‘I’m taking you to my home. You know, you really aren’t well enough to leave here . . .’
‘Molly, trust me, I know I have a bit of life still left in me, but don’t worry – I won’t encroach on your time long term,’ Harvey replied with a grin. ‘Promise.’
Harvey was full of the joys of spring in the car. Molly wondered if they’d given him a blood transfusion. He had some colour in his gaunt cheeks and a sparkle in his eye.
‘Beautiful house,’ he said as Molly pulled into Willowfell’s drive. ‘It was like seeing an old friend when I turned up yesterday. We had some good times here, didn’t we, Moll?’
‘I’ll put you in the spare room,’ said Molly, not answering him as she switched off the car engine. ‘The bed’s made up, but it could do with an airing. You go and rest in the sitting room whilst I do it.’
‘Thank you, I will,’ said Harvey, getting out of the car.
Molly went upstairs and into the second bedroom, lifting and wafting the quilt to let some air reach the bottom sheet. She suddenly thought, Harvey will die in this bed and felt a chill whip down her spine. She tried to push the vision of him lying there out of her head by giving the quilt an extravigorous shake. It was a lovely room, east-facing, so Harvey would awaken to the sunshine squeezing through the pale green curtains.
He was asleep by the time she went back downstairs so she took up his suitcase and hung up his clothes and put his underwear in the drawers next to the bed. She left his other possessions in the case, which she put in the bottom of the wardrobe.
Harvey looked so peaceful in the chair, snoring softly, his thin fingers interlaced on his lap. Molly draped a throw gently over him then sat on the sofa and studied him. Even despite the weight loss and the ageing, she could see the younger Harvey Hoyland underneath all the changes. Oh, he was so handsome, so charming. The first time he had kissed her, she’d thought she was going to faint. After all that had happened to her, Molly had felt that she had found her prince. Prince Harvey. And when he put the engagement ring on her finger, she thought she would die with happiness. She wished she still had that ring with the oval sapphire and the tiny diamonds around it. But Harvey had stolen it from her, taken it to pawn or sell to clear his gambling debts, most likely. And it hadn’t been alone in his cache.
The spell was broken. Awful thoughts started to bleed into Molly’s mind. He had taken the locket Ma Brandywine had given her as an eighteenth birthday present too, as well as the rest of the contents of her jewellery box: precious gifts from Margaret and Bernard and pieces inherited from Ma Brandywine. And her wedding ring which she had ripped off as soon as she had found out he was being unfaithful. She had discovered them gone on the same day he had left. She had been so angry, so hurt.
What the hell was Margaret going to say when she returned from holiday and realised that her sister was giving free board and lodging to the man who had cheated her on so many fronts? She didn’t dare think about it.
Chapter 37
By the end of that week Carla had internet access and a house phone connected. She then spent an hour on her laptop trying to find herself a job before Mr Rex Parkinson arrived to view the mini flat.
Despite the number of sites advertising positions, there weren’t any vacancies for a trained florist. That was all Carla had ever done, give or take her first-ever job working in the office where she had met Theresa. Flowers were her great passion. She knew every name of every flower, which scents mixed, which made the perfect visual combination and for what occasion. Still, needs must. She would just have to get herself any job to earn some money until a florist position came available. But she wasn’t qualified enough for any of the full-time positions and the part-time ones on offer were so lowly paid. Plus she’d lost her confidence. It had been years since the last time she’d had to apply for a job, and the thought of going out into the world and working for strangers filled her with dread. Rex Parkinson’s arrival at her door at least had the effect of snapping her out of a cold sweat about rejoining the rat race.
He wasn’t at all as she had imagined from his deep plummy voice. She had envisaged someone tall and stately with the air of an educated gentleman; but the man who arrived at her door was short and squat with a red rough face, scruffy jeans and a jumper that smelt fusty.
Nervous, she launched straight into her sales spiel after making perfunctory introductions.
‘Well, this is the kitchen and dining area. We would both be using this.’ She tried to imagine sharing her kitchen with Rex Parkinson and it didn’t sit very comfortably with her. His eyes flitted around the room but he didn’t say anything. He followed Carla upstairs and along the passageway to the mini flat.
‘This area would be private to you.’ She pushed open the door to the bedroom and Rex looked around, sniffing. ‘Small, isn’t it?’ he said. Carla didn’t think the room was small. There was plenty of room in it for a bed and furniture and it wasn’t as if he had to use it as a lounge too. A point she made next.
‘There’s a separate sitting room downstairs, and a private area outside.’
Rex Parkinson walked down the staircase, missing the bottom step and almost falling.
‘Dangerous, those spiral stairs,’ he said. ‘Not sure they’re legal.’
Carla was sure that Jonty would have pointed it out if they weren’t. She didn’t comment, but went on to introduce Mr Parkinson to the room.
‘And this is the lounge. There’s a TV aerial socket in the corner.’
If Rex Parkinson was impressed, he certainly wasn’t showing it. His eyes barely touched on the long French windows which allowed sunshine to flood the room.
‘Bit expensive for what it is,’ he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking around. ‘At least a hundred quid a month too expensive.’
Ah, so that’s why he was being so negative, thought Carla. Well, she wasn’t playing his game. The flat was fairly priced and she wasn’t dropping it.
‘Well that’s the price it is,’ said Carla, feeling slightly uncomfortable that this was heading down a bartering route. She was too soft and liable to give in to him, so warned herself that she couldn’t afford to. Jonty had made her promise not to take any less otherwise it was barely worth renting it out.
‘My offer is three hundred pounds a month,’ said Rex Parkinson and thrust out his hand to shake on the deal. Carla noticed how bitten and grubby his fingernails were. Her own hand stayed at her side.
‘I’m sorry, but no.’
Rex gave her a scornful laugh ‘You won’t get anyone to pay four hundred and twenty for this. Three hundred and I’ll move in tonight.’ He jerked his hand aggressively, demanding she seal the deal.
‘I’m sorry but it’s four hundr—’ Carla began to repeat.
‘Get that thing out of here!’ Rex snapped, the hand that he’d held out to shake hers suddenly pointing instead. The black cat had followed Carla and appeared behind her on the spiral staircase. As if picking up what Carla was thinking, it hissed. ‘I hate those things,’ Rex Parkinson went on. ‘They should all be bloody slaughtered.’
Carla grabbed her chance to free herself from this situation.
‘Ah well, I think maybe this wouldn’t be the house for you. I have six cats. And the rent is four hundred and twenty pounds. Never mind. I do hope you find something suitable.’ Carla opened up the French window. ‘I might as well let you out of this side entrance. So sorry it wasn’t for you.’
She didn’t give Rex Parkinson the chance to protest as she shuffled him out. She was very surprised at how forceful she could be when she tried. Maybe if you had been a little bit more forceful in pushing for what you should have had in your marriage, you wouldn’t be in this mess now, said a nagging voice in her head.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she shut the gate behind the horrible, fusty man. She really didn’t want to share facilities with him. She didn’t want to share them with anyone, to be honest, but she had to. She picked up her phone to ring W
ill Linton, the reserve tenant with the EastEnders accent whose number she had thankfully saved.
Chapter 38
‘I can come now and have a look, if that’s okay with you,’ Will said to Carla.
‘That’s fine,’ came the reply. ‘I’ll see you very shortly.’
‘Great. Thanks. Bye.’ Will put down the phone and grinned. Well, that was a turn-up for the books. He had just had a call from Shaun McCarthy asking if he would come in and see him tomorrow as he might have some work, cash in hand of course. And no sooner had he ended the conversation than the woman had rung about the flat in Little Kipping. Dare he actually hope that his luck was about to change? He could have seriously done with a break. He had thought there was no way to go but up, until yesterday when he’d gone cap in hand to the rival roofing firm Scotterfield’s. He had beaten Gerald Scotterfield to the Yorkshire Stone Homes contract. Gerald Scotterfield was now laughing up his sleeve and had been delighted to see him. For all the wrong reasons.
‘How the mighty have fallen,’ Scotterfield had grinned. He was ten years older than Will, but looked twenty thanks to a basic diet of beer, chips and cigarettes. Still, he thought he was cock of the walk for not making the same stupid mistakes that Will had. He’d ridden the housing slumps, come out laughing at the other end and so invested in all the trappings of wealth: flash cars, big house, Rolex watch. The only thing he didn’t have was the glamorous trophy wife. He’d been with Kay since school and she was the homely, plump type, champing at the bit for grandchildren.
‘So you want a job here now, do you?’
‘If you’ve got one,’ said Will. Had he had any other options left whatsoever, he wouldn’t have been here begging this loathsome man. But he didn’t.
‘I don’t know if we have, let me ask.’ Scotterfield made a slow meal of taking out his phone and ringing his foreman, asking him to come to the scruffy prefab office. When he did so, Scotterfield introduced Will to him as the man who had won the Yorkshire Stone Homes contract and Will stood there whilst they flashed schoolboy secret chuckles at each other.
‘We ’ent got no vacancies,’ said the foreman. Scotterfield had known that already, thought Will then. He was just rubbing his face in the mud.
‘Leave your number,’ said Scotterfield. ‘I’ll ring you if something turns up.’
Will realised that Scotterfield would cut his own balls off with a rusty saw rather than offer him a job.
‘Thanks for your time,’ he said politely, trying not to let his humiliation show.
Scotterfield called to his back. ‘Course, I’m not sure we’ll have any work for a roofer that’s scared of heights.’ Will stopped in his tracks and didn’t turn his head as he answered.
‘I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else, mate,’ he said, hoping they wouldn’t see his hand shaking as he pushed the door open. He could hear the laughter following him as he walked back to his van, as he was meant to. It had been a long time since Will Linton had last felt tears rise up inside him and he pressed them down with every bit of might he could muster. How the hell did Gerald Scotterfield know about his problem?
Will arrived at Dundealin within half an hour. What an odd-looking house, he thought. It wouldn’t have got planning permission these days. It was so different to the other nearby houses and much further set back from the road. And it was totally private, enclosed by four walls that were higher than was allowed, he could see that at a glance. He pulled into the drive next to a red Mini.
Carla, who had seen him arrive, opened the door in greeting. The first impression she had of Will Linton in his crisp white shirt and clean jeans was a far more favourable one than she’d had of Rex Parkinson. He had a friendly smile, she thought. It lit up his face as he said hello and she moved aside to let him in.
Will thought he had seen the woman somewhere before. He recognised her eyes: large and dark and exotic. Like Sophia Loren’s.
‘I’m so glad you called,’ said Will, walking into the kitchen and turning a full circle. ‘My, this is a big bright room.’
‘It’s the kitchen,’ said Carla, then laughed at herself. ‘Obviously.’
‘It’s lovely. Nice big windows there. Lots of space.’
‘Yes it’s . . . nice,’ agreed Carla. Actually it was a very pleasant room, she thought. It was amazing how a good clean had transformed it. And the new mushroom-coloured curtains, cheap as chips as they were, looked fresh at the window. At least they drew the eye away from the mustardy yellow walls.
‘You’re not from round here then,’ Carla asked, as she led him upstairs to the mini flat’s bedroom.
‘Naw, I’m a London boy,’ said Will. ‘Moved up north a few years ago to work, met my ex-missus in the area and so I stayed.’ That’s the first time I’ve referred to her as my ‘ex-missus’, thought Will, marvelling that he could say ‘ex-missus’ without feeling any emotion at all. He felt as if his life had definitely moved on a step – and in the right direction.
‘Oh, this would do a treat,’ he said as Carla opened the door to the bedroom.
‘There’s a closet,’ Carla pointed out. ‘There’s a rail in it for hanging things up.’
‘Oh, that’s smashing that,’ said Will, sounding as if it really was. ‘Plenty of room for what I need.’
‘There’s an en-suite. It’s avocado, sorry about that.’
Will laughed. ‘Don’t see that colour much these days.’
‘I wonder why.’ Carla’s laugh joined his and she thought that she liked the first impression of Will Linton. She could imagine sharing a kitchen with him, which was a positive sign.
‘The lounge is downstairs, if you’d follow me,’ said Carla, descending the staircase.
‘How can anyone put such a lovely staircase in as this and not alter that bathroom,’ chuckled Will, then corrected himself. ‘Sorry, that was a bit rude of me.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Carla. ‘I’ve only just bought the place so I haven’t had a chance to do anything to it. I totally agree with you.’
Will was even more enamoured with the lounge. ‘Ah, this is the bees,’ he judged it. ‘Just the business. And a little bit of garden outside, I see.’
‘Well, if you can call it that. But it’s private. There’s a gate but it’s lockable.’
Will stood with his hands on his hips and imagined himself in this mini flat. He was surprised to find he could do it quite easily. Living in that huge multi-bedroomed house with no furniture was depressing the hell out of him. He could almost hear all the neighbours scoffing at him through the walls; he was no better than a squatter in their eyes. The sooner he handed the keys over to the bank, the better. His accountant had worked out that if they took everything he owned, he’d be financially clear of his obligations. At least he could keep the pound of flesh nearest his heart.
‘The rent is four hundred and twenty, that’s right isn’t it?’ said Will as they retraced their steps back to the kitchen.
‘Yes that’s right,’ Carla answered, hoping this wasn’t the start of more bartering. But it wasn’t. Will reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet.
‘In advance I’m presuming? Do you want a bond or anything as well?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t rented a house before. Don’t know the score.’
‘Erm, no,’ said Carla. ‘You . . . you want the flat?’
‘Do I?’ he said, producing four hundred and twenty pounds. It was all he appeared to have in his wallet. ‘It’s exactly what I need. How soon can I move in?’
‘Erm, soon as you like. I just need to get your signature on a couple of documents.’
‘Tomorrow? Hello, what do we have here then?’ He cut off attention to Carla to give it to the small black cat who was rubbing against his leg. He bent down and picked it up. ‘Bit thin, ain’t you?’
‘I inherited him with the house,’ Carla explained quickly, in case Will Linton thought she was an animal-starver. ‘He’ll be enormous in no time because he never stops eating. Well, I say him,
it might be a her.’
Will lifted the cat up above his head. ‘It is a him. Neutered tom. We always had cats when I was growing up.’ He put the cat down on the floor and Carla watched him carry on rubbing against Will’s long legs.
‘He likes me,’ Will chuckled. ‘Does he have a name?’
‘Lucky,’ said Carla, who didn’t need to think too hard on it.
Chapter 39
‘Oh Mr McCarthy, Mr McCarthy,’ Leni called, waving to him as she stood outside the teashop door. ‘Can I borrow you for a moment please?’
Shaun downed tools and walked across to where she was standing, moving her arms around as if she were guiding a plane in. He wondered what she wanted, hoping it wouldn’t take long. He wasn’t in the best of moods. He was being messed around by someone who wanted the smallest shop unit one minute and then didn’t the next. A woman had begged him to hurry on it only for her to start being difficult to pin down to sign for the lease. He’d even arranged to have the signage done for her as part of the deal. Then she had left him a voicemail saying that she didn’t want it. Today she had sent him another telling him that she had made a mistake and would take it, if he dropped the rent. Shaun didn’t reply. She could have it as soon as flowers grew in hell.
‘Mr McCarthy. I have a problem with a door at home. It won’t shut properly and when I tried to force it . . . well, I made it worse. Would you be able to come and look at it? I’ll pay cash.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ replied Shaun.
‘Oh fabulous, thank you, thank you,’ Leni nodded with obvious delight. ‘Whenever is best for you.’
‘I can probably do it tonight. About six?’ Then he could get it over and done with by seven.
‘Perfect, if you don’t mind working on a Friday night,’ she replied cheerily. ‘I wrote my address down in case you could,’ and she handed over a square of paper with small neat writing on it. ‘I’ll have the kettle on ready. I might even throw in some cake.’
The Teashop on the Corner Page 14
