“Hey Mr!” Estelle trotted along the pavement. She wore a pair of crocodile skin high heels that Mrs Pigmy had given her. She thrust her cheek out and waited for Greg to kiss her. He ignored her and stared at her shoes.
“You no like?” She thrust her foot out and began to make circles to show off her high instep. “I got bag too.” Elena reached into a carrier bag and pulled out a small matching clutch bag. It was as good as new.
“Why do you have to bring all this crap home?” Greg said. He took her arm and guided her down the hill. He felt a complete twat as she clung on to him, tripping in her heels and whining that she was tired and where was the car? Dick Littlefair stopped his stacking and looked up. Estelle wore skin tight leggings and a short crop top. Her thick black hair was piled up on her head and she’d painted her pouting lips crimson.
“Haven’t I seen you dancing in West Side Story?” Dick grinned at Estelle and she blew him a kiss.
“Jesus Estelle!” Greg hissed. “Not only do you look like a tart but do you have to behave like one?” He was furious and dragged her past the greengrocer, who shook his head and turned back to his work.
Greg wished he’d bought the car into Butterly to pick her up. All his good work would be undone at this rate – Estelle was a liability and he couldn’t afford gossip. He’d already checked on flights to Spain and with any luck he’d be able to dispatch Estelle back to her family sooner than he’d anticipated. Thank God for the recession. If Jo didn’t find bookings soon, she’d be begging him to come back. Greg smiled as they crossed the bridge over the River Bevan and made their way along the riverbank to their flat. It was only a matter of time!
* * *
Jo stopped the car on the roadside and unclipped her seat belt. She looked up at the terraced house. The curtains were drawn and the front garden looked overgrown and uncared for. She stepped out onto the pavement and Pippa flew past and disappeared behind Hattie’s garden wall, where next door’s tabby cat often sat in the sunshine.
Jo could no longer ignore the fact that Pippa was unmistakably pregnant. Until recently there hadn’t been a sign, but in the last week or so her tummy had thickened considerably and she looked like a fat pear drop. At least I’ll have time to look after her… Jo sighed as she thought of the empty bedrooms at the hotel. Thomas woke up. He yawned as his mother lifted him gently from his car seat.
“ ‘Attie Muma!” He pointed excitedly at the house. Jo kissed the top of his head, locked the car and walked up the pathway. She rang the bell but knew that Hattie wouldn’t come to the door. She tried the handle. It gave and Jo opened the door and walked in.
“Anyone home?” She called out.
The house was in darkness but she could hear a television. She opened the door to the lounge. The curtains on the front window were drawn but open on the patio doors overlooking the back garden. Hattie lay on a green Draylon sofa, her face inert as she watched the screen - an episode of Murder She Wrote. She mumbled a greeting to Jo, but moved further down the sofa and turned her back on her visitors.
“How are you today?” Jo said positively. The house smelt of Hattie’s mothers’ cigarettes, stale and unwelcoming. Dust seemed inches high on Hattie’s collection of Lilliput Lane Houses, covering the shelves in the alcove. Jo moved to the patio doors and opened them.
“Damn dog will kill that cat one of these days.” Hattie said. She hadn’t looked up but Jo could see Pippa whizzing round the back garden in hot pursuit of the tabby who’d climbed onto the shed roof and was hissing viciously. .
“Cup of tea?” Jo asked.
“No, nowt.”
“Something to eat?”
“No thank you.”
“Fancy a walk and a bit of fresh air?”
Jo sat on the arm of the sofa and looked at her friend. She wanted to put Thomas on the floor, but it was covered dirty plates and overflowing ashtrays.
“I’m alright Jo, just leave me alone.”
“That I’m never going to do.” Jo reached her hand out and stroked Hattie’s greasy hair away from her face. She was wearing winceyette pyjamas which looked as though she’d had them on for days.
“What can I do to help you?”
Jo wished Hattie would get angry or shout or cry or do something to vent her anguish at losing Bertie. But this Hattie was alien to Jo, and she didn’t know how to handle her.
Hattie was silent. She watched the television in a trance-like state. Jo began to pick dishes up and carry them into the kitchen. Things were a bit better in there. Jo knew that Eileen Atkinson had been stocking the cupboards up – Jo still had Hattie on the payroll and had made sure Eileen had housekeeping money. Hattie’s Mum did her best but she was nearly seventy. The boys were at school, Eileen would collect them. Jo wondered how much money Hattie had left. Was the mortgage was being covered? She was helping as much as she could but she had money troubles of her own and didn’t know how long she could keep it up. She was worried about the boys too. How on earth was Hattie’s grief affecting her kids? Jo had them over to the hotel several times a week after school. They seemed to like being with Thomas and Ann – in the garden kicking a football around if the weather was fine, or playing games inside when it rained. But they had to come home and this is what they faced - a mother who could barely speak, and certainly didn’t want to do anything other than lie on the sofa all day and night.
Jo’s heart went out to Hattie. Jo knew that Bertie wouldn’t want her to be like this. The whole house felt sad and Jo felt helpless, but what could she do to make things better?
“Would you like a bath?” Jo asked. “I could stick some nice smellies in?”
Hattie didn’t reply.
“Maybe we could get you out of those pyjamas into something clean? You might feel a bit better?”
Thomas was fidgety and tried to wriggle out of Jo’s arms. Pippa barked furiously at the cat.
“For Christ’s sake Jo!” Hattie shouted. She sat up and grabbed a cushion. “Can’t you just bloody well leave me alone!” Hattie punched the cushion, then banged it down on the arm of the sofa and put her head on it. She grabbed the remote control and increased the volume on the television. Jo touched her arm but Hattie flinched away. Thomas began to cry and Hattie’s neighbour screamed at Pippa to shut up. Jo stood up.
“OK Love, if that’s what you want.” Thomas was crying loudly and tried to wriggle free. “But I’ll be back in a day or so and if there is anything at all that you do want, you just call me.”
Jo picked up the cream melamine telephone and put it on the floor next to Hattie. Hattie didn’t look up. With a sigh, Jo leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.
“Anything at all – I’ll be here.” Jo straightened the stained blanket that half covered Hattie then walked out of the living room. She looked back. Hattie hadn’t moved and didn’t seem to register Jo’s departure. Jo felt tears in her eyes as she opened the front door and let herself out. She wondered what on earth she could do to get the old Hattie back again.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
October began as quietly as September had ended. Bookings were thin on the ground as the month progressed, and Jo was more worried than ever about her business. She had taken to watching the news, as stories of the stock market in crisis bought panic to the nation’s shareholders, anxious for their finances.
Jo discussed her fears with Robert. She wanted a valuation on the property. Robert knew the building intimately and the size of Jo’s investment, he thought she’d be foolish to put the hotel on the market.
“It’s worth fifty percent less than its true market value at the moment.” He told her. “The bottom has fallen out of property. You’ve got to hang on Jo, things will change, but it’ll take a while.”
“I’m not sure if I can Robert.” Jo thought about her overdraft and Mr Knight’s never ending calls. “Have a think about it and maybe make some subtle enquiries for me?”
If someone came along with a price to cover her debt, Jo felt sure she�
�d snap their hand off.
On a brighter note, she’d received a good response to the advert for the Chinese Evening and the restaurant was nearly full. Jo sent the staff to the fancy dress shop in Marland - they might as well make as much of the evening as possible and suitable costumes were hired. The twins would be dressed as Chinese Emperors and Judy and the girls all looked very pretty in coloured kimonos with wide sashes. Jo had found a Chinese supermarket in Carlisle and boxes of coloured lights, paper lanterns, floating candles and fortune cookies were ready to dress the restaurant.
Pippa was listless and fretful and didn’t stray far from her box. Jo asked Martin, the vet next door, to have a look at her. In his opinion, Pippa would be a mother any day now and Jo wasn’t to worry, as a dog tended to get on with things on its own. He told her that she would come down one morning and find a basket of puppies and a happy Pippa. Jo wasn’t so sure. Pippa was enormous and Jo tried to second guess what she might need for the birth. She asked Alf, he was used to breeding animals. Alf seemed to be spending a lot of time at the hotel these days, often coinciding with Judy sleeping over to cover Hattie’s shifts. Jo was surrounded by breeding animals…
“Old Lass will sort it out on her own,” Alf said as he knelt by the box and gently stroked her belly. Pippa lay back and tried to roll over. She gazed adoringly at Alf.
“Well I hope you’ll help Old Lass and me with the re-homing.” Jo sat at the table with Thomas on her knee. He was playing with his farm animals.
“You’ll have no trouble with these ‘uns” Alf replied. “Pedigree father – they’ll fly out.” He stood up.
“I hope they do fly out, I’m no mid-wife.” Jo said grumpily. She bounced a plastic pig over the table as Thomas made snorting noises. “Shouldn’t she be hospitalised or something?”
“Nah, it’ll be like shelling peas.” Alf ruffled Thomas’ mop of blonde hair with a calloused hand. “Dunna worry, eh Tombo? Soon have some real animals to play with.”
“Woof! ‘Oof!” Thomas pointed towards Pippa and threw his pig in her box.
* * *
Jo woke early. There was no rush to get downstairs, there were only two residents and Judy was on an early shift. She listened to the baby alarm beside her bed and heard Ann going in to Thomas’ room. He’d woken and Ann was gently fussing round him. Jo turned the alarm off. She rolled over and flicked a switch on the bedside radio. A newsreader spoke solemnly.
“We are of course waiting for the stock markets to open around the world, but the day looks set to be one of the worst in financial history.”
Jo sat up. What had happened? She threw her legs over the side of the bed and turned the volume up. Various economic experts were adding their opinion to the radio debate and by the sound of things, monetary matters looked grim. Jo got dressed. She’d call George in a bit and ask his opinion. Her Dad would be glued to the news; no doubt his own shares were at risk.
The day progressed and, as everyone feared, the news didn’t improve. The press were calling it Black Monday. The stock market had crashed and millions of pounds lost. A sense of doom pervaded every new report, with tales of investors loosing everything. Jo called her father.
“Are you alright Dad?”
“We’ve lost a bit Jo but nothing I’ll miss. I only ever dabbled. Some folk have lost the lot though. It’s going to be tough for many.”
He asked about business and if she was coping. Jo made light of the lack of bookings and assured George that things were fine. She sighed as she put the phone down. Please God may things improve, she couldn’t bring herself to tell George how bad it really was.
The week went by slowly. Pippa’s appetite increased and Sandra took to preparing tasty delicacies of fresh fish and chicken for the grossly pregnant dog. A nervous Jo wondered how many puppies Pippa was eating for.
Bookings for the Chinese night continued, they would now be using both restaurants. Perhaps folk need cheering up? Jo thought to herself as she hung fairy lights and paper lanterns in the Rose Room on the morning of the event. They’d decided to discount the bedrooms for anyone wishing to stay over and so far, half of the rooms were full. Jo felt a little brighter as they made their preparations.
If only every day was like this. The whole place had come alive again. The phone rang intermittently and Jo was surprised and pleased when Judy told her that Jinny Atkinson had booked her luncheon club for their Christmas lunch in December. Mark Pucker had rung too and booked a date in November, for a conference. He hadn’t asked for her? Oh well, things might be looking up… Jo thought as she changed for the evening. She’d chosen a sleeveless, calf-length tunic dress with a mandarin collar. It was a deep emerald blue silk with gold piping and felt wonderful against her skin. She carefully applied thick eyeliner and added an upward twist. Not particularly Chinese - more Bridget Bardot… She stood back and checked her appearance. It would have to do. Her phone rang.
“Mrs E – could you come down to reception please.”
“I’m on my way Judy, give me five minutes.” Jo replied.
“Could you come straight down please, we’re having a spot of bother.”
Judy sounded strange. Jo felt her heart miss a beat and wondered what on earth could have happened? She grabbed a red lipstick, smoothed some over her lips and raced down to reception.
At the desk, a head leaned over the diary. It has very thick black hair, pulled into a bun on the nape of the neck where two knitting needles poked out. Jo stared in disbelief. Judy began to giggle.
“Taa Raa!” Hattie’s head shot up and her face beamed from beneath the heavy wig. Jo gasped and felt a knot the size of a fist burst in her heart. Tears poured down her face.
“Fuck me. It’s Suzy Wong!” Hattie looked Jo up and down, then stood and threw her arms out. Jo almost vaulted the desk to get to her friend and they hugged each other tightly. Jo’s tears poured over Hattie’s wig, which had now slipped precariously to one side.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” Jo exclaimed. She was so thrilled to see Hattie!
“I thought it was time to get me finger out.” Hattie turned to the mirror and straightened her wig. “You’ll hardly pull this one off without me.”
Jo was overjoyed. The day could not have got better!
“So what’s to do?” Hattie asked.
She turned and noticed that Jo was staring at her outfit. Hattie was wearing an odd mix of tight white wrap-over top, short black trousers and rubber flip flops. Jo recognised Hattie’s Mam’s knitting needles stabbed into the bun in a cross shape.
“Well it was the best I could do.” Hattie said. “They only had this wig left at the shop. Your lot have cleaned Fancy Pants out of Chinese gear. I had to improvise with our Tommy’s jujitsu kit.”
Hattie’s breasts bulged out of the ‘Age Eleven’ top and her legs were bare from the knee down.
“I’ve put fake tan on me legs – don’t look so precious, you’re hardly Emelda bleedin’ Marcos!” Hattie retorted.
“She’s not Chinese…” Jo replied.
“Hadn’t we better crack on? Shall I start pouring the Sake?” Hattie opened the office door and pushed past Jo and Judy.
“By the way – your mascaras run.” Hattie called over her shoulder from the bar. “You look like a Panda, but perhaps that’s intentional?”
Seven o’clock. Everyone was ready to greet the guests. All the bedrooms were full and delicious aromas came from the kitchen. Guests were to be shown straight to their tables on arrival.
Simon turned the stereo on and Chinese music piped out through the speakers. Hattie drew back a red silk curtain that Jo had pinned to the entrance of the bar.
“Good job I’m here.” She began as she poured out glasses of rice wine. “None of the raffle prizes were wrapped.”
“I told Judy to wrap them.” Jo said.
“Well she left them on the side in the kitchen. Too busy gallivantin’ out the back with Alf. I’ve wrapped them now, they’re on the piano.” She pushe
d a glass towards Jo.
“Have you tried Gerald’s wontons?” Jo pulled a face as she sipped the wine, it tasted like creosote.
“Bloody delicious.” Hattie sighed as she thought about the crisp batter parcels.
“Do you think black pudding was the right choice of filling?”
“Gives it a Northern touch, don’t be so fussy.”
The front door buzzer sounded and the staff rushed past them with trays of Sake.
“Looks like the cast of Madame Butterfly.”
Hattie watched the twins follow Judy and Penny. Penny had whitened her face and added rouge to her cheeks.
“Christ, shouldn’t she live in the conservatory?” Hattie raised her eyebrows.
“Don’t even joke about that.” Jo downed the wine and shuddered.
The curtain lifted to one side and Peter Pigmy stuck his weasel- like face round it.
“Where do you want me?”
He was dressed in jeans - tucked into cowboy boots, checked shirt and a shoestring tie, held in place with a banjo clip. Hattie opened her mouth in horror.
“It’s a First!” She cried out, “Westmarland’s only Chinese Cowboy!”
“Piss off Hattie.” Peter snarled back and adjusted the large camera hung round his neck. “I’m shooting a hoedown straight after this. Where d’you want me?”
“Bottom of the Bevan. Shouldn’t you have a gun if you’re going to a massacre?”
Jo pushed her out of the way and told Peter to position himself in the hallway, where he could photograph guests as they came in.
“I see you’re mother didn’t get that acne cream I recommended!” Hattie called after him. Peter thrust his middle finger in the air.
“Do you have to be so mean to him?” Jo suppressed a smile.
“He’s such a twat, thinks he’s working for the glossies, the Tribune is hardly Hello…”
They could hear laughter and turned to see Paulie and Robbie sail down the hallway. Simon announced them.
Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me... Page 26
