Afternoon Tea at the Sunflower Café

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Is it our anniversary or something?’ he said, pulling the scent of onion-packed gravy into his nostrils.

  ‘I’d be having words if it was and you’d missed it,’ trilled Connie. ‘No, I just thought I’d cook something you enjoy. It’s nice to have you home early for a change so we can eat together.’

  ‘Not much on your plate,’ replied Jimmy, pointing to the small portion in front of her.

  ‘I had a cheese sandwich earlier on,’ she fibbed. ‘Shall I push the boat out and open a bottle of wine?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And don’t give me one of those little glasses, I could do with a nice big one today.’ He rubbed the back of his neck which was stiff with tension. When he went back to the spa in the gym for another spray-tan, he’d book in for a de-stress massage as well, he decided.

  They didn’t usually talk much when they ate together, which was rare anyway these days, so it was hard for Connie to make their exchange appear as if it wasn’t staged. Jimmy played right into her hands by introducing the subject of Roy Frog to her just as she was wondering how on earth she could bend the conversation around to where she wanted it to go. A wispy picture of Brandon’s smiling face passed through her brain as she poured chocolate sauce over the freshly griddled pancakes she had made for dessert.

  ‘I’m definitely going to buy Cleancheap,’ Jimmy said. ‘We can’t afford it, but I can’t afford anyone else to have it either. Not that anyone else would want it.’

  ‘Really?’ said Connie.

  ‘I’d have a monopoly if I owned Cleancheap now that Dreamclean’s gone down the Swanee.’

  ‘When did it go up for sale?’ Connie asked, appearing intensely interested.

  ‘It hasn’t yet. Don’t you worry, Roy Frog will be ringing me as soon as he’s finally decided that he has nowhere else to go. He’s been hanging on hoping for a miracle and trying a few dirty tricks, but the clock is ticking and I’m ready and waiting for his call.’ Jimmy rubbed his hands together with glee.

  ‘Dirty tricks? What sort of dirty tricks?’ Connie topped up Jimmy’s glass.

  ‘He got his son to hack into my website and alter all the wording, little twat.’

  Connie couldn’t resist asking, ‘Are you sure it was him?’

  ‘Without a shadow of a doubt. Who else would do that?’

  Connie nodded, trying to keep her face straight. ‘You’re right. Who could be bothered but a competitor. They don’t sound very reputable.’

  ‘They’re totally shit.’ Jimmy spooned in a huge mouthful of pancake and talked through it. ‘And he hates me. I can’t wait to buy him out and sit in his chair.’

  ‘There’s no one else interested, you say?’ asked Connie, pretending she was thinking hard on this point.

  ‘Nope. Just me.’

  ‘Didn’t you confront him about the website?’

  ‘No . . .’

  ‘So he thinks he’s got away with trying to ridicule you. He must be laughing up his sleeve.’ Connie humphed.

  ‘Yeah, but as soon as he rings I have every intention of grinding his face in the mud.’

  ‘What, you’re going to meet him the moment as he snaps his fingers? Huh. He’ll think you’re a puppet on a string.’ Connie poured more chocolate over the remaining pancakes on Jimmy’s plate. ‘He’s an arrogant git, isn’t he? He might as well say, “Okay, I’m ready now for you to buy my business after I’ve tried and failed to nobble yours.”’

  ‘Ah, but I’ll negotiate hard.’

  ‘I’d tell Della not to put any of his calls through for at least a month. Make him sweat. Seems to me that you need to give him a clear message who has the power here.’

  Power was a magic word to Jimmy. The mention of power and the taste of chocolate pancakes were a very effective combination.

  She knew her message had hit home because he stopped chewing and had a faraway look in his eye as he no doubt imagined Roy Frog grovelling across the office carpet towards his desk, begging for forgiveness.

  ‘You can afford to eke out negotiations if no one else is interested in buying Cleancheap but you. What have you always said when doing business, Jimmy – that you have to be prepared to walk away and convince them you really are walking away? Roy Frog knows you’ll buy it from him in the end, so you have to try extra hard in making him believe that you won’t. Imagine the total panic he’d feel if he thought you weren’t playing a game and really did have no interest in Cleancheap. Now that really is teaching someone a lesson.’

  ‘God, you’re right, Con,’ Jimmy said slowly, turning what she had said over in his mind. ‘He does know I’m definitely going to buy.’

  ‘And the longer you leave it, the less you’ll have to pay him. Can you remember Smartie Hayes trying to sell you that bankrupt stock of mop buckets when we were up Ketherwood Road and making out as if he was doing us the world’s biggest favour? I ended up buying those buckets for a quarter of what he was originally asking. If I’d hung on a bit longer, I think he’d have paid me for taking them off his hands.’

  Thank God for that memory which had just made a welcome and perfectly timed appearance in her head.

  ‘Yes, yes, I do,’ Jimmy said, a smug smile creeping across his lips. He grabbed his phone and made a diary note to tell Della and Ivanka that if Roy Frog rang, to say that he was playing golf. He would decide when to open negotiations, not Roy. As Connie so astutely put it, he’d show Roy Frog who really had the power.

  Chapter 60

  Connie received a text from Della the next morning. There were no words, just a thumbs-up icon. She laughed. This whole situation was far too serious to be described as ‘fun’ but just for that moment, that’s what it felt like.

  She arrived at the abandoned office on Lamb Street where she and Cheryl had been booked to do a one-off three-hour bomb. Connie pulled up at the side of the dripping wet young woman with the thin coat on and no hood. Cheryl’s blonde hair was dark with rain and she was shivering, but that didn’t stop her giving Connie a big warm smile of greeting.

  ‘You must be Cheryl. I’m Marilyn. I’m not late, am I?’ Connie said, looking at her watch.

  ‘Hi Marilyn. No, I’m early. The next bus wouldn’t have arrived for another twenty minutes and I hate being late. I’ll be glad when I can afford a car.’ It was madness that she wasn’t spending the money Mr Herbert left her on a runaround for work and she wished that annoying voice telling her to keep the money in the bank would shut up.

  ‘Must be hard travelling everywhere on the bus,’ said Connie, putting a key in the door lock. ‘Come on, let’s get inside out of this weather.’

  ‘I’ve only been doing that for a month,’ said Cheryl. ‘I used to borrow my partner’s car but we split up and he took it.’ Even though I paid half towards it and all of the joint car insurance, Cheryl added to herself.

  ‘Oh by the way, Lady Muck says welcome to the team and if you’ve any concerns tell me and I’ll pass them on to her,’ said Connie.

  ‘She sounded nice on the phone. Well-spoken,’ said Cheryl, peeling off her coat. ‘And Astrid, that’s my friend who told me to ring her, says that she’s had a good start and picked up favourable vibes. She prides herself on her vibes.’ She chuckled. ‘So what’s Lady Muck’s real name?’

  ‘I don’t know, we all just call her Lady Muck,’ said Connie, hoping that would stop any further questions on the subject. ‘But it doesn’t matter; she’s good to work for. Fair.’

  ‘Well, I hope I’m as happy working for her as you seem to be.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you fancy going it alone?’ asked Connie.

  ‘I’d rather not. I like it when I’m paired up with the other girls to do two- and three-person jobs, plus you’ve got some support from an agency when things go wrong.’ Then Cheryl realised what she had said and gave a dry sarcastic laugh.

  ‘Worked as a cleaner long?’ asked Connie.

  ‘Ever since I left school. I’m not moaning though. I love making things sparkle and shine. I just wi
sh I could earn a decent living at it. I’m not greedy; a nice house, a little car less than five years old and a job that lets me pay all my bills and have a bit of spare is all I ask.’

  Connie had known the woman for two minutes and already she knew she would grow fond of Cheryl very quickly. She reminded her of Jane; someone who never stood out in a crowd, but should have done. Kind, sweet, not that confident and who deserved more luck than she had in life.

  Cheryl looked around her. ‘You can really get stuck into somewhere like this. I always enjoy it when I’m sent to do a bomb with someone.’

  Connie started picking up some sheets of A4 that were littered over the floor.

  ‘What made you leave your last place?’ she asked.

  Cheryl shrugged her shoulders. ‘I fancied a change.’ She didn’t want to tell Marilyn the real reason in case she relayed back to Lady Muck that she was a trouble-maker and that would be the end of this job.

  ‘Wasn’t anything to do with the touchy-feely man then?’ asked Connie. ‘Astrid said she’d sorted him out for you.’

  ‘Oh, you heard about him. Astrid lost her job because of it,’ said Cheryl. ‘I felt awful about that.’

  ‘Lady Muck thought it was hilarious,’ smiled Connie. ‘She wouldn’t stand for any of her girls having to put up with stuff like that. Astrid’s account of what she did was very funny though, I have to say.’

  ‘Aw, she’s great,’ said Cheryl. ‘I’m glad she found work straightaway. We were both with Diamond Shine a long time. I know she feels as let down as I did that they weren’t more supportive of us when we needed them to be. If I’m honest, Marilyn, I didn’t fancy a change at all. The company took the word of someone against me and poof, I was gone.’

  Oh you are so useless at keeping your mouth shut, she reprimanded herself.

  ‘Have your clients come with you?’ asked Connie, though she was just making conversation. She knew the answer to that already, since Cheryl had told her other persona Lady Muck that they had.

  ‘Well, my lovely Miss Molloy, Miss Potter and Mr Fairbanks have. Mrs Hopkinson hasn’t, but I’m not that bothered, I couldn’t gel with her like I did the others. You get so attached to some people in this job. One of my ladies died recently . . .’ She waved her hand frenetically indicating that she couldn’t talk about it any more because she was getting upset and so Connie didn’t question her. Like Cheryl she got stuck into the job and let her mind empty as she scrubbed.

  Chapter 61

  ‘So what are the advantages for me now that you’re working for a new boss then, Cheryl?’ asked her Friday morning Mr Fairbanks.

  ‘Absolutely none for you, Mr Fairbanks, but you still get the same sparkling service. The advantages are all mine,’ Cheryl smiled, bringing a cup of black coffee over to him. He always had a drink and two dark chocolate Digestives at eleven as he took a break from writing his book, Yorkshire – Its Influence and Its Artists, and watched the local news on the TV. She was so glad Mr Fairbanks had insisted that if she was moving to another firm, then he wanted her to continue being his weekly cleaner. He was very clever, very learned and a proper old-fashioned gentleman. He had been widowed ten years previously but kept himself always busy and fit – both in mind and body.

  ‘Well, I hope they treat you well. I certainly wish you all the luck in the world,’ Mr Fairbanks nodded.

  ‘I think sometimes if I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all,’ laughed Cheryl. ‘How’s the book going, Mr F?’

  ‘Slowly,’ sighed Mr Fairbanks. ‘I wonder if I’ve been wasting my time, to be honest, Cheryl. You see, I’m not writing anything that anyone hasn’t said before. There are a few stories I’ve been given but can’t include because, without backing of proof, they would sound ridiculous.’

  ‘Aw, that’s a shame. Shall I change your bed this week, Mr F? I know you look forward to “fresh sheet night”.’

  But Mr Fairbanks wasn’t listening. He was staring at the screen.

  ‘Well, I never,’ he was saying over and over. ‘Look at that, Cheryl, I knew it. I can’t believe it’s taken so many years, but my father was proved right in the end.’

  Cheryl walked over to the TV where a news report was coming from in front of a half-demolished house which appeared to have sunk into the ground. The newscaster’s words and Mr Fairbanks’ voice melted into white noise because her brain had no room for anything else but the sight on the screen of Brambles Cottage reduced to a misshapen pile of stone, brick and glass.

  *

  ‘Why won’t Jimmy speak to Roy Frog?’ asked Ivanka, when Della put down the phone after telling Roy Frog yet again that Jimmy was unavailable as he was playing golf.

  ‘He’s making him sweat,’ replied Della. ‘The longer he avoids him, the more Roy will drop the price.’

  Ivanka pulled an emery board out of her pen pot and filed a nail. They were so long she could barely type with them but Della didn’t care enough to take her to task about them.

  ‘That is madness,’ she sniffed. ‘Someone else may come along and buy the company.’

  ‘No one wants it,’ said Della. ‘Jimmy has no competition.’

  Ivanka slowly replaced the file. ‘I have been thinking. Why would Roy Frog hack into his website if he wanted Jimmy to buy him out? I am wondering if there is someone else who has not yet made their interest known who is stirring up trouble between them.’

  Della swallowed. Ivanka was looking at her with her narrowed sloe eyes as if she could see straight through her skull to all the secrets lurking there. She had forgotten to always keep in her sights how wily Ivanka was. Della gave a knowing little laugh.

  ‘Jimmy and Roy Frog have been in the game a long time, Ivanka. They both know how the other operates. Think of it as two stags preparing to clash. The timing has to be perfect for them to butt heads.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Ivanka, and returned her attention to her computer screen. But Della knew she wasn’t convinced. And it was Ivanka, not herself, who had ‘the King’s ear’ mostly these days.

  *

  Cheryl could not believe the scene of devastation on the TV. Brambles looked as if it had been made of paper and folded in on itself. That gorgeous cottage that should have been hers was no more. All those smiles left behind by visitors destroyed, all the happy memories crushed. All that joy and love that warmed the air inside it gone forever. It was heartbreaking; Cheryl’s eyes flooded with water. Brambles was so much more than bricks and mortar, it was as if it had a soul. It was like being told that Edith had died all over again.

  Mr Fairbanks’ voice cut through the thick fog of her thoughts. ‘The owner’s got minor injuries, so I suppose that’s good news. He is one very lucky man.’

  Lance Nettleton wasn’t just lucky, he was Teflon if he survived that.

  ‘Of course, that house has been a ticking time bomb since it was built.’ Mr Fairbanks’ voice was the most animated Cheryl had ever heard it.

  ‘I used to clean there,’ said Cheryl.

  ‘Then you’re very fortunate that you’re not under all that rubble,’ said Mr Fairbanks, drawing in a long breath. ‘It should never have been built. My father told them. He was an architect. He knew that the land wasn’t safe to build on because there was a warren of mine-shafts underneath it. But the land owner, now what was his name again . . .’ he pinched the top of his nose as if that would help him remember.

  ‘Gardiner?’ Cheryl suggested.

  ‘That was it. Ernest Gardiner. Hot head. Knew everything. He had too much belief in his own convictions and not enough in the facts. My father designed that house for him, before he discovered the danger posed by the mine works. Gardiner went ahead anyway. Nowadays it would have been laughed out of a planning meeting, but this is now and that was then. In the end Ernest built it himself.’ Mr Fairbanks shook his head in disbelief. ‘My, I shall have to find out all the details about this. Ernest Gardiner said that my father was ridiculously over-cautious. My father couldn’t believe it when all
his warnings came to nothing, but he was right after all. Even when the house stayed standing, he knew it wasn’t safe. “It must have been held up by the devil”, he used to say.’

  And Cheryl shivered, remembering some of Edith’s very last words to her:

  Brambles will fall to hell before I leave it to Lance.

  Chapter 62

  Jimmy was supposedly playing golf with Pookie Barnes on Sunday, although Connie didn’t know if that was true or not. He left the house in screamingly loud trousers and carrying his golf bag, but she wouldn’t have trusted him to be going on a range as far as she could throw him and she was more than delighted to find that she didn’t care. All it meant for her was that she didn’t have to make up a lie about where she was going that day because, as far as Jimmy knew, she never went out anywhere but to a supermarket or to town. She was going to Leeds to meet her darling Jane and she couldn’t wait.

  She hadn’t seen her daughter since just before Christmas. Jimmy hadn’t seen her for over two years and Jane had left the house saying that she never wanted to see him again. They’d had a row about something so trivial that no one could remember what it was, but it had given Jane a platform to air years’ worth of hurt that she was so far down on her father’s list of priorities. He’d never been to any of her school plays, he’d never attended any of her parents’ evenings or her dancing performances. His own father hadn’t invested much time in him and yet Jimmy had done okay, so that was the pattern he followed. He hadn’t recognised that Jane needed his emotional investment, more than Jimmy had needed his own father’s.

  Jane was waiting for her mother in the Italian restaurant Antonio’s where they always went for lunch whenever she flew over, because it was ideally positioned next to the train station. Connie was glad to see that her daughter looked well and happy and glowing. She’d let her hair grow and it rested dark and glossy on her shoulders. Jane had inherited her father’s tall, slim, good-looking genes, rather than her shorter, rounder ones. She had Jimmy’s smile too, wide and cheerful with lovely even teeth behind it. Jane was beautiful, thought Connie as her daughter turned that smile in her direction.