Cherish, snuggled warmly in her faded mink-coloured coat and with her brown and fawn knitted pull-on hat pulled down low over her forehead, blushed. She’d not been called a girl for years, and had never been called clever before. Not even by her parents.
‘It just seemed to make sense,’ she said, being buffeted backwards and forwards by the crowds who all just wanted to buy something – anything – for their nearest and dearest and get home, out of the Siberian weather, before proper darkness fell. ‘I mean, if we’re both having our Christmases alone, and buying ourselves gifts, then I thought buying each other’s made much more sense. At least, that way we’ll have some surprises on Christmas morning, won’t we?’
‘We will, gel,’ Brian said cheerfully. ‘So, we’re both spending exactly the amount of money we agreed on? No more, no less? What was it? A quarter on the Christmas stocking fillers and three-quarters on the other things? And we’ve got an hour before we meet up again?’
Cherish nodded. She hadn’t had so much fun for absolutely ages.
‘And we’ll meet up in the coffee shop in Masons’, gel?’
‘In exactly one hour,’ Cherish said happily. ‘Shall we synchronise our watches?’
‘Uh?’ Brian looked a bit startled. ‘Oh, right, check the time, you mean. OK, gel, let’s go for it. We have exactly one hour starting from … now.’
Cherish watched Brian, tall and dishevelled in his duffle coat, his wild hair looking like candyfloss in the wind, as he pushed his way across Winterbrook’s main street. She laughed to herself, wondering what nonsensical presents he’d buy for her. She knew exactly what she was going to buy for him. She’d planned it all carefully, as she planned everything.
It was so exciting, choosing presents for someone who might actually appreciate them, and, Cherish thought, frowning as several teenagers barged into her without even saying sorry, Brian deserved to have a really happy Christmas.
Making sure he was well out of sight, she took a deep breath and plunged into the heaving crowds in the first shop.
Forty-five minutes later, Cherish, carrying masses of bags and feeling happier than she could ever remember, inhaled the rich exotic scents in Masons’ ground-floor perfumery department. She’d never worn scent. Well, her mother had favoured Tweed, and she’d sometimes had a little spray of that, but it wasn’t something she’d ever really indulged in. No, her nice lily of the valley bath cubes and matching talc did her very nicely. Perfume, she’d always felt, was completely wasted when there was no one else there to enjoy it.
Cherish loved Masons’. She’d been to Masons’ with her mother when she was a girl and it had hardly changed. Well, it was much bigger now, of course, with many more departments, but inside it still looked the same. Masons’ had retained their acres of polished dark wood and chandeliers and curving richly carpeted staircases with the brass balustrades and large customer-friendly counters with polite, uniformed assistants.
And today, Cherish noted with approval as she pushed and shoved her way through the manic-eyed shoppers, Masons’ Christmas decorations were very tasteful in traditional red and green, with lovely classic Christmas songs playing discreetly in the background: ‘White Christmas’, and ‘Winter Wonderland’ and ‘Let it Snow’. Proper songs by proper singers – not that bouncy, noisy modern Christmas pop stuff that Frankie played in their shop and sang along to all day long. Not that Cherish would criticise Frankie in any way, shape or form. Oh, dear me no. Frankie could do no wrong in Cherish’s eyes. Frankie had given her a whole new lease of life, and for that she’d be forever grateful.
Funny, Cherish thought fondly as she headed for the lifts, Frankie had seemed much happier in the last few days, too. Not that Frankie had ever been downbeat as such, of course, but there had been a definite change in her recently. Almost as if some sort of weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Waiting with several other tired shoppers by the lift to be whisked up to the top-floor coffee shop, Cherish now tapped her feet to Nat King Cole crooning ‘The Christmas Song’. She loved that one. ‘Chestnuts roasting by an open fire’ always sounded wonderful. She wondered if they’d work just as well in front of a two-bar electric. Possibly not.
Of course she’d arrived at Masons’ early because she’d known exactly what to buy for Brian. She didn’t expect him to be on time, so she’d probably treat herself to a buttered scone to go with her tea. She’d buy one for him too, of course. Brian deserved that. He’d completely refused to take any money towards petrol for all the lifts back and forwards to work. Cherish smiled to herself. She was pretty sure now that Brian wasn’t passing her bungalow every day making deliveries when he said he was, but she was happy to go along with the pretence.
The lift arrived. Lots of people with lots of bags poured out, and Cherish joined the similarly loaded rush to get in. Three floors later – quite long enough to be squashed in close proximity with total strangers – they arrived at their destination and Cherish followed the flow towards a nice sit down and much-needed refreshment.
The rich smell of freshly ground coffee was immediately evocative. Cherish inhaled greedily, and was instantly whisked back to the childhood days out shopping with her mother when they’d always had lunch in the Cadena and she was allowed to have a thick strawberry milkshake in a tall, fluted glass and two pink straws – but had always been forbidden to blow bubbles or make any sort of slurping noise with the ice cream at the bottom.
Happy days.
After queuing and buying a pot of tea for two and two large scones, Cherish peered round the coffee shop for a vacant table. Ah, yes! There was one for two just over there, not far from the door.
Carefully manoeuvring her tray and her shopping, Cherish slalomed quite niftily through the maze of tables and chairs in case someone else got there before her. Triumph! Cherish plonked her tray down and arranged her carrier bags on the second chair. Then she unbuttoned her coat, removed her hat and started to butter her scone.
The coffee shop was warm, and tinkled comfortingly with the sound of china and lulled chatter and some pleasant festive jingle bells type music.
Cherish looked around her. She wasn’t far from the entrance, so Brian should spot her easily. She poured her tea and flexed her cold and aching feet inside her sensible brogues. Oooh, lovely.
‘Cherish?’ A piercing voice shattered the bliss. ‘Cherish? What on earth are you doing here?’
Cherish groaned and returned her buttered scone to its plate. ‘Hello, Biddy.’
‘I’ll just move these, shall I?’ Biddy started to tug at the carrier bags on the chair. ‘I’ve got my tea, so I can plonk it down there – if you just move yours up a bit.’
‘Actually,’ Cherish said rather timidly – Biddy in full-flow always made her nervous – ‘I’d prefer it if you left the bags there, if you don’t mind. That seat is taken. I’m waiting for someone.’
‘Are you indeed?’ Biddy’s nose twitched. ‘And is that someone why I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you for weeks?’
‘Not at all,’ Cherish said robustly, although she was still quivering inside. ‘I’m working now, Biddy, as you well know. There simply hasn’t been the time.’
‘I always make time for my friends. But then, that’s because I’m a loyal person. Unlike some I could mention.’
Biting back the urge to point out that apart from her, Biddy didn’t actually have any friends, Cherish shook her head. ‘That’s a bit uncalled for, Biddy, if I may say so. After all, it was your idea that I went to work in Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks in the first place, wasn’t it?’
Biddy was still standing, clutching her tea tray and eyeing the bag-filled chair. ‘That’s as maybe, but I meant as a colour advisor. Not as some damn sales assistant. Got your feet nicely under that particular table without telling me, didn’t you?’
‘Oh, do stop being so cross, please. And pull up a chair from that table there. I’ll just make room for your tray. And I’m not doing the colour advising any
more, so –’ she looked at Biddy in her mother-of-the-bride lilac coat and matching headscarf as she scraped a third chair up to the table ‘– if you want to stop wearing those spring colours, you can.’
Biddy, clearly very put out, plonked herself down on the extra chair. ‘And why would I want to do that, may I ask? I happen to like my pale pastels. They suit me. For the life of me I can’t see why you’d want to give up the colour advising and become a skivvy.’
‘Working with Frankie is not skivvying. It’s my natural calling. Now, I can see you’ve got one carrier bag there, so have you finished your Christmas shopping?’
‘What Christmas shopping?’ Biddy gulped gratefully at her tea. ‘Since you and I don’t exchange presents any longer, I don’t have to waste time or money on that nonsense, thank goodness.’
‘Oh, so what have you been buying?’
‘Damn secret Santa rubbish for the seniors group Christmas Eve party. You know, pick a name and buy something suitable for a fiver. I got Alf Braintree.’
‘Oh, dear – difficult. What did you choose for him?’
‘Bath cubes.’
Cherish took a small bite from her scone. Alf Braintree was not renowned for his personal hygiene. ‘Er, I didn’t realise they did bath cubes for men.’
‘They don’t. I bought him Black Rose in the knock-down shop. Like I used to do for you.’
Cherish chewed her mouthful of scone. There really was nothing she could say.
‘So –’ Biddy peered over the rim of her teacup ‘– who are you waiting for?’
Cherish, who had always been brought up to tell the truth, saw no reason not to now. ‘Brian.’
‘Brian? Brian from the kebab van? Mad old Brian?’
‘Brian is neither old nor mad,’ Cherish said vigorously. ‘Brian is a very nice man.’
Biddy gave a shrill chuckle. ‘Well, Rita Radbone certainly seemed to think so for some time before she took up with fat Ray Valentine. I suppose if you don’t mind having other people’s cast-offs.’
‘Biddy!’ Cherish knew her cheeks were flaming. ‘That’s a wicked thing to say. Brian and I are friends. Just friends.’
Biddy nodded her headscarf. ‘Of course you are. Even mad Brian would have to be completely insane to want to be anything more than friends with a Miss Mouse. Especially after sampling the loose morals of Rumpy Pumpy Rita.’
‘Biddy!’ Cherish was very angry now. She rarely lost her temper, and certainly never in public. Her mother had always said a lady never lost her temper in public. ‘That’s enough! I really think you should stick to the maxim of “if you can’t say anything nice then say nothing at all”. And as soon as you’ve finished your tea then I’d like you to leave.’
Biddy laughed. ‘Before Brian arrives? In case you discover that I’m speaking the truth? Oh, Cherish, you know me, I always call a spade a spade. Anyway –’ Biddy leaned forwards across the tiny, crowded table ‘– there are more important things I need to tell you than wasting time talking about Rita Radbone’s ex-lovers. Goodness, we’d be here until well into the new year on that particular topic.’
Cherish sighed heavily.
Biddy continued, unabashed. ‘It was really handy, meeting you here. I was going to call round this evening anyway.’
Cherish frowned. In her world, no one called on anyone without making arrangements first. ‘Were you? Why?’
‘To warn you to be careful in that shop.’ Biddy’s eyes sparkled with malice. ‘That shop that you think is the be-all and end-all. And not to trust that Francesca Meredith – who you clearly think is the bee’s knees. You want to watch your step, Cherish.’
‘Why on earth would I want to be careful about the shop and Frankie?’ Cherish frowned. ‘Really, Biddy, you are very unpleasant sometimes, you know. Why on earth would I need to worry about either Frankie or the shop?’
‘Because, and I have this on the best advice, it’s haunted.’
Cherish, despite always being careful not to show any public emotion, laughed out loud. ‘Oh, Biddy! You’re a scream. No, don’t tell me – you’ve been chatting to Maisie Fairbrother, haven’t you?’
‘Yes I have, actually. So, does that mean you know?’
‘Know what?’
‘That Frankie called Maisie in to do a sort of seance or exorcism or something not so long back?’
Cherish sighed. ‘No, I didn’t know. And neither do you. But we both know Maisie. And she, well, she does tend to exaggerate things like that, doesn’t she? Sorry, Biddy, but I think it’s just one of Maisie’s tall tales. She rarely goes out of that flat and has far too much imagination, not to mention time on her hands. We both know she has never actually managed to contact anyone, well, dead, don’t we?’
‘Until now,’ Biddy said with relish. ‘From the minute she stepped inside it on the night your precious Francesca was clearing out Rita’s old tat, Maisie knew that shop was haunted. She had a spiritual turn. Had to be taken home.’
‘For goodness sake. Maisie had a spiritual turn in Big Sava by the deep freeze dessert section, didn’t she? Said the Mivvis were possessed? Tried to exterminate the trapped souls inside the ice cream? It took four people to clean up the mess and three assistants to carry her out. And she got a lifetime ban.’
‘That’s as maybe, but you ask your precious Frankie what happened that night. You just ask her.’
‘I will not. If there had been anything like that I’m sure Frankie would have told me. Goodness me, Biddy, you’re just jealous, aren’t you? Jealous that I’ve found myself a little job, and other friends, and am happy for the first time in goodness knows how long. Jealousy is a very ugly emotion, my mother always said.’
‘Jealous?’ Biddy clattered her empty cup into her saucer. ‘Of you working for a pittance in a shop that’s haunted? And counting mad Brian from the kebab van among your so-called friends? Jealous? Me? I most certainly am not. But –’ she leaned across the table again ‘– Maisie is completely shattered by what happened in the shop. She said there were spirits everywhere. She said—’
‘I don’t actually care what she said,’ Cherish said quickly. ‘Because I don’t believe her – or you.’
‘Your mistake. Don’t say you weren’t warned. And –’ Biddy’s eyes glittered as she collected her solitary carrier bag and stood up ‘– if you don’t believe me and you won’t ask Frankie, then ask your precious Brian.’
‘Brian? What does Brian have to do with it?’
‘He took Maisie home that first night when she had her turn. Him and Ray Valentine’s no-good nephew. They practically had to resuscitate her all the way back to Hazy Hassocks. Oh yes, your so-called friends Frankie and Brian have been keeping big, big secrets from you. Right, anyway, as I won’t see you before, have a lovely Christmas. Bye.’
Feeling slightly numbed by the whole encounter, Cherish watched Biddy make her triumphal exit from Masons’ coffee shop.
‘Oh.’ Cherish stabbed her knife into her butter and applied it rather viciously to the remainder of her scone. ‘Oh, sod her!’
‘Blimey, gel –’ Brian, his hair wilder than ever and his face glowing from the cold outside, loomed over her table carrying several bags ‘– I’ve never heard you swear before. Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t make up my mind on one or two things. Ah, lovely, a cuppa and a scone. Thanks, gel. You’re a proper gem, Cherish, and that’s a fact.’
Cherish blushed and watched him as he moved her bags and sat down. Was he keeping things from her? Was Frankie keeping things from her, too? No, it was impossible. It was just Biddy being, well, Biddy.
‘Sorry about the bad word.’ She smiled across the table. ‘I’ve just had a bit of a run-in with Biddy.’
‘Really?’ Brian mumbled round his scone. ‘I thought I caught a glimpse of her just now, but I thought I was mistaken.’
‘No, you weren’t. Biddy was spreading her usual festive cheer.’
‘Was she? Blimey. I didn’t think she were ever cheerful?’ Cherish shoo
k her head. ‘No, I was being ironic. Anyway, she told me something, well, lots of things actually, and she made me cross.’
‘Sounds like Biddy.’ Brian added three spoonfuls of sugar to his tea and stirred it noisily. ‘You don’t want to let her upset you, gel. She’s just a misery guts.’
‘I know, but – Oh, can I ask you something?’
‘Course you can. Ask away. Oh, unless it’s what I’ve bought you for Christmas. That’s a secret.’
So many secrets … Cherish shrugged. ‘Oh, look, I know this is going to sound silly, but did you and Dexter take Maisie home the night that Frankie started to clear out Rita’s shop?’
Brian beamed. ‘Ah, we did. But you don’t want to get no ideas in your head about it, gel. Is that what Biddy was telling you? That I’ve got a soft spot for Maisie Fairbrother? Never on your life! She’s a troublemaker that Biddy.’
‘No, no, it wasn’t anything like that. She just said that Maisie, well, that Maisie said Frankie’s shop was haunted and came over all funny and had to be taken home.’
‘Ah.’ Brian nodded. ‘That’s right. She did. And me and young Dexter were going out that way so we shovelled her into the car and took her back to her flat. No more nor less than that.’
‘But Maisie said the shop was haunted?’
‘Yes, she did. Made a right how-d’you-do about it an’ all. But crikey, gel –’ Brian finished his scone with obvious delight ‘– you knows as well as I do that Maisie thinks everywhere’s haunted. Do you remember that time in Big Sava?’
‘Yes, yes, I do. But why didn’t you tell me?’
‘About taking her home after she’d come over all funny? Nothing to tell, gel. Nothing at all. Just typical Maisie.’
‘So,’ Cherish said carefully, ‘you don’t know anything about Frankie asking Maisie to come back and do a seance to get rid of the ghosts?’
Brian’s laugh roared round the coffee shop. People from a wide radius of tables stopped and stared over at them. Cherish, who hated making a show, lowered her head.
‘No way on earth!’ Brian chuckled. ‘There ain’t no ghosts in Kingston Dapple! Why would young Frankie believe Maisie more than anyone else? It’s just Biddy stirring up trouble, gel, that’s all. She’s a mean-minded woman, that Biddy. And if she can drive a wedge between you and Frankie and your little job where you’re happy, then she will.’
Never Can Say Goodbye Page 23
