‘The usual. Football, beer, and ex-wife blues.’
Charley had known Aaron since she’d started to work at Striking Back. Recently divorced and in his late thirties, he stood a few inches taller than her at five foot ten, with sharp brown eyes and dark hair, greying at its roots. He didn’t look lived in like a lot of men his age, keeping his medium frame fit and healthy by running several times a week. Clean-shaven, he always smelt of something delicious. What was it today? She sniffed discreetly – something by Hugo Boss, she reckoned.
Aaron worked on the floor above, and if it wasn’t for him bringing her a coffee every now and then, Charley might never see him from one week to the next. Like the majority of the workers in the block, he spent a large amount of his time away from the office, meeting clients, attending court cases, dealing with complaints.
Striking Back had been set up four years ago, shortly after a local woman, Davina Gregory, had been murdered by her partner. Before that, Davina had suffered years of domestic violence. One particular day, the violence escalated and, in front of their three-year-old daughter, her partner had beaten her severely and then fatally stabbed her before heading off to the garage to gas himself with carbon monoxide. The little girl had been in the house with her dead mum for two hours before someone found them all.
Even though the death had been traumatic to deal with, Davina’s mum had campaigned to raise funds to set up something to remember her by. Working closely with the local authority, she’d successfully gained lottery funding and formed the organisation, so a few more local companies had added their sponsorship. Charley had been a social worker in the city for five years when she’d seen the advertisement for senior support workers, so, wanting to specialise in helping victims of domestic abuse, she’d taken a chance and applied for a three-year secondment. They were still together as a team due to the project’s success, and every month Charley prayed that, even though funding was being cut drastically by the local authority each year, Striking Back would survive. The organisation was small but it did an enormous job. It would be a crime for it not to continue – literally.
‘Here’s to new beginnings.’ Aaron raised his cup in a toast.
Charley copied. ‘New beginnings.’
‘So when do I get to see it, then?’ Aaron leaned closer. ‘You know, just you and me and a bottle or three.’
‘Ooh, let me see.’ Charley pretended to ponder on the question before she leaned in closer too. ‘Never.’
‘Wow, you really know how to hit a guy where it hurts.’ Aaron clutched his chest and feigned pain. ‘Straight to the heart.’
Charley laughed. Despite his continuous banter to get her to go out with him, his humour and constant reassurance that she was attractive was always good to hear. She pushed him gently off her desk.
‘Haven’t you got work to do?’
More people started to arrive and a few moments later, a woman in her early fifties came bustling in. She sat down at the desk to Charley’s right with a big sigh.
‘Christ on a bike, I’ve had a manic weekend. Ruth has come home again: says she’s leaving the idle bastard for good this time, just like she said the last time. Michael has come down with some kind of virus. More like a bad hangover, if you ask me. Then the dog threw up all over a pile of ironing I’d sweated over and,’ she batted a hand in front of her face, ‘if these bloody hot flushes don’t calm down soon, I’m sure I’ll combust. My face is more or less as red as my hair!’
‘Morning, Lynne,’ Charley greeted, not at all fazed by her friend’s outburst. Lynne was one of the best mothers she knew, with two children she’d raised single-handedly since their father had been sent to prison for her attempted murder. Although her roots were greying where the red dye needed re-touching, she wore her hair long to hide the damage caused to her face. A few years before they’d started to work together, Lynne had nearly lost the sight in her right eye because of an assault with a hammer, but luckily there had been no permanent damage to her brain. Her kids had been her lifeline after it happened, taking care of her while she got through the trauma. Now Lynne gave back to the community; Charley admired her so much for her strength.
‘How did the move go?’ Lynne wanted to know, once she had caught her breath and switched on her computer. ‘Tickety-boo, I hope?’
‘It went…okay. It was weird to be on my own there, you know?’
Lynne nodded at her. ‘I can imagine.’
‘I’ll be fine though. It’s another first done and dusted, I suppose. And I’m a firm believer that a part of him will be with me forever.’
Lynne scoffed. ‘You don’t believe in that old crap that they stay with you when they pass? That they are always in the ether?’
‘God, I hope not.’ Charley laughed. ‘I have far too many bad habits for that. I used to drive Dan mad with some of the things I did.’
‘Exactly.’ Lynne picked up her mug. ‘And some things are better done alone, anyway. I, for one, wouldn’t want anyone seeing me doing everything!’ She winked and stood up. ‘Fancy a proper cup of coffee?’
Across the road, Ella flicked through a rail of clothes in Bon Marche. Feigning interest, she checked for sizes of a particular white jumper, all the time looking through the window behind and across the road to the doorway she’d seen Charley go into. Through a small window upstairs, she could just about make out the top of someone’s head. It couldn’t be Charley, as the hair she could see was a vivid shade of red. It must be that other woman she’d seen bustling in a few minutes ago.
Ella hadn’t any intentions of following Charley to work but, after a restless night of insomnia, on impulse she’d grabbed her keys. She’d jumped in her car and sped down Warwick Avenue once Charley was out of sight.
Keeping close, she’d managed to work out where Charley was heading and stay a few cars behind her. Once arriving in Hanley, Ella parked up quickly on St John Street’s multi-storey and followed close behind Charley as she made her way into the town. It hadn’t been easy keeping up without being seen, especially once on foot.
Stoke-on-Trent was a city that couldn’t make its mind up where its centre was. There was an on-going battle with some of its residents to keep most amenities near to Stoke, one of six towns that made up the city. The majority of its residents were fiercely supportive of their hometown, but with broken promises and regeneration plans that never materialised, some areas had been left to run down.
If Ella was in a bad mood, she would describe Hanley, what she referred to as the city centre, as consisting mainly of a few streets, a large Fountain Square that was now empty, the fountain having been filled in many years ago, and a shopping centre built in the late eighties that was part of plans to have a revamp soon. On her dark days, Ella thought no one in his or her right mind would want to invest money there.
If she was in a bright mood, like today, Hanley was an up-and-coming area. The city had a plan to attract big brands and more investment from outside commerce. A new civic centre was well under construction, a state-of-the-art bus station had recently been opened, and new hotels were going up nearby. The local newspaper, The Sentinel, had recently moved their offices closer again, having taken over a building opposite the Potteries Museum and Art Gallery. The Cultural Quarter was next to it – they even had their own Piccadilly.
Busy looking upwards at the architecture of some of the buildings above the high street shops, Ella had been just in time to dive into the shop when Charley stopped a few yards in front and disappeared through a doorway. Sad to think that she wouldn’t see her until later; she was glad that she’d followed her there now. To be a true friend, she needed to understand Charley, to get close to her, see what she liked. Even though Ella hadn’t had a friend for a while – well, apart from Susan Reilly – she knew that’s what friends did. They took an interest in each other, and knowing where Charley worked made her feel closer to her. When El
la was wondering what she was doing while she was at work, she could now imagine Charley sitting at her desk upstairs in that office.
She looked through the window for the last time before coming out onto the pavement. Quickly, she crossed the road towards the door. The sign on it said that office hours were nine until five; there was no name or logo of any particular company. She smiled to herself. Charley would probably be home before six.
With that thought, Ella set off towards the centre. She’d had a brilliant idea. She’d invite Charley up to her flat for a drink of wine to celebrate her first day coming home to Warwick Avenue. And she’d buy cupcakes – everyone liked cupcakes.
Chapter Seven
Work finished for the day, Charley left the office shortly before five thirty. Back in Warwick Avenue just after six, she grappled with a pile of paperwork and files as she opened the entrance door.
‘I thought I heard you.’
Charley glanced upwards to see Ella standing on the middle stair. ‘Hi there,’ she smiled.
‘Hi yourself. Good day?’
‘Yes, thanks. Busy, though. You?’
‘So-so – I’m temping at the moment.’ Ella pulled her hands from behind her back to reveal two bottles of wine. ‘I have red and white. Fancy a glass to end the day?’
‘My day won’t end yet.’ Charley indicated the files she was holding. ‘Need to read through some of this before a meeting tomorrow.’
‘I didn’t mean right now, silly.’ Ella giggled before turning to walk back upstairs again. ‘Come up to my flat in half an hour.’
‘But I –’
‘I have cake too…a treat for your first day home from work. I promise I won’t keep you long.’
Charley sighed at her disappearing form. In Werrington, she hadn’t neighboured much so wasn’t sure of the etiquette when sharing a house with someone – although technically, they were only sharing a hallway. She desperately wanted to relax in a long, hot bath, but with a glass of wine by herself.
But Ella was only being friendly; she supposed it wouldn’t do any harm to have a small drink with her. And after that she could have her bath and chill.
Ella’s front door was ajar when she knocked on it thirty minutes later.
‘I’m in the living room,’ she heard her shout, so she stepped inside.
It was weird going into a flat that was set out the same but was very different in décor and style. The long hallway seemed dim; along one side clear plastic boxes were piled high, full of hardback and paperback books. A collection of miniature bottles were arranged haphazardly on a shelf above them. Fading wallpaper was in need of stripping off and redoing. The beige carpeting underfoot felt tacky and thin; Charley almost tiptoed to join Ella.
She knocked lightly on a door. Stepping into the living room, she was greeted by a mis-match of colours, as if someone had thrown a few tins of paint up in the air and prayed they would come down in some sort of order. But strangely, it all worked. It felt warm, much more inviting than the hallway. Still as cluttered, though.
‘Welcome to my humble abode.’ Ella waved a hand around the room. ‘I won’t apologise for my mess as it will never get any better no matter how many times you visit.’ She beamed. ‘I like it this way – I know where everything is. Come and sit down, if you can find a place.’
As Ella left the room, Charley perched on the edge of a settee that was covered mostly with piles of papers and magazines. She sneaked a look at the page a woman’s magazine was opened to: an article on sex addiction.
‘Red or white?’ Ella shouted.
Charley moved her hand away quickly, hoping that Ella hadn’t seen her snooping. ‘Whatever is open, thanks,’ she replied.
‘I bet you’re wondering what’s with all the books in the boxes out there?’ Ella came through with two glasses of white. ‘I can’t bear to part with them once I’ve read them. Can you? I have a few collections too – bottles you’ve seen, notepads, old magazines. I can’t walk past a charity shop without checking out what they have. I used to collect teapots – not sure why – but I had to give them away when I ran out of space. So I changed to something more easily storable. Magazines, old comics. I reckon they’ll be worth a fortune one day.’
Ella disappeared again. Charley wondered if she ever took a breath as she looked around some more. In her line of work, she knew you could tell a lot from the state of a room. Too untidy and couldn’t care less: a mind in turmoil. Too neat and too scared to make a mess: a controlled mind. Chaotic and clean but in some sort of order: happy in their own skin most of the time. From looking around this room, she couldn’t quite tell which one symbolised Ella’s state of mind. And there was always an exception to every rule.
She was watching a news report on BBC Midlands Today when Ella came back in again. She handed her a plate with an iced cupcake on it before sitting down at the opposite end of the settee.
‘I hope you like it,’ Ella smiled. ‘I’ve already had one. I couldn’t resist.’
‘Actually, I’m fine, thanks.’ Charley sat forward a little. ‘I haven’t eaten yet.’
‘It won’t hurt,’ Ella urged.
‘No, I’m…’ An uncomfortable silence dropped between them and she picked up the cake to ease it.
‘Have you lived here long?’ Charley asked once she’d taken a bite, for want of something to say.
‘No, my parents died when I was in my early twenties and left me a bit of money. They also owned a potteries firm over in Middleport which I sold. I’ve always lived in Stoke – I had a terraced house in Penkhull then, near the University Hospital – but when I saw this place come up for sale, I fell in love immediately. And, pretty much like you, I guess, I wanted to start again, somewhere fresh.’
‘I bet you miss your parents.’ Charley gave Ella a half-smile.
‘Not so much now. I wasn’t close to them. I’m a bit of a free spirit.’
Another silence.
Charley noticed a pile of notepads stacked up on top of a few vinyl records. ‘Are you a writer?’
Ella followed her gaze. ‘Not really,’ she shook her head, ‘but I do like to keep a diary. I’ve written them for years; kept every one.’
‘I wish I’d done that, in hindsight,’ Charley confessed. ‘I wrote my feelings out a few times after Dan died but I didn’t keep any of it. I suppose I just needed to express myself.’
‘Writing is great for that. I pour my heart out sometimes, especially if I’ve had a bad day. It’s like having a therapist, in a way, unburdening it all. I often write things on the laptop, too, and then delete them, once they’re out of my head; helps me sleep at times. I’m a terrible insomniac so forgive me if I wake you up or you hear me padding about. I do try to keep quiet.’
Charley didn’t want to bring up the drunken episode again, still hoping it was a one-off that Ella was embarrassed about. Instead she sat there, waiting for enough time to have passed to seem sociable. She needed to eat and the wine was going to her head.
Ella began to show her some of the books in her collection.
Charley picked up a paperback from the middle of a small pile on the coffee table. ‘Famous Five go to Devon.’ She smiled fondly as she flicked through it. ‘I’ve read all of this series as a child. Used to devour anything by Enid Blyton. Where did you get this from?’
‘I bid for most of them, on eBay. I’m always bidding for something or other. I can’t help myself. I’m a sucker for a bargain.’ Ella pointed to a desk in the corner of the room. Charley could just about make out a small laptop amongst the chaos. ‘I get most things online. It’s a lot easier, don’t you think?’
‘I agree. I don’t have much time to do the shops anymore.’
Ella picked up another book and then squealed as she dropped it in favour of a diary poking out from underneath it. She shrieked and held it up to show Charley. ‘1997. The ye
ar I met Mark. I haven’t seen him in a while, though. He went to work in Spain and we lost contact.’ Ella shrugged. ‘Part of life, I guess, but so sad that we leave people behind. Good job we now have Facebook and Twitter. Are you on Twitter?’
‘Me? Not really. I opened an account but I couldn’t see the point of it. I’m on Facebook and that could eat up my time if I let it. Besides, I’m not that interesting.’
‘Everyone is interesting in some way.’
Charley reached over and picked up another book that had piqued her interest. ‘Kama Sutra?’ She giggled, opening it. A few handwritten notes fell out and onto the carpet. ‘Oops, sorry.’ She dived forward to pick them up.
‘Hey! Give those back.’ Ella snatched them from her suddenly. ‘You can’t look at whatever you want to.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t see anything.’
‘Some of my things are private. That’s the trouble with people nowadays. Nosy, nosy.’ Ella pushed the papers back into the book and closed it with a bang.
The intensity of Ella’s stare made Charley’s skin crawl for a moment. Then, suddenly Ella’s face cleared and she smiled again.
‘Sorry. More wine?’
Ten minutes later, Charley let herself into her flat and closed the door with a sigh of relief. Because she didn’t know Ella very well yet, she’d been surprised with her little outburst. She was obviously a secretive person and Charley didn’t have a problem with that. But had she known there were notes pushed inside the book that she wasn’t meant to see, she would never have picked it up. She hadn’t even seen what was written on them; at least that would have made Ella’s reaction a bit more understandable.
Putting the episode out of her mind, she ran a bath, removed her clothes, and sank deep into the hot water. As her body started to relax into it, she hoped there wasn’t any more to come.
Ella ran a hand through her hair, made a fist, and pulled at it sharply. She picked up what remained of the wine and poured it into her glass. Shit, she could feel the pressure building; she’d have to go out now. She began to pace the room. Why had Charley left so quickly?
Watching Over You Page 5
