by CP Ward
‘There’s not enough room.’
Doreen planted her hands on her hips and adopted a fighting stance Jessica knew well. It meant she was digging her heels in, taking root like an old tree, and unless Jessica had an axe and was willing to cut her down, she would prove immoveable. Mick—apparently asked to move out of his parents’ place because they couldn’t keep up with the food bill—was temporarily moving in, whether Jessica liked it or not. And as with so much related to Doreen, temporary could soon mean permanent.
‘Oh, I get it. Perfectly obvious now. It’s because I told you he liked you. Well, if you want to know, Mick’s worth ten of you.’
‘He weighs the same as ten of me.’
‘Oh, look at you, Little Miss Slimfast. You’re a disgraceful excuse for a human being, you know that? I can’t believe I put up with you. I should have moved out years ago.’
‘The door’s right there.’
‘So, you’re trying to make me homeless for Christmas too? Dickens would be turning in his grave.’
‘I’m not—’
Doreen, still standing as though ready to throw out a sharp left hook, suddenly sniffed. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Even though Jessica knew what was coming, she also knew she was about to relent. Mick, all ten thousand tons of him, would be sleeping on her sofa over Christmas. And probably beyond. Most likely until the world eroded around him.
‘You have no idea what it’s like for people like me,’ Doreen sobbed. ‘Forever on the fringes of society. Shunned, despised. Laughed at behind my back. You with your mainstream life and your railroad sexuality and your parents who are alive … you have no idea. Is a little sympathy—at Christmas—too much to ask?’
‘He moves out January first.’
Doreen stared at her. The tears seemed to dry up like a puddle beneath the hot desert sun. ‘He’ll be hungover from New Year,’ she said.
‘All right, January second.’
Doreen gave a short, terse nod. ‘I knew you had a soul,’ she said. Jessica wondered if she would go so far as to offer her thanks, but Doreen was done. ‘I’ll let him know he can come up. He’s downstairs with his bags. Cool to have a bit of a moving in bash this evening? Phil’s coming round at eight, and might bring a couple of mates. You’re working, aren’t you?’
Jessica’s eyes had glazed over. She picked up her work bag and headed for the door. ‘Do whatever you want,’ she said. ‘I’ll be sleeping on the bench across the road in the park.’
‘Cool, no worries. I’ll tell Phil to give you a nudge on the way home.’ Doreen had already turned away, and was holding the TV remote up in one hand, pressing her phone against her ear with the other. Jessica made a hasty exit.
She got outside to find Mick waiting across the street with a suitcase that looked like a child’s toy in one massive hand, his phone in the other. An open can of Worthington stood on top of the case. Jessica gave him a wave and he mouthed something that could have been anything. Then she was around the corner and breaking into a run, tears of anger and frustration coursing down her cheeks. She didn’t stop until she made it to the Coco Lounge on the corner, its evening disco lights just starting to come on as the last daylight drained out of the day.
Kirsten wasn’t due for another half hour, but the last thing on Jessica’s mind was the briefing they would usually have before going off to their next evening appointment. She marched straight up to the bar and ordered a double vodka with ice. Downing it in one swallow, then nearly throwing it back up, she ordered a second drink, this time with an orange mixer.
She was about to order a third drink when her phone buzzed. She expected it to be Kirsten, with a usual I’m-on-time-but-I-thought-I’d-better-call-just-in-case-a-volcano-erupts call, but it came from a number she didn’t recognise. She went outside to take the call, ducking into an alleyway around the side of the bar.
‘Excuse me, is this Miss Jessica Lemond?’
‘Speaking. How may I be of help? If you’d wish to make a booking, it’s best if you fill out the form on my website—’
‘Um, Miss Lemond, this is Snowflake Lodge. You submitted an application for a vacant position?’
‘Yes…?’
‘This is the general manager of Snowflake Lodge speaking. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions, if I may. We are very interested in your application.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. You have all the right qualifications. All I’d like to know about is whether you have the temperament for the position.’
‘The temperament?’
‘Yes. Can you tell me, with a single sentence answer, why you would be willing to give up whatever it is you’re doing and move to a remote Scottish mountain lodge?’
‘One sentence?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well … I live with a maniac who I really don’t think wants me dead simply because she enjoys tormenting me so much, and my parents are frighteningly rich, which has made them absent both of emotion and attention for most of my life, but like a good little daughter I still crave their praise and one way to get it is to cross the country in pursuit of a formerly famous grandfather who may or may not have murdered his third wife, while my parents spend an obscene amount of his money on a Christmas cruise of the fjords. Was that one sentence? It might have been two. If so, I apologise.’
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment Jessica thought she had blown her chance. Then, the man cleared his throat, and said, ‘Well, that was quite something. I would have readily accepted ‘I enjoy the scenery’ or ‘I fancy a change’, but you certainly made your reasons clear.’
‘Sorry about that….’
‘In any case, you tick all the boxes for the position. Well, the two boxes that we have, which are a: is a plumber, and b: has applied for the position. So, without further ado … I’d like to offer you the position.’
Jessica jumped about five feet in the air. She was still fist-pumping when a quiet voice from her hand said, ‘You can hang up the phone now, if you’d like.’
7
Loose Ends
Kirsten was sobbing into a tissue and Jessica felt like Scrooge all over again. ‘It’s only for a few weeks,’ she said, patting Kirsten on the arm, then handing her another tissue as she paused sobbing just long enough to blow her nose.
‘Things were going so well,’ Kirsten sniffed. ‘Am I not doing a good enough job? I can work harder, you know. Show up earlier—’
‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ Jessica said, aware that she was becoming a living caricature of a comic strip character. ‘Things have got on top of me of late. I need some time away. It’s only a short-term contract. And I know several excellent plumbers who’d be happy to finish off your training.’
‘I want to stay with you,’ Kirsten blurted, in a rare show of emotion which left Jessica stunned. Usually quiet as the proverbial mouse, it seemed that in her grief Kirsten was belatedly coming alive. ‘It wouldn’t be the same with someone else. And it’s not just that … I was hoping that when my training was finished … you’d take me on. As an assistant.’
Jessica sighed. From one person who couldn’t wait to see the back of her, to another developing an obsession. ‘Kirsten….’
‘I thought we worked so well together. I know it was only supposed to be for a few months, but I thought maybe if I tried really hard, if I studied everything you said….’
Kirsten trailed off, wiping her eyes with a tissue. Jessica stared at her. The truth was that she had planned to take Kirsten on not just as an assistant but a full partner, maybe even when she returned from Snowflake Lodge—don’t say “if”; it’s not come to that yet, has it?—but one reason she wanted to get away was to escape all the drama that was blocking up her forward progress like a knot of toilet tissue in an old u-bend. And you’re going to check up on your former TV star grandfather who also happens to be wanted by the police on suspicion of murder. Escape from drama? Not a chance.
‘Kirste
n….’
‘Don’t say it. Just don’t. It’s fine. I’m sorry.’
‘Kirsten … this is a work contract, so you know, maybe they’ll let me bring an assistant….’ The words had laid themselves down in a line before she had even really thought about it. She just wanted someone to smile for a change, not cry, not throw things at her, not offer her a fight, and not vomit all over her living room wall.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I mean, I can’t promise anything. I’d have to ask.’
‘Oh, Ms Lemond. I don’t know what to say.’
Aware people at other tables had begun to stare at them, Jessica wanted to say something more appropriate, but her life felt set in motion like a train on a downward slope without any brakes. ‘Just say yes….’
‘Yes!’ Kirsten wailed, then leaped across the table and pulled Jessica into a hug.
Around them, people at other tables stood up and began to clap.
‘So Mick can have your bed?’
Jessica shook her head. ‘No. Absolutely not. I’m prepared to let Mick stay until he can find somewhere else, but there is literally no way I want him sleeping in my bed. Or anyone else for that matter. If I find anyone’s been sleeping in my bed when I get back, I’ll hit the roof.’
Doreen smirked. ‘And just annoy her upstairs. Oh, Lemons, you have such a way with words. You should have been a poet. So where are you going anyway?’
‘I wish I could say Australia, but I can’t. Scotland.’
‘Ooh, romantic. Who’s the lucky man?’
‘It’s not like that. It’s a work thing. I got offered a short-term work contract at a mountain lodge in the Cairngorms. It’s a good opportunity to expand my skill base.’
Doreen lifted an eyebrow. ‘Wow, you really are taking this turning-thirty thing hard, aren’t you? Look, I know you think you’re pretty and whatever, and inevitably that’s going to start going south as you get older, but do you have to be so desperate?’
‘I’m not desperate! I told you, it’s a work thing!’
‘Full of big muscular guys in skirts and carrying those log things while playing those what-do-you-call-thems made out of sheep’s stomachs?’
‘Bagpipes?’
‘Yeah, those.’
‘I’m not sure they’re made out of sheep’s stomachs, but whatever. I’m not going to Scotland in order to pick up a guy.’
Although, chance would be a fine thing. She wasn’t about to tell Doreen about her grandfather, either. The less ammunition her flat-mate had, the shallower the wounds her next bombardment would leave.
‘Well, you have a nice time. We’ll be waiting when you get back. I might even go and buy myself a new pair of jeans for your wedding. When do you leave?’
Jessica hadn’t thought to ask. The contract started December the eighth, but there was no reason why she had to wait until then. Nothing on her work schedule this week was urgent, so she could put those jobs off until January and perhaps go to Scotland early. Perhaps she could feed Kirsten to the Loch Ness Monster, or even better, herself.
‘Tomorrow,’ she said.
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes. Is that a problem?’
Doreen sighed. ‘Mick’ll be gutted. Arsenal have Bristol Rovers in the Cup on Saturday. He was going to invite you down to Walkabout to watch the game, kind of like a date. Don’t tell him I said. Man, if Arsenal win, it’ll be something else downtown. Utter carnage.’
Jessica grimaced. ‘Tell Mick I’ll be sad to miss it. Preferably after I’ve gone.’
8
Wheels
Leaving Doreen to her systematic breakdown of everything Jessica had once held dear, she headed off to where it had all begun to go wrong: her parents’ house in Clifton. She had planned to ask for any final details or updates, but when she arrived, her parents were uncharacteristically out. Standing on the doorstep, Jessica called her dad.
‘Oh, hi, love. What’s the matter?’
‘I’m standing outside your door, Dad. Where are you? You’re not supposed to leave for another week.’
Benjamin chuckled. ‘Oh, well, your mother and I decided that we might as well warm up for the cruise with a few days shopping in London. Your mother really couldn’t make a decision on which shawl was best, so we thought we’d spend a couple of days on Oxford Street looking for a better one. Oh, and take in a couple of West End shows while we’re here. You know, they’re showing one at the Redwood Theatre that your grandpa starred in back in the fifties. We did a name-drop and got ourselves box seats. We’ll need to pick up some new threads for the show, but won’t that be great?’
Jessica balked at the thought of how much of Grandpa’s money her parents would be burning through. Rather than feel a sense of resentment that they were living it up on the family fortune while she was slowly being forced out of the little flat on which she was paying a hefty mortgage, she only felt a sense of sadness that they felt no great desire to achieve anything.
‘That sounds nice, Dad,’ she said. ‘Be sure to send me a postcard. Talking of which, have you heard anything else from Grandpa? Anything I ought to be aware of before I drive up there tomorrow?’
‘Oh, you’re going to drive up, are you? You watch those Scottish roads. Treacherous at the best of times.’
‘I’ll be careful.’
‘If you look in the tin in the kitchen there’s some petrol money in there. Your mother was saving grocery change for your Christmas present but since we won’t be getting together this year you might as well take it.’
Saving grocery change for your Christmas present. Once the words might have upset her, but Jessica had long ago got used to the otherworldly plane on which her parents appeared to live.
‘Thanks, Dad. Where did you leave the key? It’s starting to rain.’
‘It’s in the gnome, of course.’
In the gnome. Of course. Jessica held the phone against her chest as she sighed, then peered into the muddle of potted plants beside the door, wondering where they had hidden the little guy this time. A Christmas present from Jessica to her parents that she had bought with her first pocket money at the age of ten, that they had kept it all these years showed at least how much they loved her, even if hiding the gnome and its prize of the spare key had long been a game/form-of-torture they had insisted on playing on her.
‘I’ll call you back in a bit, Dad.’
Ricky—the gnome—was nowhere to be seen. Jessica climbed over the smallest row of potted plants at the front, then squeezed past a few larger ones into the very depths of her parents’ botanical treasures. Some of the plants left on display on her parents’ doorstep were worth more than Jessica’s van, something unknown to the petty thieves of Bristol. Hide your wealth in plain sight had long been one of her father’s favourite catchphrases, even if technically the wealth belonged to Grandpa.
At last she spotted him, poking out of the foliage halfway up the trunk of a rare Bonsai tree, his cheeky grin starting to fade. Jessica pulled him free and turned him over, poking a finger into the little hole between his feet. The key came loose, held inside by a little piece of blu-tac.
She let herself in, pausing to scoop up a pile of letters from her parents’ mat. They had a worrying number of advertisements for expensive products and holidays, but buried within them were the usual bank statements and bills. Never one to trust her parents’ ability to find their way out of a paper bag, Jessica checked to make sure nothing was immediately due or critical. Safe they weren’t going to get Grandpa blacklisted or court-summoned over some unpaid bill, she moved them to a shelf beside the door for her parents to deal with when they returned.
Of more interest were a couple of solicitors’ letters, which Jessica debated whether to open or not. In the end, she decided to steam them, so went into the kitchen and set the kettle to boil. While waiting, she went through what was left, finding a couple of flyers addressed to her, and there at the bottom, another postcard from Grandpa.
Gree
tings, family of mine,
* * *
Having a lemon of a time here in sunny Scotland, awaiting the first snow. I feel ten years younger already. Or is that simply the ring of wedding bells on the horizon making me feel that way? Watch this space … and remember, when life gives you lemons, suck on an orange.
* * *
Yours faithfully,
Dad / Grandpa
Wedding bells?
He wasn’t thinking about it, surely? Not at ninety-two? Jessica had practically given up on the likelihood of ever walking down the aisle and she was yet to touch thirty. With a wry smile she wondered if it would count should Grandpa need a little help. She could only imagine how her parents would be having kittens at the very thought. Grandpa’s ten-year marriage to Mavis had driven them bonkers, and for none of the right reasons. A dragon in sheep’s clothing, the vile woman had terrorised poor Grandpa, but the only thing that had really concerned Benjamin and Emilia was that Mavis wanted to wrestle back control of Grandpa’s fortune. While Jessica had hated Mavis from their very first meeting (‘Your nose is a little crooked, isn’t it, darling? Perhaps you should stop poking it where it’s not wanted.’), she understood why the woman might have wanted to get one over on her jet-setting parents, neither of which would know a real job if it hit them in the face. She found them hard enough to deal with at times herself, and she was their daughter.
Good luck to him, Jessica thought. And if she was there to cheer him on—while standing as close as possible to the booze table—even better. She tucked the postcard into her jacket pocket. She’d tell them when she felt like it.
Aside from the post, her parents’ house was in decent order. The gardener, Reg, and the housekeeper, Molly, would be stopping by almost daily, so Jessica had nothing to worry about. As the kettle finished boiling and she picked up the official-looking letters, she almost wondered why she had bothered to come.
