‘She’s not, Mary.’ There was a lot happening, and binoculars weren’t enough. ‘Get me that catalogue,’ ordered Enid. ‘I want a lightweight wheelchair if you’re willing to push.’
‘Course I will.’ Mary fetched the catalogue, then set the kettle to boil for elevenses. ‘With a wheelchair, you can sit on the village green and hear all the news. And we can do the shopping together, go down to the next block and buy your meat and veg. If we ever get that supermarket, you’ll be able to go inside, up and down the aisles – they have special trolleys for the disabled.’
But Enid wasn’t listening. Sally Byrne and Maurice Jones were down below. They were hugging each other. ‘Come and look at this, Mary,’ she called.
Mary joined her new-found friend. ‘Enid?’
‘What?’
‘Makes no sense, me going home. I can’t be doing with Valda, you know. We get on great, thee and me, eh? And there’s Dave’s empty room. What do you say?’
Enid nodded thoughtfully. With Mary in residence, she’d get her meals on time, wouldn’t have to wait for Philly Gallagher, wouldn’t be alone. As for Dave – if he wanted to come back, there’d be no room for him. ‘If you like,’ she replied. ‘Move in when you’re ready.’
Mary Turnbull relaxed. She would be away from her daughter-in-law, but near enough to see her grandchildren. This place would suit her down to the ground, because the ground floor was the Reading Room, and that was a good place to hear gossip. And Enid and she were like peas in a pod: both interested in what went on in Eagleton.
She opened a box of biscuits. The future certainly looked brighter.
Paul Smith was not in the best of moods. He had loved Maurice Jones for years, and had tried to hide his feelings, but his emotions seemed to have become swamped by absolute fury since Sally’s pregnancy had been revealed. Life had changed, and the changes were certainly not for the better.
For a start, there was the business of finding somewhere to live. A guest house in Edgworth was all very well for now, but it wasn’t the same as having his own kitchen and bathroom. Yes, he had shared those amenities with two other people, but he had been able to eat what he wanted, when he wanted and where he wanted.
At the house known as Cherrymead, breakfast, lunch, tea and supper were served at certain times and in the dining room. There was some leeway, but not enough for a man who sometimes worked late or started the day early. He had to find a flat, so he decided to have a word with Chas Boswell. Chas was a decent sort who made no judgements about people’s lifestyles, and he might have a suggestion for Paul. With fingers crossed, the ex-lodger from 9 Fullers Walk made his way up the stairs into Chas’s living area.
‘What the hell happened?’ Chas asked in his usual direct manner. ‘That’s a bloody good business you and Mo have.’
Paul sat down. ‘Not for much longer – I can’t work in that kind of atmosphere. He married her last year, didn’t he? But we said nothing, because people had always seen me and Mo as a couple. Sally went along with it, but she made fun of me a lot, and Mo – well, he’s always known I loved him. But what do I matter, eh? I’m just one half of a drag act and the gifted half of a salon. What the hell do I have to offer apart from my genius?’
There was a bitchiness in Paul that Eve had noticed when he’d done her hair. He was clearly a bitter man, but Chas remained as impartial as he could. He’d learned long ago about the frailties and faults in human nature, so he wasn’t going to start acting differently now. ‘Right. What can I do for you, lad? I can see you’re not what we might call happy.’
‘I was thinking about the empty shop, Chas.’
‘And?’
‘I could set up my own business.’
Chas sat down in the other armchair. ‘Look, Paul. With the best will in the world, I can’t have two hairdressers on one parade – it couldn’t possibly work. You’d have number three at daggers drawn with number nine, and you’d all suffer.’
‘I wouldn’t be a hairdresser.’ Paul paused for a moment. ‘Actually, I would, but I’d offer a mobile service to folk who want their hair done at home – people who are disabled or have kids and can’t get out. A beautician, I’d be, because I can do false nails, hair extensions, facials – all kinds of things. If he thinks he’s put a stop to me, he’s bloody wrong, Chas. Nice big purple van, I’ll have. Red lips on each side, name of the business will be Impressions. I’m not finished, nowhere near. Anyway, there you have it as far as the shop is concerned. It could be either fish and chips or a bakery, and nothing to do with me. Some shopkeepers prefer a lock-up and won’t want the flat.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Chas wondered how Fullers Walk would react to the stench of chip fat, though he was prepared to listen. ‘So why is it either or, mate?’
Paul shrugged. ‘I’ve a friend who’s a baker, another who wants to set up a chippy. He was brought up dipped in batter – family business. His dad would probably put up money for fittings, so that shouldn’t be a problem. Would we be allowed a chip shop here?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Chas. ‘But I reckon a bakery would do better. Would the cooking be done on the premises? I’d have to get the fire advice people out to check if we’re having ovens or deep fryers.’
‘No. My friend’s dad has a few shops dotted about, and he told Joey he could find another one if he wanted to. As long as it’s in a good place, his dad will do the baking at the unit in Bolton and deliver stock to Joey’s shop. Joey’s OK. He’s honest. I might be a partner whether it’s chips or cakes. And Mo will just have to buy me out.’
Chas liked Mo. ‘So Mo’s going to be short of a hairdresser?’
Paul raised his shoulders for a second. ‘He told me to get out, and I’ve got out. He’ll not find another like me in a hurry, and that’s for sure. I’m not stopping there, Chas. He knows I love him, but I realize now there’s definitely no chance for me. I thought . . . well, I always hoped he’d come to his senses and pick me over her, but it seems he’s not gay after all.’
Chas didn’t know what to say, so he stuck to business. ‘Look. Let me make this a bit easier for you. You don’t have to be a partner in any shop next door. If you can find somebody who wants number three as a lock-up, I can separate the two issues – you rent the flat, and the other person rents the shop. For a kick-off, there’s this purple van you’re on about. That’s not going to come cheap even if you get it second-hand. You’ll need some kind of storage system for your hair stuff, manicures, false nails – all that palaver.’
Paul nodded. ‘Yes, and I don’t use cheap products. But just think – with a wedding, I could do a demo a few weeks earlier, get all the ladies together with a few glasses of wine – one wedding could make a bomb on the grooming front.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘Bride, her mother, groom’s mother, bridesmaids, anyone else who wants to look good . . .’ He would show Mo Jones, by God he would.
‘Don’t get carried away yet,’ Chas advised. ‘And are you sure you want to punish yourself by living so close to Mo?’
Paul had no intention of punishing himself. His intention was to undercut prices, to leaflet the new estates and to preclude Mo when it came to picking up new business. The bridal idea would be his exclusively, and Mo would come to realize after a while that Paul was the true star of the show.
‘What about the drag act?’ Chas was asking now.
‘He can drag off,’ replied Paul tersely. ‘He can manage without me.’
‘And Britain’s Got Talent?’ Chas knew that Paul wanted to be recognized, wanted that spot on TV. ‘You’d be good together.’
‘No chance,’ Paul snapped, standing up. ‘That’s all over and done with. I’ll get back to you, Chas, when I’ve spoken to Joey and his dad. The sooner I get out of that guest house the better.’
‘You’ll need other stuff as well as the van,’ the landlord reminded him. ‘The flats are all let unfurnished, as you know.’
‘Mo will buy me out,’ came the answer. ‘And he’ll be sor
ry.’
Chas was sitting alone with his thoughts when Eve came in. She studied him for a moment. ‘Is this you thinking and brooding? Well, forget it, because we’re buying that house even if it’s falling down. Don’t start coming over all I’m-not-sure.’
Chas looked at her. ‘I don’t like what’s going on, Eve. Paul wants to move next door.’
‘Gay Paul? Moving to number three?’
Chas nodded.
‘Bloody hell. So the partnership is definitely dissolved, eh? I mean, he must have known he had no chance with Mo. We thought Sally was the lodger in the small bedroom, but they fooled us all. Did he really believe he could turn Mo gay?’
‘Love’s blind,’ said Chas.
‘That’s what I keep telling myself whenever I look at you,’ she said, her eyes laughing. ‘But seriously, Paul has to be centre stage. He’s always thought he was God’s gift to Pour Les Dames and that Mo was there just to make up the numbers. As for poor Sally – how must she have felt with everybody thinking her husband was gay? They say they did it for the sake of the business, but Paul must have twisted Mo’s arm.’
‘Right up his back,’ muttered Chas. ‘Oh God, Eve – I told him he could go ahead. What have I done?’
‘Not much. Just started a turf war, that’s all. Never mind. We’ll just buy bullet-proof vests, eh?’
Dave Barker and Philomena Gallagher had more in common than either had expected. They enjoyed reading, crosswords, jigsaw puzzles, gardening and some television programmes. Most of all, both liked to cook and eat. While Philly was not slim, she was by no means obese, yet they studied together determinedly in order to come up with an eating plan that would benefit both without leaving stomachs feeling hollow. The idea arose out of Dave’s sudden decision to lose his spare tyre, though Philly was only too pleased to try to lose a few pounds of her own. They raided the Reading Room for books on the subject, discussed likes and dislikes, arrived at compromises and one or two split decisions.
Their routine established itself without any real effort. Both rose early and, since Dave no longer had to look after Enid, they went to the shop together. Breakfast was taken in the Reading Room, then Philly prepared the day’s snacks while Dave sorted newspapers. He vacuumed, she dusted. He ordered books, she checked till receipts. Like a well-oiled machine, they ran the business and their home life in perfect harmony. It was as if they had always been together, as each seemed to be aware of the other’s unspoken requirements.
Dave was so blissfully happy that he waited for it all to end, because life so far hadn’t been like this. If he’d enjoyed school, his mother always spoiled the day for him as soon as he arrived home. If someone called and asked him out to play, she would say he was too busy. He would never be able to count the times when Enid had stopped him reading, when she had torn a book from his hands and thrown it into the fire, when she had screamed at him because reading was for lazy people.
Philly, too, was happy. She had someone to talk to, someone to cook for, someone who liked to cook for her. There was no embarrassment, because they made room for each other. It was almost as if they followed some unwritten timetable regarding the bathroom, as they seldom clashed. The job she had always loved now stretched across the full day, though she sometimes went home for a rest at lunchtime. Despite the fact that she begged him repeatedly to do the same in turn, Dave seldom left the shop. He was happy among books, was keen to order and obtain for customers even the most remote of subjects and titles. Philly admired him greatly, because he was a dedicated man.
The Reading Room continued as busy as ever, though the heat meant that a couple of tables were set outside the shop, and people sat there quite happily with newspapers, books and magazines, most of which had been purchased inside. Dave, always with an eye to business, turned blind when the occasional customer arrived with a book obtained elsewhere. Such items were often exchanged, but Dave maintained his silence. Like Chas Boswell, his knowledge of human nature stretched beyond the breaking of small rules. As long as his business survived, Dave would fail to notice the odd sin or two.
The arrival of the new computer was much appreciated, particularly by the older clientele. Youngsters came to help, and many Eagletonians were suddenly in touch with relatives all over the globe. ‘I made the right decision,’ Dave whispered to his assistant one sunny afternoon. Screams of glee had spilled out all over the place when an old man had finally contacted a nephew in New Zealand. ‘Life gets better, Philly.’ Since his mother’s exit from the lower floor, Dave’s shop had become the chief meeting place for folk of all ages. At last, he felt that his life might just be a success after all. ‘Yes, Philly, it gets better.’
‘It does,’ she replied, though she realized immediately that she had spoken too soon.
When the car hit the dog, Dave was sitting outside while Philly, who was learning how to use Microsoft Word, lingered in the back of the shop until all hell broke loose. She ran out quickly, overturning a stack of newly arrived novels in her haste. Dave had picked up the animal and was beginning to run towards the vet’s house across the way. She joined him, noticing that his shirt was soaked in blood, and that the dog’s tongue hung out of the side of its mouth. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she told her employer. Then she looked over her shoulder. ‘Look after the shop,’ she told no one in particular. One of the dog’s hind legs looked crushed. A trickle of blood escaped from between strong white teeth.
It was a long afternoon. Philly and Dave sat together in the vet’s waiting room. They scarcely noticed that they were holding hands, as both found themselves near to tears. Dave had always loved dogs, though he had never been allowed to have one. Philly, too, was a lover of animals. The reason for not having a dog of her own was a simple one – she went to work, and dogs liked company. ‘It has to live,’ she said repeatedly. It wasn’t an old dog; wasn’t ready to shuffle off just yet.
At last, Tim Mellor came through from the treatment room. ‘I had to amputate the left rear leg,’ he told them sadly. ‘It was too mangled to save. Monitors appear to be saying I’ve stopped all internal bleeding, but it’s still a waiting game. She isn’t chipped.’
‘What?’ asked Dave.
‘I have a little machine that tells me whether the dog has a microchip in a shoulder – it’s a sign of a caring owner. There isn’t a chip. She’s about two years old, mostly Labrador, and she’s a fighter. I’ll have to keep her here for a day or two, but if we don’t find the owner I won’t get paid. That’s a risk a vet has to take from time to time.’
Philly and Dave looked at each other. ‘We’ll have her,’ they said in unison. ‘I’ll pay,’ Dave added.
The vet smiled. ‘Do you realize what you’d be taking on? Labs eat anything and everything. They’re dedicated thieves and good at their job. On the plus side, a bitch is very faithful, and a Labrador bitch is the best animal on earth. She’ll love you unconditionally for her whole life.’
Philly sniffed back a tear. ‘And the leg?’
‘She’ll manage. If arthritis sets in later on, we fit her with wheels. While she’s young, she’ll hop along quite happily. They accept the loss of a limb and take it in their stride – excuse the pun. Now.’ He sat at the desk. ‘I have to try to find the owner, since I am legally obliged to do that. But I have to say I hope you don’t lose her to someone who didn’t care enough to have her chipped.’ He smiled. ‘If you pay, it’ll be five hundred. For anyone else, it’s double.’ He liked these people, had always liked them. If anyone deserved the love of a Lab, it was Dave from the Reading Room. ‘Go home. Any change in her condition, and I’ll let you know right away. I promise.’
They returned to the shop. A grizzled old man gave them their takings, apologized for not being able to use the till, and asked about the dog.
‘She’s fighting and doing well,’ Philly told him. ‘When she’s better, if no one claims her, she’ll live at my house. But she’s lost a leg.’
The old man tutted. ‘It was Derek
Boswell who knocked her down – he’s gone home in bits. I’ll let him know on the way past that she looks as if she might pull through. Nice lad for a Scouser.’
Alone in the shop, Dave and Philly had coffee laced with brandy. ‘We can’t do anything,’ she moaned. ‘I wish I could have stayed with her. She needs to know someone wants her alive.’
Dave patted her hand. ‘You think Tim Mellor’ll leave her? I’ve known him stop with a pet rat until he was sure he’d won. It’ll be all right, love. And we’ll have a grand dog. Pity we can’t call her Cassidy after Hopalong Cassidy. Babs’s daughter’s Cassie, so we need another name.’
‘Skippy?’ suggested Philly.
‘The bush kangaroo? Excellent. Let’s drink to that.’
Neither realized that love was claiming them, that the accident with the dog had sealed their fate. They were just two good friends drinking coffee together. Weren’t they?
Paul made sure that the salon was busy before he came to claim his property. He banged about in the room behind the shop, throwing things into boxes and bags, enjoying every moment of his self-indulgent tantrum.
‘Don’t worry,’ Mo advised Paul’s customers. ‘I’ll see to all of you, and there’ll be another stylist here as soon as poss.’
Sally apologized to a woman whose head she was massaging, then took herself off behind the scenes. ‘You’re behaving like a child,’ she told Paul. ‘Stop stamping about and try behaving like an adult for a change.’
With a hand on his hip, he stood still and looked her up and down. ‘Are you sure you know where he’s been?’ he asked loudly. ‘I think he swings both ways, love. Best get yourself a blood test, make sure you’re not HIV positive. Be on the safe side.’ The silence from the salon was total.
She crossed the small space between them and swiped him across the face with the flat of her hand. ‘He’s a dozen times the man you are, you big stupid girl. You’re not needed and you won’t be missed. Someone is being trained as we speak – well, as we quarrel.’
Mo dashed in. ‘You all right?’ he asked his wife.
The Reading Room Page 9
