‘Exactly.’ The Pinks looked delighted that she’d got the picture at last. ‘Then the coppers came in and took everything away, and, course Hogarth was exterminated –’
‘Exonerated?’
‘Ah, possibly that, too. Anyway, it being family, us and Neddy cleaned the place up and then Hogarth locked the doors and no one said nowt more about it. Just thought you’d like to know, duck.’
‘Yes, right, thanks . . .’
‘Pleasure.’
Posy watched as the Pinks wandered dustily away in their brown rags, like happy zombies, then walked back into the shop.
‘Oh, shit!’
The Pinks’ revelations put a whole new slant on the shop’s ambience. And the origins of that smell . . .
‘Excuse me!’ The voice was imperious and slightly whiny.
Posy didn’t even bother to turn round. ‘Yes, I know. I’ve already been told, thank you. The place used to be a taxidermist’s. I’m not too happy about it, either.’
‘I’m not interested in whether you’re happy or not. I’m just warning you to stay away from my husband.’
Posy turned round then. Quickly.
Sonia nee Tozer, Sonia-of-the-thongs, Sonia-bloody-man-stealing-tart-Dalgetty, stood in the doorway.
It was slightly cheering to notice that she looked absolutely, appallingly, awful. Now in her eighth month of pregnancy, she was huge and bloated. There was no pre-birth bloom, no radiance. Sonia looked grey-faced, grubby and about to burst. A bit like the Dalmatian on the Harwich ferry.
‘Go away,’ Posy said wearily. ‘Clear off. This is my shop and I don’t want you anywhere near it.’
‘And I don’t want you anywhere near my man.’
‘Your man? Oh, excuse me. Haven’t you got your possessive pronouns in a bit of a twist here?’
Sonia wobbled a step or two forward. ‘Don’t you try to come all clever with me, Posy Nightingale. Ritchie’s all mine, now. If you couldn’t keep hold of him, then that’s tough tit. He doesn’t want you, see? So, stop throwing yourself at him or you’ll have me to deal with.’
‘Oh, yeah. And what’re you going to do? Roll on me? Get a life, Sonia. You’re welcome to him.’
Flicking back her lank hair, Sonia thrust her face forward. ‘He said you kept on and on at him last night to walk you home. Everyone says you were all over him in the pub. Everyone says –’
‘Sonia, shut up. Shut up and bugger off. I’m not interested in what Ritchie has told you about last night. Ritchie is an ace liar, remember? Nor am I prepared to have a slanging match with you over someone as unimportant as bloody Ritchie Dalgetty. We live in the same village, we’re bound to bump into each other, and I’ll talk to who I want when I want. But take it from me, I certainly don’t want Ritchie. Okay?’
Trevor and Kenneth returned at that point, barged through the open door, sniffed Sonia in a casual way, then bounded across to Posy. She bent down to fuss them, hoping it would give her a moment to compose herself. The last thing she wanted was for bloody Sonia to see she was shaking.
‘Next time he works in the pub I’m going to be there to keep an eye on him,’ Sonia said triumphantly. ‘And you.’
‘It’ll be a waste of your time,’ Posy sighed into Trevor’s coat as Kenneth reassuringly licked her face. ‘We won’t be working the same shifts in future.’
‘So you say,’ Sonia turned on her heel with a sort of shuddering lumber. ‘But why should I believe you? I know you’ll do anything you can to get him back, but you take it from me, I’ll be watching you from now on. You played with fire last night, but do it again and you’ll get burned. Understand me?’
Chapter Sixteen
On the day that March gave way to April, Lola wandered round the vast shed that housed Queen Mab and wondered if Hogarth would have a fit over the way she was playing fast and loose with his properties.
The Crooked Sixpence was unrecognizable, she’d got a mammoth showman’s traction engine living in his brewery storage shed, and she’d given Posy the keys to his shop, which now appeared to be in the process of a complete transformation.
Still, whatever Hogarth’s eventual reaction, his departure had been the catalyst in this feeling of new hope and new beginnings, and for that reason alone she refused to feel guilty. For the first time since Nigel’s death, she really believed that there may be a happy future. And having ended hostilities with Posy was wonderful, too.
She’d felt awful about employing Ritchie without realizing his relationship to Posy – but even that seemed to be okay now. They were working on different shifts, and Ritchie was always accompanied by his rather sullen and very pregnant wife who sat in a corner all evening and glowered over a solitary pineapple juice.
Just why Ritchie could have preferred the dour Sonia to the vivacious and gorgeous Posy, she had no idea. It was another one of life’s mysteries: falling in love. The chemistry. The irrationality of it all. As she well knew.
Lola ran her hand along the deep red paintwork on the traction engine’s boiler. She’d very much missed her previous life, her girlfriends in Swansbury, and the bustle of office life at Marionette Biscuits. And of course, Nigel. But, against all the odds, Sunny Dene, Steeple Fritton, the villagers and The Crooked Sixpence were rapidly taking the place of the former – but would there ever be anyone who could replace Nigel in her heart?
She shook her head. Replace was the wrong word. No one would ever take Nigel’s place: what they’d had was far too special. She smiled at the preposterous notion. A few weeks ago and she’d have scoffed at the very idea of ever loving again. Nigel had been her one and only. But now, especially today, she felt that there might, one day, be another man, another love: different of course, but equally as amazing.
She very much missed the emotional and physical pleasures of loving and being loved. If she had to live her life for another thirty plus years, she really didn’t want to live it alone.
The shed doors scraped open noisily, letting filtered sunshine spill across the cold concrete floor, interrupting her introspection.
Flynn grinned at her. ‘Hey, you’re in here early. You disappeared so quickly after breakfast, I thought you must be in the pub bottling up. You’re keen.’
‘Curious,’ Lola craned her neck to look at the majestic height of Queen Mab. ‘When I woke up this morning I promised myself that today I’d do things I’d never done before. As, until recently, I’ve never been anywhere near a traction engine, and as you’re not otherwise engaged, I thought it was the first thing to tick off my wish list.’
Flynn swung himself easily up the steps and on to the foot plate of Queen Mab’s cab. ‘That sounds like a pretty cool plan. And if this is the first, what’s the rest of the list like?’
‘Oh, just daft stuff. You’d probably laugh.’
‘I doubt it. Try me.’
Lola shook her head. She couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t risk today’s tiny dreams being squashed. Flynn was a lovely man, but she hardly knew him. He seemed kind and happy-go-lucky, and he might well think her wish list was fun. But then again he might not.
He knew very little about her, either. They’d become friends and talked a lot, but only about superficial things really. Living a secret life, keeping her own counsel, rarely sharing emotions or hopes, meant that she found it difficult to tell anyone anything personal about her past, present or future. She simply couldn’t share today’s dreams with Flynn.
‘It’ll just have to wait until I get to know you better.’ Goodness, had she really said that? ‘That is, I mean . . .’
‘It’s fine. I understand.’ His smile was kind, not mocking. He looked at her and laughed. ‘And if you’re sure you’re ready for the guided tour, follow me.’
‘Why are you laughing?’
‘Because you’re hardly properly dressed for this sort of thing.’
‘I should have checked if there was a dress code, should I?’
‘Sure. And kitten heels and tight skirts aren’t it.’
; ‘I’ll manage,’ Lola hauled herself on to the foot plate in the gloom and then taking Flynn’s proffered hand, stepped up into the cab. ‘Goodness, this is high up, and snug.’
Despite the size of the engine, there was only just room for two people – or three if they were on very friendly terms – in the cab. Flynn sat back on the coal tender, stretching his long legs out in front of him, leaving Lola with a massive steering wheel in front of her, a series of strange levers to her right, the firebox by her knees and the long cylindrical length of Queen Mab’s boiler stretching away in front of her.
It was a peculiar feeling, standing with all that dark latent power just slumbering around her. Miles off the ground, with the canopy low over her head, and the rear wheel of the traction engine looking almost menacing in its size beside her, Lola felt almost claustrophobic.
It was, she admitted to herself, an amazing piece of engineering skill, and when Queen Mab had arrived at the pub and the coal had been roaring and the steam hissing and the flywheel slapping, it had been an awe-inspiring sight – but like this, cold, dark and silent, it did nothing for her at all.
Flynn was talking, pointing out pistons and valves and gearings, and mentioning things like heads of steam and dropping plugs, and ratios and pressures. She loved the sound of his voice, but the words meant little. It was exactly as she’d felt when taken on a school trip to the Science Museum. The technology and inventions had all been vaguely interesting, but not inspiring, and had left her with a guilty feeling that she really should feel more enthusiasm but knowing she couldn’t.
‘. . . and the three-speed gearing took a bit of getting used to,’ Flynn was grinning. ‘In the States they don’t have multiple-speed transmission in their traction engines, so I was only used to playing with singlespeeders . . .’
‘Oh, sorry. What were you saying?’
He laughed. ‘This really isn’t your thing, is it? Would it be more interesting if you came on a road-run with me? You could steer while I drive. It’s a two-man operation, you see.’
‘Er, no, if you don’t mind I think I’ll pass on that. This –’ She indicated Queen Mab with a dramatic sweep of her arms, ‘is what I wanted to do. Be up here and see it from the working end and to be able to say I’ve done it. Thank you so much for showing me, and explaining it, and I think Queen Mab is totally amazing but the ins and outs of engineering really leave me cold, I’m afraid.’
‘Yeah, you either love it or you hate it. No sweat. So, what’s the next item on today’s agenda?’
After stepping gingerly out of the cab, Lola paused in her slow backwards progress towards the ground and looked up at him. ‘Oh, true female stuff. Including shopping. You either love it or you hate it.’
‘Touché. And as I’m in the latter category, definitely not my area then,’ Flynn hauled himself from the tender and stood in the cab and lovingly caressed the steering wheel. ‘When are you going?’
‘This afternoon. After closing time.’
‘That won’t give you much time for browsing, and retracing your steps, and trying on the same stuff over and over again. Oh, yeah, I’ve been there. Vanessa was one serious shopper.’
‘You still miss her, don’t you?’
‘Sometimes. Her choice, though, not to come with me. We keep in touch . . .’ He stared ahead for a moment, then smiled down at Lola. ‘So, how about if I run the pub this lunch time and you get yourself off on your shopping marathon right now?’
‘I couldn’t . . .’
‘Yes, you could.’
Yes, she could, she thought. Of course she could. Flynn had already proved that after the grounding in Opal Joe’s and the Tralee bar he was a competent and friendly barman, and it would give her a whole day to enjoy herself.
‘Yes, okay. Thank you so much.’
‘No sweat. Have a good time.’
‘Oh, believe me, I will.’ Lola almost danced out of the shed on her kitten heels.
It was like skipping school, she thought as she click-clacked her way towards Sunny Dene. Not that she’d played truant very often, of course. Escaping from the confines of her exclusive high school would have taxed the ingenuity of Houdini. Anyway, she’d been a model pupil: diligent, biddable, and extremely law-abiding. The rules instilled then had stayed with her forever, all basically boiling down to the fact that hard work brings its own rewards. Which, of course, it had up to a point. But not much fun.
A blur of white van screamed passed her, throwing up dust, then squealed to a halt.
‘Hi!’ Ellis yelled from the minibus’s open window, his voice just audible over the 1910 Fruitgum Company. ‘Are you skiving?’
‘Actually, yes. I’m going into Reading for the day. You wouldn’t happen to know when the next bus is, would you?’
‘Well, if you’d like to change your destination it could be in about fifteen minutes. Posy’s doing the post, I’ve got someone else on the school run, and I’m taking Gran and Tatty into Oxford. There’s a New Age “do” on in the town hall that they’re desperate to attend. You’d be more than welcome to join us.’
‘It’s really kind of you, but I was actually planning on going shopping.’
‘Great, I love shopping,’ Ellis beamed. ‘And I’m not into crystals and hocus-pocus so I was only going to be mooching until they’d finished.’
Lola hesitated. She really didn’t want Ellis trailing around the shops with her looking bored. She was pretty sure that his kind of shopping would involve electronics boutiques and hi-tech warehouses. He probably wasn’t the least bit interested in Jaeger or Debenhams or Marks and Spencer – still, she could always lose him somewhere.
And, as today was meant to be a day for treating herself, and Oxford would be a very rare treat indeed, and one which first Flynn and now Ellis had made possible, it would be churlish to say no.
‘That’d be lovely. Thanks so much. I’ll just go and grab my jacket and bag.’
Twenty minutes later, the minibus was rocketing on to the A34 in the direction of Oxford. Lola sat in the front passenger seat beside Ellis. The Lemon Pipers were crooning nostalgically about their Green Tambourine. Tatty was wearing moon and stars dangly earrings and rustling through a huge sheaf of New Age literature, and Glad, looking very spring-like in a lime green two-piece and jaunty magenta hat, was puffing on a cigar.
Just a normal day out for Steeple Fritton.
Oxford, fabulous in pale mellow brick and burnished spires, was bustling with students and tourists and shoppers, all making the most of the mild March sunshine. Having escorted Glad and Tatty to the town hall with strict instructions to be back in the car park by five o’clock, Ellis looked at Lola. ‘Right, I’m all yours.’
‘Not what I’d heard.’ Lola gazed in awe at the glorious sculpted skyline, then peered up and down the road. Deciding that the shops looked as though they were to the left, she set off in that direction with Ellis following close behind.
‘So, Posy’s told you about our little flare-up, has she?’
‘She mentioned it, yes.’ Lola crossed a rather strange cobbled junction and stared up at Carfax Tower. She knew it was Carfax Tower because it had a plaque that said so. She also allowed herself a momentary wallow over the high street’s amazing Florentine architecture. ‘She said, in the vernacular, you got snotty about her and Ritchie so she got snotty about you and Tatty. To be honest, I don’t know why the two of you just don’t admit you were made for one another and get together.’
‘Me and Posy?’ Ellis looked stunned. ‘You’re kidding. I wouldn’t dare. Posy is far more hurt than anyone realizes. It’ll be ages before she trusts another man. She’s like my little sister, even if she is older than me, and we just flirt a bit because it’s good practice for her after being dumped, and I like to keep my hand in . . . Oh, are we going in here?’
Here was Marks and Spencer. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘Because my mum shops in M&S and you’re nothing like my mum.’
Lola smiled. ‘Don’t try your
charm on me, Ellis Blissit, because it simply won’t work. M&S is full of surprises, you know. It’s not just for ladies of a certain age. And if you don’t want to venture into the hallowed portals you can always wait outside until I’ve finished.’
Unabashed, he followed her in. ‘Are you buying underwear?’
Lola frowned. Wasn’t this a touch too intimate an occupation to be sharing with the wild-child demon lover? ‘Yes, actually. So, your waiting outside might be a good idea.’
‘No way! I’m ace on underwear.’ Ellis gave her a slow and very thorough appraisal. ‘Size 12, hips sort of 34 to 36ish . . . bra size 34B . . . Close?’
‘Far too close.’ Lola shook her head. ‘That’s not normal.’
‘Call it a gift,’ Ellis was forging ahead towards the lingerie department. ‘And years of study. Can I choose, then?’
‘No you damn well can’t.’ She was laughing. ‘A girl has to have some secrets.’
It was, she admitted to herself, not embarrassing at all; in fact, having Ellis dancing attendance, even if only from a discreet distance, shaking his head violently when she picked up sensible pastel-coloured cotton and nodding approval when she reached silver and navy lace, was extremely good for her ego.
He was the sort of man who would turn heads anywhere, and he was having a marked impact on the lingerie-buying ladies of Oxford. She smiled to herself, wondering what her girlfriends in Swansbury would say now if they could see her with Ellis – young, startlingly beautiful, wearing his black jeans and his faded cotton sweater, and at that moment indicating with his eyes that she should definitely buy the suspender belt that went with the silver and navy lace.
Oh, and if only bloody Barbara Marion, who probably thought that, as a mistress, Lola had spent all her time romping in thigh-high PVC, could see her, too. And Cousin Mimi. She smiled even more. Cousin Mimi would simply implode with outrage.
Nurturing these pleasant thoughts, Lola joined the snaking queue at the cash desk and fished for her credit card. The purse strings were still tight, but she’d budgeted enough money for today. Just a few treats . . .
Tickled Pink Page 19
