by Lynda Renham
‘See you later guys,’ I say with a wave.
What a bugger. That will teach him. I climb into Kandy and start the engine. It whines for several seconds and stops. I try again but it continues to whine. For pity’s sake, what is it with my luck? This is not starting off as one of my best years is it? I try again and bang the steering wheel with my hand. I see Andy nodding his head to someone and then the bugger strolls out, walking towards me with an arrogant air about him. He opens the door and says loudly.
‘I think you need me to jump you.’
I so hate him.
‘Not while I’m conscious,’ I retort.
He laughs and produces jump leads like a magician.
‘Allow me,’ he says leaning forward and brushing my knee as he reaches for the bonnet lever.
‘Start her up when I give the nod.’
He walks to his Lamborghini which of course starts right away. Flash bugger. He attaches the leads and nods to me. I start the engine and it fires up. He removes the leads and grins.
‘Give it a good run. I don’t have time to jump you several times a day.’
‘You’d never get close enough, arsehole,’ I mumble. ‘I’ll only be an hour so don’t even think about changing the locks.’
I release the handbrake and zoom off. Jump me, I don’t think so arsehole. I make a mental note of things I need. Lock for bedroom door, masking tape, labels, wine, food and most importantly, chalk. It’s time to draw dividing lines. I’m not leaving. Let the battle commence. I’ve got one hour, I can’t trust him any longer than that.
Chapter Fourteen
It takes twenty minutes to get to the supermarket. I screech to a halt in the car park and curse when I see the only parking space near the entrance is a mother and child only bay. I don’t know about you but just the sight of a supermarket has me grabbing an inhaler. There isn’t a single parking space, unless you count the disabled spaces of which there are an abundance, and all empty of course. I look longingly at the mother and toddler space. How come they get those special spaces? It comes to something when you get rewarded for getting up the duff these days. An official looking warden as though reading my mind waves me away from the empty spaces. Bloody cheek, how does he know I don’t have two little monsters at home? It’s a bit discriminating if I have to bring them with me isn’t it? I could be up the duff too for all he knows. I squeeze my little Kandy into a one-hour slot and sprint to the store like an Olympic runner. The bugger isn’t the only one getting exercise. I’ve only just stepped in the door when I am accosted by a man grinning from ear to ear. Oh no, please don’t hold me up. He pushes his jet-black hair from his face and I swear his hair shifts. I stare at it fascinated trying to work out if it is a wig or not.
‘Good morning and how are you on this very cold morning madam?’
‘Well, I’m …’ I begin, my eyes fixed on his fringe.
Please step away from me.
‘Just take a second I promise.’ Oh really, I’m sure Sweeney Todd said that to his victims before pulling the lever.
‘Today our special offer on dog food is five hundred extra Nectar points.’
Oh fabulous, I’ll just pop to the pet shop and get a dog to make it even more worthwhile.
‘I don’t actually have a dog,’ I say, moving away slowly.
‘You’re a cat lover aren’t you?’ he says pointing a finger at me.
‘Well …’ I begin. I don’t mind cats but I wouldn’t say I love them.
‘We have a special on cat food too,’ he says with a broad smile, ‘and cat treats.’
I’m sure my cat would be trembling with excitement, if only I had one.
‘The thing is …’
‘Do you have a Nectar card?’
‘Actually no …’
He grins. That was obviously the wrong answer.
‘Well let’s waste no more time in signing you up.’
Quite right, let’s waste no more time.
‘That’s very kind but I really don’t have time,’ I say trying to walk away.
He grabs my arm.
‘Just a few seconds I promise.’
God, he smiles like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. I shiver.
‘I’ll stop by on my way out.’
‘No you won’t,’ he snaps. ‘They never do.’
God, this is a bit heavy for Sainsbury’s. I’m starting to feel dead guilty that I don’t own a cat, dog or a Nectar card. I give a weak smile and head for the deli counter. I fight my way past mums and their screaming children whose faces are smeared with illicit chocolate, stolen from the sweet shelves no doubt, disgraceful or what? Thieving little buggers, and to think they get priority parking. The assistant is prodding the rotisserie chickens and I consider purchasing one for dinner. She glances sideways at me and continues checking the temperature on the cooked birds with such concentration that you’d think she was performing open-heart surgery on them. I feel like telling her to give up because they look very dead to me and could she possibly pop one in a bag. I go to speak but she holds a hand up. God forbid a customer may get in the way of her doing her job. She continues with her deep concentrated efforts with the thermometer. I’m getting close to telling her where to stick that thermometer and it isn’t in the chicken.
She finally looks up.
‘Can I help you?’ she says.
Oh how fab. I check the time and see I have been here twenty-five minutes already. I fly around the rest of the store, grabbing biscuits, bread, milk and the ultimate essentials, masking tape, marking pens, chalk, labels, M&Ms and of course, wine and Bacardi Breezers. Well, I’ve got to drown my sorrows. God knows I have enough of them. I skid to a halt at the checkout and sigh when I see the long queue. Bugger, I’ll end up with another ticket if I’m not careful. A cheery-faced assistant approaches.
‘Maybe you’d like to use our self-service checkout?’ she suggests.
No not really. I’d much prefer you jump on a till actually. I look dubiously at the self-service counter and deliberate if I really want the hassle. A quick glance at the time tells me I don’t have much choice. A gum-chewing schoolboy, on work experience no doubt, standing at the head of the tills gives me a false smile as I start scanning my goods. I’ve only scanned two packs of biscuits and the thing screams.
‘Unknown item in bagging area.’
How can the biscuits be unknown? The shop stocks the things don’t they? Maybe it means my handbag, not that it’s unknown to me but I place it on the floor to be on the safe side. The thing goes mad, not my handbag obviously, but the machine which screams unknown item in bagging area for all it’s worth. I feel like I’ve just been caught in the process of shoplifting and wait anxiously for the security men to arrive. I look at the schoolboy who stands staring into space. I beckon to him but he stares ahead, looking for all the world like a bloody zombie. I hit the back button on the screen and look around guiltily before removing the offending biscuits only to have the damn thing scream again. For God’s sake, can’t that vacant-faced assistant jump on a sodding till? Honestly, this is ridiculous, what happened to assistants on tills. I hate progress.
‘Please place the item in the bagging area.’
I just have you stupid machine. I sigh at the lobotomised assistant.
‘Remove item from bagging area.’
Trust me to get an indecisive machine. I’m close to my time limit in the car park now and all the machine keeps screaming is, Place item in the bagging area and Remove item from the bagging area alternately. I think it’s trying to drive me insane. I scan the wine and it bleeps so loud I jump out of my skin.
‘Assistance needed.’
Bloody men in white coats needed more like. I’ll be gulping from the Bacardi Breezer any minute. If the sodding kids can do it I can. I don’t mean the kids are gulping from Bacardi Breezers, obviously they’re not, but you know what I mean. If they can steal sweets, I can steal a Bacardi Breezer can’t I? After dealing with this premenstrual machine t
hey should give it to me for free, a Bacardi Breezer obviously, not the machine.
‘Hello, excuse me, sorry to interrupt your …’ I hesitate, not knowing quite what I’m interrupting. He looks like he’s been sedated but I can’t say, ‘Sorry to interrupt your drug-induced trance,’ can I? He stares at me like I’m an alien who has just dropped from the sky into Sainsbury’s.
‘Do you think you could fix this stupid machine?’ I ask.
Or better still, jump on a sodding till, but that may be breaking some kind of union rule if he’s in charge of self-service. In charge, that’s a joke. He’s as useful as a condom machine in the Vatican. Oh dear, I’ve become so rude since Oliver’s Christmas indiscretion with Amanda Rowland. How could he?
He rolls his eyes. I’m sorry, is my request for you to do your job interfering with your laziness? I fight the urge to slap his freckled face with the mackerel I’m holding. I then become my mother.
‘Now look here, I’ve been here over an hour now and I don’t want any of your lip.’
‘I didn’t say nothing,’ he retorts.
Cheeky little bugger. Although on reflection, he is quite right. I’m the one being rude.
‘It wants to know if you’re over eighteen right?’ he says, eyeing my outfit.
What is that look supposed to mean?
‘You can carry on,’ he says politely, hitting a button that only he is allowed to hit.
I continue scanning and thankfully reach the end. I tap the pay button with a feeling of overwhelming relief.
‘Do you have a Nectar card?’ it asks.
Well I came close to being bullied into getting one. I swear the thing is human. It will be asking me how many times I have sex next. I hit the ‘no’ button only to be presented with more instructions. I fumble hurriedly in my purse for money before the thing starts a countdown and thrust a twenty pound note in the slot which it spits out immediately.
‘Currency not accepted.’
Oh for pity’s sake. If it doesn’t accept English currency what the hell does it accept? I turn to the boy again who is now with another customer. This is terrible; I will certainly get a parking ticket. I push the twenty quid back in my purse and shove my credit card into the slot. The machine spits out a receipt and thanks me for shopping at Sainsbury. I quickly make my exit and reach the car just as the warden is looking at it. Shit, not another battle.
‘Hello,’ I say sweetly, opening the boot. ‘Sorry I’ve gone over. I was giving the kiss of life to an old lady in the store.’
Now give me a ticket if you dare. No one gives a good Samaritan a ticket do they? He sneers and walks away. Thank goodness for that. I climb into the car and see slapped on the windscreen a parking ticket. For Christ’s sake, is someone trying to tell me to get out of town? All I need now is to get back to Driftwood to find the bastard has changed the locks. God knows, he has had plenty of time.
Chapter Fifteen
I never really thought he would change the locks. I had after all only been gone for two hours. So when my key wouldn’t turn in the lock, anger engulfed me. At that moment all my emotions came to the surface. I saw Amanda Rowland moving up and down on my boyfriend, no – correction: soon-to-be fiancé, like it was just yesterday. Her long silky hair draped across her face like a sleazy porn star. I pictured Ben Newman’s features contorted in sexual frenzy as he unzipped his trousers, and then Ellis as he swallowed the pills that he pretended were lithium. How could I let all these men take advantage of me? Where’s my self-worth? Aunty Vera left this house to me and he has no right to change the locks the minute I turn my back. I take a deep breath and try the key again. No matter how much I try it just won’t turn. I walk angrily around to the back door and turn the knob. Of course that is still locked from this morning. He’s probably changed that lock too. What a pig. I leave the shopping bags by the door and march purposefully to the barns. I stroll past Andy and his merry men who are mixing cement, and barge straight into the bugger’s office. He looks up surprised and nods at me before turning back to his computer screen and his never-ending phone call.
‘How dare you,’ I say loudly.
He sighs and clicks his tongue.
‘Can I call you straight back. Something has come up. Thanks.’
He clicks the phone off and looks up at me.
‘What now, don’t tell me, I moved your tampons?’ he says dismissively turning his back on me to check his phone.
‘I could really slap you,’ I say moving closer to him and feeling an overwhelming urge to knock him off his chair.
‘Well, what have I done? I’ve been in the office all morning.’
His eyes have hardened and he is studying me closely.
‘You sleazeball, how could you stoop so low?’ I yell.
‘Do you mind telling me what I’m supposed to have done?’ he asks gently, his eyes boring into mine.
I shake the keys in his face.
‘You changed the locks while I was out didn’t you? How could you? The house doesn’t officially belong to either of us, we agreed that but oh no, you couldn’t honour that could you and …’
He stares at the keys and it is then that the penny drops. I close my eyes and want the floor to open up and swallow me.
‘They’re the wrong keys aren’t they?’ I mumble.
‘Indeed they are,’ he says quietly. ‘I don’t take kindly to accusations like that. I haven’t been near the house.’
I’d been trying to get into the house with my flat keys. Oh my God. Oliver Weber, I hate you so much. I struggle to get my emotions under control but tears still roll down my cheeks. He lowers his eyes.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper.
‘Yep, well whatever. I’ve got work to do. Oh, and Andy took in a delivery for you.’
He punches a number into his phone and turns his back on me. I turn guiltily and quickly exit. I’ve never felt so stupid in my whole life.
‘And if you could leave my shaving gel alone I’d appreciate it too,’ he calls.
Oh, I could just kill myself. I open the front door with the correct keys and stand frozen in the hallway where I am met by a large bouquet of flowers. I drop the shopping bags and peek hesitantly at the card.
‘I love you Binki, I’m so very sorry. All my love on your birthday. Oliver X’
The tears are flowing like a bloody tap and I can barely read the text when it comes through.
I hope you got the flowers okay Binki. I phoned a florist in town. Muffy wouldn’t give me your address so I got her to give it to them. I chose the flowers though. All your favourites, I miss you so much. Please don’t give up on us, I wish I could be with you on your birthday. Please come home or at least tell me where you are. I have so much to explain.
I scoop up the bouquet and search the cupboards for vases, hiccupping as I go. Everyone hates me apart from Oliver. Ben Newman hates me, he must, to do what he did and put me out of a job. William Ellis thinks I’m nothing but a spoiled brat and he wouldn’t be far wrong would he? I’ve been acting like one since I arrived. There are two vases under the sink and a couple of empty jam jars which I fill with water. After arranging the flowers and dotting the vases around the house I unpack the shopping and set about separating the cupboard and fridge shelves. I decide William can have the top shelves and an extra cupboard seeing as he was here before me. I don’t answer Oliver’s text right away because I have no idea what to say. I miss him terribly and the urge to run back to him is so strong that I have to force myself to stay well away from Kandy. The thing is I still can’t get the image of him and Amanda Rowland out of my head. Even a Bacardi Breezer at three in the afternoon doesn’t push the vision away. I work so hard at clearing cupboards, writing rotas and sectioning shelves that by the time William walks into the house I am exhausted. He rubs his eyes tiredly and looks at the labels scattered on the table and then at me.
‘I’m afraid to ask,’ he mumbles, uncorking a bottle of wine from the rack. Ah, I had forgotten about
the wine rack.
He opens the cupboard to get a glass and reels back.
‘Where are the glasses?’
‘In the joint cupboard,’ I say, proudly opening it. ‘This cupboard is food,’ I say opening the one next to the crockery. ‘The top shelf is yours, you see it is labelled WILLIAM, the lower two are mine, but you have another cupboard which is completely yours and you have the top two shelves of the fridge’
He studies the rota.
‘Days to use washing machine, shower times and bin emptying?’ he asks curiously.
I nod. He pulls a face.
‘All the shelves are labelled,’ I say proudly.
‘We don’t have scheduled times to take a pee as well, do we?’
I give him a filthy look.
‘And we’re sharing the crockery are we?’ he asks holding up two glasses. ‘Do you want wine? I imagine you need it.’
‘Well the crockery is Aunty Vera’s and …’
He shakes his head and pours the wine.
‘You presume so much don’t you? First I try to change locks while you’re out and now you mistake all my crockery for your aunt’s. Everything belongs to me, including the furniture. Beds, bedcovers, cutlery, lampshades, everything. The place was empty when I arrived.’
‘Oh,’ I say, taking the wine and sitting at the kitchen table.
His phone shrills and I sigh. No wonder he doesn’t seem to have a permanent girlfriend. At least I don’t think he has. I stupidly find myself hoping he doesn’t. There is something calming about him and he always smells so fresh and clean and always looks gorgeous. Oh no, this is fatal. I love Oliver don’t I? I’m not getting involved with men, I must not forget that. He clicks his phone off and throws it onto the table.
‘But I’m willing to share the crockery,’ he says, sitting down. ‘And the cupboards are great.’
‘But I can’t sleep in your bed,’ I say without thinking.
‘I didn’t know you were,’ he says with a smile and raised eyebrows. ‘But I wouldn’t kick you out if you did.’
I blush. Is he coming onto me?
‘I mean …’
