A Spring Affair

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Of course I don’t want a coffee and I think you know why I’m here,’ snarled Deb.

  Phil opened his hands in a gesture of supplication. ‘I haven’t the foggiest idea why you’re here, Debra. I presume it’s not to catch up on old times.’

  ‘Maltstone Arms, weekend before last, you and a bimbo eating each other alive–that’s why I’m here. I know you saw me, so let’s cut the crap. Didn’t you learn anything from last time? How much more shit are you going to put your wife through, eh?’

  ‘What has my life got to do with you, Debra?’

  He’s calm, thought Deb. Too calm.

  ‘Finish it, Phil, or…’

  Phil’s eyes rounded. ‘Or?’ he urged.

  He wasn’t smiling, was he? Deb looked at his twinkling blue eyes. Her brain did a few quick machinations and came up with a ridiculous but oddly plausible explanation. It couldn’t be possible. He wasn’t that sick, was he?

  ‘My God, you want me to tell her you’re having a fling, don’t you?’

  Phil affected shock. ‘That’s ridiculous. I think you’d better go,’ he said. ‘But I will tell you that I’m not finishing my “friendship”’–and the emphasis he put on the word made it sound anything but innocent–‘with Sue.’

  ‘You evil bastard!’ said Deb. ‘You even picked someone with the same name. Was that stage-managed?’

  She didn’t resist as he ushered her out of his office.

  Could this have gone any better? Phil gloated. He knew Deb wasn’t physically capable of keeping this sort of information to herself. Last time had proved that much.

  Deb walked to her car in total astonishment. There was nothing she could do to stop Lou getting hurt–really hurt. She couldn’t tell Lou–then again, she couldn’t not tell her. She would just have to carry on as if everything was normal and hope that this time, their business venture was Lou’s salvation when the big crash came.

  Chapter 45

  Lou spent an exciting Wednesday ordering more equipment and distributing the flyers that she had designed to some of May’s regulars. They were invitations to the grand opening in eight weeks–1 August. By a wonderful coincidence, that was also Yorkshire Day.

  May was closing up at the end of that week and the builders were coming at seven on Monday morning. And at number 1, The Faringdales, Keith Featherstone would have finished the bathroom by the time she got home. His men were presently grouting the wall tiles. They seemed decent enough guys. Lou felt slightly guilty that they still thought they were in the running for the café business, but she quickly overcame it. It was the builder’s own fault that he hadn’t got the contract, after all–not hers.

  And since her dramatic exit from Lou’s house, Michelle had bombarded Lou with text messages and phone calls, the full spectrum from whining to suicidal, from pleading to bitter. Lou deleted them without reading or hearing them and Tippexed her out of her diary. Michelle was out of her life.

  Lou picked up Deb from the bakery to go to Tom’s house. Mrs Serafinska had a lovely cottage next door to it and had let Deb wash and brush up in her bathroom rather than have to drive home and all the way back.

  ‘You look nice,’ said Lou. Deb had on a navy-blue dress and a matching long jacket, and wore impossibly high stilettos that she walked on with the same ease as Lou did in flats.

  ‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ said Deb, giving her a longer than usual hello hug. ‘And you’re getting even thinner.’

  ‘Give over!’

  Lou was wearing a lilac shirt and a complementing violet jacket which picked out the Irish-green of her eyes. And she had lost more weight recently. It wasn’t just a physical thing, though, that she appeared lighter. It was as if she had been given a transfusion of helium and could float into the air at any minute. Deb didn’t want to be around to see her plummet to the ground when the news about Phil’s latest affair punctured her spirit. God, what a mess. Deb rallied herself.

  ‘I’m going to make you a Brando, that’ll fatten you up,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, so you’ve created it!’

  ‘Nearly. I think I know where I’m going with it.’

  ‘What’s it going to be made out of?’ asked Lou excitedly.

  ‘Wait and see, my darling, wait and see…’

  They pulled into Tom’s drive in Lou’s car. The lights were on in the house, glowing softly behind half-open blinds. It looked extremely cosy for a large house.

  ‘We should have got a taxi,’ said Deb, suddenly realizing that Lou couldn’t drink much as she insisted on driving.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Lou. ‘Remember, I’m supposed to be at the pictures watching Orlando Bloom. Turning up home drunk in a taxi might blow my cover story slightly.’

  Tom greeted them at the door, in very nice jeans, a beautiful soft blue shirt and a loosely knotted tie that was lopsided. His hair was tousled and his face looked harassed.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ he said. ‘I’ve invited two professional cooks for dinner and I can barely boil an egg. How stupid am I? Let me take your coats.’

  Clooney was trying to get to Lou, wrestling his canine excitement at seeing the biscuit woman against his recent training that forbade him to jump up. He settled for lots of tail-wagging and happy whining instead.

  ‘Clooney, get out of the way,’ laughed Tom. He was all fingers and thumbs, first dropping Deb’s coat, then Lou’s. Deb took control, telling him to bugger off back to what he was doing while she hung the coats over the ball on the staircase newel post. Clooney retired to his basket in the hallway with his teddy bear and shoe-shaped chew for now.

  The ladies followed Tom into a very nice farmhouse kitchen with a big chunky wooden table in the middle. It had a recipe book open on it. Tom had put on an apron with the lettering emblazoned across the middle: Abandon hope all ye who I enter.

  ‘Like the apron. Very saucy,’ said Deb, with a wink.

  ‘Oh, go away!’ he said. ‘You aren’t supposed to see it. And you aren’t supposed to be in here either. I’m nervous enough as it is.’

  ‘Is it one of May’s?’ Deb teased as he pushed them out of the kitchen.

  ‘Yes. Now go in there and open some wine. The bottle is in there and so is the corkscrew.’

  Lou and Deb went into the dining room, still holding the bottles of wine they had brought with them. There was a CD playing soft rock music and wall lights gave the room a gentle and friendly glow. Three place-settings had been laid at one end of the grand table. There were fresh flowers in the middle and bread-sticks–and the biggest pepper-mill Deb had ever seen. She lifted her eyebrows suggestively at Lou, whose laughter pealed through to Tom in the kitchen. He smiled in response. He bet it was something to do with his pepper-grinder.

  ‘OK, ladies,’ he said, coming into the room soon after with a huge bowl of pasta and a large garlic and tomato pizza bread. ‘Please be seated.’

  Lou and Deb sat opposite each other and left him at the head of the table.

  ‘I never asked if you were vegetarian or liked seafood or anything, so I hope this is going to be all right,’ said Tom. ‘I kind of played safe.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything I don’t like,’ said Deb. ‘Ooh, whitebait,’ she remembered. ‘How can anyone eat whitebait?’

  ‘What about you, Lou?’ said Tom, breaking off some bread.

  ‘Lamb,’ said Lou, not needing to even think about that. ‘I hate lamb.’

  ‘Ugh, me too,’ said Tom, shaking his head. ‘Never have liked it. School-dinner lamb–I could retch thinking about it. Agnes Street Infants…’ He shuddered at the memory and didn’t continue.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Lou, with a smile of absolute concurrence. ‘Lots of fat and mint sauce.’

  ‘Offal as well,’ said Tom. ‘Brains and hearts. My Uncle Tommy loved them. I remember seeing them once boiling up in the pan, bobbing about…’

  ‘Will you two shut up,’ said Deb through a mouthful of breadstick. ‘You’re putting me off.’


  ‘Sorry,’ said Tom. ‘Well, let’s talk about you two making loads of money instead, although you can do that quite happily by yourself,’ and he turned to Lou with his smiley grey eyes.

  ‘What’s this then?’ asked Deb with sudden interest.

  ‘Tom’s got this idea that I make counterfeit money,’ Lou told her, in mock exasperation.

  ‘Well, feel free to print me a few fifties, Lou. Ooh–and talking of making money,’ said Deb, reaching over for her bag, ‘before I forget–here, this is for you,’ and she handed Lou a telephone number on a Post-it note.

  ‘Mrs Serafinska’s number,’ she explained. ‘We were talking about you and your clutter-clearing. She’d like you to help her.’

  ‘Help? In what way?’

  ‘Clearing some clutter, perhaps?’ Tom suggested with gentle sarcasm. ‘It’s only a guess, mind.’

  Deb punished him with a good-humoured glare. ‘I’m being serious. Lou, she’s been widowed for over three years now and never cleared out Bernie’s stuff. She happened to say she wished she had professional help. I happened to say that I knew a professional who could help.’

  Lou nearly spat out her wine. ‘I’m not a professional!’

  ‘Four days at one hundred and fifty quid a day says you are.’

  Tom nearly spat out his wine.

  ‘Come on, Lou,’ Deb said. ‘These professional-clutter clearers charge over a grand and a half just for a consultation. Take her through the same process you did.’

  ‘Deb, I don’t know…’ Lou’s brow was creased in doubt.

  ‘She’s a lovely woman. She’s determined to get some help and she’s prepared to pay. If you don’t want the job, she’ll go to someone who probably hasn’t got half the experience you have for twice the price. Pleeease!’

  Lou considered it. What harm would it do? And if Mrs Serafinska wasn’t happy, then Lou wouldn’t charge her.

  ‘OK, I’ll give her a ring. It might be fun to clear some stuff again–I’ve really missed doing it.’

  ‘Hey, you can use my skips,’ said Tom. ‘But I’ll take a cheque this time. That last batch of Queens had pierced noses.’

  And they laughed and ate pasta and sweetcorn and asparagus and peppers and mushrooms and garlic bread and washed it down with nice crisp Chablis and grape juice for Lou. Then Tom popped open the champagne and they raised a glass to their culinary venture. And then they ate something sloppy which Tom said should have been a baked Alaska, except the ice cream had all melted. The meringue, however, had an interesting crunchy toffee taste, which seemed to perfectly complement the coffees and minty chocolates that followed.

  ‘It was crap, wasn’t it?’ said Tom, as Lou helped him clear the plates.

  ‘No, it was lovely, Tom,’ said Lou, meaning it. This evening wasn’t just about the food, it meant so much more. Her eyes were sparkling like the champagne in the glasses as she stared at Tom’s big, wide back as he bent down at the dishwasher. No man had ever cooked her a meal before. Actually, no man had ever made her a cup of coffee before either. And no man had ever made her feel like this. (Except possibly Starsky–she’d had one mighty crush on him years ago.) Her head was full of ridiculous, wonderful feelings that were zapping and fizzing around inside her. They were the bolts of electricity she had dreamed of having for a man, whilst she was reading her Jackie magazine. She’d never had them though, not even for Phil, and had put them down to love-folklore until now. Yes, she had fallen in love with Phil, in a comfortable, coupley way, but her heart had never sparked like a night full of fireworks sending reverberations down to her toes just because she was near him, like it was doing now because she was near to Tom Broom and his blue shirt.

  He straightened up. God, he was so big. God, he was so close.

  ‘Here, let me have those,’ he said, his large square hands reaching out for the plates. She passed them over carefully, taking great care not to accidentally touch him nor daring to look up at him, because if she did, he would have seen everything in her eyes she wished she were free to say.

  Deb came into the kitchen.

  ‘Hey, great loo, Tom. Huge bath, but I suppose you need one.’

  ‘Are you trying to say I’ve got a big bottom?’ joked Tom.

  ‘Well, you’ve got a big everything else,’ Lou joked, then realized what she’d said. Oh crap–that came out all wrong!

  Tom raised his eyebrows and folded his arms. ‘Oh, is that so? And how would you know that?’

  ‘I meant big house, big…dog, big…car, big…hands…er, house.’

  Double crap. She didn’t mean to say hands either.

  Tom didn’t move, just continued to stare at her with amused annoyance.

  Deb, who had taken care to have just enough wine to relax her, but not enough to say anything she shouldn’t, was bent double in the corner with laughter.

  ‘Oh, get stuffed the pair of you,’ said Lou, turning away and noticing as she did so the time on the kitchen clock. It was later than she expected. Phil would be hopping about in the kitchen wondering why his dinner wasn’t making itself.

  ‘Oh damn, we’d better go,’ she said, like Cinderella at the ball, but willing to risk the wrath of magic for a few more moments in a Prince’s company.

  Deb went into the hall and retrieved their coats. Tom helped Deb on with hers. Lou got into hers before he could offer.

  ‘Tom, it was wonderful, thank you.’ Deb threw her arms around him, giving him a great big tipsy kiss and a tight hug.

  ‘Thanks, Tom,’ said Lou quietly but with a warm smile. ‘It was nice. Really nice.’

  He bent and kissed her cheek, but this time, as his lips left her, his arms enfolded her in an unexpected and tight squeeze. His scent filled her nostrils, the washing powder his shirt had been washed in, the lasting note of some musky violety after-shave, his skin…She staggered backwards when he let her go. Her brain was mush and in danger of seeping out of her ears. God knows what state she’d be in if he ever bonked her. Not that she’d ever find out.

  Deb hugged her goodnight as the car pulled up at her ‘bijou’ flat, as the estate agent had described it–‘poky’ as everyone else did.

  ‘You smell of Tom,’ said Deb.

  ‘Are you sure you two don’t fancy each other?’ said Lou.

  ‘Lou, I love you to death but you can be so thick at times,’ said Deb, blowing her a half-drunken kiss.

  Phil was tucking into beef chow mein, fried rice and prawn won tons on a tray and watching a football match on the monster TV in the lounge.

  ‘I had to send out for this,’ he said, pointing down at it. ‘I told you I was going to the pictures,’ said Lou.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to be this late,’ said Phil, looking purposefully at the clock.

  ‘Phil, it’s half-past nine. Even Cinderella got two and a half hours more parole than this.’

  He stabbed up the volume on the remote control to a childish degree.

  The magical night out was over. Cinderella was back to the same old routine.

  Chapter 46

  ‘The machine appears to have a chest infection today,’ said Karen, putting two pre-work cappuccinos down on the canteen table, each with a frothy head that would have put Don King’s hairdo to shame.

  ‘How on earth are we supposed to drink those?’ said Lou.

  ‘I think we have to wait until they die,’ said Karen, pulling an envelope out of her bag. ‘Guess what this is?’

  ‘An envelope,’ said Lou after considerable scrutiny. ‘I have been wrong in the past about these things, though, so please feel free to correct me. Stationery was never my strong subject at school.’

  ‘It’s my notice,’ said Karen.

  Lou’s mouth opened goldfish-wide to say something, but nothing came out.

  ‘I know you’re going to hand in yours soon–and I can’t work without you,’ Karen went on. ‘I’d go mad.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Listen to the rest,’ said Karen, holding up a s
hushing hand. ‘I’ve been thinking hard recently. I love this accounts course. It’s put everything else in the shade. So, I’m giving up the flat, moving back in with Mum and Dad on the farm so I’ve got twenty-four-seven child cover, and I’m going to college fulltime, starting as soon as they’ll let me go. This is all your fault, Lou Winter. You’ll have to make it up to me by buying my family’s bacon or I’ll be out on the streets with two starving children.’

  ‘Crikey, you have been busy!’ said Lou with a warm smile. ‘My business partner’s ringing your dad today to set up a meeting, and I am absolutely thrilled you’re going for this all the way.’ She gave the tall young woman a big squashy hug.

  ‘It really wouldn’t be the same without you here, Lou,’ said Karen, a little sadly. ‘Plus Stan will be gone by this time next year, Zoe’s got an interview for another job and I’m just sick of coming in and the first sight I see is that mouth full of scrap metal.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Lou understandingly, attempting the coffee and getting a noseful of bubbles and a handlebar moustache.

  ‘You look very sparkly today, by the way,’ said Karen, scrutinizing Lou. Were you with your mystery man last night?

  ‘Do I?’ said Lou. She had felt quite sparkly during the night after a very nice dream about her very nice evening. She hoped Karen wasn’t a mindreader.

  ‘I’m pretty sparkly too,’ said Karen. ‘Charlie and I aren’t “just friends” any more. He’s taking me to Paris when I finish here.’ Coincidentally, her smile was as wide as the English Channel.

  ‘Oh Karen, that’s lovely,’ said Lou with genuine delight. ‘I just hope he makes you happy.’

  ‘So far so good. I wish you could find someone nice, Lou. Someone who made you feel like I do at this moment in time.’ She looked at Lou with real tenderness.

  ‘What on earth makes you think I’m not happy?’ Lou asked, with a defensive little smile.