by Karen Clarke
‘Erin, you know I’m crazy about you.’
Craig and I gave each other gobsmacked looks.
‘Ollie, for god’s sake, you don’t mean it,’ Erin said. ‘Just because we slept together once—’
‘Slept together?’ I gaped at her. ‘You said you’d kissed, not slept together.’
‘Yeah, well. It wasn’t something I wanted to admit to.’ Erin picked up her glass, her hand shaking. ‘I didn’t want to be one of those girls. Plus, he’s my client.’
‘Bit late for that,’ I said.
‘You never said a word.’ Craig sounded shell-shocked. ‘So much for mates.’
‘Look, I was embarrassed she’d knocked me back,’ Ollie admitted, looking shame-faced and a bit sweaty around the hairline. ‘It’s never happened to me before.’
‘You need to get over yourself,’ muttered Erin.
‘She won’t believe I’m genuine,’ he said, stroking her beret. She jerked away, giving him a furious glare. ‘See? I’ve been trying to think of a way to win her over and thought agreeing to do this show might be a start.’
‘You tried to kiss Lily, for Christ’s sake,’ she blasted. ‘How was that trying to win me over, you… tosser?’
‘It was for the one-off show,’ said Ollie, earnestly. ‘I mean, Lily’s a wonderful girl, and absolutely gorgeous, but it didn’t mean anything.’
‘I wasn’t interested anyway,’ I said, trying and failing to locate some outrage at his nicely worded dismissal.
‘You do know there won’t be a one-off show?’ said Craig, with the air of someone throwing all their cards on the table. ‘You kept being Ollie Matheson from Players and I think you need to get away from that.’
‘Fuck’s sake, Craig.’ Erin pressed her fingers into Ollie’s forearm in an unconsciously protective gesture. ‘Was that really your decision to make?’
For a second, I thought Ollie was finally going to erupt. He bowed his head and seemed in the grip of a strong emotion, then I realised he was overcome by the sight of Erin’s hand on his arm. ‘I’m glad,’ he said finally, raising his eyes to Craig. ‘You were looking out for me.’
Craig gave a slightly exhausted laugh. ‘I was, but if you’d like to do another show, I’ll—’
‘No.’ Ollie turned to Erin, and took both her hands in his. ‘I’m going to be a director,’ he said. ‘And I’m firing you as my agent.’
Sheelagh chose that moment to reappear, her lipstick renewed and her curls loosened, as if she’d been running her fingers through them.
‘What have I missed?’ she said, and looked baffled when Craig replied, ‘Where to start?’
‘Well, I hope you weren’t talking about me.’ She sat back down and looked around expectantly.
‘Oh look, it’s our newest resident, having a lovely time with her boyfriend,’ said a carping voice. It was Annabel, with her embarrassed looking husband and another couple wearing tinsel garlands round their necks. ‘Planning to start a fight in the street tonight?’ she said, to me. ‘Is that what you’re used to where you come from?’ She flashed a dimpled smile at Craig. ‘Hi, lovely.’
‘Annabel,’ he said, without any warmth this time.
‘What a bitch,’ Erin muttered.
‘Why don’t you wind your neck in, as Nanny used to say?’ Ollie’s imperious voice created a ripple among the group.
‘Ooh, he had a nanny,’ sniped Annabel. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
‘Leave him alone.’ My voice emerged, surprisingly strong and clear.
‘I could say the same to you, my lovely.’
Suddenly, I’d had enough. It was like being in the classroom all over again, being insulted by Max’s wife when I hadn’t done anything wrong. ‘Firstly, Ollie isn’t my boyfriend,’ I said, standing up on shaky legs. ‘But even if he was, we’re both single, so we wouldn’t be doing anything wrong, or hurting anybody.’ My cheeks felt scalded but I kept going. ‘Secondly, why are you having a go at me? Women always attack other women, and I’m sick of it,’ I said. ‘And thirdly…’ I faltered. What was the third thing? ‘Thirdly, I come from the same place as you.’ She screwed her face up, ready to protest. ‘It’s called The Planet,’ I said. ‘And you need to stop making out that I think I’m better than anyone here, because I don’t.’
‘You’re better than her,’ Craig said, as I dropped back down. ‘You OK?’ he murmured.
I nodded. ‘Yes, actually, I am.’
Erin reached over and closed her hand over mine. ‘Nice burn,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you.’
‘Bravo!’ Ollie started a slow handclap and a few people joined in before going back to their drinks.
Sheelagh looked at Annabel, her eyebrows lifted. ‘I think some of you need to open your minds a bit,’ she said, and I could see it had cost her to take my side against her long-standing neighbour, who was glaring as though Sheelagh had just betrayed her country. ‘Now, go away because I want to make the most of this lovely young man before he leaves us tomorrow.’
Annabel looked like she swallowed a cupful of bleach. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured to Craig, but he wouldn’t look at her.
‘Miss Ambrose!’ Alfie Blake pushed past Annabel, who had no choice but to scuttle away with her clearly embarrassed entourage, stumbling a little in her heels. ‘I thought I recognised your voice,’ he said, beaming. ‘We was just ’aving our Christmas party, Dad’s treat,’ he said, sweeping an arm towards the restaurant. His cheeks were rosier than ever, his curls squashed beneath a floppy Santa hat, his baggy grey suit replaced with a Christmas jumper bearing a cross-eyed reindeer. ‘Jill Edwards called me and said I could give a talk to Year Five in the New Year.’
‘That’s great,’ I said, tears leaping to my eyes. It had been an emotionally draining evening and it was barely eight o’clock. ‘You’ll be great.’
‘I’m going to do a Powerpoint display.’ His big hands smoothed his sweater. ‘Thanks. You know. For having a word.’
‘My pleasure.’
As he headed off, Sheelagh beamed at me. ‘Good girl,’ she said, and, although it was silly to care, I was glad to be back in her good books. ‘Now, I’m going to make a move or Barry’s Beef Wellington will be overdone.’
‘I’ll give you a lift,’ said Craig, scrambling to his feet as Ollie rose to help Sheelagh on with her cloak.
Disappointment flooded through me. ‘But it’s your last night,’ I protested. It felt as if there was more to talk about, and now the air had been cleared I was in the mood for a drink. ‘Are you coming back?’
‘I’m pretty shattered,’ he said, not quite meeting my eyes. ‘Would you mind if I had a shower and something to eat at yours?’
Why wasn’t he looking at me? ‘Sure,’ I said flatly, taking my keys out of my bag and handing them over.
‘How are we going to get back?’ said Ollie.
‘I’ve got my car, you twat.’ Erin swiped his shoulder. She couldn’t seem to stop touching him, albeit in a slightly belligerent manner. ‘Why do you think I’m not drinking?’
‘You are staying tonight?’ I said.
‘She’d better be.’ There was a glint in Ollie’s eye. ‘There’s plenty of room in my bed.’
‘Only if I can sleep with you,’ Erin said to me.
‘Of course you can.’
Sheelagh swooped to gather Ollie in a hug, her cloak enveloping him like a crow’s wing as she planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Oops.’ She swiped at the lipstick imprint with her thumb, but it wouldn’t budge.
‘Better do a matching one.’ Ollie proffered his other cheek and Sheelagh didn’t hold back. For a ridiculous moment, I could have sworn that Erin looked jealous.
Sheelagh finally joined Craig, who was standing by the table with his camera in one hand, keys jangling from the other, as if he couldn’t wait to leave.
‘Nice to meet you, love.’ Sheelagh smiled at Erin. ‘You’d make a lovely girlfriend for Ollie.’
‘What did she say that for?’ said Erin, as
Craig opened the door to let Sheelagh through. I thought he might look back or give me a wave – something – but he disappeared without another glance. ‘I’m nobody’s girlfriend.’
‘Not yet,’ murmured Ollie.
‘Must have been tough for him, wondering when Tattie was going to unleash her accusation,’ Erin said, watching the pub door swing shut. ‘What a good guy, though. I like him.’
If she was trying to prompt a response, she’d be disappointed. I couldn’t muster more than a non-committal ‘Mmm’ as I splashed champagne into my glass. If Ollie hadn’t been there I’d have turned the tables and asked her about sleeping with him, but he was gazing emotionally at the exit, as if the ghost of Craig was standing there. ‘He’s the absolute bloody best. I love that guy.’
‘Oh god,’ said Erin, but although she flicked her eyes up, I could tell she wasn’t serious. They’d shuffled a bit closer together, but just as I felt loneliness descending she fixed her bright blue eyes on me and said, ‘Now, tell us how you’re getting on with your writing.’
‘Ooh, yes, do tell,’ said Ollie, properly interested. For once, he wasn’t looking around to see if anyone had recognised him, or bursting into song, and although his trumpet was nestled in its case beneath the table, he didn’t seem in any hurry to get it out.
Erin was good for him, I realised, and he brought out a protective side in her I’d never seen before. It was just a pity that she was too stubborn to see it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was gone eleven by the time we crept upstairs at the cottage.
‘Can I have a tiny good-night kiss?’ Ollie asked Erin, when she came out of the bathroom after washing her make-up off.
‘Get lost, and keep your voice down,’ she stage-whispered, inclining her head to where Craig was asleep downstairs. The living room had been in darkness when we came in and there’d been no movement from the sofa, despite Ollie tiptoeing in and prodding Craig’s sleeping bag. ‘And don’t be coming into Lily’s room in the middle of the night, pretending you’re looking for the bog.’
‘That’s a great idea.’ Ollie mimed sleepwalking up and down the landing with his arms outstretched like tongs, which made me giggle.
‘Idiot.’ Erin looked more intoxicated than I was, even though she’d had nothing stronger to drink than lime and soda, while Ollie and I had worked our way through the champagne. Around nine, she’d declared she was starving, so Ollie had persuaded the doe-eyed waiter to talk the chef into rustling up a festive pizza with a turkey-and-cranberry topping, which we’d shared. I’d thought about leaving them to it, but Erin wouldn’t hear of it, and neither would Ollie. He’d been at his most entertaining as he brought Erin up to date with all the ways he’d upset the neighbours, and although I knew he was hamming it up to impress her, it helped take my mind off Craig deserting us.
‘Careful, or you’ll give him another nosebleed,’ Erin said now, as I closed the bedroom door in Ollie’s face.
‘I told you that was an accident.’
‘He’s got sensitive sinuses,’ she said.
‘I know that now.’
Erin contorted herself into a pair of my pyjamas. The heating was off and the bedroom felt chilly. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had a sleepover,’ she said, tossing her clothes onto the chair.
‘I can,’ I said. ‘It was with my mum last week.’ This struck me as hilarious and I spluttered with laughter.
‘That’s tragic,’ said Erin, which made me laugh even more.
Once we’d wriggled under the duvet, I calmed down and switched off the bedside light. ‘So,’ I said. ‘You and Ollie?’
‘There is no me and Ollie, and if you mention it again I’ll smother you with your own pillow,’ she said. ‘How about you and Craig?’
‘There is no me and Craig.’ A tight feeling spread across my chest. I wondered if he was really asleep, or lying awake in his sleeping bag, desperate for morning, so he could escape.
‘There you go, then.’
‘That doesn’t make sense.’
‘You’re not making sense.’
‘It’s quiet here, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘It’s nice, like having earplugs in but without hearing your own heartbeat.’ Erin turned over, dragging a portion of the duvet with her. ‘Shipley suits you,’ she said. ‘You should definitely stay.’
‘Did you really like my idea for Sabrina the Magic Cat?’
‘S’great,’ she murmured, starting to sound sleepy. ‘She could wear a diamond collar, or maybe a velvet bow. A purple one, because purple’s supposed to be magic.’
‘I like that,’ I said, imagining it. ‘I thought I could still write an adult novel as well,’ I went on. ‘What do you think of My Neighbours and Me as a title for a book about a woman’s struggles to integrate into the local community?’
‘Boring as fuck.’
‘Don’t hold back,’ I said.
‘How about In the Dark?’
‘Ooh, that’s good.’ I wrenched a handful of duvet back. ‘It would be a thriller, obviously.’
‘Or, it would be a story about a woman who got a bit lost when her father died, had a disastrous relationship, and threw away the job she loved to write about a cat.’
‘Erin, that’s mean.’ I tried to kick her, but she shifted just in time.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, yanking the duvet back. ‘The cat idea’s great, but you’re a fantastic teacher. You should do that too.’
By the time I’d thought up a response, her breathing had deepened into sleep. I lay for a while, picturing myself at Nightingale Primary School, teaching a class of eager-faced children the alphabet, then felt myself drifting off.
* * *
What felt like minutes later, a shout from outside woke me up.
‘Wha…?’ Erin sat up. ‘What was that?’
I snatched the duvet and parcelled it around me. ‘A seagull,’ I said, drowsily. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘Seagulls don’t shout.’ She leaned over and switched the light on. ‘It’s nearly two o’clock.’
Another shout went up and I dived out of bed with a sinking sense of déjà vu. ‘Ollie must be out there.’
‘Ollie?’ Erin’s hair was a rumpled mass, but her eyes were bright and alert. ‘Why would he be outside?’
‘It’s what he does,’ I said, belting myself into my dressing gown. ‘He wakes up the neighbours every night.’
A fist hammered on the door, and Ollie’s head poked round. ‘Next door’s house is on fire,’ he said, before vanishing.
‘Fuck.’ Erin leapt out of bed.
We were halfway downstairs, when Craig came out of the living room, wrapped in his sleeping bag. ‘Not this again,’ he said, blinking owlishly in the brightness of the hall light. ‘Carol-singing, or snowball fight?’
‘Fire!’ I yelled, dragging my boots on and following a fully dressed Ollie through the front door, where I was greeted by the sight of orange flames dancing in the Lamberts’ downstairs window, and smoke curling round the frame.
‘Oh, good god,’ said Erin, behind me. ‘I’ll phone the fire brigade.’
‘They’re on their way,’ called Doris from the street. ‘I called them as soon as I saw the blaze from my bedroom window.’ She must have been having a late-night snoop with her binoculars – which was probably just as well.
In a horrible parody of the night before, I saw more neighbours emerging, blank-faced with shock as they took in the spectacle in front of them.
I followed Ollie as he raced round to the Lamberts’. ‘Is anyone inside?’ he said.
As he spoke, the front door flew open and Sheelagh ran out in an old-fashioned, full-length nightgown. Wild-eyed with terror, she clutched at Ollie’s hands. ‘Please help,’ she cried, her cheeks streaked with mascara. ‘Barry… Barry won’t come out.’
‘Won’t or can’t?’ I said, but her eyes seemed stuck to Ollie.
‘Please help him,’ she whimpered.
Craig materiali
sed. He’d pulled his jeans and a jumper on, and his hair was sticking up. ‘How did it start?’ he said to Sheelagh, eyes scanning the rows of Christmas lights on the house, which had mostly gone out.
‘I told Barry the circuit was overloaded.’ Her breath caught on a sob. ‘Something must have blown in the hall, and we wouldn’t even have known if Marmite hadn’t come up and jumped on the bed.’ She let out a wail. ‘We have extinguishers everywhere so Barry put it out, but then it flared up again, and Barry’s locked himself in the dining room to wait it out.’
‘Wait it out?’ I swapped an incredulous look with Craig. ‘But that’s dangerous. The fire could spread and the smoke will be toxic.’
‘I know,’ Sheelagh sobbed, chest heaving. ‘And I don’t know where Marmite is.’
‘I’m going in,’ said Ollie, and before anyone could stop him he’d charged through the front door, just as sirens sounded in the distance.
‘Christ’s sake,’ Craig said. ‘I’d better go and help.’
‘No!’ I grabbed his arm.
‘It’ll be fine,’ he said, gently unpeeling my fingers. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘Where’s Ollie?’ Erin had reappeared, white-faced, in her cow-print coat. ‘Don’t tell me he’s bloody gone in.’
‘He’s gone in,’ I said.
For a second she seemed dumbstruck. ‘I can’t bloody believe this.’
‘Craig’s in there too.’
She shook her head. ‘They’re a pair of bloody idiots.’
No one else seemed inclined to speak. They were too busy watching the drama unfold, their solemn faces at odds with the sagging, but still grinning, Santa and a smiling Mrs Snowman.
As the flames in the window leapt higher, Sheelagh began making a keening noise, and Doris bustled over and wrapped an arm around her. Jane was there too, making soothing gestures, and Celia Appleton appeared with her Labrador, a voluminous nightdress under her patchwork coat, and placed a blanket around Sheelagh’s shuddering shoulders.
As the fire engine roared up the road, its flashing lights slicing through the darkness, Craig emerged with a furry bundle in his arms.
