‘Posy,’ Flynn’s voice broke through the hearts and flowers. ‘I know we could both stay here forever, but I guess we really should be going. I’m a bit concerned about Lola.’
‘Yes, of course. Me too. And if she isn’t back we’ll have to open up The Crooked Sixpence.’ She grinned at Jack. ‘This has been absolutely brilliant. Thank you so much for agreeing to do the carnival and the pub, and no doubt we’ll see you soon.’
‘Count on it.’
Outside again, blinking in the sunlight, she grinned at Flynn. ‘Sorted?’
He gave her a high-five, then hugged her. ‘Sorted.’
Chapter Twenty-one
Nearly midnight. She’d have to make a move soon. The Mucky Duck’s bar was practically empty and the very young barman was already growing restless. But where was she supposed to go? Not back to Steeple Fritton, that was for sure. Not yet. Not until Barbara bloody Marion was long gone.
Lola stood up slowly, and smiled as she approached the bar, knowing only too well how tired this boy must be. She’d already tipped him far more than she could afford out of solidarity. ‘Another G&T, please. Could you make it a double? Thank you.’
‘Are you a resident?’ The barman stifled a yawn. ‘I can only serve residents after half eleven.’
Lola sighed. At least it would solve one problem for tonight. She had no transport and nowhere else to go. ‘Not at the moment, but I’ll just go and book a room.’ The barman shrugged and started putting together another double G&T as Lola hurried out of the bar and into reception. As this was possibly the smallest hotel ever created, it only took five strides.
The woman who appeared inside the reception cubicle looked as though she was well used to strange females without luggage booking bedrooms in The Mucky Duck at the last minute.
‘They’re all doubles. All with facilities. Will that be with breakfast?’
‘Oh, um, yes ... I think so . . . thank you.’
‘For one or two?’
‘One of course.’
‘No “of course” about it, love. Not in this game. Pay up front, sign here, there’s yer key. Breakfast between seven thirty and nine. Not a minute earlier nor a second later. Good night.’
The drink was on the bar when she returned and the barman really looked as though he’d fallen asleep on his feet.
‘Sorry,’ Lola said quietly. ‘I’m in Room 25. Could you put it on my tab?’
‘Sure,’ he raised a lethargic hand.
She resumed her seat. Two men, probably reps, watched her, half-smiled, and, getting no response, settled moodily back to their pints.’
Lola sighed. She’d run away. She’d never run away from anything before, but now, just when life was wonderful again, she’d turned tail and run. While common sense told her that she should have stayed and faced up to Barbara, instinct had insisted that she should get out of Sunny Dene and Steeple Fritton, and quickly.
Barbara had no reason to hound her now. That part of her life was over. Barbara had everything: the money, the businesses, the properties, even, by now, the damn hatchback.
There was no reason at all why Barbara Marion should need to confront her. Was there?
She sipped the G&T. It was her fourth and she was still nowhere near the state of blissful oblivion she’d hoped for. If only she’d told someone. But there had simply been no one around to tell – not last night and certainly not this morning when she’d made her decision to flee. All day she’d wandered round shops and had cups of coffee she didn’t want in noisy cafes, and all the time she’d promised herself that she’d go home and face Barbara – even if it meant washing a whole lifetime’s worth of dirty linen in public.
But when it came to it, she simply couldn’t do it. Cowardly, she knew. But facing Barbara Marion was like facing up to a suspect lump and thinking that given a day or two it may well disappear.
She should tell someone though. . . Anyone. . . They’d be worried about her . . .
The realization that there were people who might truly be concerned at her unexplained disappearance suddenly made her want to cry. No one had ever cared before. There had never been anyone to notice.
‘Excuse me,’ she signalled to the barman. ‘Is there a phone I could use, please?’
‘Here. Corner of the bar.’ He didn’t move; didn’t look as though he could.
Lola walked over to the phone, and realized she knew no Steeple Fritton telephone numbers at all. As there was no sign of a directory, she’d have to throw herself on the mercy of the Dalek-voiced Directory Enquiries. So? Who to call? Not Sunny Dene. At this time of night everyone would be in bed. She couldn’t disturb them. The Crooked Sixpence? She doubted if the payphone in the entrance would even be listed and Flynn would be long gone.
Of course, there really was only one person she wanted to talk to. Only one person who may well be in bed at this hour but who would probably be awake . . .
She dialled 192 and asked for Glad Blissit’s number. After a lot of clicking and whirring the nasal voice informed her that it was ex-directory. Lola could have screamed. Why the hell would Glad of all people want to be ex-directory? What did she have to be all secretive about? Anyway, Ellis probably wasn’t there. He was bound to be with Tatty . . .
She dialled 192 again, and against her better judgement, asked for Tatty Spry’s number. She couldn’t not be listed, could she? She ran a business for heaven’s sake.
The nasal voice sounded more optimistic this time as it intoned the number. Lola, not having a pen handy, grabbed at a cocktail stick and indented the figures into a beer mat.
The phone seemed to ring forever. Trying not to think of disturbing Tatty and Ellis in the middle of a sexual marathon, and pushing the awful vision of a slender and naked Tatty rushing to the phone wearing nothing but her waist-length curls and a lot of jangly necklaces and bangles while Ellis implored her to hurry back to bed, Lola almost gave up.
‘Hiya. Tatty Spry. Alternative therapies. Massage. Oh, and tattooing. How may I help you?’
She’d never been so pleased to hear Tatty’s voice. ‘Tatty? It’s Lola. So sorry to disturb you so late at night – oh, and I hope I haven’t woken the children . . .’
‘Not at all. They’re all watching The Blair Witch Project on Sky. It’s one of their favourites but they only enjoy it in darkness. Doesn’t seem so scary in daylight, does it?’
‘Er, no . . . um, Tatty, is Ellis there with you?’
‘No, I haven’t seen him tonight. He’s probably at Glad’s. He was looking for you earlier, though. All over the place. Getting in quite a state. He’ll be pleased to see you. Why don’t you pop round?’
‘I’m not in Steeple Fritton. I’m, um, somewhere else. You wouldn’t have Glad’s number, would you?’
Tatty reeled it off. Of course she’d know it, Lola thought, as she scratched it on to the beer mat. Tatty and Glad were friends. It wasn’t simply because of Ellis that the numbers tripped so readily from her tongue. ‘Thanks. Really. Sorry to have bothered you.’
‘No bother. Pleased that you’re all right. Ellis thought something had happened to you. I think he’s got quite a crush on you.’
‘No!’ Lola’s emphatic denial jolted the barman from his torpor. ‘I mean, no, we’re just friends. I really wanted to let him know that I’m okay.’
‘That’s fine then,’ Tatty’s voice held a lazy smile. ‘Oh, look, shall I give you his mobile number, too? Glad is probably asleep and she gets right nasty if she don’t get her eight hours.’
Once again, Lola made stabbing hieroglyphics into the beer mat.
Tatty’s voice smiled again. ‘Got that? Good. Look, Lola, it’s lovely to chat, but I’m in the middle of doing the new brochures for the tattoo parlour on my Apple Mac, and I want to catch the end of the film, too.’
‘Right. Of course. Sorry. Thanks again. See you soon.’
‘Yeah. See you.’
By now, the barman and the two reps were hanging on every word. Lola picked up
the beer mat and squinted at the pinpricks. There were more scratches and holes than mat. Bugger. Feeding more money into the phone, she thumped out what she hoped was Ellis’s mobile number.
Of course, she realized as she did so, she could have just given her message to Tatty, couldn’t she? She could easily have left it to Tatty to pass on the glad tidings that she was alive and well and staying at The Mucky Duck. The Steeple Fritton bush telegraph was faster than any e-mail system. There was absolutely no need to speak to Ellis.
‘Hi . . .’
Oh dear . . . Lola stared into the phone. No . . . Surely not? Not just at the sound of his voice? She whimpered at her own foolishness. ‘Er, Ellis. It’s me . . .’
‘Lola! Where the hell are you? Are you okay? I’ve been frantic. Everyone’s been frantic. What the hell is going on?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m fine, honestly. I just had, er, had some stuff to do. Look, could you tell them at Sunny Dene that I’m safe, and I apologize for bothering people, oh, and ask Flynn to take care of the pub for a bit, and see if Posy will help out and –’
‘Where are you?’ it doesn’t matter –’
‘Yes, it does. Where are you?’
‘Oh, some little place between Newbury and Andover. Micklesham.’
‘Right. Where in Micklesham?’
‘Ellis, it doesn’t matter where I –’
‘Where are you staying? Are you alone?’
‘Of course I’m alone! I’m always bloody alone! No, sorry. Oh, it’s a little inn-cum-hotel called The Mucky Duck, which I think is meant to be a joke, but –’
‘Fine. I presume there’s a bar?’
‘Yes, I’m in it now.’
‘Great. Get me a Jack Daniel’s and a can of Coke in and I’ll be with you in about half an hour.’
‘Ellis! No!’
But the phone was dead. Impatiently she redialled. This time, Ellis’s phone was switched off.
The barman and the reps had perked up considerably. The Mucky Duck probably hadn’t seen this much action for years. Lola, ignoring the curious faces, ordered another G&T and the JD and Coke, and returned to her seat.
Ellis arrived twenty minutes later. The minibus, Lola thought, was probably smoking in the car park. He was wearing his faded black jeans and a big denim shirt over a white T-shirt. The barman woke up and preened himself. The reps didn’t.
Deliberately trying not to look absolutely delighted to see him, she fixed a so-so smile as he walked across the bar towards her. ‘This is so kind of you, but really there was no need . . .’
‘There was every need,’ Ellis pulled his chair closer to hers, and fizzed the Coke into the JD. ‘I’m so bloody pleased to see you. Are you all right?’
‘Perfectly. I didn’t mean to drag you out.’
Ellis took a long drink, then leaned back in his chair.
‘I’ve been worried sick. Everyone’s been worried sick. We didn’t know what had happened. I thought ... I thought . . .’
‘What?’
‘That it was my fault, because of yesterday and the ankle bracelets and the kiss and everything.’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing like that. Look –’ she pulled up the leg of her jeans to show him the bracelets still sliding against her skin. ‘They’re still there. Yesterday was one of the best days of my life. And the kiss,’ she smiled at him, ‘didn’t insult me at all. Far from it. As you well know. No, it was just something that happened after you’d left me, something that scared me, bothered me, oh, made me angry after such a perfect day.’
She told him about Barbara Marion booking into Sunny Dene.
‘God, is that who she is? What an old witch! She’s evil. She’s been everywhere asking questions and demanding information. She’s put everyone’s backs up. The coven were going to run her out of town and Gran had to be prevented from decking her in the corner shop. And she was so rude to Dilys and Norrie at the B&B, Posy said Dilys had to be restrained from dumping a casserole on her head.’
Lola laughed. ‘I wish she’d done it! No, seriously, I have no idea why Barbara is there, but I just don’t want to see her. I suppose she knows I live there?’
‘Guess so. She must have known that before she arrived, and if she asked for confirmation and pretended to be a friend, then Dom would have said yes, even if the others may have been a bit more wary. I wonder who told her where to find you?’
Lola had puzzled over the same question all day over the umpteen cups of coffee in the umpteen cafes. She’d been in touch with so few people since she’d arrived in Steeple Fritton. Sheila, Jenny and Mo, her girlfriends from Swansbury, would sooner die than reveal her whereabouts to Barbara. Which, sadly, left only one person.
‘I think it was probably my cousin, Mimi. She really doesn’t like me at all, thinks that by being Nigel’s mistress I was going to somehow ensnare her husband. She’d feel it was striking a blow for cheated-on-wives everywhere by snitching. Although how on earth Barbara bloody Marion managed to get hold of her, I’ll never know.’
‘Maybe you should ask her.’
‘Maybe . . .’ Lola sighed. ‘I know you’ll think I’m a coward to have run away. I just didn’t know what else to do. I really hoped I’d left the past behind me. I truly don’t want it all raked up again. And Nigel’s dead. There’s no point . . .’
Ellis finished his drink. ‘There doesn’t seem to be, no. But honestly, until you face her and find out what she wants, you’ll never know, will you? How did you get here, anyway?’
She told him briefly of catching the early morning bus from Steeple Fritton to Newbury, the day spent in the town, then catching the second bus to anywhere, which had terminated in Micklesham.
‘Jesus! I’ve been in bloody Newbury today with Gran and the coven. I didn’t even think of looking for you there.’
‘Why would you? Anyway, I spent most of it hiding in cafés, trying to summon up the courage to go back to Steeple Fritton.’
‘You poor thing,’ he leaned forward and took her hand. ‘So, are you feeling brave enough now?’
She was suddenly feeling a lot of things. Brave wasn’t top of the list.
‘Maybe tomorrow. I’ve booked a room for the night and I’ll get the bus back in the morning. Don’t worry about me.’
‘I’m closing the bar,’ the barman announced, not even trying to disguise his yawning. ‘Anyone want anything else?’
The reps belted up with their glasses.
Ellis looked at her. ‘Do you want another?’
‘No thanks. And you should be going. You won’t be up for school otherwise.’
‘Yes, Mum.’ He grinned. ‘Are you reminding me that as of yesterday I’m twenty-six years younger than you?’
‘No, honestly. I meant for the school run . . .’
Ellis released her hand, pushed his chair back and stood up. Making a big deal of swirling melted ice over the withered bit of lemon in the bottom of her glass, Lola didn’t look at him. She couldn’t let him see that she was sorry he was leaving. She heard him walk away, and sighed. Well, why would he stay? He’d found her, knew she was all right, and he had loads of things to do in Steeple Fritton.
‘Come on, then.’ He was standing beside her, another JD and G&T on a tray. ‘Lead me to your boudoir.’
Ridiculously pleased, embarrassed, and totally panic-stricken all at the same time, she shook her head. ‘We can’t ... I mean, I can’t . . .’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll sleep on the floor, or in a chair, or somewhere, and run you home in the morning. I’m not leaving you on your own when you’re unhappy. And we can talk in your room. It’s got to be better than here.’
Not knowing if Room 25 even had a chair, but assuming that it would have floor space, and not wishing to spend another minute under the scrutiny of the reps and the barman, Lola stood up. ‘Yes, sure. Silly of me. I’m just not used to this sort of thing.’
Room 25, when they found it at the top of an ochre-coloured staircase, was sl
ightly more depressing than the bar had been.
Very cold, with overhead lighting, 1970s furniture, a heart-rending print of a soaking-wet puppy, and an all-in-one colour scheme reminiscent of the filling of a mushroom vol-au-vent, it would hardly lift anyone’s spirits.
‘It’s got a candlewick bedspread!’ Ellis said delightedly, bouncing on the bed. ‘I haven’t seen one of those for years. Oh, and flannelette sheets in pastel stripes! It’s brilliantly retro.’
‘It’s tacky and old-fashioned,’ Lola smiled. His enthusiasm obviously knew no bounds. ‘I don’t think I even want to look at the bathroom.’
Ellis padded across the room and pulled open the adjoining door. ‘Nope. You’re right. You don’t. Still, I’m sure we can still make it more cosy in here. You go and have a quick whatever in the bathroom with your eyes closed while I sort things out.’
‘I, um, haven’t got any clothes ... no dressing gown, nothing . . .’
‘Here,’ Ellis peeled off the denim shirt and handed it to her. ‘It should just about cover your modesty.’
Lola clutched it and fled into the bathroom. She looked at the shirt. It may well cover her modesty, but there was no way it would cover the sags, bags and wrinkles . . .
The bathroom was every bit as bad as she’d anticipated, and being very aware of Ellis happily singing ‘Goody Goody Gumdrops’ only an inch of plywood away, it meant that her ablutions were completed in record time.
She peered out of the door and laughed. The room had been transformed. Two pink-shaded lamps provided a soft-focus glow, the candlewick bedspread had been peeled back to reveal a rather faded rose-strewn eiderdown, and the sad puppy picture had disappeared.
‘Oh, Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen eat your heart out! How did you manage this?’
‘A bit of shifting around, digging out a couple of lamps that were in the bottom of the wardrobe. Makes all the difference.’ Ellis stopped and looked at her. ‘Wow!’
She pulled the denim shirt even closer. It hung from her shoulders and skimmed the tops of her thighs. Practically every fifty-year-old bit of her was on display.
Tickled Pink Page 25
