But there had been too much of a pause between the end of his question and the beginning of her answer for him to believe it.
THE STARS ARE TURNING OUT FOR JACK
The Daily Trumpet is very sad to announce the sudden death at the weekend of popular antique ceramics dealer Jack ‘Crack’ Potts. Jack’s father, Keith ‘Pott’ Pitt the elder was a scrap dealer and local character best known for having a lion as a bodyguard. His brother Keith ‘Pitt’ Pott the younger is a former area heavyweight boxing champion who has a boxing gym built on the site of the family crapyard. The funeral will take place this Thursday at the Church of the Blessed Virgin and will be attended not only by his family and friends but also celebrities Cristiano Ronaldo, star striker of Real Madrid and Jason Orange of Take That fame.
Chapter 28
The funeral of Jackpot took place four days after his death, on Thursday at the Church of the Blessed Virgin. Lew shut up shop at lunchtime because he insisted that he and Bonnie should both be there. Bonnie brought black clothes to work to change into. Jackpot’s wife was a devout Catholic who had organised a sombre pomp and ceremony service with no modern fripperies such as dressing in bright colours; everyone attended in their darkest finery. Four black-plumed, black horses pulled the carriage bearing his huge black coffin covered in an explosion of white lilies. His widow and daughter were in black, his daughter, tall and wide like Jack, in floods of tears being supported by her new husband. In contrast, Jack’s small, bony wife Dolores was dry-eyed and hard-faced. It was the first time Bonnie had ever seen Jack’s wife and she was surprised at his type. She didn’t look a match for Jack, though they’d been together for over thirty years. That’s twice in one week that I’ve failed to pair the right wife with the husband, Bonnie thought. Mrs Pitt strode regally into the church and the huge procession of mourners followed.
Lew walked in behind Bonnie thinking how pale she looked in black. Even the rich brown of her hair looked as if it had lost its vibrancy today. He had never seen her wearing black before; the colour swallowed her up, sapped all the life and energy from her.
Bonnie’s eyes were leaking tears which she soaked up with a store of tissues. He had the handkerchief which she had returned, washed and pressed, in his pocket, ready to hand to her if she needed it.
Valerie waved at them both to sit next to her. Her eyes were dry but she reached for Bonnie’s hand to draw badly-needed comfort from it. Valerie’s fingers were frozen to the bone.
The ceremony was hymn-heavy and Bonnie noted that Lew didn’t mime them, as so many did, but had a rich, deep singing voice. At the other side of her Valerie’s voice rang out like a tuneful bell and she sang the words as if she meant every one of them. Only on the last lines of the final hymn did Bonnie hear her falter.
Be still, my soul; when change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.
After heartbroken eulogies from his daughter Mandy and his craggy-faced weeping brother, Keith the younger, which filled the room with emotion, Jack’s coffin was solemnly lowered into his grave. Then everyone trooped across the road to Jack’s local, the George and Dragon, where corsets were loosened and the mood was much more relaxed and convivial. Whereas the service had been about mourning Jack’s death, the wake was all about celebrating Jack’s life. Trays of drinks awaited guests and a buffet that took up four long tables. Through one of the windows, Bonnie noticed that Valerie had taken herself off and was sitting alone on a wall, smoking. Bonnie gathered a plate of finger-food for her and walked outside to deliver it. As she neared Valerie, she was surprised to see how aged and tired she looked in the sunlight.
‘Hello, love,’ said Valerie, blowing out a plume of smoke and tapping the ash off the end of her cigarette with a long finger.
‘I brought you some sandwiches,’ said Bonnie.
‘I’m not hungry, darling. But thank you. You eat them,’ said Valerie, smiling politely though her usually bright blue eyes were dull today. ‘Come and sit on the wall and keep me company. I don’t want to go in there.’ She pointed her cigarette in the direction of the pub.
Bonnie put the plate down on a nearby table and shooed a fly away just before it landed on the square of quiche.
‘Do you know why Jack’s dad called his lion Leo?’ asked Valerie eventually in her beautiful, vintage BBC announcer’s voice.
‘No idea,’ said Bonnie, preparing to be enlightened.
‘He called it Leo after my mother,’ said Valerie, pulling smoke into her lungs. ‘My mother had the most beautiful red hair and Keith Pitt used to say that she looked like a lion. Her name was Elsie but he called her Leo. He was in love with my mother.’
‘Really?’
Valerie looked straight ahead, though she could feel Bonnie’s eyes trained on her face.
‘My father was a bastard, Bonnie. A real, hard, nasty bastard and my mother was going to leave him for Keith Pitt. But she caught TB and it killed her before she could. Keith was never the same man after that. When he got that lion, he called it after my mother because he was convinced she’d come back to him in it. That lion loved him so much. It was as tame as a kitten with him. And that’s why he was heartbroken when it died. It felt like he’d lost her all over again.’
Bonnie noticed that a stray tear was dropping down Valerie’s cheek. She let it weave down her face, unhindered.
‘My family’s fate is entwined with the Pitt family’s,’ smiled Valerie, crushing the light from the cigarette butt on the wall. ‘I fell in love with Jack when we were at school.’
‘Did you?’ asked Bonnie, never realising she and Jack went back so far.
‘And Jack fell in love with me. We were going to be married.’
The tear was joined by another.
‘I didn’t know you went out with each other,’ said Bonnie.
‘Not many did. But we fell out and I did a stupid thing and kissed someone else, knowing it would drive him mad with jealousy. Jack was so angry . . .’ Valerie reached into the pocket of her long black jacket for another menthol cigarette. ‘So he slept with someone to get back at me. Once. And she got pregnant.’ She gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘Oh the daft games people play that have such dire consequences.’
‘God . . .’ gasped Bonnie for the want of anything better to say, though she felt that Valerie just needed to hear something, anything to know she was being listened to.
‘She’s in there now, feeding her fucking rosary through her ever-so-Catholic fingers and pretending she’s above us all,’ Valerie lit the cigarette so elegantly she made it look like an artform, ‘. . . but she couldn’t drop her knickers fast enough for him back then. And he had to marry her because it was so Jack to do the right thing,’ she snarled. ‘But he never stopped loving me, did you know that, Bon? He married that dried-up twig but it was me he wanted and he never stopped wanting me.’ More tears joined the ones that were now dropping off Valerie’s chin onto her black silk skirt where they spread into sad blossoms.
‘Oh Val. I’m so sorry.’
‘He wouldn’t have left her whilst Mandy was growing up. He adored his daughter. Then Mandy had all sorts of problems that some girls have, throwing up and dieting and he said he couldn’t leave whilst she was ill . . .’
Bonnie’s eyebrows creased in confusion. ‘You mean that you still . . . were together all the time he was married?’
‘Oh yes,’ nodded Valerie. ‘We never stopped being lovers. He didn’t get anything from her. He only stayed for Mandy. She gave him a reason for being, but I gave him a reason to live. I loved him with my whole heart.’ Bonnie handed her a tissue and Valerie thanked her and blew her nose on it. ‘Anyway, Jack said that as soon as he’d seen Mandy down the aisle, that was it. He was leaving Dolores and coming to me. He was going to tell her on Sunday. The day he died. He’d ordered white roses to be delivered to me the next day, the first morning we would wake up together as a proper couple again. This is one of them.’ She reached into her bag and pul
led out a white rose, now limp and crushed. ‘I wanted to throw this into his grave but I didn’t dare. He always bought me white roses. I have his roses, Bonnie. They arrived on Monday morning with his card that said “Val, my love, my life for always.” But I don’t have him.’
She pulled smoke out of the cigarette as if it were oxygen and she needed it to breathe.
‘Oh Valerie,’ Bonnie spoke softly. ‘Did Dolores know he was leaving her?’
‘Not a chance,’ huffed Valerie. ‘She wouldn’t have let me within ten miles of that church if she’d known there was anything going on between us. No one knew. No one. And I’ll have to keep it secret forever now, because what’s the point in saying anything? I’d hurt Mandy for no reason and Jack won’t be waiting for me up there if I do that because he’d be furious.’ Her shoulders slumped and she sobbed, then immediately recovered.
Bonnie tried to put her arm around Valerie but she pushed her away.
‘Don’t, Bonnie, darling. Because I’ll disintegrate. This cigarette is the only thing holding me together. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for burdening you with this. We both have been carrying a lot of secret baggage, I suspect, but I wanted . . . had to tell someone that it was my Jack that got buried today. Mine. He was mine, all mine.’ Her voice dissolved, her lips were quivering with grief.
‘I understand, Valerie.’ Bonnie flicked a tear from her own eye. She noticed that little flies were all over the plate of buffet food now.
‘We thought we had time,’ said Valerie, her throat thick with emotion. She took a long draw of her cigarette, dabbed her cheeks with the back of her hand, then she looked Bonnie straight in the eye. ‘Promise me that you’ll take your chances when you can, Bon. Grab them with both hands and run with them and don’t wait. I know you aren’t happy in your life and you should be. Don’t end up like me. Promise me,’ she insisted.
‘I promise you, Valerie,’ said Bonnie. And she meant it.
‘Now, go on and leave me for a bit. I want to think and remember. There’s a good girl.’
Bonnie nodded and gave Valerie’s arm the briefest touch, yet it carried all the weight of her affection before she walked back towards the pub. Starstruck was getting some air by the door. It was weird seeing him in a suit, his usual wild hair greased back, the top pushed forward into a quiff as if he were a Teddy Boy. She smiled at him.
‘All right, Starstruck?’
‘Yes love, are you?’
He caught her arm just as she passed him.
‘Bonnie, love, it’s not the time nor the place I know, but our Alison’s house is up for rent again if your friend’s still interested. Bloody tenants did a moonlight—’
‘Yes, she is, it’s me.’ Bonnie heard the words come out of her mouth before she’d even planned to say them. ‘I’ll take the house, Starstruck. I’ll rent it.’
Chapter 29
Bonnie made small talk with her antique dealer friends for the next half-hour but her brain was anywhere but in the snug of the George and Dragon. Starstruck said he would come over to the Pot of Gold first thing the following morning to give Bonnie the key for the house on Rainbow Lane. This time tomorrow, she would have left her grey, cold life in Greenwood Crescent. She couldn’t think straight. It was like being blind and opening her eyes for the first time to be assaulted by the full spectrum of colours in their brightest intensity. She was actually going to do it. Leave. Whatever happened afterwards she would have to deal with.
She got into Lew’s Audi with her head spinning as much as if she’d had three glasses of wine. She was glad she hadn’t had any because she needed her brain to be clear and focused.
‘You all right?’ asked Lew, turning to her as they joined the main road. ‘You look very pale, Bonnie.’
‘Is there any chance I could come in late to work tomorrow?’ asked Bonnie. ‘A hour; two, tops.’
‘Of course.’ He didn’t pry but he wanted to.
Then Bonnie burst into tears. She hadn’t meant to, they came from a strange, agitated place within her, a lake of adrenalin filled with pockets of fear, excitement, fascination, energy; a whole gamut of emotions, all vying for supremacy.
‘Let me find somewhere to pull in,’ said Lew, concerned.
This had to be connected with what had happened in the shop between her and Charlotte, he figured. He’d hoped Bonnie had been totally convinced that she had done the right thing and had absolutely nothing to worry about, but evidently not.
Regina had not called the police; she would have made a fool of herself if she had. Lew had told Charlotte in no uncertain terms that if Regina did that, he would sever all social ties with the Sheffields and tell them why. He overheard Charlotte ringing her later, telling her to put it behind them because ‘that Pit Bull woman just wasn’t worth getting aereated about.’ Then between them they’d arranged a dinner for this weekend at Regina’s house for the six of them. Lew really didn’t want to be anywhere near the woman for now but on the other hand it would be nice to see Gemma and Jason again.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Bonnie was horrified at herself. She couldn’t stop crying, although at one point she started laughing at the ridiculousness of such an emotional explosion. I’m going mad, she thought. Maybe she had been so trapped in Stephen’s mindset of ‘being in order’ that her system couldn’t digest the many changes that would be happening to her over the next hours and her brain was trying to vomit them back out in case they poisoned her.
‘You have nothing to be sorry about. There’s a pub near here.’ Lew took a left down a country lane and pulled into the car park. Ironically – given the conversation she’d just had with Vintage Valerie – it was the Red Lion. ‘A small and friendly traditional pub’ according to the wording on an A board standing next to a cluster of alfresco wooden benches and tables.
‘Come on, let me buy you a drink,’ said Lew, getting out of the car. ‘I think, after this week, I owe you a big one anyway.’
‘You don’t . . .’ Bonnie started to protest but Lew wasn’t having it.
‘What would you like?’
Bonnie made her way to one of the outside tables. No one else was there so she had the pick of them all. Lew returned a few minutes later with half a lager for himself and a glass of Diet Coke for Bonnie.
‘I asked for a bottle because the stuff that comes out of those taps is revolting,’ said Lew, putting it down in front of her.
‘It’s more expensive though,’ said Bonnie.
‘I’ll take the difference out of your wages,’ said Lew, eyes twinkling.
‘Thank you,’ said Bonnie, hoping her eyes weren’t as red as she imagined they’d be, and that her mascara hadn’t run.
Lew sat down opposite to her and thought again how ashen Bonnie looked in black, as if the colour had sucked out her soul.
‘So . . .’ he began. ‘Look, if you’re still worried about what happened on Tues—’
Bonnie cut in. ‘That’s not why I . . .’ She took a bolstering breath. ‘I’m leaving my husband,’ she blurted out. ‘And I have to go quickly and cleanly because he . . . I . . .’
Lew leapt to the obvious conclusion. ‘Is he violent?’
‘No, no,’ Bonnie shook her head, though that slap he gave her still sat at the forefront of her mind. ‘He’s needy, sticky . . . he gets upset by change and what I’m about to do is likely to blow all his fuses.’
Lew’s brow furrowed in concern. ‘He could be unstable then, is what you’re saying?’
‘I don’t know.’ She wanted to tell him that he was stable in his unstability. He would hit the roof but at the same time he would know exactly what to do. ‘He will probably resort to emotional blackmail and tell me that I owe him and I probably do . . .’
‘You sound as if you’re paying off a debt,’ said Lew, tilting his head at her.
Bonnie swallowed hard before answering. ‘I think that’s what I have been doing.’ She took a sip of her Diet Coke and gulped it down along with the rising tears. She didn’t
say it was a debt that she could never clear. Or that she might be running from a life from which there was no real escape.
‘Have you been unhappy a long time?’ said Lew, his voice gentle and Bonnie knew that if she wasn’t careful she would offload the last thirteen years into his lap. He held up his hands, palms forward. ‘I don’t mean to snoop. You have full permission to tell me to butt out.’
‘I should never have married Stephen,’ said Bonnie, looking down at the ground. An ant was scurrying along the flagstone with a crumb of something on his back.
‘So why did you?’
‘I loved him,’ said Bonnie. ‘Or at least I thought I did. He was everything I needed: kind, steady, attentive. He was in the beginning, anyway.’
She coughed away the sudden dryness in her throat and took another drink. ‘I lived with someone before Stephen. He was lovely, was Joel. We’d known each other since we were kids. He was full of life, crazy, a tour de force. But he got lows as deep as the highs were high and over the years they got worse. He was never . . . even. We were either living life at a hundred miles per hour or in slow motion. I loved him so much but it was like being on the worst sort of fairground ride. Medicines either didn’t work or drugged him senseless, until he did a trial on a new one and it balanced him more than he’d ever been. We had six beautiful months of believing that we could be a couple like anyone else. He got a job in a warehouse, nothing flash but it was a massive leap forward for us. We went walking in the park with our dog and we started planning for the future. Then the drug was suddenly pulled because it was causing an adverse reaction in some patients and he was weaned onto another one which was useless . . .’ Her voice faltered. She took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I came home from work to find him gone. There was a note on the table saying sorry, just that one word. We looked everywhere for him and I mean everywhere. A dog-walker found him hanging under a bridge near Ketherwood three weeks later. The police said he’d probably killed himself the day he left me.’
The Queen of Wishful Thinking Page 15
