‘Is that right?’ said Mick with a leer. He was standing slightly behind Andrew who couldn’t see Mick staring lasciviously at Chrissie’s breasts.
Chrissie had had enough. She realised she wasn’t going to get any sleep until these cretins had left. It would be best to do Andrew’s bidding. She didn’t want an argument. She’d sort out the loo, go to Asda, make the damn butties, and then at least everyone would finally go home. Tomorrow she’d properly clear the place up and then insist she and Andrew sit down and talk. If there was any chance of salvaging this relationship and rediscovering the sweet man she’d first fallen in love with, then she would pull out all the stops. But Andrew would have to do likewise. Firstly, these revolting “friends” had to go, also this awful maisonette on this unpleasant estate. They both earned a fair wage. If it meant paying a little more rent to live in a nicer street surrounded by pleasanter people, then so be it. But one thing was for sure, she was not going to carry on living like this.
Chapter Twelve
At about the time of Chrissie returning from Asda with enough chip butty fodder to feed a small army, Dee was back home in her cosy one-bedroomed apartment with not a chav to be seen or a whiff of weed to be smelled. Walking into the hallway, the only thing lingering in the air was a trace of Josh’s signature aftershave and…she sniffed…an unknown perfume. Dee inhaled again, but the smell had disappeared and only Josh’s scent remained. She must have imagined it. Madam Rosa’s words whispered in her ear.
‘He’s seeing someone else, love. He’s having an affair.’
Anxiety fluttered through Dee’s stomach.
You’re being paranoid, she told herself. That blasted fortune teller has shaken you like an upside-down snow dome. Your boyfriend has been out this evening schmoozing a client, remember? He’s securing a cleaning contract for several blocks of flats in Thamesmead, so stop imagining things.
She slipped off her shoes and went to leave them in the hallway, then remembered Josh accusing her of being a slob because she didn’t put things away. Dee picked up the footwear and padded over to the hallway’s small cupboard. It was already overstuffed with the Christmas tree, ironing board and a mountain of Josh’s work boots and paraphernalia, but she jostled things about and put the shoes away. Then she added her handbag for good measure. The less clutter about, the better. Soft music was coming from the lounge. Josh had beaten her home.
‘Yoohoo,’ she called.
‘In here,’ Josh replied.
Dee moved down the hall and paused in the lounge doorway.
‘Hi,’ she smiled hesitantly at her boyfriend. Josh was sitting on one of the sofas. The television was off, and he appeared to be relaxing. Hopefully he’d had a successful evening, and they could get some rapport going again. Since Friday night, things had been very strained with Josh. Earlier this evening, when she’d left him to go to Cougar Kate’s, Josh had been up to his neck in a bubble bath “de-stressing” and planning his pitch to the potential client. Even so, Dee was now taken aback at how much effort Josh had made with his appearance for some fusty old guy who worked for the council. His daily stubble had gone. Currently her boyfriend’s skin looked as soft as a peach and twice as glowing. Josh’s hair, normally untidy, was now stylishly tousled. Her boyfriend didn’t usually care about clothes, especially as his wallet was fitted with invisible padlocks, but he was wearing a shirt she didn’t recognise and…Dee’s eyes widened…new jeans?
‘You look nice,’ she let her tentative smile widen. Flattery was always a good starting point in restoring relationship harmony. ‘That colour really suits you.’
‘Thanks.’
Dee moved across the room and sat down next to Josh, snuggling into him. She feigned a sigh of deep contentment, and pretended to let the gentle music wash over her.
‘Isn’t this lovely?’ she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. So far, so good.
‘What’s lovely? Our front room?’
‘Well, yes, darling. Of course. But what I actually meant was how lovely it is to be sitting here next to my equally lovely boyfriend, chilling and listening to love songs.’ It could only mean one thing. Josh was sending out romantic signals.
‘Love songs?’ Josh shifted his body, forcing Dee to sit up straight. She glanced at him, making sure her features were arranged into one of adoration, and was disappointed to see him frowning. ‘I wasn’t aware I was listening to love songs. I came in, exhausted, and simply put the radio on to wind down. To be honest, I can’t stand this sort of music.’
Dee chewed her lip. The first lie. The radio had previously been set to a pop station. She knew, because she’d programmed it herself. However, this station was renowned for its smooth melodies without DJ chatter, especially at this late hour.
‘Shame,’ said Dee lightly. ‘I think it’s nice. Very…soothing.’ She had hoped to lean against Josh again, but he was now sitting at a different angle and had crossed one leg. Even if she shifted her own position, she’d have a kneecap in her side. Instead, Dee slung one arm along the sofa’s back. Her fingers were now within touching distance to her boyfriend’s shoulders. She inclined her head towards him, trying to re-establish body language that conveyed intimacy. ‘Well don’t keep me guessing,’ she grinned. ‘Tell me all about it.’
‘About what?’ asked Josh.
‘The client.’
Josh looked blank. ‘What client?’
Dee’s smile wavered. ‘The client you were practising your pitch to when I left you earlier this evening.’
‘Oh, that client.’
‘Yes, that client,’ Dee echoed, a slight edge to her voice.
‘What is this? Twenty questions?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I feel like you’re cross-examining me.’
‘Darling, I’m asking how your evening went. You said it was a really important contract. I’m interested in your work, that’s all. I know how much effort you’ve put into High Fliers and I’m really proud of your success.’
‘Why?’ asked Josh belligerently, ‘so you can nag me about moving again?’
‘Not at all,’ said Dee calmly. She didn’t know why Josh was so on the defensive, but she was absolutely determined not to get into an argument. ‘I always like hearing about your work. It sounds exciting. I’d much rather be leaping off building parapets wearing a hard hat, than wearing earphones and listening to my boss’s voice droning on and on.’
Josh regarded Dee for a moment. ‘Are you making fun of my work?’
Dee pushed down a rising sense of exasperation. Why on earth was Josh behaving like this? It was almost as if he was spoiling for a quarrel. ‘Sweetheart, you must be very tired, because I can’t think why you’d suggest me making fun of your work. What you do is amazing.’ She leant forward and gently touched Josh’s forearm. His muscles tensed under her touch, and he made no effort to fold her fingers into his palm. Perhaps things had gone wrong for Josh this evening, and that was why he was being so irritable. ‘Is the wretched man making you wait before he gives an answer?’
Josh shook off Dee’s hand and made a deal of rubbing his face, as if pushing away frustration. ‘Yeah,’ he said wearily. Dee didn’t know if his tired tone was genuine or affected. ‘The guy is a pain in the proverbial. He said he’d let me know about the Sevenoaks contract on Monday.’
Dee caught her breath. The second lie. Josh had definitely said the contract was for blocks of flats in Thamesmead. However, she didn’t correct him. She wasn’t going to be accused of cross-examination again. Instead she made a mental note about his slip. ‘Poor Josh,’ she soothed, ‘the blasted man sounds like a nightmare.’
‘Yes,’ Josh agreed. ‘And I don’t mind telling you, he ordered the best of everything off the menu as well. I hope he’s not wasted my money.’
‘At least it’s tax deductible.’
‘That’s not the point, Dee. There are only so many expenses I can present on my annual accounts without raising the hackles of the mighty Inl
and Revenue.’
‘Where did you take him?’
‘For goodness sake. There you go again.’
‘Eh?’
‘You heard. You’re like the Gestapo, Dee.’
Dee shook her head slowly. ‘I’m…simply making conversation with you, Josh. To be perfectly honest I haven’t the faintest idea why you’re behaving like this.’
‘Oh, so I’m behaving in a way that doesn’t please you now, eh? My God, Dee. Other men are supported by their partners. But you keep giving me the third degree over everything.’
Dee stared at Josh incredulously. ‘Why are you being so argumentative with me?’
‘Try asking yourself the same question,’ Josh spat. ‘And for what it’s worth, I took Roger Brown to the steak house in the High Street. Happy? Now stop questioning my every move.’ Josh jumped to his feet. ‘I’m going to bed.’
Dee watched in astonishment as her boyfriend stalked off. Seconds later the bedroom door slammed. She sat for a few moments, stunned and not a little upset, unsure what to do next. The clock on the wall told her it wasn’t quite midnight. And then she spotted Josh’s wallet on the coffee table. She snatched it up, released the popper clasp and flicked deftly through bank notes and receipts. Her fingers hovered over a bill for Serafino’s Cucina. She’d heard of it. One of Cougar Kate’s conquests had regularly taken her there. It was a posh Italian restaurant in Sevenoaks. Was that why Josh had slipped up and said “Sevenoaks” instead of “Thamesmead”? She checked the date at the top. It was for tonight. The third lie. He definitely hadn’t taken this Roger Brown person to any steak house on the High Street. She pushed the receipt back into the folds of the wallet, and replaced it in the exact position Josh had left it. Slipping off the sofa, she went out to the hallway and quietly retrieved her handbag from the cupboard. Reaching inside for her mobile phone, she tapped into the search engine “Serafino’s Cucina”. One second later she had the restaurant’s number. Dee stood silently outside the closed bedroom door. From within came the sound of soft snoring. Good, because she didn’t want to risk Josh overhearing her. As an extra precaution, she released the catch on the front door and stepped out onto the landing of the communal hallway. With a trembling hand, she hit the “call” icon on the mobile’s screen.
‘Serafino’s, good evening?’
‘Hello,’ Dee whispered. ‘I’m sorry to ring so late.’
‘No problem, signorina. How can I help?’
‘My…er…boss was in earlier, entertaining a client. He wondered if…um…his companion left a scarf behind?’
‘I don’t think anything has been left behind by anyone tonight, signorina.’
‘Are you certain? I’m not sure what table they were sitting at, but maybe you could check underneath? Just in case it fell on the floor. I can give you his bill details to trace the correct table.’
‘That would be helpful, signorina.’
‘My boss spent one-hundred-and-forty-five pounds including service charge, and the payment was processed at ten o’ clock this evening.’ Dee gulped down the realisation that such a time had afforded Josh to come back to the flat with his companion for coffee. Or rumpy-pumpy. The brief smell of perfume gnawed at her memory.
‘Ah, here we are. Table twenty-eight. I remember the couple now. I will check myself to see if any scarf has fallen under the table.’
‘Oh…er…I’m so sorry…would you believe the scarf has been found.’
‘Not a problem, signorina. I’m glad the item has turned up.’
‘Um…one more thing…my boss is very secretive,’ Dee attempted a casual laugh, ‘and he told me he was entertaining a gentleman client. But I rather suspect his client was female. Would you remember who he was dining with, by any chance?’ There was a telling pause at the other end of the line. Dee realised she’d been rumbled. Personal Assistants didn’t ring up restaurants enquiring about their boss’s dining companions late on a Saturday night. ‘I’d be ever so grateful,’ she said in a small voice, ‘if you would tell me.’
‘Signorina,’ the man sighed, ‘your “boss” was dining with a young lady. And I did not give you this information.’
‘Thank you,’ Dee replied. ‘And I didn’t ask.’
She hung up. The fourth lie. There was no Roger Brown. When Dee slipped back inside her flat, she was shaking.
Chapter Thirteen
Amber’s Sunday…
Amber was awoken on Sunday morning by somebody knocking on her head.
‘Gerroff,’ she grumbled.
The rapping continued. Annoyed, she stuck one arm out of the duvet and swiped blindly through the air.
‘I said…,’ she tried hitting the culprit again, ‘pack it in.’
Whoever was bashing her bonce had a hygiene issue. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Phew, they stank to high heaven!
‘You are seriously beginning to annoy me,’ she said to the head knocker. But the head knocker took no notice. Amber could feel her temper fraying. It was no good. She’d have to punch the head knocker’s lights out. She cracked open one eye. The bedroom was in gloom. Bright January sunshine peeked through gaps in the curtains, indicating the day was well underway. With monumental effort, she managed to open the other eye. Where was the head knocker? She rolled onto her back and squinted up at the ceiling. There was nobody here. So where was the insufferable smell coming from? And then a jumble of memories collided. Clarity was restored in a second. She’d attended Cougar Kate’s psychic night, been told Matthew was having an affair, and got monumentally drunk. Once home, she’d tried to seduce Matthew and…she groaned…puked all over him. Oh dear Lord, she’d spent the night sleeping in a stinking bed.
Carefully she eased herself upright. The head knocking went into overdrive. A combination of immense hangover and pongy bedding caused her to retch. She needed to hit the shower.
Shoving the disgusting bedding to one side Amber clutched her head like a football, as if holding it tightly would stop it from rolling off her shoulders. Feeling more fragile than Kate Middleton suffering hyperemesis gravidarum, Amber tottered off to the bathroom. She couldn’t hear Matthew up and about. But then again, she couldn’t really hear anything with all this head knocking going on. Amber had a sudden desire for a bucket of water. She dithered between quenching her thirst, or drenching the horrific body odour. The latter won. Sod it, she told herself, I’ll drink from the shower nozzle while washing myself.
Ten minutes later she was clean and a little more hydrated. However, a hangover wasn’t going to be magicked away simply by gulping down half the hot water tank. Winding a towel turban around her head, she pulled on her bathrobe and inspected her face in the mirror over the basin. A grey-complexioned creature with bloodshot eyes stared back. Sighing, she cleaned her teeth and slapped on some moisturiser. She added an extra layer around her eye sockets which, according to the pot, guaranteed reducing puffiness.
Returning to the bedroom, she cupped the palm of one hand over her nostrils. How the heck had she slept in this? She whisked back the curtains, wincing at the sudden light infiltration. Pushing open the window to let in fresh air, she set about stripping the bed. Balling everything up and holding it at arm’s length, she went downstairs to the kitchen and shoved the disgusting bed linen into the washing machine. She placed two soap capsules into the dispenser hoping it would doubly do its stuff, then headed for the kettle. It was only then that she saw the kitchen clock. Half past one in the afternoon? She’d been asleep for hours and hours. She filled the kettle, wincing at the noise the water made as it splashed in, and then went off to find Matthew.
She peered around the door to the lounge. No boyfriend. She went back upstairs and checked the spare bedroom. The bed was unmade and empty, apart from Mr Tomkin nestled between folds of the quilt. The cat stood up, stretched, then re-curled himself into a tight ball. Matthew hadn’t bothered to draw the spare room’s curtains. Wet towels left in a heap on the floor told Amber he had showered. She stared at them in an
noyance. Why did Matthew always presume she’d tidy up after him? She wouldn’t dream of treating him like a servant, expecting him to pick up her knickers complete with – she grimaced as she retrieved Matthew’s inside-out boxers – brown skid marks. Ewww! Well that certainly cancelled out her shame of sleeping in a vomit-covered bed.
Two hours later, Amber was still feeling fragile. Only her pale complexion gave away the fact that she wasn’t yet her old self. The house was shining after being blitzed, and also fragrant after liberal squirts from a floral-scented aerosol. She’d just collapsed into a squashy arm chair with a mug of tea when Matthew came through the front door.
From her position in the lounge, Amber was able to see her boyfriend before he spotted her. In the five seconds that Matthew was oblivious to being watched, Amber noted that her boyfriend’s face was lit up brighter than Rudolph the reindeer’s nose. He was also exuding more happiness than Father Christmas putting his feet up after a record night of delivering presents. Her eyes swept over Matthew, from his freshly washed shiny hair to his highly polished shoes. He was wearing a particularly fetching shirt under a – was that new? – Designer jacket and looked more styled than David Beckham. Her nose twitched as a whiff of aftershave wafted on an updraft of cold air. The scent overrode the floral aerosol squirts. Since when had Matthew started wearing aftershave on a Sunday? Amber took a sip of her tea and, over the china rim, regarded her boyfriend as he removed his shoes and slipped off the posh jacket.
Matthew turned to hang his coat on the stand in the hall, and caught sight of Amber watching him through the open lounge doorway. His face clouded, and the warm glow he’d been emitting notched down several degrees. Suddenly the atmosphere was chilly.
‘Hi,’ said Amber.
‘Hello,’ said Matthew tersely. He wandered over and flopped down on the other armchair.
The Woman Who Knew Everything Page 7
