by Lynda Renham
I rush to turn off the boiling over vegetables.
‘That’s not exactly ancient is it dear?’
‘Try telling her ovaries that. And to think my daughter is going to end up in some pokey bedsit in Clapham. Oh, I can’t bear it,’ she says, weeping over the Yorkshire puddings. ‘What man will be interested in a chambermaid in a grotty bedsit in Clapham?’
She sure knows how to cheer me up. I don’t know where this pokey bedsit in Clapham came from. I’ve never said anything about a bedsit.
‘I’ll open some wine,’ says Dad, pretending everything is normal. ‘Red goes with beef doesn’t it?’
‘I had a lottery win,’ I say, nibbling a Yorkshire pudding.
‘At least you’ve had some luck,’ she says miserably, dabbing her eyes with her apron.
‘Ooh that’s nice love. I don’t think we’ve ever had a win have we Margaret?’ says Dad.
She shoots him a dark look.
‘Margo,’ he corrects.
‘I won seventy-five thousand,’ I say.
Dad continues pouring the wine until the glass overflows.
‘Seventy-five thou …’ stammers Mum, before grabbing the overflowing glass and knocking it back.
I nod.
‘You don’t need a man in a hurry then?’ she says.
‘I didn’t anyway.’
‘Oh dear,’ she mumbles as the doorbell chimes.
‘Who can that be?’ asks Dad, ‘Sunday lunch time too.’
‘Rudy Green from no. 23, I invited him for lunch,’ stammers Mum while wiping her tear streaked face with a tea towel.
‘You did what?’ I gasp. ‘Have you seen him recently? He’s almost bald these days and …’
‘Yes, well that was his ex-wife. A terrible stress that was.’
‘He’s nearly fifty.’
‘In my defence, I didn’t know you were now in a position to be choosy.’
‘Choosy is an understatement, I‘d need to be desperate to go out with Rudy Green.’
‘He’s anxious to marry again,’ she says.
‘There are agencies for that kind of thing,’ I say impatiently.
‘I don’t even know who we’re talking about,’ says my confused dad. ‘Do I let him in or what?’
The doorbell chimes again.
‘And this is all because you want me to have babies?’
‘Can someone please tell me what to do,’ says Dad, raising his voice.
‘You can’t wait much longer,’ says Mum wringing the tea towel.
‘I know,’ says Dad.
‘Not you Martin,’ she snaps. ‘And don’t mention the lottery win,’ she says tapping her nose. ‘We’ll have men queuing at the door and all the wrong kind.’
‘I’m been asked out on a date with Ark Morgan, so I’m certainly not going to choose Rudy Green over him am I?’
Mum’s eyes almost pop out of her head. The truth is Ark didn’t actually set a date, he just took my phone number and promised to be in touch, but I daren’t tell her that.
‘The multimillionaire Ark Morgan? Oh my Lordy, why didn’t you tell us?’
‘He only asked me yesterday.’
‘How did you meet Ark Morgan? Oh Lordy, did you hear that Martin, our daughter and Ark Morgan …’
The doorbell chimes again, this time with an added thump on the door.
‘All I can hear is that doorbell,’ says Dad, getting agitated.
‘Perhaps he’ll think we’re out,’ says Mum hopefully.
‘The place smells of roast beef, the living room windows are steamed up and Roxie’s Fiesta is parked in the drive, so unless he thinks we’ve all died from gas fumes he’s unlikely to believe we’re out,’ groans Dad. ‘Now do I let him in or what?’
‘Oh God,’ mumbles Mum. ‘If only you were like a normal daughter we wouldn’t be having this,’ she throws back the last of the wine in her glass.
‘I am normal,’ I argue.
‘Good, so we’re agreed that everyone is normal. So I’ll do the normal thing and open the door,’ grunts Dad marching out of the kitchen.
‘Ark Morgan?’ repeats Mum. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Rudy Green?’ I mimic. ‘I don’t believe it.’
Chapter Thirty
‘More roast potatoes Rudy?’ asks Mum.
‘I wouldn’t say no, Mrs Brown. I have to say they really are the best roast spuds I’ve ever tasted.’
I stuff another into my mouth and wash it down with wine.
‘I’ll open another bottle, shall I?’ asks Dad, looking at Mum.
This will be the third bottle but who’s counting.
‘Do you cook as well as your mum Roxie?’ Rudy asks after shovelling some roast beef into his mouth so it sounds more like do you fuck as well as your mum Foxie?
I look at Mum and raise my eyebrows. Hopefully she can translate that to ‘great manners he has’.
‘Ach,’ says Mum, suddenly turning Scottish. ‘Roxie, cook, that’ll be the day won’t it dear? She can’t even boil an egg, and that’s with a cookbook.’
‘Oh yes dear,’ she says turning to Dad, ‘another bottle would be nice.’
Another bottle would be necessary more like. Rudy laughs dismissively, showing his crooked teeth.
‘I don’t believe that.’
That’s a shame.
‘Work keeping you busy is it?’ asks Dad who has no idea who Rudy is, let alone what he does for a living.
‘It’s a bit of a dying trade,’ smiles Rudy.
‘Oh dear,’ says Dad, topping up our glasses. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Rudy works for Aycocks Funeral Parlour,’ says Mum.
‘Aycocks?’ I say finally, trying not to choke on my wine.
‘Dessert?’ says Mum, jumping up. ‘Come and help me love.’
She nudges so hard I almost fall from the chair.
‘You’ve got to put him off,’ Mum dictates, pulling a trifle from the fridge.
‘I think you’re doing a pretty good job without me. Anyway If he asks me out, I’ll just say no,’ I shrug.
‘You have trouble saying no,’ she says, scooping up bowls.
‘Not always.’ But I have to agree, most of the time I do.
‘Well, just in case. We have to make you so unlikeable that he won’t want to ask you out.’ Before I have time to reply, she has dumped the dishes in my hand and waltzed back into the living room. I sigh. This is going to be a very drunken Sunday lunch.
‘Then there was the one that moved when we were laying him out,’ laughs Rudy.
I grab another After Eight.
‘I was thinking about those cardboard caskets for Martin,’ slurs Mum. ‘He’s always trying to economise.’
‘I’ve some lovely ones,’ says Rudy. ‘You should come over one night Roxie, and I can show you my stock,’ he says fidgeting uncomfortably on the couch. I imagine his arse is stuck to the plastic. It makes a change from etchings, I suppose and it might not be a bad idea. If the murderer catches up with me at least I’ll be prepared.
‘That’s nice,’ I say. ‘But I’ve never really been that interested in coffins. Or death come to that.’
‘It’s inevitable,’ says Rudy. ‘Go out in style is my motto.’
I may well do.
‘I prefer gun carriages,’ says Dad.
‘I don’t know how you think we can afford that,’ says Mum. ‘You’ll have to depend on Roxie’s lott …’
‘Who’s up for a game of something?’ I interrupt.
What the hell made me say that? There must have been hundreds of things I could have said to stop her saying the lottery word.
‘I’ll always play games with you,’ says Rudy with a wink.
Holy shit. Only my mother could get me into this mess.
‘We’ve got Cluedo,’ says Dad, fumbling in the coffee table drawer.
No thank you. Not while I’m playing the real thing.
At that moment my phone rings and I pull it from my bag grate
fully. It’s Ark Morgan. My heart thumps and I become breathless. Please don’t let me slur my words. I rush into the hall and answer it.
‘Hello,’ I say.
‘You took a long time to answer,’ he says in his sexy voice.
‘Sorry,’ I say quietly.
‘You sound breathless, are you in the middle of something?’
‘Not exactly,’ I mumble.
‘Anything I can help with?’ he asks huskily.
My legs give way and I slump onto the stairs.
‘Well …’ I begin.
‘Let’s start with something French shall we?’ he asks.
He’s flirting dangerously with me and I’m getting so turned on, it’s unbelievable. Not on your parent’s stairs, whispers my inner goddess.
‘Are you free tomorrow night?’
‘Yes,’ I say breathlessly. Oh God, I so am.
‘Good, I’ll collect you at seven, what’s your address?’
Holy shit, I can’t say 106A Braden Mansions can I?
‘I like to keep that private for now,’ I say, attempting to sound sultry, ‘until I know you better.’
He laughs.
‘Well, I’ll have to make sure you get to know me better then won’t I? Meet me at Knightsbridge station and Miss Brown …’
‘Yes,’ I whisper.
‘Wear that perfume.’
With that he hangs up. I force my trembling body upright and struggle to walk back into the living room.
‘Something important?’ says Mum, frowning worriedly.
‘I’m afraid so,’ I say solemnly, leaning across to my mum to whisper Ark Morgan.
‘What’s happened?’ asks my clueless dad, only to get a look from Mum that seriously could have had that cardboard casket delivered instantly.
‘Oh is it that?’ he says mysteriously.
‘Yes,’ I say.
Rudy looks from one to the other of us, confusion etched on his face.
‘Can I help at all?’ he says finally.
I suppose he could supply the satin tie-ups.
‘I think I’m beyond help,’ I say in a pitiful tone.
‘Yes,’ agrees Mum.
I pour some wine and we sit solemnly for a few minutes until Rudy says,
‘I should be getting back. I’ll phone you Roxie.’
‘Yes okay,’ I say, looking at him over my wine glass. He hesitates for a second.
‘I don’t have your number.’
‘Can we drop it in to you at a better time?’ asks Mum.
‘Oh yes, of course. Well, you all take care.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ says Dad.
Mum and I sit with our ears pricked until the front door slams.
‘Perhaps one of you would now like to tell me what all that was about?’ asks Dad.
‘Ark Morgan is a multimillionaire, that’s what it’s about, and he’s asked your daughter out. And, he’s as sexy as hell,’ says Mum.
Chapter Thirty-One
Avoiding Ark Morgan at work is more difficult than Sylvie had imagined. Mondays are Crescent days and this Monday Ark and a group of Japanese delegates are in the hotel.
‘You look different so the chances are he won’t recognise you,’ says Sylvie without any conviction in her voice.
‘I’ve not had plastic surgery. I can’t look that much different.’
‘No, you’re probably right,’ she concedes.
And that’s a point. I can’t go through that whole beauty regime malarkey every time I see him, just so I look the same as I did on Saturday. It’s not only tedious but bloody expensive. We wheel the trolley out onto the twelfth floor and my stomach flips. Right opposite the lift is the conference room, and strolling out of it are the Japanese delegates with Ark Morgan.
Holy shit. I look at Sylvie in panic. The promised cleaning cupboard is not on the twelfth floor.
‘What do I do?’ I whisper.
The nearest rooms all have their do not disturb signs hanging from the doorknobs. I’m about ready to die on the spot when I hear Ark say, ‘Excuse me gentlemen, I’ve left my jacket.’ He turns back to the conference room and Sylvie pushes me into the lift.
‘Wait in the cleaning cupboard until I text you,’ she instructs as the doors close.
I feel like I’m on the run.
‘That was a close call,’ Sylvie says as we leave the hotel. ‘Where’s the flat we’re viewing? I can’t wait.’
I’m about to tell her when I see Darren standing on the steps, holding a bouquet of flowers. Why is this happening to me? I bet Jennifer Aniston didn’t have Brad Pitt standing on her steps with a bouquet of flowers after they broke up.
‘Bollocks,’ says Sylvie.
His face lights up and he pushes the bouquet at me shoving petals up my nose.
‘I thought I’d missed you Babe,’ he says.
If only you had. What a dreadful shock not just Darren, but Darren with a bunch of flowers. I can’t remember the last time Darren bought me flowers. Come to think of it I can’t remember Darren ever buying me flowers. What’s worse, he has that sorrowful look on his face that I hate because I can never say no when he looks at me like that.
‘I’ve been a prick,’ he says flatly.
‘A bit of an understatement,’ says Sylvie.
‘I’ve lost everything,’ he says miserably.
‘I think you’re mistaking yourself for a tsunami victim,’ snaps Sylvie.
I glance at the time on my phone. My first viewing is in fifteen minutes.
‘You know it didn’t mean anything. I was just desperate for love.’
I’m standing like a spare part, with a bouquet in one hand and my mobile in the other.
‘You don’t think you overreacted a bit?’ he says.
‘What?’ says a flabbergasted Sylvie.
‘You know how you blow things out of proportion when it’s the wrong time of the month?’
Am I really hearing this?
‘And you were eating a lot of Oreo’s that week,’ he adds, as if that clinches it.
‘That was because I’d run out of sponge fingers, and it had nothing to do with my period,’ I snap.
‘… But more to do with you screwing some tart behind her back,’ says Sylvie.
‘You know I’m overdrawn at the bank,’ he says pitifully, ignoring Sylvie and leaning towards me.
‘You do overspend Darren,’ I say, barely able to control my anger.
‘You should have saved your money and bought a bunch of daffs then,’ quips Sylvie.
She’s a hard cow is our Sylv.
‘I’ve missed you Babe. You were quite right too. It’s all out of a bottle.’
‘Even the kids? Sylvie pipes up. ‘Test tube are they?’
‘Sylvie, this is between me and Roxie.’
‘Not when I’m supplying the Kleenex it ain’t mate,’ she snaps.
‘I heard you had a win on the lottery,’ he says, his tone changing.
I wondered when he would find that out.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asks accusingly, struggling to see me behind the bouquet.
‘I think it had something to do with you screwing the bottled redhead,’ repeats Sylvie.
‘I wish you’d shut up,’ says Darren.
‘And I wish you’d sod off.’
And I wish we could do this somewhere else. Supposing Ark Morgan comes out?
‘The thing is, that’s my money too,’ he says firmly.
‘You what?’ laughs Sylvie.
‘I lent you a tenner on Thursday night. You said you didn’t have any money so you bought the ticket with my money. Joey says that entitles me.’
‘Entitles you to shit, Darren,’ says Sylvie indignantly. ‘Don’t listen to him Roxie.’
I shake my head.
‘I’ve lent you more money than you’ve ever lent me Darren. It was probably ten quid you owed me.’
Sylvie pulls me by the arm.
‘Come on, we’re going to be late.’
>
‘Don’t you care about me Roxie? I made a big mistake. I know that now. I just need you to be more loving and attentive and …’
‘And I just need you to stop or I’m going to throw up.’ groans Sylvie.
I feel myself hesitate. He looks so lost and forlorn. I suppose I could share some of the money with him, just to help him get on his feet. Sylvie pulls me harder.
‘Don’t even go there Rox,’ she warns, snatching the flowers and plonking them back into Darren’s hands.
‘Give them to the bottled redhead,’ she says.
‘It’s Titian actually,’ he retorts.
‘Titian my arse,’ I say, cynically.
‘Who gives a shit? Come on Rox.’
‘You and your guilt, you really need to get that sorted,’ she mumbles as she drags me away. We climb into the Fiesta and head towards Chelsea.
‘Christ, I thought you were going to cave in.’
The truth is if Sylvie hadn’t have been with me, I most likely would have done.
‘Going upmarket aren’t we?’ she smiles. ‘Chelsea can’t be bad.’
‘You do think Darren will be all right?’ I ask.
‘Come on Roxie, he’s treated you like shit. Anyway, getting off the subject of two-timing bastards, while you were lording it at your parents yesterday …’
‘Lording it was far from what I was doing. You have no idea,’ I say.
‘Anyway, Felix got the handwriting analysed from that estate agent leaflet. Although may I remind you that was supposed to be your job.’
‘I have been a bit busy, Sylvie.’
‘Anyway, the guy who wrote it is confident, successful, and most likely a risk taker. He likes a challenge and enjoys danger.’
He sounds like Ark Morgan. I wonder if the analyst said he was hot, sexy and irresistible too. Honestly, these past few days I’ve thought of nothing but sex. Well, sadomasochistic sex to be more precise. Pity Mum never bought me books on that.
‘Felix feels sure it has to be the murderer. I think we’re closing in on him. He’s either connected to those flats or the estate agent. Plus if the scarf DNA matches some from the flat then we’ll know he was at Ark Morgan’s party and …’
I gulp.
‘It’s Ark, I know it is. He’s confident, successful and you have to take risks in business don’t you, and he loves a challenge, I can tell and …’
