by Angela Dyson
“No,” I smiled ruefully. “That couldn’t have been avoided.” I shifted my back against the cushions. “It’s Maria Lianthos. I swear she was involved or at least knew far more than she claims. And now she gets to swan off to America and…”
“Darling,” Flan interrupted gently. “You’re not a one-woman cavalry. What more can you possibly do?”
She was right of course. Time to let it go. I took another sip of my drink and we sat in silence for a while in the shade of an aged crab apple tree, its perfume delicate and its pale pink droops of blossom like puffs of fondant icing. Unlike Grandma P., Flan is what she calls a fair-weather gardener. She lets the borders and the beds take care of themselves and so now in spring, against a backdrop of blackthorn and a tangle of evergreens, the result was a glorious wilderness of anemones, violets, and celandines. It was all so peaceful, and somehow a reminder of the constancy of life.
I looked across to a weathered, timber-potting table where balls of twine, a trug, a smooth grey pebble, a handful of wooden pegs, and trays of white daisies ready to be planted out, sat in attractive disarray.
“And I’ve also realised,” I said picking up from the table in front of us a green glass jug in which Flan had arranged a splash of palest yellow primula and bringing it up to my nose. “Just how lucky I am in my friends. Not just you and Mr. H. of course, but Stephanie and Ian coming with me to the club.”
I took in the cool, woody scent of the flowers and then set the jug back down.
“And Laura.”
“I rather think my dear,” remarked Flan. “That it’s you that’s been a very good friend to her.”
I shrugged and said, “I’m just happy that we’re OK now. Back to where we were. By the way she’s been calling me The Love Detective. I wasn’t sure at first but I think I quite like it now. What do you think? Oh and she also says I have issues.”
She eyed me thoughtfully and then raising her glass to mine, made a toast, “To The Love Detective. Count me in on her next case!”
In mock solemnity, I clinked my glass against hers and said, “To The Love Detective. Not that there’ll be a next case.” I laughed the idea away. “But a nice thought all the same.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that if I were you,” said Flan. “After all who knows what may happen? And as to issues… of course you have them. I’m seventy years old and I still do. You only stop having them the day you’re brought out feet first in a box. They come hand in hand with being alive.”
I smiled across at her as we sat peaceably together in the warmth of the April sunshine and finished our champagne. Perhaps she’s right I thought. Anything can happen to us and around us. And maybe the trick is not to be afraid of whatever it is that’s coming our way? Because after all… no one’s story is ever really finished, is it?
COMING SOON…
IN 2019
THE LOVE DETECTIVE:
NEXT LEVEL
SNEAK PEAK OF
CHAPTER ONE
AND
CHAPTER TWO
AHEAD
CHAPTER ONE
Evidently, I wasn’t making a good impression. The woman sitting across the desk from me flicked a dismissive eye over the one neatly typed page of A4 paper that made up my CV.
“I’m afraid that we have nothing for you,” she sniffed looking again at my resume. “Because, as I’m sure you’ll agree, it is rather thin.”
Harsh, I thought, but basically true. So, alright at the age of twenty-six I wasn’t exactly what you might call a high flyer, but she must have something for me.
“I believe that your last temping job for us was cut short after only three days. The notes we have on file are rather unclear as to the reason for this.” There was an edge of enquiry to her tone.
I winced at the memory. Things had been going pretty well at the marketing company in Victoria until a somewhat unfortunate incident involving a computer server and my takeout cup of Grande Latte. Apparently, there’s something in a double shot of caramel syrup that doesn’t quite agree with all its delicate little components. The system went down for two days with many thousands of pounds of potential business lost. I was informed this by the managing director, as he personally escorted me from the premises.
I cleared my throat. The woman was awaiting an answer.
“Oh, it was just that I was so efficient, I dispensed with the company’s workload in record time.”
Hoping that this would be enough to satisfy her, I flashed what I like to think of as a frank and engaging smile. She didn’t smile back. In fact, she appeared to be growing testier by the minute. Well, I reflected, I’d probably be out of temper too if I’d got up that morning and actually chosen, of my own free will, to wear a heavily ruched tunic top in a particularly bilious shade of green. It would be enough to ruin anyone’s day.
I took a swift glance at the laminate badge bearing the name Marion that was pinned to the offending tunic and then widened my eyes at the accompanying slogan which promised that she was Here To Help. When was she going to begin? By her manner of barely suppressed irritation I was guessing that it wouldn’t be any time soon.
“I only need a couple of days a week, Marion. Actually, at a push, with my waitressing shifts, maybe I could just manage with one.” I did my best to look bright and responsible and waited expectantly.
Marion sighed and sat back tapping one of her long synthetic nails on a pile of folders. “Part-time work is always much sought after especially here in Wimbledon. And of course, we have plenty of other applicants. And after all what is it about you that makes you different? Something that would incline me to put you forward as a candidate over all the rest? What’s your USP?”
My what? What was she talking about? USP –what did that stand for? Unusual Sexual Practices? Well, I think I’m relatively normal in that department but how could I ever be sure? I made a mental note to ask the very next guy I slept with. Come to think of it, it was actually a very interesting question and one that deserved further consideration, but it did seem a bit odd somehow to have it asked by a recruitment agent.
“Hmm,” I faltered.
“Never mind,” she said and the nail tapping upped a level. “Let’s look at it from the other way around. Let’s consider your weak points.”
I opened my mouth, ready to admit that I wasn’t a big fan of routine, that I didn’t like taking orders and wasn’t a particularly organised person, when it occurred to me that this might be a trick question. “Well,” I floundered. “I’m very flexible and I’m … Um … good with people.” I attempted another winning smile. “People like me.”
She didn’t look convinced. “They do?”
“Yes,” I added firmly because that was just plain rude. “Usually they do.” There was a pause as we eyed one another, and I decided to give it one last shot. “Actually, I have recently developed some new skills.”
The nail tapping stopped for an instant as she again looked at my CV.
“No,” I explained, “it’s not on there. It’s not really the sort of thing that …” I hesitated. I was on the verge of telling her just how much I’d learnt in the last couple of weeks from my first stab at private investigating (or what the narrower minded may refer to as poking my nose into other people’s business), when I broke off. What was the point? Somehow, she just didn’t seem to be the kind of person likely to be stirred by tales of stake-outs and surveillance. I got to my feet. “Forget it. I doubt you’d consider the experience relevant. Anyway, you have my number.”
From the look of relief in her eyes it was clear that we were neck and neck in our desire to bring the interview to a close. As I headed for the door Marion called out, “I don’t hold out much hope.’
I turned back. Was she still speaking to me? No, I decided. She was merely expressing her own particular view of the world. Must be the influence of the tunic.
I stepped out into the warmth of a beautiful May morning and strolled up the hill towards home resolving to put all thoughts of my pitiful lack of office experience out of my mind, because here I was on a Friday morning feeling the sun on my face and the sense of freedom that comes from knowing that I didn’t have to answer to some ego inflated arse of a boss. I liked my ad hoc lifestyle. I had my waitressing shifts and still some slack on my credit cards and so all in all, life was pretty good. And as for getting another part-time job or landing my next assignment, well something would no doubt turn up.
Something did. And much sooner than I could ever have expected.
CHAPTER TWO
As I let myself into the house I could hear the phone ringing. Dashing into the sitting room and flinging aside my bag I made a grab for it, whilst simultaneously trying to shrug myself out of my jacket.
“Clarry? It’s Tara.”
“Oh, hi Tara. How are you?” I asked distractedly into the receiver wedged under my chin as I struggled vainly with my left arm, which seemed reluctant to free itself from my sleeve. Tara is one of my fellow waitresses at Abbe’s Brasserie and although we occasionally work together, we haven’t particularly struck up a rapport and have never gone out together socially. I waited for her to continue. “Is there a shift you want me to cover for you?” I finally asked presuming that was the reason for the call. “I can probably help you out.”
“No. No nothing like that,” she offered hesitantly. “It’s just that… well… you know what a talker Ian is ...”
I certainly did. My co-worker Ian or Iris as he preferred to be known (because as he was forever explaining to anyone who would listen, it was quite obvious with his impossibly long eyelashes, fabulous strut and encyclopaedic knowledge of skincare products, he should have been born a girl) was one of my best friends. He was wildly irreverent and utterly indiscreet. I adored him. He in his turn was very fond of me and I don’t think the fact that he also had size eight feet and could borrow my silver platform slingbacks for his Drag Queen act at The Jezebel Club had anything whatsoever to do with it.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Once he gets started it’s almost impossible to shut him up.” I finally managed to yank my arm clear and sank down gratefully on to the sofa. “So, what’s he been on about now?”
“It’s just that he mentioned,” Tara sounded a little embarrassed so I wondered what was coming next, “just in passing conversation … that you undertake Private Investigations … and so I wanted to know if you could take on a job for a friend of mine?”
Typical Ian! I’d given him the edited highlights of my recent adventures as a first-time amateur sleuth and now he was practically my agent. Well, he wouldn’t be getting a commission, I thought crossly.
“Actually, what he did say,” continued Tara, “was that although a highly-experienced investigator, you keep the waitressing on as a cover story.”
I bit back a laugh at the absurdity of his exaggeration. I’d had one case, very nearly screwing it up. “Tara. Listen,” I protested. “Ian is prone to, well to be nice let’s call it sensationalism because in truth I haven’t much …”
“Much time?” she misunderstood me. “That’s such a shame. But what if my friend could pay more than your usual fee? Do you think you could fit her in?”
Fee? She had all of my attention now. “Well,” I backtracked hastily. “Perhaps I might be able to squeeze something in. What’s the story?”
“OK,” Tara sounded relieved. “The thing is my friend Caroline is worried about her sister.” From her delivery, she seemed to assume that this statement said it all.
“And?” I encouraged.
“Vanessa is younger than Caro and me. She’s twenty-one and recently she’s become involved with some people that,” she cleared her throat, “well, the fact is Caroline and her family are a bit concerned about the group she’s got herself mixed up with.”
“So, what’s the problem with them? Are they into serious drugs? Or crime?” I hazarded. “Because if so it’s not me you should be talking to but someone who knows about these things…”
“No, no, nothing like that!” she cut in. “It’s just that her family don’t exactly approve of …”
I interrupted her impatiently. “Tara, my family have hardly ever approved of any of my friends and why on earth should they? You’re telling me that this girl is over twenty-one and …”
This time it was Tara who interrupted me. “No, there’s more to it than that. Look, I can’t really explain over the phone. Would you agree to meet Caroline and talk it over?”
I thought a moment. “Well, OK. Sure, if you think I can help.”
“Great. Thanks so much. And I’ll be there too. Oh, and you’ll like Caro’s mother, Diana Maitland. She’s a … ”
“Mother?” I yelped. “Who said anything about mothers?”
Mothers, in my opinion, being one of life’s natural hazards, are best avoided. They can be very tricky to deal with. My own mother comes with a mental health warning, so I know what I’m talking about here.
“You don’t happen to be free today, do you?” continued Tara blithely ignoring my interjection. “Because I’m seeing Caro this afternoon, at Mrs Maitland’s house.”
I held the receiver away and rested my head back against the sofa cushions and took a moment to deliberate. It would probably prove to be a complete waste of time but as I had nothing else planned for the next few hours, what did I have to lose by checking it out?
“Fine with me,” I replied. “I’m not due at the restaurant until six. So yes, let’s do it.”
“Right,” said Tara. “Give me five minutes and I’ll call you back.” And she hung up.
the love detective
Reading Group guide
1:What did you think of the row between Clarry and Laura?
Have you ever experienced the issue of jealousy (or at least the perception of it) with a friend?
2:Clarry loves food and is confident in her body size and shape. What are your thoughts on Body Image Activism and Body Positivity?
3:“Confidence in men so often displays itself with a sexual edge. Women instinctively recognise it and the suggestion of threat that can lie beneath its surface” thinks Clarry on meeting Simon Napier. Do you agree with this statement? What have your own observations been?
4:Clarry is reluctant to tell Laura about Simon’s fuck-buddy relationship with Karen. Do you think it’s right to be honest with a friend if you know her/his partner is being unfaithful? Or is it potentially too damaging to the friendship?
5:Flan is seventy years old, looks great, has bags of energy and is having an active sex life. She inspires Clarry. Do you think attitudes to ageing (particularly towards women) are changing? And do you have an older female role model?
6:Clarry embarks on a causal fling with fellow waiter, Tim. Is it ever a good idea to have a relationship with a co-worker? Or is it just too complicated?
7:“It struck me that might I, like much of society, be secretly afraid not just of poverty but of The Poor? And of what they could do if ever they grew tired of being the underdogs?” Clarry asks herself this question on meeting Dan, Maggie and Sheena. What are your thoughts on this?
8:“I noted how very ordinary they looked. You could pass them in the street or work alongside them in an office and would never know what monsters they truly were. They walk amongst us I thought. They are our fathers, our brothers, and our husbands” This is Clarry’s immediate response as she watches the men at the “auction” being led away by the police. Do you think her reaction a fair one?
9:After the “auction” Clarry decides to talk out the experience and describe the fear and fury she felt. In the outpouring she finds her centre again. How important do you think speaking your emotions aloud (to yourself, your friends or a professional) is in the recovery process?
10:The Love Detective comes to a close with the following statement: “Anything can happen to us and around us. And maybe the trick is not to be afraid of whatever it is that’s coming out way?”
Would you agree with this statement?
