by Karen Clarke
‘You’re not dressed!’ she cried. For a moment I thought she was expressing concern that he might get frostbite but, instead, she covered her eyes with her hand. ‘Wandering about naked in the middle of the night is hardly socially acceptable behaviour,’ she said, though I had a feeling that if Ollie had been in his pants, or even capering about nude, she wouldn’t have minded one bit. ‘It was a big mistake you inviting them to stay.’ She removed her hand and, thanks to the snow, the Christmas lights, and the glaring moon, I couldn’t avoid the disappointment in her eyes. ‘It’s caused nothing but trouble.’
‘I agree,’ said a voice behind me.
‘Me too.’
I swivelled round, my mouth falling open. More neighbours had emerged, some in coats and bobble hats, others wrapped in blankets, and one in a duvet, as though attending some outdoor event.
‘This was a quiet, respectable street, until he came here.’
‘Until she came here.’
‘Who’s she going to invite to stay next? One of them idiots off The Only Way is Essex?’
‘Maybe it’ll be a murderer and we’ll all be killed in our beds.’ The woman who’d spoken poured steaming liquid from a Thermos into a mug, and I marvelled that she’d had the foresight to prepare refreshments. It was Annabel from the beach, glaring from under the peak of a knitted hat. ‘You need to keep your London boyfriend under control,’ she said.
London boyfriend? I wanted to say something, but my brain felt as frozen as my fingers.
‘We don’t want any trouble,’ Craig said, smoothing the air in front of us. There was a lot of steam from our combined breaths, and the unusual lighting lent the scene an air of unreality. ‘We were just going in, actually.’
‘Ooh, I’m not talking about you, my lovely.’ Annabel threw him a dimpled smile. ‘I’m talking about lover-boy here.’
‘Lover-boy?’ Ollie’s head resumed its normal position, his gaze sweeping over what was possibly his most unreceptive audience to date. ‘Lover-boy?’ There were scraps of bloody tissue stuck to his nose and his hair had flopped into an unflattering middle parting. It wasn’t his best look. ‘I’ll have you know, I haven’t laid a finger on this lovely lady.’ He pulled me to him, causing my heels to slip so I ended up clutching at him for support. ‘I can assure you her honour’s intact.’
I knew he was trying to defend me but wished he’d be quiet. They were imitating him now, in exaggerated vowels.
‘Oh, I saaaaaaaaaaay, he hasn’t laid a finger on her, milord.’
‘Would one like a cucumber sandwich, my lady?’
Gales of laughter followed.
‘Hey, come on, that’s a bit harsh.’ Ollie let go of me and spread his arms like a preacher. ‘How would you loike it if oi talked loike you lot?’ He lapsed into a hideous Dorset accent. ‘Oo-arr, where’s me combine ’arvester?’ He hooked his thumbs through a pair of imaginary braces and did a horrible jig. ‘I’ll ’ave me a pint of zider, please, sir.’
‘Ollie, don’t,’ I said, tugging his sleeve, while Craig laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Let’s just go inside.’
‘Better listen to your girlfriend,’ said Annabel, eyes bulging. ‘And don’t think we’ll be turning up to watch you switch on the lights tomorrow – or should I say, later today –because we won’t.’
‘Yeah, you’ve ruined that for us, so thanks.’ It was a skinny youth in a beanie hat, who looked like he might be Annabel’s son.
‘But what about the competitors?’ I glanced round, hoping to see a friendly face or two, but Celia Appleton lived at the top of the hill, and Jane and Dennis – and Doris – near the bottom, and they were probably fast asleep. And I doubted they’d be feeling friendly, once word got around that Ollie Matheson and his ‘girlfriend’ had fought in the street in the middle of the night and woken half the neighbours. ‘They’ll have to be there for the prize-giving,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’m sure we will be,’ Sheelagh interjected, glancing towards her house. I was surprised that Barry hadn’t emerged to lend his weight to the argument, but guessed his dream of beating Mr Flannery (also notable by his absence) temporarily outweighed his dislike of my visitor, and he was keeping a low profile.
‘I’m surprised at you, Sheelagh.’ Annabel gave her a filthy look, and I had a horrid vision of a street forever divided into those who’d supported Ollie’s visit, because of the competition, and those who blamed him for disrupting their peaceful lives.
I’d probably have to leave, like Isabel Sinclair had, in order for peace to be restored.
‘Listen, now you’re here, why don’t we sing a few Christmas carols?’ Amazingly, Ollie was smiling again, seemingly unaware that his bloodstained chin and jacket gave him the look of a recently fed cannibal. ‘There’s nothing like a sing-song for creating a feeling of harmony.’
‘At this time of night?’ Disbelieving looks flew around.
‘Is he right in the head?’
‘He’s definitely takin’ the piss.’
‘’TIS THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY, TRA-LA-LA-LA-LAAAA,’ Ollie sang, in the style of Pavarotti, and the pin-drop silence that followed was broken by a long, piercing wail, closely followed by another, higher-pitched wail.
‘Now, look what you’ve done,’ hissed Annabel. ‘You’ve woken the Desmond twins.’
‘Are they Shipley’s answer to the Kray twins?’ Ollie queried, feigning a worried expression.
‘They’re babies, you idiot.’ Annabel looked like she might spit at him. ‘It probably took Bella and Mark hours to get them to sleep.’
We listened to the ghostly sounds emerging from the house where Craig had interviewed the parents just hours earlier.
‘Shall I sing a lullaby?’ Ollie said.
‘Sounds lovely,’ Sheelagh whispered, resting a mittened hand on Ollie’s arm. ‘But now might not be the right time.’
‘Ollie,’ Craig said tightly. ‘Let’s go. Now.’
Annabel drained her mug. ‘Take your friend’s advice,’ she said, a frothy moustache of milk on her upper lip. ‘Because if you sing so much as a single note I’ll set Brian on you, and he’ll go straight for your crown jewels.’
‘That sounds awfully like a threat.’ Ollie seemed genuinely disturbed at the level of resentment radiating towards him. ‘Fine,’ he said huffily, throwing off Craig’s hand. ‘I’ll let you get back to your beds and do whatever it is you do there.’
‘Sleep?’ The sarcastic voice came from a figure so thoroughly wrapped in a duvet that only a pair of baleful eyes and a thatch of dark hair were visible. ‘Dream?’
Ollie gave Annabel the first properly snooty look I’d seen from him. ‘Well, I doubt it’ll be anything sexual in your case. I actually feel sorry for Brian.’ Turning, he walked away, his exit somewhat spoilt by rapid, stumbling steps as his loafers slithered on the freezing snow.
Craig and I looked at each other, and I saw the same resignation on his bone-white face that he probably saw on mine. There was nothing we could do but follow Ollie and, as we did, I pretended not to hear Annabel’s parting words, despite them being loud enough to wake the dead.
‘Did you hear that? He just accused me of sleeping with my dog.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was almost ten when I woke, and I didn’t want to get up.
Once we’d returned to the cottage, Ollie – finally sober – had expressed deep remorse at disturbing the neighbours and had wanted to go and apologise, and offer to pay for a spa day for Annabel and Brian. By the time Craig and I talked him out of it (and explained that Brian was a dog, which elicited a shocked, ‘So, I basically accused her of bestiality’), it had been nearly four o’clock. Ollie eventually agreed to ‘sleep on it’ and Craig had dived into his sleeping bag with a fervently muttered, ‘Thank Christ.’ By the time I’d staggered upstairs, Ollie had washed his bloodied face in the bathroom and was fast asleep, his clothes tossed at the end of the bed, and I’d lain awake shivering for nearly an hour, cursing the day he’d arri
ved.
Now, I bunched deeper under my duvet and squeezed my eyes shut, but all I could see were the angry, scornful faces of my neighbours.
How was I ever going to win them round? And did I even want to? They had every reason to be annoyed with Ollie, but he hadn’t meant any harm. If anything, he’d given them a bit of excitement, and something to dine out on for years. It’s not like he deserved an ASBO and, anyway, he’d be gone in a couple of days.
The thought brought a little pang. I could barely remember what I’d been doing before Ollie and Craig arrived. Obviously, it would be nice to get back to writing, especially now I knew what I was doing, but it was going to be quiet without them. Perhaps I should invite my mum or Erin to stay the following weekend.
Poking my hand out, I plucked my phone from the bedside table.
Erin had texted the day before, asking how Ollie was ‘behaving’ and I hadn’t known how to reply, what with him zipping to London to direct Mum’s play (she would probably have found him and fired him) and had sent another an hour later, saying,
‘he’s not there, is he?’
that I hadn’t seen. I’d had my phone on silent since visiting the school and there were a few missed calls.
Her penultimate message read:
‘If you don’t respond, I’m going to assume you’ve run away with my client, or that you’re hiding something’,
and her final one, sent a couple of hours ago, made me sit up.
‘I’ll see you this afternoon.’
I tried her number, but it went to voicemail, so I texted:
‘Sorry I didn’t get back to you, everything’s under control, I PROMISE!! X’
before slumping back on my pillow to stare at the ceiling.
I had no one to blame but myself for things going wrong. If I hadn’t gone to that stupid meeting in the first place, and tried to ingratiate myself with my neighbours, I might have been watching the tree lights being switched on this afternoon, just like everyone else, and have seen either Barry or Mr Flannery receive the award for best display as a spectator. Perhaps I’d have joined in with the good-natured gossip about who should really have won, and whether Mr Flannery was related to the judge, and one of my neighbours might have invited me round for a mince pie. As it was, I’d be attending the event as Ollie’s escort, praying our angry neighbours didn’t turn up to pelt him with eggs, or start heckling, which the local reporter would have a field day with. The story would get picked up by the national news, and end up on social media, further ruining Ollie’s reputation, meaning he’d never work again, and I would be forever associated with his downfall, which meant Erin would hate me too…
My tumbling thoughts were cut off by a knock on the door, and I pushed back the duvet to see Craig’s head. ‘Cup of tea?’ he enquired.
‘Oh.’ I sat up, aware of my bed-hair and morning-breath, as he cautiously approached with a mug and set it down on the bedside table. ‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’ He was dressed in jeans and a sweater and smelt like he’d showered, though I hadn’t heard a thing. He looked mysterious in the half-light, his hair flatter than usual, and it struck me that I’d had two strange men in my bedroom in less than a week and they couldn’t have been more different.
Craig was already backing out, his gaze cast down as if to preserve my modesty. Perversely, I wanted to detain him.
‘Is Ollie up?’
He paused in the doorway. ‘I thought it best to let him sleep off last night,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘He does better when he’s properly rested.’
It sounded as if we were discussing our hyperactive child.
‘Did you sleep OK in the end?’
‘Once I’d warmed up.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘I couldn’t feel my feet for about an hour.’
‘Me neither.’
The exchange felt oddly intimate and, as if he felt it too, he said, ‘I’ll make some toast,’ and left the room.
I sat for a moment, trying to remember whether Max had ever brought me a drink in bed. It had happened once; after we’d slept together for the first time and I’d developed a raging thirst. He brought me some lukewarm water in a coffee cup, because he couldn’t find a glass in his tiny, cluttered house.
I sipped my tea, which was just how I liked it, with only a splash of milk, and tried to locate my earlier panic and annoyance, but it had faded. It was impossible to stay mad with Ollie, however infuriating he was.
He didn’t emerge until after one, striding into the living room wearing his ‘dressed down’ outfit of jeans and hooded sweatshirt, and looking like he’d slept for twenty-four hours.
‘Where’s Craig?’ he demanded, dropping into the armchair.
‘Gone for a run and to do some filming,’ I said. He’d half jokingly asked me to join him for a run after breakfast, but I’d reluctantly declined on account of my legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. He’d advised me to have a long soak in a hot bath and I had, letting my mind drift with the steam, thinking about nothing in particular.
Now, I was welded to the sofa, my slippered feet propped on the coffee table, panic-buying last-minute Christmas gifts on Amazon.
‘I dreamt I was giving Barack Obama a lift to the airport,’ Ollie said, swinging one leg over the arm of the chair. ‘He was telling me that the best way to carve a turkey was to use a spoon and I wanted to tell him that was rubbish, but I couldn’t because… well, because he was Barack Obama.’
I looked at him over my laptop. ‘Right.’
‘He was wearing a really nice tie,’ Ollie went on, stroking his hair back. ‘Sort of stripy with little lambs on.’
‘Are you still talking about the ex-president of the United States?’
‘Yah.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I think I owe you an apology for last night,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have got drunk in the cab.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘You shouldn’t have done a lot of things.’
He grimaced. ‘It wasn’t that bad. Was it?’
‘You caused quite the stir.’
‘Well, you did give me a nosebleed.’
‘I doubt I’ll be the last,’ I said.
He guffawed. ‘They’re a bit uptight around here, aren’t they?’
‘Probably not used to middle-of-the night disturbances,’ I said. ‘Some of them are quite elderly.’
He sat forward, eyebrows bunched. ‘Sounds crazy, but I don’t know many old people,’ he said. ‘My grandparents on both sides died when I was young, and… well, let’s just say there weren’t any octogenarians on Players or in any of the clubs I go to, and although Ma and Pa must be in their sixties, they’re not what you’d call old.’
‘What about when you’re doing your appearances?’
‘It’s mostly younger women and gay men that turn up,’ he said. ‘Though I must say, some of the mums can be keen, too.’
‘I get it,’ I said. ‘To you, old people are like a different species.’
‘I’m a bit scared of them.’ His slightly haunted expression made me want to giggle. ‘They just say what they think and it’s often not very nice, like that Doris Day woman.’
‘There are a few oldies at Mum’s theatre group,’ I said. ‘How was that?’
‘The older ladies seemed to like me, but the blokes were harder to win over.’
‘Ah, the curse of being a lovely, handsome charmer.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ he said with a grin, before turning serious again. ‘Actually, the charm helps a bit when I’m directing, but in a good way. I’m not just getting girls to like me, like on Players, I’m using it to bring people onside so we can work together. Well, mostly. You always get some swine – it’s usually a bloke – who doesn’t like being directed, and thinks his vision is better, but the secret is to engender loyalty in your cast and crew, and I really think I can do that.’ He formed a pyramid shape with his fingers and nodded sincerely. ‘I really do love it.’
I’d never heard h
im so engaged. ‘Then I think you’ve found your new career path,’ I said. ‘Congratulations. You’ll never have to work another day in your life.’
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ I said, embarrassed. ‘Just something Craig said.’
‘Ah, yes.’ His eyes lingered on mine a beat too long. ‘The wise words his teacher imparted to him when he was seven. Craig, I mean, not the teacher. You couldn’t have a seven-year-old teacher, that would be ridiculous.’
I was impressed that Ollie had retained this information. It was proof that he valued Craig’s friendship – not that I needed proof. In fact, it was nothing to do with me. I’d never see either of them again, after tomorrow.
‘Are you looking forward to the ceremony this afternoon?’ I said, breaking the little silence that had fallen.
‘I’m not sure, after last night.’ He sank back in the armchair, mouth pursed. ‘I don’t think I’m going to be very well remembered in Shipley.’
‘Most of the locals are friendly,’ I reminded him. ‘Just not the few you’ve woken up two nights running, but hopefully they won’t be there.’
‘I suppose it’s just a job,’ he said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his hair and adopting a hard-man expression. ‘I’ll be my best professional self then leave them in peace.’
‘So, have you decided who is going to win the competition?’
He tapped the side of his nose and winked. ‘You’ll have to wait and see, sweet Lily,’ he said. ‘But I promise I’ve been fair-minded and not let any of the shenanigans sway me.’
‘In that case, what could possibly go wrong?’ I said.
* * *
The square was buzzing when we arrived, which made it easier to go unnoticed. In the car, Craig had primed Ollie to keep his head down until it was time to switch on the lights, and to try not to attract too much attention.
