‘When it’s Charlotte’s birthday next month, I’d like to invite you around for a meal. Just the four of us. Unless you’re taking her to Firenze or somewhere else.’
‘That sounds lovely,’ said Lew, and it did. It hadn’t been just the four of them for ages and their foursomes had always been so much more preferable to the sixsomes.
‘I’ll really push the boat out and I’ll make a fabulous cake. And I’ll put decorations up and everything. Like the thirteen-year-old kid I am.’ She smiled, but it looked sad rather than happy. ‘I don’t know if I’ve done anything to upset Charlotte, but if I have, I’ll make sure that her birthday puts us on a new footing.’
Lew really did have to tell her.
‘Gemma, love, look . . .’ God, where to start. ‘Charlotte should have told you this . . . she’s finding it difficult at the moment . . . with you and Jason talking about having a baby. She doesn’t want to say anything and spoil it for you, but that’s probably why she’s keeping her distance from you. It’s just stirred things up for her a bit. She’ll come round, and please don’t tell her I told you because she’d be horrified to think she’d upset you.’
Gemma didn’t react except to give the slightest nod of her head. It flagged up as odd that she didn’t say anything, but the whole evening had been bonkers. Then the car swung into her and Jason’s estate and the moment was forgotten.
Lew felt wired when he got into his own house. He poured a small neat bourbon and drank it in the silence of his vast, empty kitchen letting his mind drain itself of the awful night. He shouldn’t have left Charlotte there, he thought. He texted to see if she was okay and she replied that he was not to worry and she was perfectly fine and parked on one of the two giant sofas in the lounge reading this month’s Cosmo. Regina was on the other snoring her head off.
As his eyes shuttered down to sleep, the last image in Lew’s mind was Patrick’s face, skin smoothed, eyes bright; even his beard looked glossier for his having been amputated from his gangrenous marriage. Even if Marlene didn’t welcome him back with open arms, Lew knew that he and Regina were finished for good.
Chapter 40
A sharp rapping on the door woke up Bonnie the next morning at seven-thirty. Panic gripped her throat with a cold hand, she daren’t move. Who could be knocking at that time on a Sunday morning but Stephen? He’d found her.
The letter box flap opened inwards. ‘Bonnie, love,’ a familiar voice called through it. ‘It’s me, Stan.’
Bonnie kicked off the quilt and checked through the window to see that it was him and his large white Stantiques van was idling behind him.
‘Hang on,’ she called and grabbed her tracksuit bottoms and a baggy top, wondering what on earth he wanted her for.
She opened the door to find him talking to someone in the back of his van.
‘Sorry to call so early, Bonnie love, but I’m off to Cleethorpes with the missus in an hour and if I didn’t drop this stuff off now, you wouldn’t get it until later on in the week.’
‘I have no idea what you mean, Stan,’ said Bonnie, her face pulled into all sorts of confused shapes.
‘This furniture.’
‘What furniture?’
There was a bang from inside the van. ‘Floyd, for God’s sake, watch it,’ shouted Stan before turning back to Bonnie. ‘Valerie rang round us all saying you needed some stuff. We’ve got a load of furniture for you. She said you had nowt.’
Bonnie’s mouth dropped open and she could feel herself colouring. A single mattress still wrapped in plastic appeared out of the back of the van, presumably being pushed by Stan’s son Floyd.
‘That’s brand new, that is. Goldfinger bought a single for his lad but he wanted a double so it’s been sat in his garage. He said you could have it no problem. Oh, and Starstruck said you could either have a signed photo of Tommy Cooper or a month’s paid rent on the place. I made the decision for you: in other words, I ain’t bringing you a chuffing picture of a bloke wearing a fez. Now,’ he manoeuvred Bonnie out of the doorway, ‘I’m presuming you want it upstairs. It’s one of them divans with a drawer in it. The lads will set it up for you.’
Bonnie watched as the gargantuan Floyd carried the mattress into the house over his shoulder and then Stan’s second son, Evander, appeared from the van carrying two Arne Jacobsen retro-style chairs.
‘Uncle Funky’s sent you those. There’s a table as well. Stickalampinit’s sent you one of his best.’ He rolled his eyes and reached into the back of the van, pulling out a two-foot-tall glass bottle with a cluster of coloured bulbs sprouting from the top.
‘He must think you’ve moved into a disco,’ Evander called over his shoulder.
‘He’s a crank,’ tutted Stan, carrying the lamp and the coffee table he’d brought for Bonnie into the house.
There was also a pretty two-seater vintage cottage sofa from Valerie, a pair of bedside cabinets from Long John and a bedside light. There was an old stripped pine chest of drawers from Mart Deco and finally a portable TV and video recorder combo from Boombox.
‘He says it’s working, even if it is as old as God’s dog,’ laughed Stan. ‘Make sure you get a licence though, you don’t want to be spending all this on a fine.’ And he pulled an envelope out of his back pocket. ‘The ones that didn’t send owt put some money in this for you. Here, lass.’
When Bonnie’s hand didn’t come out, Stan lifted her arm, opened up her fingers and placed the envelope flat on her palm. ‘Don’t insult anyone by refusing. Your dad was a cracking fella and we know it would have brok’ his heart to see you without. So you take this, Bonnie.’ And Stan leaned towards her and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.
‘Now if I don’t get off, I’ll be going to Cleethorpes with no knackers,’ he said. ‘Get yourself in, Bon, and make yourself a cup of tea and sit on your new sofa.’ And with that he slammed the back door of the van shut with his two hefty sons inside, waved and drove off, leaving her staring at the envelope in her hand with tears in her eyes.
Chapter 41
Lew slept in fits and starts until a text from Charlotte woke him up at half-past seven asking him if he’d pick her up. She looked drained and puffy-eyed when he collected her from Regina’s house. In her severely creased L. K. Bennett dress and carrying her Lulu Guinness bag, she looked like some sort of designer zombie. Half-way through the journey, he had to stop the car on a quiet country lane so that Charlotte could throw up behind a tree. She returned to the car very white-faced, holding her head and sighing a lot.
‘I’m taking it you had a few more drinks after I left last night,’ said Lew.
‘I had a Jack Daniel’s, just one, with Regina,’ came Charlotte’s fierce retort. ‘I thought it might help me sleep. It didn’t sit well with the red wine, obviously.’
‘One? Really?’ said Lew, turning the car onto his drive.
‘Honest,’ said Charlotte, the corner of her mouth twitching.
‘Pint of water, two ibuprofen and bed for you, my darling,’ said Lew, when they walked in through the front door.
‘I think we need a bit of distance from Regina and Patrick, if he comes back or not,’ said Charlotte, kicking off her shoes in the hallway. And Lew thought, Hallelujah for that.
The Daily Trumpet would deeply like to apologise to the Mayor for the error which appeared in the ‘Spotlight on Derek Trubshaw’ article. ‘Mayor Trubshaw extols the virtues of a firm mistress at night for daytime work efficiency. “I’ve had a couple of bouncy ones in my time and not got much sleep so I’ve invested in a big fat one that will last me for years.” ’ We did of course mean mattress, not mistress.
Chapter 42
Lew couldn’t wait to spend a normal Sunday in the Pot of Gold after the madness of the previous night.
‘Ah, you timed that perfectly, the kettle has just boiled,’ said Bonnie, greeting him with a warm morning smile, and she retreated into the office to make him a coffee. When she handed it to him, she tilted her head to study him t
entatively before saying, ‘Everything all right?’ He took from that that he looked less than fresh. He opened his mouth to answer and found that he didn’t know what to say. He laughed instead, an ‘I-have-no-words’ sort of laugh.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,’ Bonnie said, sensing his awkwardness.
‘You weren’t prying,’ Lew replied quickly. ‘I just wouldn’t know where to start. The worst evening I have ever spent in my life just about sums it up.’
‘That bad?’ Bonnie grimaced.
‘Oh, way beyond bad.’ He remembered that she and Regina had crossed paths, so she probably wouldn’t be surprised that drama courted her. ‘The woman you ejected from my shop so masterfully last Tuesday hosted a dinner party and had a total meltdown. Her husband left her right after the main course was served, which was a real shame as it was a fantastic bit of halibut. There was more, much more, but I doubt you’d believe it.’
He heard a snort from Bonnie who had covered up her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she excused herself.
Lew chuckled. ‘When Regina blows, as you might imagine, she blows. I’m surprised her house is still standing this morning.’
‘And you say her husband left her? For good or . . . just for the evening?’ Bonnie offered him a dark chocolate digestive from a newly opened packet and he took two.
‘For good, I hope. I don’t think he’s been happy for years. He had—’ He just stopped himself in time from saying that Patrick had an affair, because it hadn’t been as straightforward as they had all been led to believe. He’d taken the blame for it, but it hadn’t been all his fault. Patrick had been more of a gentleman than they’d credited him for.
‘He had . . .?’ Bonnie prompted.
‘They both had . . . relationships outside the marriage.’ He glossed over the details. ‘It’s complicated. They tried to patch things up in the beginning but there wasn’t enough marriage left to stitch back together, if you know what I’m saying.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Bonnie, with emphasis.
‘Oh Bonnie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’
Bonnie flapped her hand. ‘Don’t be silly. There’s no point in staying together when there’s no love. And sometimes not even love is enough.’ A picture of Joel drifted across her mind. ‘There has to be love and trust and . . . all sorts of other little ingredients.’ Love was just the bricks of the wall. The other stuff was the cement.
‘You’re very wise, Mrs Br—’ Lew bit off the ‘Brookland’. ‘Are you going to keep your married name?’ he asked, but he could guess the answer to that one.
‘Not a chance. I’m having all my documents changed back to Ms Sherman. “As in the tank”, as my dad used to say.’ She smiled and Lew again thought how attractive she was. There was a blush of colour in her cheeks today and light dancing in her hazel eyes.
‘It’s nice to see you in such a cheery mood, Bonnie,’ he said.
‘I am,’ Bonnie replied. Today had reminded her just how much good there was in the world, to counterbalance the bad. There had been a lot of rain in her life and now the sunshine was coming out at last, and making a bright arc of rainbow in her sky. For however long it lasted, at the moment it was hers to enjoy.
The Pot of Gold had to stay open until five because there were so many customers. Bonnie sold two of Stickalampinit’s lamps and Butterfly Barry came in just before closing time and bought over four hundred poundsworth of various bits which Bonnie had put aside so he could have first choice of them. He took the lot, then he gave her something of his own: an envelope with money inside and he overrode the protest she made.
‘I want you to have this,’ he said, ‘with my love. Your dad would want us all to help you.’ It had fifty pounds inside. The envelope which Stan had given her that morning had contained four hundred and twenty pounds. Bonnie didn’t know what to say, so she threw her arms around him. He smelled how she would imagine Hercule Poirot to smell, a curious mix of scented tea, floral cologne and face powder.
‘Thank you, Barry.’ She pulled away before she stained his pristine white collar with make-up.
‘You’re worth every penny, darling,’ he said and gave her cheek a soft pat with the palm of his small, smooth hand.
Lew watched Bonnie closing the window blinds with a smile on her face and it brought a smile to his own. He imagined Patrick’s Marlene being like Bonnie, a woman with kind eyes and a gentle heart and no affectations at all.
‘So, what are you up to on your day off tomorrow?’ he asked her.
‘I’m seeing your friend Adriana,’ Bonnie replied. ‘I’m filing for divorce.’
Lew nodded. Thank goodness she hadn’t had second thoughts, he said to himself.
‘Has Stephen been in touch?’
‘Nope. Which is slightly worrying.’
‘Not what you expected?’
Bonnie’s smile was fading now. ‘No. It’s not like him to . . . to let go so easily.’
‘You have my number if you need it,’ said Lew as they walked out to their respective cars. ‘It’s always best to expect the unexpected.’
Last night had told him that much.
Chapter 43
The next morning Bonnie woke up in a proper bed in the bedroom upstairs. She’d had a wonderful night’s sleep and a dream about Lew. In it, he’d admitted that he really liked her and she’d felt giddy and pretty and the feeling had followed her into the day and started it off very nicely.
The little house was full of furniture now. She had drawers to put her things into, a table to have her breakfast on and use for pressing her confetti and she’d attached the old TV to the aerial socket and found that it worked, though she’d have to get a licence sorted or she’d be in trouble. Her appointment with the solicitor was at nine-thirty so she had a bowl of cereal and set off for the office in Maltstone, from where the firm of Redfern, Darlow and De Lacey operated.
Adriana de Lacey was nothing like Bonnie expected. She’d imagined someone young, Amazonian and glamorous with cascades of copper hair. In reality, she was a tiny wizened woman of nearly pensionable age, with Alexis Carrington shoulder pads, steel-grey hair, bright bird-like black eyes and a deep and powerful voice. She exuded Chanel No. 5 and a ‘don’t-ever-fuck-with-me’ presence. Her office was a chaos of paper and files, apart from the desk surface which was bare except for an iMac, a telephone, a Mont Blanc Meisterstuck pen and an A4 pad open at the first blank page. Seconds after Bonnie sat down, Adriana’s secretary brought in two cups of milky coffee and a sugar bowl.
‘Would you prefer tea?’ asked the secretary. ‘It’s no trouble if you do.’
‘Coffee’s fine,’ said Bonnie. ‘Thank you.’
‘Mrs Brookland,’ began Adriana, dropping three sugar cubes into her cup and stirring them slowly to aid their dissolving. ‘Or would you prefer I called you Ms Sherman?’ She fixed Bonnie with her beady little eyes below their heavily mascara-ed lashes. Those are eyes that can see into people’s souls, Bonnie thought.
‘Yes please. Bonnie Sherman,’ she replied. ‘I don’t want to be ever called Brookland again if I can help it.’
‘Women tend to keep their married name if they share that surname with their children,’ said Adriana, lifting the cup to her lips and slurping noisily.
‘I have no children,’ said Bonnie. Her hand was shaking when she lifted up her cup and she had to bring her other hand to it in order to steady it.
‘You’re understandably nervous,’ said Adriana. ‘That’s completely normal. We are starting off a process that will change your life as you know it, hopefully for the better. There’s a lot to get through but every piece of information you give me will be one step nearer to your divorce and I’m figuring that’s what you want and why you’re here.’ She quirked a pencilled eyebrow and Bonnie nodded, instantly put at ease.
‘So, let us begin.’ Adriana poised her pen over the page. ‘Is your house in both names?’
‘No. It was Stephen’s before we married so I know I’m not entit
led to—’
‘Well you’re wrong there because you are. Is there a mortgage on the house?’
‘No but I . . .’
Adriana was determined to override any nonsense Bonnie had about not claiming any financial entitlement. She wanted details of bank accounts, investments, pensions, incomes. Bonnie felt embarrassed that she had so little knowledge of Stephen’s side of things. Adriana said that it didn’t matter that she didn’t know now, they’d find it all out. Stephen wouldn’t be able to hide anything away. Not from Adriana de Lacey he wouldn’t anyway. It wouldn’t do him any favours to try either because the courts hated that.
Bonnie would be divorcing Stephen for unreasonable behaviour. Adriana was understanding when Bonnie was loath to cite too many examples of it for fear of appearing vindictive.
‘It’s common to feel disloyal, even in cases like yours,’ said Adriana, ‘but the fact that you’re here tells me that you’ve had enough. The courts need to know what exactly it is that you’ve had enough of. And trust me, the further into the divorce process you venture, the less you’ll worry about protecting his sensitivities.’
It was with joyous relief that Bonnie received the information that she need have no further contact with Stephen if she didn’t want to. It would make her divorce easier and cheaper if both parties were compliant, Adriana said, but more often than not, that ideal wasn’t possible.
‘What if he won’t divorce me?’ asked Bonnie. Her biggest fear was being tied to him forever now.
‘He can contest it, of course, or stick his head in the sand, but he will be dragged eventually to the end of the process,’ said Adriana. Words which Bonnie was more than glad to hear.
Read back to her, Bonnie’s statement felt cold and out of perspective, even though it was completely factual and in perfect perspective.
‘. . . I have had no sexual relations with my husband since the first month of our marriage . . . I am not allowed to know how much money there is in our joint bank account . . . I am not supported emotionally by him . . . I do not love him . . . When I tried to leave, he locked me in the bedroom until I was rescued by my boss . . .’ Bonnie worried how Stephen would react when he received her statement in the post and what it would move him to do. She felt sick when she left Adriana’s office.
The Queen of Wishful Thinking Page 21
