by DH Smith
‘May I come in?’ she said tentatively at the door to the room.
‘Sure.’
A pleasant, attractive woman, much better than his last visitor, though he’d no idea who she was. And she was bearing gifts. She stepped into the room and looked for somewhere to put the tray. Jack took it from her and put it on the arm of the sofa.
‘A coffee for you,’ she said, ‘and a bacon sandwich – both courtesy of Donna.’
‘She’s wonderful,’ he said. ‘And I am in need.’
He picked up the sandwich, beautifully warm in his fingers, the meat pink and bulging, and took a hot, greasy bite.
Carol was in her light blue skirt-suit, jacket open and blouse dazzling white. She smiled at his eagerness and took up the other coffee.
‘We haven’t met before,’ he said. ‘You are?’
‘I’m Mrs Ward’s new secretary. Carol. Come to bring sustenance. And a message from Mrs Ward. She wants to see you.’
‘Now?’ he said through a mouthful of sandwich.
Carol shook both hands. ‘No, no. She’s interviewing a couple of people for her fairy books. In half an hour, say.’
‘I am popular today,’ he said. ‘First Mr and then Mrs.’
‘I think it might be connected,’ she said conspiratorially. She settled herself on an arm of the sofa, and then went on, ‘Joanna saw Mr Ward through her window come in here.’
‘She’s quite a watcher, the lady of the house,’ said Jack.
‘She is indeed,’ agreed Carol. ‘She wants to know everything. She said, I quote, ‘I wonder what carrot face is up to.’’
‘Carrot face?’
‘One of her politer names for him.’
‘He sacked me,’ said Jack.
‘Oh no,’ exclaimed Carol. ‘I am so sorry.’
‘Not quite a sacking,’ went on Jack. ‘He’s not displeased with my work. Let’s say he made me redundant. I quote, ‘I’m not paying for her shag shed.’’
Carol laughed, then slapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, Jack. I know it’s not funny.’
Jack sighed and sat on the other sofa arm. ‘This job was going to clear my debts, and give me some breathing room. Instead…’ He stopped in exasperated weariness.
‘Can’t you sue?’
Jack laughed at the repetition. ‘This job was passed on to me by a mate. He’s got the contract. I suppose he could sue, but he won’t. It’s on my to-do list for my next job. Get a proper contract and money upfront.’
‘When are you going? I don’t mean I want you to go, but it’s just… Have you got anything to follow?’
‘No.’ Then he added,‘I’m here till the end of the week. I’m to put the windows in and varnish them. And that is that. I’m out on my ear. Unless…’ He took a bite of sandwich. Senseless to let two slices of prime backgammon go to waste.
‘Unless what?’
He was munching and couldn’t speak.
‘Don’t choke for me,’ she said. ‘Eat slow.’
He nodded. Cleared his mouth, licked his lips and washed it down with a slurp of coffee.
‘I’ll miss Donna’s bacon sandwiches,’ he said.
‘Unless what?’ she reminded him.
‘Tonight’s do,’ he said. ‘Ward said he’d introduce me to a few of his mates. Some of them might need a builder…’
‘It’s a chance,’ she said. ‘You never know.’
‘Except I was set on not going.’
She clapped her hands. ‘Oh, you must! If I know one thing about business – it’s contacts. People who know people. A face, a handshake.’
‘I know,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘I know how it works. But you see…’ He’d started, and he’d learnt that it was always better to tell people. ‘I haven’t been to a party in a year. They’re no-go areas for me. I’m on the wagon. And I want to stay on it. Been dry for nine months. And from what I know of Ward, there’ll be enough booze to fill a swimming pool.’
‘Olympic size,’ she said. ‘But there’ll be other things to drink. Fruit juice, fizzy water, non alcoholic non boozy things…’
‘Besides,’ he added, ‘I won’t know anyone. I’ll be standing about with an empty glass, while multi-millionaires swap fox hunting tales with their freemason mates.’
‘I’ll be there,’ she said.
He looked at her as if he’d just seen her. She gazed back.
‘That’s the best reason anyone has given me for going,’ he said.
‘Do come,’ she said. ‘I won’t know anyone either. Just the Wards and Donna who’ll be too busy anyway. I’ll make sure you only drink non alcoholic stuff. Please. I’ll prime the waitresses…’
‘Don’t you dare.’
She laughed, her eyes were reflecting the light from the window. And he knew he was going to go, simply to catch that laugh again.
‘I’ll go around to all the millionaires, one by one,’ she said, ‘and say there’s this marvellous builder. I’ll hand them your card, and say he’s so good, you really must employ him to do up your palace.’ She clapped her hands, thrilled at her own image.
‘I’d rather you spoke to me,’ he said.
‘I will a bit,’ she teased. ‘Each time round the hall, I’ll stop for an instant, sniff your glass to make sure it’s booze free, and snatch it away if it isn’t, as I head off into the looty throng.’
‘I bet you could charm the gold out of a miser’s teeth,’ he said, half jealous already.
‘You could have a go at their wives,’ she said teasingly. ‘Though I’d rather you didn’t. But I suppose it would be a bit off to just talk to ourselves.’
He stretched a hand across the back of the sofa, and she stretched hers to meet it. The tips of their fingers touched in warm welcome.
‘Why would it?’ he said.
And she leaned inwards, her hand inching further along his palm, until the tips touched his wrist. He grasped her hand tightly.
And then let go as if from electric shock as heels clicked on the hall floorboards:
‘Hello in there!’
Chapter 15
‘What you two up to?’ said Joanna.
‘Drinking coffee,’ said Carol, reddening.
Jack was close enough to job’s end that he might have told her that they’d left school many years ago. Except Carol needed her job. And maybe he needed a reference.
‘Carol was kind enough to bring me over a bacon sandwich and coffee from Donna,’ he said.
‘I thought you’d be a while with those two,’ attempted Carol, hoping to excuse herself from things that make your face redden.
‘I have them writing away,’ said Joanna. ‘Though I can’t say either of them impress. Just out of college.’ Her mouth was pursed as she looked over the room, making Jack realise that the cover sheets were well past washing time.
‘Quite a shiner,’ she said, standing back and gazing at Jack’s eye. ‘A lovely yellow and blue, hardly black. Almost as good as a tattoo.’
‘I’d prefer a tattoo,’ said Jack stiffly. ‘And one less visible.’
‘Earned in the cause of duty, I hear. Thank you for that. I’m sorry for my part in it.’
Jack said nothing, doubting her sincerity. She was here and had to say something, his black eye being a feature you could not ignore.
Joanna turned to Carol. ‘I think you’d best be mummy to the girls upstairs or they’ll just be chatting about pop songs.’
‘Right,’ said Carol. And gathered up Jack’s plate and cup, put them on the tray. ‘I’ll carry on with the emails.’ Without glancing at him, the professional again, she left the room, her soles clacking in the hall and dying away across the patio.
Joanna turned to him.
‘I’d rather you didn’t chat up my assistant,’ she said.
He might’ve laughed at her haughtiness, but protectively said, ‘She simply brought me a coffee and sandwich.’
‘I know you builders.’
She was smiling, a hand on her hip. He began
to wonder what was in the water round here. She had a heck of a figure, her dress cut tight to her curves, her scent confusing the sawdust in the air.
‘Don’t believe everything you read in the Sun,’ he said.
‘It’s not a question of reading,’ she said, eyeing him up and down. ‘More practical experience.’
‘Who do you prefer,’ he said, ‘plasterers or carpenters?’
She laughed, tossing her hair across her shoulders.
Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine her rolling on these grubby sheets. She came up close to where he was sitting on the settee arm, above him, her knees touching his.
‘My husband’s in,’ she said. ‘Otherwise I might add to my knowledge.’ She took his hand, a finger circling the palm for a second or two. Then dropped it to Jack’s relief.
And disappointment.
She took a couple of steps back.
‘Some other time, perhaps.’
He could hardly be sure what was happening. It hadn’t been a good year, sex wise. But this morning, first the assistant, then the mistress. Carol was pretty enough, in a girl next door sort of way, but Joanna was something else. Enhanced by her designer clothes, breast modification he supposed, and her blonde hair, tied back yesterday, untied today, perhaps just for him. If he hadn’t seen her lover getting knocked about by her husband the day before, he’d have snatched at her offer with both hands. Though was it an offer? She knew how to play with men. In spite of what her body was saying, her language was full of maybes.
She said casually, ‘What did he want?’
She was looking out of the window through the blinds. He was grateful for the breather, her scent not quite so heavy, her figure silhouetted against the light. A rich bitch, the emphasis on bitch, who shagged around and wrote fairy books. When she wasn’t complaining about the staff. But a figure to climb mountains for.
‘He sacked me,’ he said.
She turned, goggle-eyed. ‘What?’
‘He said finish the windows – and go by the end of the week.’
‘The prick!’ she said.
‘He said he’s not paying for your…’ he struggled to come up with a euphemism, ‘writing den.’
‘So he just sacked you?’
‘He was quite nice about it,’ said Jack with a half laugh. ‘Not so nice about you, but keen to tell me there were no hard feelings. Just that the job was defunct. Over. Kaput.’
‘Oh no it isn’t,’ she said.
‘What?’ As if he’d misheard.
She sauntered round the work bench, her fingers playing with the wood shavings.
‘I’ve my own money,’ she said, twisting a curl of wood in her fingers. ‘And you’re rehired.’
She spun the curl of wood at him, smiling brightly.
Jack put his hands up shoulder high as if she held a gun. ‘I’m a bit lost. Sacked, hired, fired, hired or what? Who is responsible?’
‘Simple enough,’ she said, a finger flicking under his chin. ‘Even for a builder. This job was on a joint account. One of our companies…. I dare say I could sue him to get the rest of the contract paid, but that might take years. In that time, I shall be divorced with as much as I can possibly squeeze out of the old marrow.’
She dropped down on the sofa by him, a hand on his knee, making him reflect again about her and those grubby sheets.
‘How would this work then?’ he quizzed, in spite of her kneading hand. She might be hellishly sexy, but work was work, even with Ward’s cash which wouldn’t last long.
‘He’s agreed to pay you to finish the windows?’ she said.
‘Yes. He said rest of the week for that. And then finish.’
‘Then the remaining work I’ll put on a new contract from my own account,’ she said, standing up. ‘I’ll get Carol to draw it up this afternoon.’ She smiled teasingly. ‘You were holding her hand, weren’t you?’
‘You know how it is with builders,’ he said.
‘Hammering here, hammering there,’ she mused. She was leaning against his bench, one high heel tucked underneath, back arched like a man o’ war’s prow. ‘Are you married?’ she said.
‘Divorced.’
‘Good.’ A finger went to her lips. ‘Children?’
‘A daughter, aged ten.’
‘I’ll get Carol to bring down some fairy books for her.’ She raised her eyebrows, ‘Or would you prefer me to come down personally?’
And before he could reply, she gave a mock laugh. ‘Carpenters!’
And turned away, and left him.
Chapter 16
‘I did speak to him, Mrs Jones.’
Donna pressed the phone tight to her ear to counter the rumble of the freezer, at the same time as stirring a saucepan on a low light with a large wooden spoon.
‘What did he say?’ she asked tentatively.
There was a pause at the other end. Donna held back and waited, imagining what the social worker was doing, her appearance, the others in the office. And couldn’t get beyond a jailer in a black and white prison drama. A hatchet faced woman, dressed in a grey uniform, with a bunch of keys hanging on a shelf behind her. She should have been speaking in an American accent.
‘I’m afraid the news isn’t good,’ she said.
‘What did he say?’
‘I told him of your feelings for him. How whatever had happened in the past you still wanted to support him…’
Donna didn’t remember saying that. It seemed like she was admitting something, though she could hardly say what, some ancient cruelty. She felt weak and hollowed, knowing how this phone call would end.
‘I tried my best,’ went on the social worker, ‘saying you were his mother no matter what…’
‘And that I loved him?’ said Donna.
‘In a manner of speaking I said that. I said you wanted to begin afresh, move forward…’
What was this woman selling? Her innocence, her clean hands. Of course.
‘But he said no. No matter how I tried, Mrs Jones. I put your side as best I could…’
‘I’m sure you did.’
‘But Eric was adamant. I don’t know how to put this, but it has to be said. He doesn’t want to see you. Full stop.’
‘I see.’ Her voice constricted, as if a gangster’s hand was gripping her throat. ‘Thank you for trying, I appreciate your efforts…’ She was evaporating in platitudes.
‘I’m sorry I was not successful, Mrs Jones.’
‘I understand.’ She didn’t at all. She couldn’t see the woman on the phone, nor Eric when he said what he said. How he looked, what he felt. His frown, his smile, his furious analysis when they went to the movies together, all those years ago.
‘I think it’s best,’ said the social worker, ‘that you wait until he wants to communicate with you.’
‘But he’s ill,’ she tried ineffectually. ‘He makes things up. He’s manufactured a false past.’
‘Whether he has or hasn’t – and I can’t be sure one way or the other – he says he doesn’t want to see you. And all I can do as his social worker is respect that.’
Donna could see no way through. The woman was so reasonable. Everything she was doing was for Eric. She had tried. And yet, Donna felt something was missing. Herself. No one spoke for her. All communication went through a woman who hadn’t wanted Donna to communicate at all. Regarded her as a nuisance. Who reminded her over and over that Eric was her client. Not Donna.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, ‘for making an attempt.’
She was as empty as a churn. She had tried to prepare herself for this, even so, there is only so much preparing, and the facts themselves, the bleeding words, the denial of her as a mother, flayed her.
When Carol came into the kitchen a little while later, Donna was in tears on a stool at the long table. The saucepan had boiled over and was burning.
Chapter 17
Jack was marking up a new window frame when Carol came into the summerhouse. He stuck the pencil behind his ea
r.
‘Back so soon.’
Carol avoided his eyes, her face drawn. She was carrying a bundle of books.
‘Joanna asked me to bring these down. They’re all signed.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’
Her coldness told him something was very up.
‘Where’s the woman who wanted me to go to the party?’ He looked about in a mock search.
She shrugged morosely.
‘That was before Joanna came to see you.’
He felt a twinge of guilt. Nothing had happened, or rather not very much, which is not to say it might not have.
He sighed. ‘Joanna is Joanna.’
Carol gave a thin lipped smile. ‘And men find her very attractive, even though she’s a cow.’
‘A sexy cow,’ he said.
‘A fake one,’ said Carol. ‘Plastic tits and hip enhancement. Much more and it’d be less trouble to buy your own on the internet.’
‘I don’t like her,’ said Jack. ‘If that’s any consolation.’
‘But you wouldn’t throw her out of bed.’
He chuckled. ‘I doubt I’ll get the chance.’
‘Do you know what she said to me?’
Jack imagined the two women together, the superior to her inferior.
‘Tell me.’
‘She said – don’t fuck my builder.’
Jack laughed. The cheek of it, the possessiveness, the possibilities even.
‘Are you going to take any notice?’ he said.
She stared hard at him, a compound of anger and disappointment.
‘I haven’t made up my mind.’ And turned on her heels. ‘I mustn’t stay long. Not that I was going to, but she’s watching. And waiting.’
‘We haven’t had time to do anything,’ he said.
She blew a raspberry at him.
‘There’s more than one prick in a sewing box,’ she said as she headed across the lawn.
That hurt. One chance damning the other. But at least it was in the open about Joanna. Though it could hardly be closeted. Joanna dressed to attract men. Did she really have plastic buttocks? He grimaced at the image of a surgeon slicing her with a knife, a wobbly jelly on a dish within reach.
The butcher’s shop of desire.
