Humbugs and Heartstrings

by Catherine Ferguson

  Carol is gaping at me like I’ve completely lost it.

  ‘Well, you did ask.’ I frown and fold my arms. ‘I haven’t even mentioned the ‘who goes over the cliff?’ test.’

  ‘The what?’ she laughs.

  ‘It’s a very well-known test for whether you’re really in love,’ I say defensively. ‘I’m amazed you’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘Please enlighten me.’

  ‘Okay, so you’re both standing on the edge of a cliff and one of you has to jump. It’s up to you to decide who goes over.’

  ‘And that’s supposed to reveal if you’re in love?’

  I wrap one leg around the other. ‘Apparently.’

  ‘Well, that’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.’

  I think I agree with her.

  ‘Okay,’ I say slowly, looking up at the ceiling, ‘There is one other way of finding out if you’re meant for each other.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘Ask him if he fancies a shag.’

  She laughs. But it’s quite a harsh sound. ‘And have you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shagged Charlie?’

  I look at her, appalled. ‘No!’

  ‘Is that why you’re so keen to spill the beans to him?’ She sounds slightly scornful. ‘Because you’re in lurve?’

  Oh my God, she really is the limit!

  I shoot her a pitying look and walk away in disgust.

  That’s it. She’s had more than enough chances to redeem herself. But it’s clear she’s never going to come clean.

  So I am going to have to do it for her.

  And there’s no time like the present.

  Filled with resolve, I march over to Charlie who’s at the bar, watching a waiter fire soda into a glass of whisky. He turns and his face lights up when he sees me. ‘Want some?’ He points at the glass.

  I shake my head. ‘Maybe later. There’s something I need to tell you first.’

  He laughs. ‘Great minds think alike. But first I need to do this.’

  He leads me round the side of the bar and before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling me hard against him and kissing me. My head spins and my entire body turns to jelly as I kiss him back. He’s doing such a thorough job that after a while, I become vaguely aware that if he weren’t holding me up, I’d probably fall down.

  When we surface, after goodness knows how long, I collapse weakly against him while my head keeps whirling around in space, full of deliciously indecent thoughts.

  ‘Great party.’ Charlie murmurs in my hair. ‘But I wish we weren’t here.’

  ‘Me too,’ I croak, edging my hand under his shirt and feeling smooth, warm skin and taut muscles.

  Oh God, tell him!

  Now!

  ‘Charlie.’ I straighten up and step back slightly. ‘You’ve got to listen. There is actually something really important I have to tell you.’

  He laughs and pulls me back. And I wilt.

  No, no, no!

  I’ve got to be firm.

  ‘It’s about Carol.’ It comes out like a panicky squeak.

  He groans. ‘Do we have to talk business right now?’

  ‘Yes! We do!’ My heart is hammering fit to burst from my chest.

  ‘Okay. Let me get my drink first.’ And off he goes.

  Breathlessly, I collapse back against the wall. It feels cold without his hands around my waist.

  Idly, I glance around the room. The buffet is in full swing now. ‘All I Want For Christmas is You’ is blaring out of the speakers and some people are up dancing. But most are sitting at the little tables, chatting and laughing, eating smoked salmon and roast beef canapés and tiny mince pies.

  Suddenly, my eye catches a couple standing at the edge of the dance floor.

  He has his hands on her waist as if he wants to draw her onto the floor, but she’s resisting him, shaking her head and gesticulating with her arms.

  It’s Fez, I think, surprised. But who … ?

  Oh my God, it’s Shona!

  She’s wearing a long silky rose-coloured dress that clings in the right places, and she’s ditched the glasses in favour of her new contacts. She looks incredible.

  As I watch, she lays her head on Fez’s shoulder and he puts his arms around her.

  I’m stunned. When did this happen? I had no idea.

  Suddenly she catches my eye and instantly steps away from Fez.

  Then she points in my direction and, apparently against Fez’s wishes, starts walking over. What’s going on? Surely she doesn’t think she needs to get my blessing for their relationship?

  But then I realise she’s not coming to see me. She’s making straight for Charlie, at the bar, a focused gleam in her eye.

  I watch her as she joins him and he turns in surprise.

  Then she draws something out of her bag and hands it to him. It’s a red document that looks as if it’s seen better days. He’s taking it with a frown. Then he looks up at her quizzically and starts leafing through the file. As he does, Shona turns on her heel and – without even a glance in Fez’s direction – hurries out of the room.

  My heart thuds painfully.

  No!

  It can’t be!

  The accounts. The real accounts.

  My legs are like lead as I walk over to him.

  ‘Charlie, that’s what I wanted to tell you—’

  He looks at me, his face suddenly closed and guarded. His eyes are like chips of ice, all the warmth and laughter gone.

  ‘You knew about this?’ He hits the document with the back of his hand.

  I stare at him miserably. ‘I … well … ’

  ‘Don’t lie.’ His tone is so curt, I cover my eyes with shame.

  Gently but firmly, he pulls my hands away.

  I swallow hard and force myself to look at him. ‘I knew Carol was desperate for your investment.’

  ‘Did you also know she lied about the state of the business?’

  I nod.

  ‘And the fake accounts?’

  His face is full of anger, mixed with bitter disappointment.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry. I realised they were bogus when we were in the restaurant.’ My cheeks are hot with shame. ‘But I … I decided to give Carol a chance to make things right. Before I told you. I was going to tell you tonight but—’

  I can hardly say it was his fault because he grabbed me and kissed me just as I was about to …

  He looks down at the floor.

  There’s a muscle working in his jaw and I know he’s thinking of the past and the people who’ve let him down.

  And now, that number includes me.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper.

  At last, he looks up. ‘It’s funny.’ His blue eyes search my face. ‘I really thought that this time … ’ He breaks off and laughs harshly. ‘But more fool me!’

  And before I can say anything to stop him, he walks away.

  I’m tempted to follow him and beg his forgiveness but I know that right now, he won’t want to hear it.

  I’ll give him a little time to cool off. Then—

  Oh, no!

  As he strides out, he passes Carol, stops and says something to her, flapping the old accounts file in her face. She freezes in horror.

  Charlie shakes his head slowly and strides out of the ballroom.

  Carol turns and looks straight at me. And I can tell from the destroyed look on her face that she thinks I was the one who gave him the document.

  She gives me one last despairing look and rushes out.

  I think about what she said about her father. How he’ll kill her if the business fails. How she felt he ‘bank-rolled’ her as if she was just another of his business contacts.

  It strikes me suddenly that there’s no one in the world she can talk to. All she has is that cold, soulless flat to go home to. And even that belongs to her father.

  I run after her, weaving my way through the party revellers, shouting her name.

/>   She turns and gives me a look of such fury it stops me in my tracks.

  ‘Look, Charlie had to know.’ I’m pleading with her to see it. ‘What you planned to do was wrong.’

  ‘I’ve had it with you!’ she yells. ‘You think you’re so perfect. But you’re not.’

  ‘Okay! I admit it!’ People are staring but I don’t care. ‘I let you down in London. And I’m sorry for that.’

  She gives me a ‘yeah, right’ look and hammers on the lift button.

  ‘Carol, I can help you! Let’s talk about it. There’s no reason why we can’t be friends again—’

  She laughs, her face full of scornful disbelief. ‘You don’t think we can ever get back from this, do you?’

  One of the lifts opens.

  But to my horror, I realise that in her panic to get away, Carol’s missed the notice on the wall saying the lift is out of order.

  ‘Carol, no!’ I yell but she ignores me.

  I jump into the lift to try and stop her but I’m too late. She’s jabbing at the ground floor button.

  The doors close and we stand against opposite walls, panting at each other.

  There’s a funny whining sound.

  Then the lights start to flicker.

  On, off.

  ‘Shit!’ breathes Carol in a panic. She hates lifts at the best of times.

  I just have time to catch her ghostly white complexion before we’re plunged into total darkness.

  On, off.

  Three times.

  Now it’s my turn to say, ‘Shit!’

  Without warning, the lift suddenly drops a few feet and we lock eyes in shock.

  ‘Alarm!’ Carol squeaks. ‘Press the alarm!’

  And then we’re plunging.

  Down.

  Down.

  Down.

  Terrifyingly fast.

  In total freefall.

  My insides are struggling to keep pace.

  I’m going to die!

  But I can’t! It’s too soon! I’ve got to make Charlie understand! I need to work things out with Carol! See Mum and Tim –

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Carol’s hands are clamped over her face and she’s screaming.

  And I’m screaming, too.

  And then –

  With a sudden, body-rocking jolt –

  The lift judders to a halt.

  Carol slowly takes her hands away from her face and we stare at each other in shock.

  Then the lift doors slide open a fraction, leaving a gap nowhere near big enough for us to climb out.

  ‘The alarm button!’ Carol reaches over to press it. ‘Oh my God, it’s not working!’

  ‘It must be working! Try again!’ I peer through the tiny gap, the only source of light. ‘What the hell … !’

  We’ve ended up on the second floor with the kids’ party and the table full of dressing up stuff. I can see Tim and Ryan playing about with the costumes. The rascals must have got bored and decided this party would be more fun.

  ‘What is it?’ Carol stands on tip-toe so she can see over my head.

  Tim’s put on a long straggly grey wig and Ryan a shiny white cut that’s the spit of Carol’s style. ‘Hey, look Tim, who’s this?’ he yells.

  He picks up a mince pie and aims it at his friend. ‘Take that, you haggard old witch!’ he croaks, imitating an old woman’s voice.

  ‘That’s sick,’ laughs Tim, shaking the horrible, long grey wig to get the mince pie out. Then he grabs a plastic sword and points it shakily at Ryan like a walking stick. ‘Hey, sister, who you calling a witch? Just because I work for you, I ain’t no slave.’

  ‘But you are my slave!’ roars Ryan. He grabs another sword and his white nylon wig slips grotesquely over one eye. ‘And I’m going to thrash you and treat you bad!’

  ‘At least I don’t shag my moneybox like you, old Mrs Carol Scrooge!’ yells Tim.

  They fall about helplessly at this.

  ‘At least I’m not a sad old spinster,’ puts in Ryan, ‘who’s never found a boyfriend because she’s scared to go out!’

  ‘That’s beast,’ shouts Tim, and they both crease up laughing at their brilliant wit.

  I stare at them, too dazed even to protest at their appalling language.

  ‘Fuck’s sake.’ Carol sounds equally shell-shocked. ‘Can’t you stop them?’

  I shout for Tim but they’ve started a sword fight now and he doesn’t hear me.

  ‘When you’re dead,’ barks Ryan. ‘I’m going to pee on your grave!’

  Tim cackles and tosses back his revolting mane. ‘When you’re dead, there’ll be no one there to pee on your grave. ‘Cos everyone hates you!’

  ‘Die, you witch!’ Ryan vanquishes the enemy with a plunge of his sword and a great whoop of delight.

  ‘Oof.’ Tim clutches his stomach and does a lot of fake coughing up of blood. Then he falls, in several dramatic stages, to the floor.

  Ryan cheers and runs about with his sword in a sort of victory dance. Unaware that Tim is slowly getting up and reaching for a plastic mallet.

  ‘Your turn!’ he yells and swipes Ryan over the head with it.

  Ryan, who takes even longer to die an excruciating death, rounds off his performance with a great deal of violent leg twitching.

  Tim drops to the floor next to him and the horrible grey wig falls off. ‘Oh, Carol,’ he wails in a high-pitched voice, ‘What happened to our friendship? You were my best mate but now you’re dead and it’s all too late.’

  He flings an arm across Ryan, who instantly rolls away, shrieking, ‘Argh! Get off me.’

  And then they’re piling into each other, play fighting. Tim gets Ryan in a headlock. And Ryan’s yelling for mercy and hooting with helpless laughter.

  They’re just having a bit of daft fun. But to be honest, I’m finding it a long way off amusing. In fact, I feel sick and I can see that Carol isn’t faring an awful lot better.

  Her face is chalk white, as if she might throw up at any moment, and she’s staring off into space, completely motionless.

  ‘Tim!’ I shout angrily through the gap.

  They still can’t hear me so I shout again, louder this time, and at last Ryan looks up.

  ‘It’s me. Bobbie. Over here.’ I push one hand through the gap and wave it about. ‘We’re stuck in the lift. Try pressing the button.’

  He gets up and comes over, his eyes like saucers.

  And at that moment, the lights flicker on and the lift doors glide fully open.

  Relief floods through me. ‘Right, you two!’ I storm out of the lift. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at? Get those stupid wigs off immediately! We’re going home.’

  They look startled but do as I ask.

  ‘And get this mess cleared up. Now!’

  ‘Okay, okay, keep your wig on,’ mutters Tim, scurrying about picking plastic weapons off the floor.

  Ryan is about to laugh but sees my face and thinks better of it.

  I turn to Carol. ‘I think we’d better take the stairs … ’

  But she’s already gone.

  At once I turn to Tim and Ryan. ‘Stay there. Do not move. I’ll be back in five minutes.’

  The two boys practically jump to attention.

  I take the stairs at a run but when I arrive at Reception and dash outside, Carol is nowhere to be seen.

  I can’t face going back to the party, so I call Fez on his mobile, give him a much shortened version of what happened, then fetch the boys and get them home in a taxi.

  It’s been a disastrous night by any standards.

  I’ve lost Charlie for good (not that I even had him in the first place).

  And Carol has completely washed her hands of me. Her words keep replaying in my head: ‘You don’t think we can ever get back from this, do you?’

  I’m not even sure if I have a job to go to on Monday morning.

  I climb into bed, craving the oblivion of sleep.

  Mum always says things are sur
e to look brighter in the morning.

  I wish it were true …

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  I wake the next morning and peer at the time. Nearly ten. I crashed out for a whole eleven hours.

  Charlie.

  His bleak expression looms into my mind’s eye, all that anger, hurt and disappointment directed at me. And who could blame him?

  I long to dive back under the duvet.

  But I can’t.

  Today is Saturday. Mum’s big stage debut.

  A Christmas Carol opens with a matinee performance at two, and I’ve agreed to treat Tim to lunch then take him to the show afterwards.

  I pick him up at twelve and after trying to calm Mum down – ‘I wish I still smoked,’ she keeps muttering. ‘I really wish I still smoked.’ – we tell her to break a leg and go in search of fast food.

  I’m normally quite strict about Tim’s diet but today, I haven’t the strength for an argument. So it’s double cheese, stuffed-crust pizza, ice-cream with chocolate sauce and sprinkles of brightly coloured additives, all washed down with an energy drink.

  I pick at a slice of Tim’s pizza and try to be jolly.

  But my mind keeps straying to Charlie. And I keep brooding about Carol and wondering what effect last night has had on her.

  The play is great. It’s funny but spooky enough for Tim to edge closer to me at times for protection. Mum, as the narrator, is excellent. She’s had a doggedly enthusiastic coach, of course (Bunty, as producer, receives a standing ovation at the end) but I’m still amazed by Mum’s confident, fearless performance. Her voice carries easily to the back of the hall, no problem at all. Although I’m not such a fan of her revealing ‘Victorian’ costume and thick make-up, which frankly make her look more good-time girl than the middle-class wife of Scrooge’s nephew.

  Later, Bunty drives us all back to Mum’s then rushes off to tend to Alfred. Mum scrubs off her make-up while I put the kettle on.

  She walks into the kitchen, her face glowing, and I give her yet another round of applause. ‘You were amazing. Bunty was right.’

  I pour the tea and shout through to Tim, who comes in for a snack.

  Mum smiles. ‘She’s fine once you get past the bellowing and the jolly hockey sticks.’

  ‘Does Bunty play hockey as well?’ asks Tim in awe, taking a pear out of the fruit bowl.