Humbugs and Heartstrings

by Catherine Ferguson

  My face must be an absolute picture.

  ‘I know, I know,’ he murmurs, obviously mistaking my stunned expression for paralysing emotion. ‘It gets you right here, doesn’t it?’ He punches his heart area. ‘I can tell you’re proud of her. And concerned as well. And given that the two of you are such great friends, that’s hardly surprising. She told me you’re her rock.’

  I look at him blankly.

  ‘I’m her what?’

  ‘Her rock.’ He laughs. ‘Hey, don’t be so modest. Take credit where credit’s due.’

  I swallow. ‘Er – okay.’

  ‘She swears the place wouldn’t function without you.’

  If I’m Carol’s rock, she’s an ape from Gibraltar.

  He pulls in outside my flat.

  ‘Bobbie?’ He leans over when I get out and fixes me with those intense blue eyes. ‘Don’t worry. Your job is safe. Everything’s going to be fine.’

  I shut the passenger door with a stiff little smile.

  The car moves off along the High Street.

  But I am still standing on the pavement staring after Charlie, long after he disappears from view.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It’s the following morning and my head is banging after a restless night trying to decide what to do.

  I’ve been in turmoil ever since Charlie revealed his intention to invest in Carol’s company on the back of us winning the council contract.

  I could have told him straight away that she was lying about the contract. But something stopped me. Loyalty to Carol, I suppose. We’ve backed each other up most of our lives. Old habits are apparently hard to break.

  But what do I do?

  I hate the thought of welching on Carol – even though she’s an ex-friend and is most definitely in the wrong, But what’s the alternative? Charlie is acting in good faith investing in the company. He needs to know the truth.

  I stare, bleary-eyed, into my cornflakes, while my mind goes round in exhausting circles.

  At four o’clock this morning, I came to a decision.

  I’d take the bull by the horns and confront Carol about the whole unhappy mess, thus giving her the chance to put things right.

  But this morning, I’m not so sure.

  I know of old that when Carol makes up her mind about something, even a force twenty gale won’t push her off course. Is it likely I’ll be able to shame her into coming clean with Charlie?

  To be truthful, part of me wishes Charlie hadn’t told me and I was blissfully ignorant of her plan because then I wouldn’t be facing such a horrible dilemma.

  One thing has become blindingly obvious to me, though: Carol must be really desperate to save the business in order to act in this way. Having known her most of my life, I’m fully aware of her weaknesses. She’s loud, opinionated and often breathtakingly insensitive to the feelings of others. But she’s always been scrupulously truthful (in fact, far too honest at times).

  She’s a chip off the old block, really. I’ve always got the impression that failure is not an option in the McGinley family. No wonder she’s desperate to stop the business going down the tubes.

  But she can’t be allowed to deceive Charlie.

  With a sigh, I push the bowl away and rest my throbbing head on the table.

  Then I remember the accounts.

  Charlie hasn’t seen them yet. He’s waiting for Gerry Flack to bring them up to date.

  So … when he does see them, in all their damning glory, he’s sure to run a mile in the opposite direction.

  I sit up straight and stare at the patch of pale grey sky beyond the kitchen window.

  Perhaps, for now, I should let things take their natural course.

  After all, Charlie is a savvy businessman.

  Once he’s seen Gerry’s accounts, he won’t touch the company with a barge pole, will he?

  That night, I’m dashing out of the flat just before six when I spot a familiar car parked outside the dry cleaners opposite.

  It’s Charlie’s BMW.

  I put my head down and beetle along to the corner shop for my tin of kidney beans, hoping he won’t spot me in my post-shower saggy old tracksuit and battered trainers.

  On the way back, I make a small detour to avoid the car – but who should be walking towards me along the side street but Charlie.

  There’s no escaping him now.

  He’s striding towards me, a man on a mission.

  ‘Hi, I was on my way to see you,’ he says, smiling down at me, all crinkled blue eyes, tousled hair and five o’clock shadow. He’s wearing old, ripped jeans and a pale green sweatshirt that brings out his tan. ‘I’ve an idea I want to run past you.’

  ‘An idea?’ I try to smooth my hair, which I know is looking a bit mad thanks to the steam from the shower.

  ‘Yeah. Do you— ?’ He fixes me with his intense blue eyes. ‘How about I buy you a coffee?’

  ‘Well, I’ve really got to get back—’

  ‘Just a quick one?’ He points over the road. ‘That’s supposed to be good. Come on, before you freeze to death.’

  I look across.

  It’s the tea shop where Mrs Cadwalader read my leaves.

  I feel his hand firmly on my waist, ready to propel me across the road. So I give in and go with him into Frankie’s Tearoom.

  ‘Have a cake,’ he says, eyeing the goodies under the glass. ‘Go on. Knock yourself out.’

  I shake my head. ‘Just tea for me, please.’ I really couldn’t face food.

  It’s probably guilt.

  Maybe I should just tell him – now – about Carol and her nasty little plan. But he’s going to find out in due course anyway …

  As Charlie orders, I sit down at the same table in the window as last time, glancing around me. No Mrs Cadwalader tonight, then. Maybe she’s at her evening class.

  It’s dark outside and my reflection in the window is horribly clear. My hair looks like a haystack in a force nine gale. Quickly, I pull out the hairpin and do a bit of fluffing and smoothing, intending to twist it back up again.

  ‘Leave it like that,’ says Charlie, catching me in the act. ‘It suits you.’

  ‘But I never leave it loose.’

  He sits down opposite and slides off his coat. ‘Maybe it’s time for a change, then. Spread your wings a bit. Feel the exhilaration of stepping away from the norm.’

  ‘Sounds scary.’

  He smiles and sits forward, hands loosely clasped in front of him. ‘Yes, but not half as frightening as staying stuck in a rut.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  What exactly are we talking about here? Not my hair, that’s for sure.

  I stare at his long, tanned fingers. He’s got lovely nails. Each perfectly trimmed with a white half-moon. A waitress brings our tea and two glazed doughnuts.

  I frown at the hairpin then shove it in my pocket. Charlie reaches over and pushes a lock of wayward hair behind my ear. He does it quite casually but it’s such an intimate thing to do, I blush all over and have to start pouring tea to cover my confusion.

  ‘It’s nice in here, isn’t it?’ I say brightly, accidentally slopping milk in his saucer. ‘Oops, sorry.’

  He grabs a doughnut and demolishes it in about three bites, all the time looking at me in an amused way as if I’m an interesting specimen under a microscope.

  I flush up, wishing he would get to the point.

  ‘You’ll wear away the cup.’ He picks up the second doughnut, and I look down to find I’ve been stirring and stirring.

  ‘Oh, do you need sugar?’ He gets up. ‘Sorry, I forgot to ask.’

  ‘Yes. Sugar. Great. Thanks.’

  I never take sugar in tea but a moment to compose myself would be nice.

  It feels really strange being back here. Everything is the same as last time with Mrs Cadwalader. The smell of baking and the soft glow from the art deco wall lamps. The steamy warmth inside, contrasting with the chill October night beyond the window. And the poster on the
wall advertising the am dram’s Christmas production (with Mum as narrator, if Bunty has her way).

  Everything is exactly the same except I’m here with Charlie and I’m sitting in Mrs Cadwalader’s chair.

  It is an odd coincidence that Charlie should suggest this very tea shop, isn’t it? I’m feeling a little strange myself – sort of tingly and breathless, like a child at a pantomime who can’t wait for the curtain to rise.

  I study Charlie as he leans over the counter to attract the girl’s attention. He’s beautifully proportioned; long back and equally long legs.

  Nice bum, too.

  Oops, caught me looking!

  Our eyes meet and he smiles. It’s one of those full-on, eye-crinkling jobs, and the warmth of it stops my breath for a second.

  Then my mind sets off on a crazy road trip, zipping round hairpins and screeching off without paying for the petrol.

  Could Charlie McDonald possibly be Lovely Guy?

  No, surely not.

  He seems to like me. Sometimes I even think he might be flirting with me. But that’s probably just my over-active imagination.

  And anyway, what about Carol?

  I have a feeling she thinks he’s her property.

  She would kill me.

  She would actually murder me.

  But do such trifles as murder really matter when you’ve finally come face to face with your destiny?

  My possible destiny sits down and offers me the sugar bowl. So then, of course, I’m forced to take a lump or two. And then another to make it worth his while.

  ‘Are you okay?’ He looks at me quizzically. ‘You look like you’ve just discovered the true meaning of life and don’t quite know what to do with it.’

  ‘Maybe I have.’ Boldly, I return his smile. His eyes are like pools reflecting clear blue skies. And I have to confess, at this moment I am experiencing a worrying desire to strip off and plunge in.

  I stir my tea but the lumps won’t go away. I keep on stirring.

  Charlie pulls in his chair, leans forward and rubs his thumbs together. ‘What I was wondering—’ He breaks off and runs his hands through his hair.

  ‘Yes?’

  For one wild moment, I’m convinced he’s about to say something profound. Tell me he was a goner the instant he clapped eyes on me. That he wants to take me home right now and give me thorough proof of his feelings. These things do happen to people sometimes, don’t they?

  He clears his throat and I prepare to be swept away on a tide of emotion.

  ‘Do you know anything about Christmas Fayres?’

  I look at him stupidly. ‘Christmas Fayres?’

  He nods. ‘You’re highly creative, right?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Yes, you are. No argument. I’ve seen the stuff in your flat.’

  I give him an offhand, ‘okay, if you say so’ look.

  ‘I’m going to suggest to Carol that the company holds a charity Christmas Fayre. And I think you’d be the perfect person to organise it.’

  This statement is so weird on so many levels, I’m stumped for a reply.

  ‘The object of the event would be to raise the profile of the business,’ he explains. ‘And to help one of the company’s employees in their hour of need.’

  ‘Which employee?’

  He shrugs. ‘You.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. Spit and Polish will raise money at the Fayre to get Tim the operation he needs.’

  My heart starts to beat a little faster. Is he serious? Oh, my God. I think he is.

  ‘So … Tim would be able to go private at last?’

  He nods. ‘I wanted to run it by you first, before I discussed it with Carol. What do you think?’

  ‘I think … I think it’s a good idea,’ I tell him slowly.

  ‘But?’

  I shrug. Oh God, how do I put this?

  ‘Well, it’s just I’m – er – not sure Christmas and charity are really Carol’s bag.’

  He laughs. ‘That’s a strange thing to say. She gave a pretty big cheque to that appeal on local radio – Christmas parcels for people in need?’

  ‘Oh yes? How much?’

  ‘Five grand.’ He shoots me a puzzled look as if to say, ‘didn’t you know?’

  Ha! And my Auntie Sharon’s a giraffe!

  ‘And what about the spectacular donations she makes to other worthy local causes?’

  What, indeed? They are spectacular only with regard to the fact that they’re spectacularly non-existent.

  Still, she isn’t likely to oppose Charlie’s idea, is she? Not when it’s him who holds the purse strings.

  ‘Have you seen the accounts?’ I ask.

  ‘Not yet. I’ll phone Carol tomorrow.’

  I nod thoughtfully.

  ‘The Fayre would be a brilliant showcase for the business,’ he’s saying. ‘Who wouldn’t warm to a company that cares so much about the welfare of its employees. Especially at Christmas.’

  I nod. But something is niggling at me.

  He’s so enthusiastic about the potential benefit to Carol’s business. But shouldn’t Tim be the main concern? Don’t get me wrong, the thought of my brother being able to have his op at last is truly amazing. But the idea of Tim’s condition somehow being used to boost the company’s profits makes me a little uneasy.

  Charlie frowns. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Just that Tim would end up being a pawn in a publicity stunt.’ I shrug. ‘I’m not sure how I feel about that.’

  Charlie looks surprised. ‘But he’d get his op. You wouldn’t deny him that, surely, over a few qualms of conscience?’

  ‘No, of course I wouldn’t!’ I say irritably. ‘I’m just saying it all seems a bit cynical somehow.’

  Charlie gives a bitter laugh. ‘That’s life, though, isn’t it? There’s always some kind of trade-off, no matter how rosy your garden seems at the time.’ He stares off into the distance and I know I’ve touched a nerve.

  I study him in profile. He has a beautifully strong jaw line. And a mouth that brings out all kinds of interesting urges in me.

  ‘Look, how about you forget the negative,’ he says, ‘and focus on the end result for your family?’

  Reluctantly, I nod. ‘You’re right. And I suppose if it helps Carol, too, then everyone benefits.’

  ‘Precisely. Now, timescale’s the only problem. You’ll have a month from now to get the show on the road.’

  I stare at him.

  A month? Is he mad?

  ‘I’ll help in any way I can.’ He’s noticed my horrified look. ‘And the girls at work will pitch in, I’m sure.’

  ‘But it’s ridiculous,’ I splutter. ‘I wouldn’t have the first clue how to make an event like that happen! And even if I did – four weeks?’

  ‘Anything’s possible,’ he says calmly.

  ‘But why do I have to do it? Why not Carol?’

  He shakes his head. ‘She’s going to have enough on her plate handling the council cleaning contract.’

  I swallow.

  Now is the perfect time to tell him the truth.

  That there is no contract.

  I can’t have it on my conscience any longer.

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘There’s – erm – something you need to know … ’

  I take a large, bolstering swig of tea.

  And practically splutter the whole lot out.

  Horribly sweet!

  Charlie looks alarmed. ‘All right?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Went down the wrong way, that’s all.’ I force myself to take another sip of the disgusting stuff. ‘Mmm.’ I smile. ‘Nectar.’

  ‘You underestimate yourself. You’re more than capable of organising this event.’ He lays his hand over mine. ‘I have faith in you.’

  I laugh uneasily. He has faith in Carol, too. How will he feel when he finds out she’s deceived him?

  It’s no use. I can’t wait for him to see the accounts and realise.


  I’ve got to confront Carol.

  Charlie’s thumb is rubbing the back of my hand, spreading a delicious warmth all the way through me. ‘Do the Fayre for Tim. And me.’

  I swallow hard. ‘Okay.’ My voice is croaky. ‘I mean, maybe.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He pops the last piece of doughnut in his mouth.

  Oh God, what have I almost agreed to do?

  It’s not good.

  Because already, I’m wondering how on earth I can back out of it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Next morning, I’m all psyched up to have it out with Carol. My plan is to wait until Shona and Ella are out at lunch then go in and tackle her.

  But as it turns out, the perfect opportunity presents itself mid-morning.

  I go into the kitchen to make coffee and Carol is there, standing beside the humming microwave, staring out of the window.

  She starts when she realises she’s not alone and we exchange a frosty smile.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask,’ she says. ‘Have you got any more of those candles? The pine-scented ones? Charlie’s round on Saturday night and I want to get the mood right.’ She looks smug, almost triumphant.

  I pretend to consider. Then I shake my head. ‘Afraid not. I gave you all of them.’

  She’s not getting her hands on any more of my things!

  ‘Oh. Pity.’ She gives me a sly smile. ‘Still, never mind, I’m sure he’ll have an enjoyable time anyway. With or without the pine-scented candles.’

  I grit my teeth.

  She is so horribly supercilious. I can’t believe we were ever friends.

  But she won’t be smiling once Charlie knows the truth about the business.

  ‘Are you going to show him the accounts on Saturday night?’ I ask, taking the bull by the horns.

  She narrows her eyes at me. ‘What do you know about the accounts?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. Just Charlie said Gerry Flack was updating the financial records and he was looking forward to examining them.’ I give a nonchalant shrug. ‘That’s all.’

  She eyes me with suspicion. ‘Of course he can look at them. If he wants to. I’ve got nothing to hide.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  My heart is beating uncomfortably fast.