So, before work that day, Bonnie set up Paypal and eBay accounts calling herself The Rainbow Lady. It seemed appropriate.
Chapter 17
Lew warmed up some croissants for Charlotte before he left for the Pot of Gold. Gemma and Jason had gone home at eleven the previous evening because they both had early starts in the morning. Charlotte and Regina had got totally blasted on Brandy Alexanders and Lew had broken out the Glenfiddich in the conservatory. He didn’t drink much these days but he had a small one to keep Patrick and his triple measure company. Whilst his friend was talking about something banal, Lew had switched his hearing to the conversation happening nearby in the sitting room where Charlotte and Regina were bitching about Gemma getting all animal-rights about Regina’s bag. He wouldn’t ever dictate who his wife socialised with but, for the life of him, he hoped that Charlotte wouldn’t replace Regina as her best friend. Though he felt disloyal thinking it, Charlotte was a chameleon and she absorbed the colour of the people she mixed with. When she hung around with Gemma, she was lovely and sweet, but since she had transferred her attention to Regina, she was taking on her snooty, rude ways. Well, much as he loved his wife, she wouldn’t be getting a bag made out of a white crocodile from him – ever.
He delivered Charlotte’s breakfast on a tray along with a pat of butter, a small jar of honey, a cup of milky, sweetened tea and two ibuprofen because he suspected she might have a hangover – and he was right.
‘You should have made me drink some water before I went to bed,’ said Charlotte, holding her head in an attempt to relieve the pain hammering at the front of her skull.
‘I did. Most of a pint,’ said Lew. ‘So imagine what you’d be like if I hadn’t.’
‘Did you? I can’t remember. I seem to have a blank after Regina suggested tequila shots. Did I have any?’
‘No,’ replied Lew. ‘I told her that would be a very bad idea. Plus their taxi had just arrived.’
Charlotte glugged down the tea as if she’d been on a desert island for days without a drink and had just discovered an ice-cold lake.
‘I wish I didn’t have to go to work, even if it is only half a day,’ said Lew, wanting to strip off and slip back into bed with Charlotte. ‘When Bonnie has found her feet, I’ll suggest that we do alternate Sundays.’
‘Well to have a successful business, you’ll need to put the hours in. Just like you did in London.’ Charlotte pressed her teeth into her croissant like Regina’s handbag must have once bitten into its meals.
‘At least I’m home every night and all day Monday.’
‘Yes and that’s great,’ said Charlotte.
She said it with less conviction than he would have liked to hear, and it wasn’t the first time he had picked up on it either. ‘Cheers,’ he said, with a click of his tongue.
‘What?’ Croissant confetti dropped from Charlotte’s lips.
‘Sometimes I wonder if you like me being around more than I used to be.’
Charlotte put her croissant down on the plate, got out of bed, reached up and put her arms around her husband. She gave him a squeeze and then adjusted position so he was at arm’s length. ‘Lewis, a lot has happened to us in the past couple of years. We are adjusting.’ She gave the word special weight. ‘I know you want to build up your business and I respect that. I never moaned about you being away down in London, did I? Did I ever?’
‘No,’ he said, truthfully because she never had. He’d been working in the City when they first met and he’d been careful to set out his stall from the off that his life plan was to work bloody hard, rise to the top, retire in his early fifties and live a simpler, quieter life off the fruits of his labour. But still, he had often felt guilty about the time he spent away from Charlotte and that’s why he compensated her with flash cars, a big house and a fat bank account for her to dip into at her leisure. He hadn’t considered a spanner might be thrown into the works and set him on a different path. They had plenty of money in the bank, but not enough to indefinitely sustain the lifestyle they led when he was a big fish in the pool of high finance. He’d spoilt Charlotte too much, that was the problem. She wouldn’t be content with simpler and quieter now, she wanted year-on-year bigger and better.
‘So if it means that you have to put a lot of hours in so you don’t slip into miser mode, I can deal with that,’ added Charlotte.
Lew raised his eyebrows. ‘Miser mode? What, because I told you to stop throwing money out of the window?’
‘And what’s next? We can’t go on holidays and I have to shop in Lidl?’ Charlotte gave a dry skip of laughter and sat down heavily on the bed.
Lew looked at her incredulously. ‘Where on earth is all this nonsense coming from?’
‘We are now the poorest people in our social group.’ Charlotte looked as if she was about to sob.
‘No we aren’t. My present salary might be decidedly lower than it was a couple of years ago, but we hardly need to start looking for the nearest soup kitchen.’ He threw up his hands. ‘Anyway, what does it matter who earns what? Why this current obsession with us not being group leaders in earnings? We didn’t look down on Jason and Gemma when they were juggling bank loans, did we?’
She didn’t answer the question directly, which said everything, but asked instead, ‘Are you earning a lot of money in the shop, Lewis?’
It was a question she hadn’t asked yet and he was dreading it coming up because he had never lied to his wife. Well, maybe a white lie when he was trying to stop her buying things because he’d already bought them as presents for her, but not real lies that carried a punch when uncovered.
He chose his words carefully. ‘I’ve got a steady turnover, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Big profits?’
‘No . . . not . . . really.’
‘Any profits?’ Her voice was fiercer now.
‘Well, not yet.’
‘Oh God.’ Her hands flew to her head.
‘It’s early days, Charlotte. I’m starting from scratch and building up a clientele. It takes time to—’
Charlotte spoke over him. ‘Regina asked me if we would like to go on a cruise with them to Alaska.’
‘When?’
‘Last night.’
‘No, I mean when did she want to go?’
‘September. But we won’t be able to, will we, because it would cost too much money.’ There was a fearful shake in her voice.
‘The money isn’t anything to do with why we won’t be joining them,’ Lew replied, half under his breath.
‘We’ll be holidaying in Butlins, won’t we? Or a caravan. Well, I’d rather not bother.’ She slipped back under the covers as if they gave her comfort from those particular horrors.
Lew bit back on saying that he’d had some great holidays in Butlins and caravans when he was a kid. In fact he was sure he remembered that she’d had caravan holidays with her parents. He took a deep breath before giving her the sort of reply she wanted. One she needed to hear.
‘Charlotte, we have savings, we have a house with no mortgage on it, we have investments, financially we are more than all-right-Jack so don’t panic. But’ – he gave the word special emphasis – ‘if you think I’m going to let you draw God knows how many thousand pounds out of the bank just to keep up with the Joneses – or Sheffields in this case – just to buy a handbag made—’
‘Who said anything about a handbag?’ Charlotte snapped.
‘You did, last night. Or can’t you remember? When Patrick and Regina had gone, you could barely stand up but you begged me to buy you a Chaput bag.’
‘I only got drunk because Gemma started banging on about babies. You would have thought she’d have had more consideration.’
She bowed her head and Lew sat down on the bed and put his arm around her, giving her a chivvying squeeze. Then he noticed the clock and realised he’d be late if he didn’t set off now for the Pot of Gold.
‘I’ll have to go, but we can carry on this conversation when I ge
t back.’
Charlotte sniffed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being silly, aren’t I?’
He kissed the top of her nose. ‘Yes you are. Stop panicking. You might have blown a fortune on fripperies in the past . . . I, however, have been sensible.’
‘Good job,’ grinned Charlotte.
‘Come here.’ Lew attempted to kiss her full on the lips but she twisted her head and it landed on her cheek.
‘I have revolting morning breath,’ she giggled. ‘Stay clear.’
Lew laughed and lifted up the breakfast tray from the bed, putting it on the table by her side. ‘Go back to sleep for a couple of hours and get rid of that hangover,’ he ordered.
‘I’ll close up early if we don’t have any customers.’
‘Have a nice day in your little shop,’ said Charlotte, her head flopping heavily onto the pillow. Lew couldn’t tell if that one word carried conscious or unconscious disdain, but it was derisive all the same. He leaned over, gave her a kiss on her head and set off for his little shop.
*
Bonnie was waiting for him when he arrived, sitting on the bench in the middle of the square, below an enormous dome of an umbrella, each panel a different shade of the rainbow. She was dressed in a red raincoat, a dark pink shift dress with a white blouse underneath and blue boots on her feet. She smiled a welcome at him and it made him wonder when was the last time Charlotte had greeted him with a smile, or a kiss – as she used to when he came home from London. He recalled that her smile used to be very wide whenever he told her he’d received a banker’s bonus.
‘I’m not late, am I?’ he said, quickening his pace whilst stealing a glance at his watch.
‘Not at all,’ replied Bonnie. ‘I got up early because I couldn’t sleep. I went to the little teashop in the corner and had a coffee and a toasted teacake. The sun was shining beautifully until five minutes ago, so I came to sit out here but it’s just started to spit.’
‘Good job you remembered your brolly, then.’
‘Isn’t it just.’
The rain increased its flow and fell with a soft shushing noise.
‘Come on, let’s get in,’ said Lew, hurrying forwards. By the time they reached the Pot of Gold, the rain was falling in a sheet and there was a grumble of thunder in the distance. He quickly unlocked the door and Bonnie followed him in, after shaking the drops off her umbrella.
‘April showers have turned up three weeks early,’ she said, as he pressed in the code to disable the alarm. ‘But it’s Sunday, so don’t worry about customers not turning up. This should be your busiest day.’
‘Well it’s not,’ replied Lew, switching on the lights. ‘That’s why I’m only opening for four hours. I was going to suggest to you that when you’ve settled in, maybe you’d consider we do alternate Sundays. I’d like to spend some extra time with my wife.’
‘I’m happy to work every Sunday,’ said Bonnie quickly. ‘Any overtime you have, I’ll take it. Although if you get a lot more dealers in, you might find you need both of us on Sunday and someone else besides. In the good old days of Grimshaw’s, we didn’t close until seven sometimes and needed all hands on deck.’
‘Oh how I wish that for us,’ said Lew. ‘And yes, if you’re up for an extra bit of cash in hand, I’ll take you up on that offer.’ That would appease Charlotte. They could go out into the country for a drive and Sunday lunch. And though there was the possibility that his new employee might be wanting the boss out of the way so she could steal all his stock, he was pretty sure she was no Vanda Clegg. Especially after two conversations he had that day with the traders.
The first was when he went over to help Vintage Valerie move into her new unit later that morning. He was assembling a clothes rail for her when Bonnie’s name came up.
‘I’m so glad that Bonnie is working here,’ said Valerie, whose accent was so refined, she made Regina look like Hilda Odgen by comparison. ‘You’ll do no better for an assistant than her. Her father was one of the nicest men ever. A true gentleman and there aren’t many of those left in the world, let me tell you.’ She peered at him over half-moon glasses as if expecting him to disagree with that. Valerie had the air of a very strict headmistress of an extremely select girls’ school. He wondered what her profession had been before she dealt in antique clothing, but he didn’t ask.
‘I hope you’ll let me steal her away for a bite to eat next door,’ she went on.
‘Steal away. She’s due a break.’
‘Good.’
Then, when Bonnie was in the teashop next door with Valerie, Stickalampinit turned up with some more of his creations and conversation again steered itself to Bonnie. He had just dragged in a huge metal statue of an armless Greek goddess but instead of a face there was an oval clock. It was probably the most hideous thing Lew had ever seen, but he was careful with his words.
‘That’s an interesting piece, Stickalampinit,’ he said.
‘I don’t think you’ll be seeing this one for very long,’ said Stickalampinit fondly. ‘It’s not a real clock but a colour-changing lamp. Totally weatherproof, so you can keep it outside.’
Lew didn’t say that if he owned it, it would have to go outside because he wouldn’t want it in the house.
Stickalampinit was obviously very proud of his creation. He was viewing it as if he were Pygmalion and it was Galatea and about to take a breath.
‘No Bonnie today?’ he asked.
‘She’s on a break. I think she’s next door with Valerie.’
‘Ah. Lovely girl is Bonnie,’ he said. ‘You’ve done well to get her working for you. She knows a lot.’ He wagged a long finger as if to give his words emphasis. ‘She should have had her own shop, not be working for someone else.’
‘Should she?’ asked Lew.
‘Her dad used to part-own Grimshaw’s,’ said Stickalampinit. ‘Oh, it was a proper shop was that once upon a time. It’s full of shit now, but back in the day . . . eeeh,’ and he let out a very nostalgic sigh. ‘She’s had a poor deal, bless her.’
Just as Lew was about to ask what he meant, a customer interrupted them wanting to see an old teddy bear in Uncle Funky’s cabinet.
‘I’ll get the key and be over in a minute,’ said Lew.
‘Nice teddy that, if it’s the hump-backed one,’ said Stickalampinit. ‘I saw it myself and was going to buy it for our Sharon, but it’s overpriced and the stingy old bugger won’t come down more than ten per cent.’
‘I need to learn more about toys,’ Lew stated. ‘It’s not my strongest area.’
‘Well don’t let Uncle Funky teach you owt,’ said Stickalampinit. ‘We’re talking about the guy who bought a job lot of Jim’ll Fix It badges hush hush from someone in the TV company. He thought it would be his retirement fund.’ He laughed heartily.
Lew went over to get the teddy bear, crossing paths with a woman who was walking towards Stickalampinit’s ridiculous garden statue lamp and telling her husband that she simply must have it, simply must.
Chapter 18
Next door in the teashop, Valerie and Bonnie were enjoying a bowl of home-made tomato soup, a warm plait of bread and a huge pot of tea after Bonnie had filled Valerie in on the details of her sacking. Valerie listened patiently, without interrupting, taking every word in. Only when Bonnie had finished did she comment.
‘I think fate has intervened rather nicely for you, dear Bonnie,’ she said, lifting the china cup to her lips and sipping delicately. Then she replaced the cup on the saucer before continuing, ‘I am inclined to believe the rumours that Wendy Grimshaw got pregnant by another man, but Harry forgave her and brought the baby up as his own. Ken doesn’t even look like Harry and he certainly doesn’t act like him.’
Bonnie was shocked. ‘You’re joking. I’ve never heard that story.’
Valerie gave a small laugh. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know, Bonnie.’
And she was right. For all the years Bonnie had known Valerie – and that was all of her life – she didn’t kno
w her at all. She knew that Valerie lived alone, had never married, had no children, had once been an Oracy teacher in a private school, though she didn’t really know what that entailed. She knew that Valerie had a sister who lived in Italy and she went to a secret location in France once a year to stock up on vintage clothes from a huge market there. And she knew that Valerie and Jack Pitt, or Jackpot as he was known in the trade, were very close friends. That was the extent of all she knew about Valerie. But it was enough. Bonnie didn’t need to know anything more than Valerie enjoyed her company and liked her as a person.
‘I think Lew Harley could have a very successful business in this square,’ said Valerie, dipping a chunk of soft bread into her soup and transferring it to her lips. ‘It’s a wonderful location, plenty of parking and, I must say, he is quite the charmer. Is he married?’
‘Yes, and happily so.’ He had already told Bonnie that he wanted to spend more time with his wife.
‘Shame he’s married,’ said Valerie with a smile tugging at the left corner of her mouth.
‘So am I.’ Bonnie lifted her hand with her wedding ring on it and waggled her hand.
The Queen of Wishful Thinking Page 9
