He saw boxes, and bags, and piles of stuff everywhere, but none of that registered. The woman dancing on the ladder took his attention. Her figure, skin, what little she wore, and her shimmying caused an involuntary swallow.
He felt awful about the day before, and his mother had scolded him with a look before he left. He’d been tired and had a shitty day. Rebecca didn’t deserve his temper. He smiled as she sang and bopped on the ladder. He had an urge to pick her up off it and twirl her around.
Arthur didn’t know how long he stood there, but when she turned, the delightful fantasy running through his head vanished as she screamed in a deep guttural one, full of abject terror.
She crumpled in on herself, her legs gave way, and she sat on the ladder. Her hands clutched at her chest and her eyes filled with tears. She took several deep breaths and only looked up as Alice appeared behind Arthur.
He approached and watched her tense even more, and he turned the radio off. Mother and son stared at her. Arthur took a step closer, only meaning to reassure her, but she convulsed backwards and slammed her head on the edge of the cupboard.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Rebecca held the back of her head as she grimaced and waited for him to back away. “It’s fine.”
“You shouldn’t have the music so loud.”
She gave him a foul look. “Apologies, Mr Hulston.” She climbed down and turned, and a trickle of blood made its way down the back of her neck.
“You’re bleeding.”
Rebecca touched the back of her head again, and then examined the blood on her hand, unmoved. She probed the wound, showing only a small cut.
“I’ve had worse, and head wounds always bleed a lot.”
Arthur frowned. “You should get it looked at.”
Rebecca blinked a few times. “I don’t have a concussion.”
“How would you know?”
“My vision is focused, I’m not tired or nauseous, and I don’t have a headache.”
She patted the back of her head with wet kitchen roll until it stopped bleeding and wiped the blood from her neck.
“See. Fine.” She got back up the ladder and finished cleaning the plinth.
Alice looked at her son.
“I only popped in to bring dinner by way of an apology. Seems I was timely, you won’t be done for a while.”
Arthur found three plates and dished up the fish and chips. Rebecca sagged and joined them.
She washed the plates when they were done. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing.” He attempted a smile.
“Mr Hulston, you all but accused me of being a con artist and a thief yesterday. I’m not entirely sure what made you do a one-eighty on your opinion of me, but I will not have it that I can be accused of taking things from others. How much was the fish supper?”
“Five pounds.” He spoke absently.
“Fine.” She went upstairs and came back with a five-pound note. She held it out to him, and he reluctantly took it.
Before he said anything, Rebecca went back to finish the kitchen, door shut, radio down low. She hummed not sang.
An hour later, as his mum napped, he was drawn back to the kitchen.
He knocked the door.
She didn’t turn. “Yes, Mr Hulston?”
“My name is Arthur. Art to my friends.”
“I know that. Does your mother need anything?”
“No. I wanted to say goodnight.”
Rebecca stopped arranging the sparkling glassware. Stomping down the ladder, she kept her voice low when she spoke. She had a line of grease on her face, and dust in her hair. He really looked at her and realised how utterly lovely she was.
“Let me be very clear, Mr Hulston. I don’t like you, and I’m not going to pretend to. But your mother is a nice person, and I like her very much. Not you. I’ll be civil, but I think formal is best. That way you can keep an impartial opinion on any potentially criminal behaviour. Goodnight, Mr Hulston.” She went back to her task, and he didn’t say anything else.
He felt terrible about his behaviour, he never treated people like that, and he wondered why he had. Guilt, he felt guilty for not being the son his mother needed. He could change that, maybe help more, and Rebecca would warm to him. Might take a while, but she would.
She must have thought he was horrible, he wasn’t, merely stressed and tired with a weight of responsibility. And lonely, he was very lonely. He thought of Rebecca and her body in those shorts. He smiled.
Three
A REALLY LONG PATH
It was ten when Rebecca woke up. She stretched, all her body ached, and the back of her head was still sore. She took a long shower as she was so tired by the time she’d finished last night that she had only managed a quick wash.
Alice admired Rebecca’s work as they sat in the kitchen at breakfast. “It looks like new, my dear.”
Rebecca beamed. “It does. Today, the hall and stairs. But, I need to go to the jobcentre this morning, now I have an address.”
With an address, she signed up to all the recruitment and temp agencies in the city. Unfortunately, she needed the internet, and Alice didn’t have it. She bought another phone, a smart one with a high data limit when she picked up groceries from the big supermarket on the way home.
It was already after three, and the day got away from her. She made a chicken dinner, and afterwards, they sat in the front room listening to the radio as she applied for jobs. Alice still managed, albeit slowly, to knit, despite her hands. She showed Rebecca the basics, and before long, she’d put her new phone aside and was knitting a ‘scarf’ if that was what you could call it. Maybe a blanket. For the first time, Rebecca relaxed.
Two days later, the lounge was finished, carpets cleaned, paperwork organised, clothes sorted, and in the dining room were boxes for charity and bags for chucking.
She had combed through and cooed over Alice’s books, and they decided on ‘Pride and Prejudice’ to read. A casserole simmered low in the kitchen, and they were settled in the lounge.
Rebecca’s heart sank when the door opened, and Arthur came in. She had to admit she’d thought about him, but attractive men fed into her fantasies and had little to do with who they were. She blushed at the thought.
“Arthur dear, what a pleasant surprise, what are you doing here?” Alice called, straining around to see him.
“I have your shopping.” He held up the carrier bags.
“Ah, thank you.”
He put them down, and Rebecca took them into the kitchen while he fetched the rest.
“You’re welcome, mother. Dinner smells good.”
“Rebecca is a wonderful cook, she’s fattening me up. Is there enough for three?”
Arthur flexed his jaw at her, catching Rebecca’s face as she finished putting the shopping away, and she went redder.
“Yes, of course.” She set only two places at the table and picked up her own bowl when she dished up and made to go.
“Aren’t you staying dear?”
“You and Mr Hulston should spend some time together, good night.”
Rebecca vanished, and Arthur scowled at the doorway, disappointed.
“You like her.”
“I hardly know her.” He turned his bowl.
“Art.”
He put down his spoon. “I wasn’t very nice to her, and it seems she’s taken offence, one that I doubt I can undo. It’s a shame. I’m starting to feel like I misjudged her.”
“You think?” His mother’s sharp tone and raised brow he knew well.
“She can’t bear to be in the same room as me, there isn’t much I can do.”
“Be careful with her, she’s been through a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not for me to say, but you should be guarded with her, she’s had a difficult time of it and is healing. Being here is good for her, as it is good for me. Wanting a lodger
is nothing to do with you, and Arthur I don’t expect you to be here every day, to spend your evenings with me. She needs family, I can give that to her. And really, she is a sweet girl.” Alice ate.
Arthur stared with narrowed eyes. “I have been remiss, though, you are – apart from Maddie – my only family. And she hardly counts.”
“Have you spoken to her recently?”
“No, but Vicky is back in Chadford.”
“Is she?”
“Bought a place now her divorce is through.”
Alice stared at him for a moment too long. “Hmm. Well, say what you like about Rebecca, she is a hard worker.”
Arthur looked around the room. “I hadn’t realised how grubby it had become. Do you want anything redecorated?”
“Good grief no, just a clean. You can take those boxes and bags when you can if you don’t mind. Perhaps Friday?” She gave him that pointed but kind look.
“I’ll stop by.”
Alice had a hard time reading, knitting was easier, she knew patterns by rote, but reading was a task, and even the large print books were a strain.
Rebecca had a soft, expressive voice when she was not so self-conscious. Every so often Alice would glance up and watch Rebecca read, completely enraptured in the Bennet sisters. Those were Rebecca’s favourite moments. She loved the feel of the old book in her hand, and the sound of Alice knitting as she read.
Arthur quietly opened the door on Friday, and the carelessness on Rebecca’s face vanished.
“Are you staying Art?” Alice’s face crinkled into a smile when he kissed her cheek.
“Only if there is enough.” He looked at Rebecca.
“Of course, Mr Hulston.”
His face fell. Rebecca plated a small dinner for herself and slunk away with her plate, making sure that Alice didn’t see it.
Arthur stood next to her as Alice settled in the kitchen chair. “If there isn’t enough…”
“It’s fine. If you plan on being here for meals, I’d like to know which days, so I can make other plans, or at least cook enough food.”
He closed his eyes and sat down as she left. Rebecca hung on the landing still holding her plate, stomach somewhere between her knees and feet as she listened.
“Don’t push the girl.” Alice’s voice was impatient.
“I’m not pushing.” There was a pause. “No, get that idea out of your head.”
“You need someone, and she is such a good young woman.”
“Who is she? You know nothing about her, who her family are, or where she’s from. If I choose a partner, she needs to be able to host, to attend to functions, and be sociable…”
“You want a hostess?”
“Someone that can be a hostess, not someone who wears flip-flops and dances on a ladder.”
“Oh, good grief Arthur, since when are you a snob, you’re starting to sound like your cousin. Rebecca’s fun. You need some fun.”
Rebecca tiptoed upstairs and tried not to feel the sting, but he was right. She was nothing. It still hurt. Never popular, it was all she really wanted, to be liked and not despised.
On Monday, Rebecca received a call, offering an interview for one of the jobs she had applied for before moving up. It was maternity cover for eight months as an administrative clerk in a private healthcare head office.
It was a start. She went to the interview Tuesday and got the job as they were desperate, having been let down by the last temp. She was late home, missing the bus after the interview.
Arthur was already there.
She wore makeup, a tight blue pencil skirt, a white almost see-through blouse and heels. She ditched her coat shivering from the cold and relished the warm house.
“Oh, my dear, I’ve been worried.”
Rebecca grinned at Alice’s voice. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a way, and I missed the bus.”
“How did it go?”
“I got the job.” She did a dance as she kicked off her shoes and picked them up.
“Congratulations. Isn’t that great, Art?”
Rebecca paled. “Sorry Mr Hulston, I didn’t see you.” She hadn’t even noticed his flash car on the drive in the dark she’d been so distracted.
“Congratulations. Where’s the job?”
“Stead Healthcare.”
“That’s the other side of the city.”
“It’s a job. Beggars can’t be choosers. What shall I do for dinner?”
Alice frowned. “Oh, well, Arthur called and asked if I wanted a fish supper, he knows I like them. You weren’t here…”
“Oh, that’s fine.” Rebecca gave a little smile and went into the kitchen, and her good mood was sucked out of her.
Arthur made her jump when he joined her.
“For the love of Christ stop doing that.”
“Sorry. I’ll buy a bell.” He smiled. It was a lovely smile, and Rebecca tried to ignore it.
She didn’t laugh. “What now? You can’t think I’ve done anything wrong again?”
“No, of course not.”
She yawned as she stared into the fridge but closed it. She opened a cupboard, hers, and pulled out some cereal.
“That’s what you’re having for dinner?”
“I’m tired, and I don’t want to cook. What do you want?”
“Mother wanted to know if you wanted a drink.”
Rebecca nodded as she poured the milk. She strode into the lounge.
“Amen Alice, I want a drink. Snowball?”
Her eyes crinkled, and Arthur mixed the drinks. Alice made a little breathy ooh at the strength as she tasted it. “So, tell us about the job?”
“Nice, people seem nice. If they like me, or someone else leaves, they might want to keep me on. We’ll see. The only problem is the bus, but I’ll figure something out.”
When she started the next day, the bus wasn’t any easier. Having to cook when she got home wasn’t a peach either.
She got up early with Alice and prepared any food for the evening. The bonus was the job was only four days a week, leaving her three days with Alice.
For the first few weeks of living there, Rebecca and Alice grew close and hated leaving her. Yet, it was nice to be the old Rebecca, wear her good clothes, be professional, and use her skills and knowledge.
A week later, standing under the large concrete portico outside, she squinted at the downpour knowing if she waited any longer, she’d miss the bus again, and it would be nearly seven when she got home. Commuting turned out to be shit.
A small black car pulled into the car park and pulled up in front of her. It was vintage, sleek, and expensive. A few of the people with her admired it. The window wound down, and Arthur leant over, and she wondered how many cars he had.
“Do you want a lift?” he shouted through the rain, the wipers of his car squeaking with the effort.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? It’s pissing down, and mother worries, come on; it’ll spare you getting soaked.”
She hesitated. Bev, in the same job as her, Rob from H.R., and Mr Dephlee, an ancient and stern accountant, all stared at Arthur and turned to her. She swallowed her embarrassment and ran over to the little car.
Arthur threw open the door for her, and she struggled to get in, it was so low down, and her pencil skirt didn’t allow for much in the way of movement.
The car was warm, and Radio 4 filled the quiet; it smelt of leather and Arthur.
She felt uncomfortable and at home all at once.
He smiled. “Right then.”
“Thank you, Mr Hulston.”
“Will you not call me Arthur? I really don’t like you calling me Mr Hulston.” He eased out into traffic.
“As I’ve said…”
He turned the radio down. “Mum thinks very highly of you, she really does. I know I misjudged you. I’d like to be at least friendly, for her.”
He sounded gentle and genuine. She agree
d. This man who pitied her was only nice to her because of his mother. Who was she compared to him? Nothing.
“So why does it take you so long to get home? I mean it only takes ten, fifteen minutes to drive.”
Rebecca shook off her meekness. “How do you know?” She wiped a drip of rain from her face.
“I work at Berkley House.”
“Really?”
It was a new tower, all glass and steel, set in a square, restaurants and bars all around. The start of the regeneration. It was only up the road, and she went to lunch with a couple of others there only yesterday.
“A whole floor.” He smiled.
“What is it that you do? Alice never said.”
He glanced at her. “Technical solutions and logistics. We focus on IT systems and new software.”
“Wow. I take it by the business address and your taste in cars that you do well, do you like it?”
“Like it?” He frowned as they idled in traffic. “It’s allowed me to be comfortable. I do other things that are worthwhile. I chair a charity, helping people in the city, improving the quality of life for those on the fringes. Rehab programmes, housing, education, that kind of thing. That, I like. I’m a hospital trustee, and I work with the Chamber of Commerce, well, what I mean is that I’m active in the community. I love my city. I want to take care of it.”
Rebecca closed in on herself. She’d never really met anyone like Arthur. Detectives and barristers didn’t count, but she felt the same unease with Arthur as she did with them.
“That’s admirable.”
“What about you?”
Wary, she shifted to face him. “Nothing really to say.”
“Do you enjoy your job?”
She shrugged her mouth down. “I wanted a nice job, one I would be good at, and I’m good at administration. I liked my old job. Having to start all over again isn’t easy, but I’m only twenty-seven. I’ll get there.”
“So, what about your commute?”
She snorted in derision. “If I walk to the central train station, I miss the circular bus by four minutes, and for the life of me, I can’t seem to catch it. That goes straight to Nattleton. It takes fifty minutes, but it’s one bus. So, I walk into the city centre, through it to the main bus station, where I miss the circular again. I have to get the number eight to Anstal train station, and then I walk the rest of the way, or I might be in time for the community bus that piddles past at the end of the road.”
Getting a Life (New City Series Book 4) Page 3
