jimmy. At this moment they had far more of it than she had, thought Della.

  ‘I said I’d tell him and I will.’

  The Diamond Shine girls might have been on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into Lady Muck’s safety blanket waiting below; but they were clinging on to it with all their might, it seemed.

  ‘Oh, and we’ve lost two days’ work. What are the chances of some compensation?’ Wenda shouted aggressively over Hilda’s shoulder.

  ‘I think you know the answer to that one already,’ said Della.

  ‘Aye, thought as much,’ grumbled Hilda, rising abruptly to her feet. ‘Come on, girls. We’ve done what we came to do.’

  The six women trailed out of the door, shutting it behind them. ‘And a fat lot of bleedin’ good it’ll have done.’ Wenda’s voice rang out deliberately loud enough to be heard.

  Ivanka came out of the kitchen and walked over to the coat stand. She was shaking her head and tutting like Skippy the kangaroo.

  ‘They are not really knowing how much jam they have on their teacakes, are they?’

  ‘You sound like Jimmy,’ Della laughed – she couldn’t resist pointing it out to see if Ivanka reacted. But Ivanka was a cool customer, she merely shrugged her shoulders once.

  ‘I hear it from him so much in the office, I must have picked it up. Okay, now I go for lunch. I am very hungry. Ees it okay if I take extra half-hour? My cousin is over for short break from Krakow. He will have news of my parents.’

  ‘Take two. You go and treat yourself to a nice roll.’ Della smiled sweetly. The smile dropped as soon as Ivanka made her exit. Della sat back in her chair and puffed out her cheeks. How far was all this going to go, she asked herself. What was next?

  She found the answer to that one within the next ten minutes, when she made a cursory trip to the Diamond Shine website.

  Chapter 35

  A woman wearing a wedding ring answered Brandon Locke’s door. A tall, slim woman with long dark hair, wearing a beautifully tailored blue coat and
a puzzled, disdainful expression at finding another female on the doorstep who was obviously awaiting admittance.

  ‘I’m the cleaner,’ Connie explained, as if it wasn’t entirely clear why she was standing there with a mop and bucket in her hand. Then again, she supposed, she could have been a very fastidious burglar who liked to tidy up after herself.

  The woman swept her eyes once over Connie then called over her shoulder.

  ‘Brandon. You’ve got company.’

  She left Connie standing outside until Brandon came.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, I was on the phone. Do come in, Marilyn. Here, let me help you.’

  He insisted on taking the bucket from her as Connie walked into the chocolate-scented hallway. There was so much cocoa in the air that Connie could feel it sticking to the insides of her lungs. Every breath she took was probably fifty calories. Once upon a time she would have been in heaven at the thought. Now, it just made her want to block off her nasal receptors.

  ‘Bran, I’m going. I’ll leave you to it. And remember what I said, give yourself a break.’ The woman claimed his attention as she leaned forwards and kissed him on the cheek; very near to his mouth, too. Then she breezed past Connie as if she were non-existent.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Brandon after he had closed the door on her. ‘Helena. The ex-wife. Comes around to lecture me occasionally.’ He dropped a sigh, which hinted that he wasn’t altogether pleased that she did so.

  They must have made a striking couple once with their good looks and beautiful flowing hair, thought Connie, although her first impressions of Helena’s other attributes weren’t that favourable.