‘Lucky you.’
‘What about you? Are your parents still married? To each other, I mean? Because so many aren’t, are they? Lilly’s divorced when she was only five and both remarried and she now has masses and masses of step-brothers and sisters.’
‘My parents are still together. I’ve got one brother. Older. Divorced. No children.’
Frankie looked at him, hoping he’d say more, but again he just sipped his coffee.
She sighed. ‘I just hope you’ll let Ginny down gently then, if you don’t want a long-term relationship. At eighteen she’s very vulnerable and probably thinks she’s in love. And you, being older, shouldn’t lead her on. It isn’t fair.’
Dexter surveyed her steadily over the rim of his coffee mug. ‘And there speaks the voice of experience?’
‘Maybe.’ Frankie knew she was blushing. ‘Maybe not. Whatever. I just think that you should be careful not to hurt her. You’re obviously a huge commitment-phobe who knows he’s dead attractive and plays around and doesn’t give a damn about anyone else. Actually, I reckon that’s why you had to leave Oxford and why Ray bailed you out. What was it? Too many clinging ladies, or too many jealous partners?’
‘Whoa!’ Dexter looked annoyed. ‘That’s one hell of a character assassination coming from someone who hardly knows me.’
‘I don’t need to know you. I know your type. And I’ve watched you in action.’
Dexter shrugged. ‘And you’ve formed your opinion and condemned me out of hand? Fine. And what about you? What do you think I’ve sussed out about you?’
‘I have really no idea.’
‘That you’re, what, late twenties and gorgeous? That you’re clearly not dating anyone, not even casually, and that you have no apparent interest in men? So, you’re either gay and not out of the closet, or someone broke your heart and you’re not over it. Which one is it?’
‘Neither.’ Frankie flushed crossly, although secretly a little bit pleased with the ‘gorgeous’. ‘And you shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’
‘That makes two of us. And my guess is it’s the latter.’ Dexter suddenly grinned. ‘One day, we’ll have to tell one another our life stories then we might understand each other a bit better, but right now we ought to be getting back to work.’
‘Fine.’ Frankie stood up. ‘I’ll go and pay.’
‘Already done.’ Dexter stood up and stretched. Frankie tried not to stare. All the other women in the café didn’t even try. ‘My treat. Have a good afternoon.’
‘You too,’ she said, rewinding her scarves round her neck. ‘And thanks for lunch.’
‘My pleasure.’
Dexter held the door open for her. The icy air hit her like a cold shower after the lovely steamy heat of the Greasy Spoon.
Dexter shuddered. ‘Oh, God, it’s freezing. I wish Ray had sold flowers in some sort of hot house, with umpteen heaters and wall-to-wall glass.’
Frankie giggled. ‘You won’t think that in the height of summer.’
‘I won’t survive until summer at this rate.’
‘Because of the freezing weather?’ Frankie glanced over at the glamorous Marguerite who had perked up considerably on seeing Dexter emerge from the Greasy Spoon. ‘Or the wrath of hordes of broken-hearted ladies?’
‘The ladies, of course.’ Dexter laughed. ‘As you obviously know only too well.’
By the end of the afternoon, Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks was finally empty. The last customer had just left, delightedly clutching a gorgeous 1960s lemon frou-frou dress in her purple and gold carrier bag. Frankie, exhausted but very happy with Monday’s trading, turned the sign to CLOSED and locked the door.
She’d soon have to start sorting out the piles of frocks upstairs to restock the rails if business carried on like this. She’d do it tomorrow while Cherish served in the shop.
Cherish, Frankie thought as she cashed up, had been surprisingly brilliant. Away from the dour Biddy, she’d blossomed. She seemed to thrive in the frock shop environment, saying it took her back to her happiest days, and was hard-working and friendly. Just like one of those old-fashioned shop assistants you saw in 1950s films. All polite and interested but remaining just the right side of remote. And, as far as Frankie could tell, she hadn’t mentioned a word about colour palettes. Cherish, Frankie thought happily, was going to be a huge asset.
OK, now she’d just switch off the lights and go home and put her feet up in front of Corrie. She laughed. It meant of course that she’d probably be sharing the sofa with Lilly and Saturday night’s cute boy, until giggling, they disappeared into Lilly’s neat and minimalist bedroom.
Lilly and Dexter – a right pair of one-night-stand love ’em and leave ’ems.
But, in the Greasy Spoon, Dexter had shown her a glimpse of his previous life, hadn’t he? And Frankie, who’d had far too much time in the past to ponder on the motives of men who weren’t what you thought they were, had been intrigued. Why didn’t he see his family? Why didn’t he –?
The tap on the door made her jump. For a second her skin prickled. There had been no sign of Ernie. She’d already checked every corner, and especially Achsah’s frock which still hung in all its lustrous glory on the 1950s rails. Everything had been fine. So, surely not? No, of course not. Ghosts didn’t knock on doors, did they?
‘Frankie!’ Dexter’s voice echoed from outside. ‘Open the door, please. I’m freezing out here.’
With a swoosh of relief, Frankie hurried across the shop and pulled open the door. It was a wickedly cold night. Stars already glittered harshly in the black sky, and Kingston Dapple’s marketplace was silver-rimed with frost.
‘Thanks.’ Dexter stepped inside, rubbing his hands. ‘Hell, it’s cold tonight. I think I preferred the fog. It must be about minus ten already. I just thought I should come and apologise to you before you left.’
‘Why? It’s very nice of you, but I don’t remember you doing anything remotely worth apologising for.’
‘Earlier. I was pretty rude, really. You’re entitled to your opinion about me, but I did jump down your throat a bit. Sorry.’
‘Apology accepted.’ Frankie smiled. ‘And I’m sorry, too. I know I said some things that I shouldn’t. You just hit a bit of a raw nerve.’
Dexter nodded. ‘I thought so. Sorry. Again.’
‘Oh, let’s just forget it, shall we?’ Frankie said, picking up her bag from the counter. ‘We probably both said things that we should have left unsaid.’
‘Story of my life. Er, is Cherish still here?’
‘No, she left hours ago. She was great. Why?’
‘Because I wondered if you weren’t doing any new employee induction stuff, you’d like a quick drink in the Toad before we go our separate ways?’
Frankie thought quickly. Snuggled up on the sofa playing gooseberry with Lilly and the cute boy, or a drink with Dexter. Oooh, tough one.
‘I’d love to, thanks. But what about Marguerite?’
‘What about Marguerite? She’s not coming with us.’
‘You know very well what I mean.’
‘Yep, I do. And she’s stunning, true, but she’s not really interested in me – any more than I am in her. I shan’t be seeing her again. Marguerite will find another bit of rough.’
‘Is that what you are?’ Frankie giggled. ‘A bit of rough? Blimey.’
Dexter grinned. ‘To her, yes. I’m not a boring suit, like her husband you see. I’m a bit of a working man, like the plumber or the builder or the electrician. We’re all very alluring to ladies like Marguerite.’
‘It sounds like a sleazy True Confessions.’ Frankie was still smiling as she buttoned her coat and wrapped her scarves round her neck. ‘Or Lady Chatterley. Actually, now you’re working with all that greenery and floristry stuff you’d make a great Mellors.’
‘Thanks.’ Dexter frowned. ‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’
‘Nope. A criticism of your alley-cat morals.’ Frankie chuckled. ‘Although I always h
oped Lady C. and Mellors might have had a bit of love mixed in with the lust, didn’t you?’
‘I’ve really no idea. Your reading matter is clearly several stratas above mine.’
‘Hardly.’ Frankie chuckled, thinking of her shelves and shelves of much-adored chick lit.
Dexter shrugged. ‘All I know is that Marguerite is simply bored with being a housewife and mother and having a husband who jets off all round the world earning the money to keep her in designer labels and the kids in private education. There are a lot of Marguerites out there. They enjoy a little dalliance but don’t want anything that might rock the fat financial marital boat.’
Frankie shook her head. ‘Sad, really, isn’t it? Why is no one ever happy with what they’ve got?’
Dexter grinned. ‘Oh, please don’t go all philosophical on me again. Let’s forget about the Marguerites of this world, and just go and have a drink. I’m way too knackered to have deep and meaningful discussions about anything.’
‘Me too.’ Frankie giggled, pulling on her purple gloves and picking up the shop keys. ‘Right, that’s everything. All ready for the morning’s rush. Have you had a good day too, business-wise, I mean? I promise I’m not going down the relationship route again.’
‘Really good, thanks. Once I get used to being frozen to the bone and pick up a bit more knowledge about the plants, I think it’ll be great. I mean, you’ve obviously heard that I’m a flake in my personal life, but professionally I’ve always been very dedicated. And I like Ray a lot, and I wouldn’t want to let him down. He was very proud of the Valentine flower-selling tradition here in Kingston Dapple, and he was the only one in the family who bothered with me when – What the hell is that?’
‘What?’ Frankie said, annoyed that yet another revelation had been cut short.
‘Over there.’ Dexter squinted across the shop. ‘I could swear I saw something move. You haven’t got rats, have you?’
‘God, I hope not.’ Frankie shivered. ‘Where?’
‘Over there. By the Marilyn Monroe picture. I just caught some sort of movement out of the corner of my eye. There! You must have seen that!’
Oh Lordy … ‘Hello, duck.’
Ernie Yardley stepped from between the 1950s rails. ‘Nice to see you, and your young man, too.’
Oh God … Frankie shook her head.
Ernie beamed at her. ‘You went to see Slo, didn’t you? Now you know I’m telling the truth, don’t you?’
Dexter laughed. ‘Blimey, mate, you’re lucky. We’re just off out, so you nearly got locked in here for the night. Mind you, you nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘An unhappy choice of words given the circumstances,’ Ernie said dolefully, then looked at Frankie. ‘You’d better introduce us.’
Dexter shook his head. ‘No need. I’m Dexter Valentine, and I think I know who you are. Frankie gave me a really good description of you. It’s nice to meet you at last, because I’ve heard lots about you. You’re the guy who wants to buy a frock. Right?’
‘Wrong.’ Ernie grinned. ‘Ever so wrong. Isn’t he, duck?’
‘Couldn’t be more wrong,’ Frankie agreed, feeling sick. ‘Dexter, meet Ernie Yardley. Ernie Yardley’s dead. Ernie Yardley says he’s a ghost.’
Chapter Fifteen
Dexter’s laughter rang round the shop. Frankie and Ernie didn’t join in.
‘What?’ Dexter stopped laughing and stared from one to the other. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
Ernie smiled at Frankie. ‘You might as well tell him, duck. He seems like a nice chap from what I’ve seen. Keen on you, too, I think.’
Oh Lordy … Frankie exhaled. Now she not only had a ghost, but a match-making ghost to boot. Fantastic.
She sighed. ‘That’s complete rubbish, Ernie, but OK, now you’re here and Dexter’s seen you – which is a huge relief to me because I thought I might be the only one seeing things – I’ll tell him.’ She looked at Dexter. ‘It’s a long story.’
Dexter grinned and hauled himself up to sit on the counter. ‘OK, I’m fine with that. I like a good yarn. But don’t expect me to believe a word of it. I don’t believe in ghosts. And he –’ he nodded towards Ernie ‘– doesn’t look like a ghost at all. Where are the clanking chains and the wailing and the walking through walls and—’
‘Hold up.’ Ernie looked miffed. ‘I’ve been through all that with Frankie here. Don’t you go mocking the undead, young man. I’ve already told Frankie, it isn’t like you see on the films, you know. And I’m as unhappy with this here set-up as anyone. I just want to rest in peace with my Achsah. It ain’t much to ask now, is it?’
‘You’re good.’ Dexter chuckled. ‘You’re very, very good. OK, go on then, Frankie. Tell me all about it … ’
So she did. Leaving out the part that she’d promised Slo she’d never mention, of course, but recounting absolutely everything else.
Ernie, who had listened intently, nodded at the end. ‘That’s all true. Nicely put, duck. So, you see, Dexter, I’m in a bit of a muddle here.’
Dexter, who’d managed to remain completely silent through the story-telling, looked scathingly at Frankie. ‘And you believe he’s a ghost? Really, truly?’
‘I don’t know. Honestly, now I don’t know. I didn’t. I thought maybe Biddy or Maisie or someone had put him up to it. To scare me off for some reason. And then after I’d spoken to Slo I thought I did believe it was all true. Especially when I saw the photograph. Then I didn’t again. And now … I really don’t know.’
‘But –’ Dexter slid from the counter ‘– you’re an intelligent, rational woman. You can’t. I mean, you can’t.’
‘Course she can,’ Ernie affirmed stoutly. ‘Not that I blame you, mind. I never believed in ghosts meself either, before I was one, that is.’
‘You-are-not-a-ghost,’ Dexter said firmly.
Ernie shrugged. ‘Sorry, Dexter, but I am. And I don’t want to be. And that’s why I thought young Frankie could help me, see?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Dexter said tersely. ‘I’ve heard the entire story. And while I’d never accuse Frankie of being a liar—’
‘Good job, too,’ Frankie said hotly. ‘Because everything I’ve just told you is the absolute truth. It might seem far-fetched to you – it did to me as well – but that is exactly how it happened.’
Dexter looked totally confused. ‘But I don’t believe in—’
‘We know,’ Ernie and Frankie chorused.
‘I know it’s a lot to take in.’ Frankie smiled gently. ‘But look, Dexter, why don’t you just suspend your disbelief for a moment, and just try to accept that Ernie is a ghost. Actually, it’s quite easy when you try.’
Ernie nodded his grizzled head enthusiastically. ‘Go on, Dexter, lad. I can see you’re a decent bloke with a good brain, and no doubt you don’t believe in UFOs, or crop circles or guardian angels or anything else that you can’t prove. And I don’t blame you, but please, for my sake, give it a go.’
Dexter was silent for a moment. Then he sighed heavily. ‘I’ll only believe you’re a ghost if you do something to convince me. Frankie may well have been almost convinced by your story with the undertaker – in cahoots, were you? – but I wasn’t there, so I’m not. So, you’ll have to prove it to me. And, as you can’t, can you just clear off now so that Frankie and I can go for a drink?’
‘All right.’ Ernie beamed benignly. ‘You did ask.’
And he vanished.
Frankie stared at the empty space where Ernie had been standing only seconds before, and shivered violently. He hadn’t moved, he hadn’t walked or run or anything, he’d just, well, gone. She needed no further proof.
‘Shit!’ Dexter blinked. ‘No way!’
‘There you are.’ Ernie reappeared again across the shop, looking a bit out of place by the 1970s punk section. ‘Sorry it weren’t more spectacular, but that’s about as much as I can manage. I might be an old codger but I’m a very young ghost. We don’t do much more than that. E
nough to convince you, though, I hope?’
Dexter stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless.
Shaking, Frankie cleared her throat. ‘OK … Um, right … I’m convinced, Ernie. Honestly. So, what can we do to help you?’
Dexter stared at her. ‘You’re joking?’
‘No.’ Frankie shook her head. ‘I’m not. There’s no way on, er, earth that anyone, um, normal could pull off that stunt. Not even Penn and Teller. And after what Slo told me, and showed me, yes, I do believe that Ernie is a ghost.’
‘Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I’d kiss you, duck, if I could,’ Ernie said happily. ‘I don’t think I can though.’
Still looking bewildered, Dexter pushed his hands through his hair. ‘OK – I’ll admit I can’t see any rational explanation either. Now if someone will just wake me up out of this bad dream, can we get on with our normal lives?’
‘If you two can sort me out, Dexter lad, then the rest of your life will be as normal as you want it to be,’ Ernie said generously. ‘I’ll be reunited with Achsah and resting in peace. I won’t bother you any more.’
‘Sounds pretty damn good to me,’ Dexter muttered. ‘Look, as long as you don’t tell anyone that I’m going along with this charade – it’ll ruin my street cred – and it means that this … this … so-called haunting rubbish stops, then, yes, OK. So, what do we have to do?’ He looked at Frankie. ‘Jesus! Hark at me! I’m reasoning with someone who’s allegedly dead.’
Frankie laughed. ‘I know. That’s how I felt. Weird, isn’t it?’
‘Mad is what it is,’ Dexter said darkly. ‘Totally bloody completely insane.’
Frankie nodded. ‘I know. Anyway, Ernie, you’ve finally managed to convince us both, I think. So, what do we do now?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ernie looked dejected. ‘If I knew then I’d have told you last time. I hoped you’d get some inkling of how to help from Slo Motion once he’d convinced you that I am who I say I am. Now, I’m not sure, but there must be some way to set my spirit free, mustn’t there?’
Never Can Say Goodbye Page 14
