Tickled Pink

by Christina Jones

  ‘Er, I think I’d like to get into bed now. And don’t say anything flippant, please. I’m embarrassed.’

  ‘Don’t be. You look amazing, and didn’t I tell you that the ankle bracelets would give you a real edge?’

  She looked down at her bare feet on the brown and orange floral carpet, at the three strands of silver looped above her ankle bone, and nodded. He was right. They looked very sassy and made her feel . . . well, suffice it to say that she didn’t feel in the least like a fifty-year-old PA specializing in fancy biscuits.

  ‘God, it’s freezing in here, I need to get into bed – oh, damn, don’t grin like that.’

  ‘Me?’ Ellis retreated to a far corner of the room and exaggeratedly squeezed his eyes shut, ‘I’m doing nothing, seeing nothing, saying nothing. Just hurry up.’

  Smiling to herself, Lola climbed into bed. It really was surprisingly comfortable, with soft pillows, and the heaviness of the blankets and eiderdown made her feel safe and snug – like she had as a child.

  ‘Okay?’ He opened one eye. ‘Can I look now?’

  ‘Thanks for not making it awkward. And thanks for being here tonight. I feel such a fool.’

  Ellis carried the drinks tray to the bed, then sat on the end and handed her her glass. ‘Here’s to fools, then, because I’ve felt like a complete one all day.’

  ‘You? Why?’

  ‘Because I thought you’d gone for good and it was driving me crazy, not being able to do anything about it. And Posy and Flynn were being really vague and casual about it, like it was no big deal at all. And then I had to take the coven and their cronies into Newbury and all the time I wanted to find you and talk to you and I couldn’t. I don’t even have your mobile number.’

  ‘Haven’t got one.’

  ‘You must have. Everyone has.’

  ‘I haven’t. Not any more. It wasn’t mine, was it? Like everything else it belonged to bloody Marionette Biscuits.’

  Ellis looked at her over the rim of his glass. ‘Do you know, the more I hear about your set-up with the Biscuit King, the less I like it. And it’s not just territorial jealousy. I think he behaved like a shit.’

  Lola let the gin trickle down her throat and didn’t answer. She couldn’t bear to hear Nigel criticized, and yet . . . and yet . . . ‘Do you mind if we don’t talk about anything remotely connected to any of the Marions? Not tonight.’

  ‘Of course.’ He stared at her for a moment. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘I take it you are referring to food and not being euphemistic? Yes, then. A bit. I haven’t eaten all day. Felt too sick. Why? Are you?’

  ‘Yeah, but then I always am. It’s my youth, you see. Shall I go and see what The Mucky Duck has to offer by way of room service?’

  ‘This isn’t Colworth Manor or some glitzy five-star establishment. Everything will be barred and bolted.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Give me a couple of minutes.’ As soon as he’d gone the room seemed smaller, duller, emptier. Lola pulled the covers up to her neck and snuggled into the bed’s growing warmth. It was wonderful to be here, safe, happy, drowsy . . . and with Ellis.

  Nothing would come of the relationship, she knew that. The age difference was too huge. They were a lifetime apart. And she knew he’d sleep with her if she asked him to, because it was what they both wanted, and that they’d both enjoy it. But she couldn’t because it wouldn’t be forever. And this time, forever was what she had to have.

  The door burst open again.

  ‘Voilà!’

  ‘That was quick. Don’t tell me there were minions just waiting downstairs to take orders from unregistered guests?’

  Ellis dumped crackers, cheese, chocolate biscuits and a bottle of water on to the eiderdown. ‘No such luck. But there was an unlocked kitchen cupboard or three. Don’t look so worried. I left a fiver on the table.’

  The picnic was almost as good as their previous one in Christ Church Meadows.

  As they ate, Ellis chatted about Flynn and Lola taking the misrouted package to Fox Hollow and all the amazing events that had materialized from the meeting with Jack Morland. About how Letting Off Steam was going to be the theme for Steeple Fritton and the carnival, and how everything seemed to have fallen neatly into place – just so long as she gave the go-ahead for Queen Mab and the fairground organ to be outside the pub, and Posy’s meeting with the parish council came up trumps.

  ‘It all sounds fantastic,’ Lola brushed biscuit crumbs from the eiderdown. ‘And these people own a proper funfair as well, do they?’

  Ellis nodded. ‘Apparently it’s called The Memory Lane Fair, all traditional rides, nothing new or white-knuckle. Flynn and Posy couldn’t stop talking about it. Of course,’ he grinned at her, ‘they had to explain everything to me, me not remembering anything before scary, hydraulic, fibreglass fairground attractions. For you, being so ancient, it would probably be far more familiar.’

  ‘Bastard!’ Lola snatched at a pillow and aimed it at his head.

  ‘Crone!’

  ‘Toyboy!’

  ‘Cradle-snatcher!’

  She sat up indignantly, trying not to laugh. ‘Oh, I’m far from that. My one and only lover was almost old enough to be my father, remember?’

  ‘How could I forget?’ Ellis stood up and replaced the pillow behind her head. ‘Maybe it’s time to alter that situation.’

  He leaned down and kissed her. With the denim shirt sliding from her shoulders she kissed him back.

  ‘You were going to sleep on the chair,’ she said as he pulled back the covers.

  ‘There isn’t one.’

  ‘Oh, no, there isn’t is there? Oh, dear, what a pity . . .’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  ‘Breakfast for one, you said.’ The woman from the reception cubicle glared accusingly across The Mucky Duck’s over-flounced dining room the following morning. ‘I distinctly remember. In fact, if I may remind you, your words were –’

  Lola beamed. ‘I know. And you were kind enough to point out that breakfast for one rarely happened here, and you were absolutely right, so, now it’s breakfast for two.’

  ‘Bed and breakfast for two?’

  ‘Oh, yes . . .’ Lola sighed. ‘Oh, yes, definitely. Of course I’ll pay the extra.’

  ‘Is the young gentleman not paying, then?’

  ‘God, no.’ Ellis looked horrified across the regiment of sauce bottles. ‘We teenage gigolos don’t pay for anything.’

  It was, Lola discovered, almost impossible to eat a Full English while holding hands across the table and laughing a lot, but they managed it.

  Emerging from The Mucky Duck into a murky, close, April morning, she couldn’t remember when she’d last felt like this. Never, she thought. Absolutely never . . . And so what if it wouldn’t last, couldn’t last. She’d been wrong; forget forever: seize the moment was going to be her new motto.

  Ellis pulled her towards him in the car park. ‘Okay?’

  ‘What? Your performance? Hmmm, I suppose so . . . Not bad.’

  He kissed her. ‘You could do with a bit of practice yourself.’

  ‘We’ll have to arrange something. And please don’t kiss me again or I might just have to rush you back to the boudoir.’

  ‘Insatiable,’ Ellis said happily, sliding open the minibus’s door for her. ‘That’s what I love about you older women.’

  They drove back to Steeple Fritton holding hands on the steering wheel and singing ‘Simon Says’ very loudly.

  The euphoria lasted until they arrived outside Sunny Dene.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Ellis hugged her. ‘I’ve phoned ahead and arranged that Flynn and Posy will take over the school run, the courier drops, and the food parcels for the rich and famous. I’ll be here in Sunny Dene cheering you on. I’m not going to leave you to face that old bag alone.’

  ‘She’ll probably say a lot of things you won’t want to hear.’

  ‘Lola,’ Ellis took her face in his hands, ‘she was your lover’s wife. She’s
venomous by nature and she hates you. Of course she’s going to say stuff neither of us likes, but none of it will be news to me, will it? Don’t let it bother you. Just face up to her, listen to her, have your say, and walk away from her. Then it’s over.’

  Lola took a deep breath. It was the confrontation she’d dreaded, and yet now, because of last night and this morning and Ellis, she felt as though she could take on the world.

  She nodded. ‘Okay, but I have to see her on my own.’

  ‘I understand that. But I’ll only be in the hall. With Trevor and Kenneth primed and at the ready. Within screaming distance.’

  ‘Her screams or mine?’

  ‘Hers, definitely. I’ve got first-hand knowledge of what damage you can inflict with your fingernails.’

  Lola was still smiling when she walked into Sunny Dene’s flagged hall.

  As Ellis had also had the foresight to phone Dilys and Norrie and tell them that Lola was fine and on her way back, there were no welcome parties in evidence. Barbara, they’d said, would be waiting in the visitors’ lounge. With her heart thumping, and a dry mouth, Lola opened the lounge door.

  Barbara Marion, dark and gaunt, was reading a newspaper. At least, Lola felt, as she was standing it gave her a slight advantage.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I understand you’re looking for me?’

  ‘Miss Wentworth, at last.’ Without looking up, Barbara slowly folded the newspaper. ‘And yes, you understand correctly.’

  Lola shifted her feet. ‘Well, I’m here, but I’m extremely busy and don’t have long, so please say whatever it is you need to say and then leave.’

  ‘All in good time. I’m here to tell you a few home truths, something I would have done earlier if you hadn’t skedaddled so damn quickly. I went through everything in your tacky little love nest prior to selling it – appalling taste, by the way. Yours or my dear husband’s?’

  ‘Both . . .’ Lola felt the lump growing in her throat. ‘And?’

  ‘And you’d covered your traces very well. Disappeared into thin air. You must have walked away with nothing, you poor fool. Toby Everton, my solicitor, helped with the inventory and –’

  ‘What inventory?’

  ‘The flat’s inventory, you stupid woman.’

  ‘But why would the flat have an inventory? It was my home, and Nigel bought it –’

  ‘As an asset,’ Barbara’s hooded eyes flashed. ‘A tax dodge. Officially a place to entertain customers. The flat, fixtures and fittings, belonged to the Marionette Biscuits empire. It was never meant to be anyone’s permanent home.’

  ‘Yes it was!’ Lola blinked, ‘It was Nigel’s flat, our flat. He was going to live with me there after he’d retired

  ‘No, he wasn’t. He was never going to live with you. The flat was tied up with the business. It would have become the property of the new MD on Nigel’s retirement. Only, of course, he died before retiring because he wouldn’t hand over the reins at a sensible age and –’

  Lola shook her head. No! Surely not! But that meant... that meant that Nigel had lied about their future and about everything else. Absolutely everything.

  She took a gulp of air. ‘Toby Everton told me that the flat became your property as part of the estate, but he said nothing about it being a business asset. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.’

  Barbara pulled a face. ‘Do you think I care if you believe me or not? I’m merely giving you the facts. Toby Everton is too soft-hearted for his own good. He told you to leave the flat because it was mine under the terms of the will. Because of the circumstances, he had no need to tell you that you’d have been out on your ear when Nigel retired, so he didn’t. He will, of course, confirm this now if you wish to ask him.’

  ‘But, but he, Toby Everton, said that Nigel adored me!’

  Barbara laughed. ‘Yes, I’m sure he did. I’m also sure Nigel was totally enamoured of you. Nigel always did have an eye for a pretty woman. But he would never have lived with you, and certainly not in your beloved apartment. That was never on the cards.’

  ‘But why are you telling me all this now?’

  ‘Because you thought that Nigel loved you more than anything or anyone.’ Barbara’s expression was still icy. ‘I saw you at his funeral, completely distraught. But I wanted to take the happy memories away from you. I wanted you to be as miserable as sin for the rest of your life. Like I was for all the years I was married to him.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear any more,’ Lola stood up. ‘Whatever tax dodges Nigel pulled, he loved me. Really loved me. You’ll never be able to take that away.’

  ‘No?’ Barbara stood up, too. Her voice was glacial. ‘Then let me answer your first question and add a few facts of my own. Along with everything else relating to that flat, the phone bills, itemized, went to the Marionette accountant. I sat down and rang every bloody number that I didn’t recognize.’

  ‘But they were my phone calls!’ Lola was appalled. ‘You mean to say that you’ve checked on me via all my friends?’

  ‘Yes, and it was your cousin, peculiar name, Mimi? Yes, your dear cousin Mimi who told me where to find you. I must say your other friends showed a great deal more loyalty than your family.’

  Bloody Mimi! Lola groaned. She’d known it would be Mimi!

  ‘However,’ Barbara went on, ‘it was during my phone-checking that I discovered one or two other pieces of information which I simply couldn’t wait to share with you. Things which came as a shock to me, and even to Toby Everton. Nigel had more secrets than anyone ever knew.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear this. Nothing more. I’m honestly not interested in your petty, mean-minded schemes to get back at Nigel. Or me. There’s no point –’

  ‘There’s every point, as I told you before. I want you to know what a complete bastard you threw the best part of your life away on. Like I did. I want you to despise him and to know what it’s like to be made a fool of. Much as I hate to say this, Miss Wentworth, I think we’re very much in the same boat.’

  ‘Oh, please! Hardly.’

  Barbara Marion straightened her severe cream suit. ‘During the course of my, er, investigations I discovered that Nigel had two other homes and two other women in his life.’

  Sunny Dene’s lounge dipped and swayed. Lola clutched on to the armchair for support. ‘You’re lying. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t . . .’

  Barbara smiled. The smile was mocking and cold. ‘One in Bradford and one in Truro. Do those places mean anything to you?’

  Lola took deep breaths, trying to steady herself. ‘Well, yes, of course they do. I contacted them practically every day when I was at work. They’re the towns where the other Marionette Biscuits factories are, I mean, were . . .’

  ‘Exactly. And my dear husband, and your loyal lover, had a home and a mistress in each one. In fact, the woman in Truro even managed to produce a bastard by him. The child is fifteen now.’

  Lola tried very hard not to laugh. If she laughed she’d become hysterical which really wouldn’t help. This was all like something out of Catherine Cookson. ‘I’m sorry, but Nigel wouldn’t . . .’

  ‘He would, could and did. And again, Toby Everton will confirm all this if you’d prefer to hear it from him. The only satisfaction I gained was discovering that, because of his sudden death, he’d made no provisions for these, these, tarts any more than he did for you.’

  Lola had never really wanted to hit anyone in her life before. She had never felt roused to violence. Now she longed to fly at Barbara Marion and pummel her into the ground. She closed her eyes for a second and took deep gulping breaths until the feeling subsided slightly.

  ‘I want you to leave now.’

  ‘I’m going,’ Barbara Marion smiled. ‘I do so hope that I’ve managed to destroy your memories and ruin the rest of your life. Oh, and you may like to look at these . . .’ She placed a pile of photographs and papers on the coffee table. ‘Toby Everton has made copies. Evidence of Nigel’s other women. Letters, property ow
nership, even photographs of him playing happy families in Bradford and Truro. Enjoy them. Goodbye, Miss Wentworth.’

  Almost unaware that she was doing so, Lola held her breath until Barbara had left the room, then she released it in a huge juddering sigh. Feeling her way round the armchair, she lowered herself into it, averting her eyes from the pile of spite left by Barbara on the coffee table.

  Too shocked to cry, she stared numbly out of the window. How could she have been so blind? How could she have been such a fool? Why had she not even thought that Nigel, cheating on Barbara, may well also be cheating on her? How could she have been naive enough to live a life that was a complete and utter lie?

  Ellis, accompanied by a rather subdued Trevor and Kenneth, quietly opened the door and put a mug of tea on the table. ‘Hot, strong, and three sugars. I know you don’t take sugar but you need it, and a dash of brandy.’ He slid his arm round her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. ‘I expect you want to be left alone for a bit, but I’ll still be here in the B&B somewhere. Okay?’

  She looked up at him and nodded. ‘Thank you. You heard?’

  ‘Yes. All of it. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Me too. Especially as she was telling the truth.’ She tried to smile. ‘Hell hath no fury and all that. Has she gone?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Got Norrie to call a taxi to take her to Reading station. She’s gone.’

  ‘Good.’ She looked into his eyes, ‘I’d like to be on my own now. Just for a little while.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll be around when you need me. Okay?’

  ‘Okay. And thank you. For all of it. And she motioned her head towards the pile of papers on the coffee table, ‘could you take those away and lose them somewhere, please?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Ellis kissed her cheek and left the room. Trevor and Kenneth solemnly licked her hands, and settled down on either side of her. She picked up the steaming tea with one hand and fondled the dogs with the other. Then she started to cry.

  It was nearly two o’clock when she emerged from her room. She’d sat in the lounge for hours, staring into space, remembering, crying. Now, having showered and changed, and given up on trying to get any make-up to make her bloated face look presentable, she walked slowly downstairs.