Calamity in Camberwell

by Alice Castle

Beth wondered if Babs, who from memory was mid-thirties, childless, and rather Amazonian, was enjoying having sole custody of Tim these days, with all that it suddenly entailed.

  She also wondered what on earth Jen’s terribly important IT project was. There’d certainly been no signs of flat-out striving last night, unless it was over Jeff’s garden revamp. Beth knew that Jen’s workload could suddenly get intense – as a freelance herself, she was well aware that it was impossible to turn down commissions for fear one would never be asked again – but Jen hadn’t seemed at all busy last night. And last week, hadn’t she just gone off on a little midweek jaunt with Jeff? She’d never do that with deadlines looming.

  As Tim chuntered on about his own job at one of the large accountancy firms in the city, Beth suddenly saw the light. Jen, fed up with Tim’s years of perfidy and his constant weasel-like behaviour, was merely playing him at his own game, getting a bit of free childcare and a break into the bargain. But a break from her beloved daughter? They’d always been inseparable, as close as any mother and daughter she’d seen. To Beth, lying to Tim seemed fair enough, in the circumstances – a little bit of payback for all that had gone before. Side-stepping her own daughter was odd, though. There was no escaping it. There was definitely something up with Jen.

  The thought nagged at her throughout the morning at work, but Beth was honest enough with herself to know that probably meant she was just trying to avoid thinking about something else. In this case, she was pretty certain it was what she was beginning to call the Dating Issue.

  She had a lot of problems with the whole idea, but there was one stumbling block above all that she really couldn’t clamber over. Meeting someone online was so unromantic. All the great love stories featured a ‘meet cute’, where the heroine was spurned by the hero at a ball, or spotted him playing piano in a bar and couldn’t get him out of her mind. Her own story was nearly as good as they came. She’d first met James at sunset, on Blackfriars Bridge, when she’d dropped a satchelful of papers and he’d helped her scurry about and gather them up before they blew into the Thames.

  Waterloo Bridge would have been even better. For her, it had the finest view in the world, with the London Eye and the Oxo Tower, the South Bank and National Theatre, all lit up like showgirls on a night out. It had also had a song written about it. But she’d take Blackfriars; it had been quite magical enough for her.

  She’d had an awful day at the newspaper she’d then worked for, being shouted at by the news editor for getting scooped on a story by a rival. But meeting this kind stranger had turned that, and the rest of her life, around. It couldn’t have been a more promising beginning. She’d been a damsel in distress, he’d definitely been her knight in shining armour, and the little thank-you drink she’d insisted on buying him in a seedy bar on The Strand – an act of very uncharacteristic boldness on her part – had led to all this. And to Ben.

  ‘I swiped right as soon as I saw him,’ just wasn’t going to cut it. It was hardly a story to regale the grandchildren with.

  On the other hand, when did she ever meet a single man? Everyone in the vicinity was taken, and she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had even looked at her in that certain way.

  Although a little voice in her head did keep squeaking, ‘What about when Harry York walked into Wyatt’s on the day of the murder, and everything seemed to stand still?’

  That had certainly been one of the most memorable mornings of Beth’s life. Though whether that was because it had involved a freshly slaughtered corpse, or the commanding figure of Inspector York – his blond hair ruffled and the collar of his pea coat turned up – she couldn’t say. He’d definitely given her a few smouldering looks over the course of their acquaintance. But mostly when he was livid. He’d also given her some glances that suggested strangling was much too good for her, and done his fair share of shouty-crackers yelling as well, which she definitely wasn’t at all keen on.

  No, things had never got off the ground with York, which was a shame, because Ben had thought he was marvellous – until the last outbreak of shouting, anyway. And he’d seemed to be fond of the boy in return. York did look as though he might actually be capable of doing DIY as well.

  But it was no good thinking about him. That window, if it had ever even been open a crack, was now firmly closed and thoroughly double-glazed over. It was ages since their last encounter, and it was extremely unlikely they’d ever run into one another again. She certainly wasn’t about to bump anyone off to get his attention, put it that way.

  The sad truth was that if Beth wanted to date, she’d just have to stop hoping for romance, and approach the whole thing in a more matter-of-fact way. That might mean some of the twinkly magic was gone, but it might just help her to get the job done. Then maybe everyone would get off her back.

  With a new, professional attitude, Beth strode off at lunchtime to get more help from her guru, Janice. As she’d hoped, Lily and Sam were already in the staff dining room, munching away at the excellent sandwiches and chatting animatedly, and they told her Janice was on her way. As soon as she plonked her tray down, Lily asked her, ‘So? How’s it going?’

  ‘Yeah, great thanks, you?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, yes, but how about the dating? Met anyone?’

  ‘Well, not yet. It’s early days, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not really, Beth. You can get a date in minutes on Tinder. How long have you had the app, exactly?’ said Sam.

  Under this sort of scrutiny, Beth started to blush. ‘To be honest, girls, I’ve had a tiny bit of a setback.’

  ‘What happened? Not a pervert? What was he, a boob man?’ Sam leaned in to get all the details.

  ‘Toe sucker?’ said Lily understandingly.

  ‘No, no! Does that happen? God, I hadn’t even thought to worry about that sort of thing yet,’ said Beth, shrinking away in alarm. ‘Although I suppose the problem is a bit foot-related. But it’s mine that are the trouble.’

  The girls looked at her blankly.

  ‘Well, they just got a bit cold,’ said Beth, laughing delightedly at her own joke, then realising no-one else was joining in.

  The pause that followed told her she was definitely on a different humour wavelength from the two girls. They finally smiled weakly, then started to remonstrate with her. ‘But you’ve got to go on, Beth! You never know. The perfect man could be on there right now, and you’re missing him.’

  ‘Well, yeees,’ said Beth, about to reveal her new resolution to plough on no matter how unconvinced she was that Mr Right was lurking in her phone. But she didn’t get a chance. Both women started to speak at once, just as Janice sat down.

  ‘What’s all this?’ she asked, looking from girl to girl.

  ‘Beth’s only chickening out of Tinder,’ said Sam with a shrug.

  ‘I’m not, I’m just… regrouping,’ said Beth. ‘I admit, I did temporarily delete the app, yes, but…’ She started to explain, but was drowned out again. ‘Look, don’t worry, I can get it back,’ she said.

  ‘You certainly can,’ said Janice, unceremoniously taking Beth’s phone and stabbing away at it. ‘Here we go,’ she said. Magically, Tinder descended from the Cloud, and the icon popped back up on Beth’s phone.

  ‘That’s much better, isn’t it?’ said Janice, as though a life-threatening crisis had been averted.

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know why you’re all so bothered – though it’s lovely that you are,’ Beth added quickly.

  ‘We just want you to have a happy-ever-after. None of us grows out of that, do we?’ Janice said, while Lily and Sam nodded sagely.

  ‘Do you think we actually get brainwashed by all those fairy stories, or do you think we’d want that ending innately anyway?’ Beth, who’d adored Cinderella as a child, and felt she’d got her version of the story with James, always wondered how deep the programming really went. Was it her biological destiny she was after, or a Disney story? Both were equally beguiling, that was the trouble.

 
Janice, Sam, and Lily just looked at her as though she were mad.

  ‘Look, it’s nearly time to get back to work. Let’s not worry about all the whys and wherefores, let’s just try and get you a date,’ said Janice firmly. ‘It’s all very well you uploading the app again. But you’ve been there, done that. Now you need to stop playing about and actually pick someone to talk to, doesn’t she, girls?’ she appealed to her sisters in crime. Lily and Sam agreed fervently.

  ‘Oh, it’ll take ages to redo my profile…’ Beth prevaricated.

  ‘Oh no it won’t,’ said Janice, inexorable as a panto dame. ‘If you’ve just restored it, then it’ll all still be there from before. Look,’ she said triumphantly, opening up Tinder and waving the phone around. ‘Now, let’s find someone really good.’

  ‘Don’t you mean really bad?’ said Sam with a wink.

  ‘Absolutely not, not the first time anyway,’ said Janice reprovingly. ‘And remember, Beth, you’re just going for a coffee. It’s like an interview, really, to see whether you like each other and whether it’s worth going on an actual date.’

  ‘You mean I’ve been hesitating and hesitating, and it’s not even real dating at all, just some sort of pre-selection process?’

  ‘Well, exactly,’ said Janice. ‘Absolutely nothing to be scared of, is there, girls?’

  Was Beth imagining it, or did Janice give Lily and Sam a swift warning glance? If she did, it worked, and both girls were suddenly nodding vigorously. ‘Couldn’t be easier.’ ‘Nothing to it,’ they chorused.

  ‘All right then,’ said Beth tentatively. ‘Who do you think looks nice?’

  ‘Well, that’s up to you, honey. One man’s meat, and all that,’ said Janice with a twinkle, knowing full well that in her own husband, she’d got the whole of Dulwich’s favourite prime cut.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Beth, scrolling. ‘I don’t know. They all look, sort of, I don’t know… needy.’

  ‘Well they are, of course,’ said Sam smartly. ‘They need you.’

  Beth looked up at her, but Sam’s expression was so innocent that she let it go. ‘Well, I suppose this one looks sort of ok,’ she said tentatively, showing the screen to the others. Immediately, a chorus went up. ‘Not him!’

  ‘Why on earth not? He doesn’t look too bad – all his own teeth, look at that smile.’

  ‘Well, yes, but…’ Lily winced.

  ‘The thing is…’ said Sam.

  ‘He’s not bad looking, though, is he?’ said Beth, surprised at the lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘Not bad looking? Do you know who that is, Beth?’ said Janice, sounding a little exasperated. ‘Oh come on, don’t you recognise Ryan Gosling when you see him? Someone’s just using his picture. You can bet he looks nothing like that at all.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Beth, deflated. ‘That explains why I actually thought he was quite attractive. I should go to the movies more. The only things I see now are superhero films with Ben. He’s ten,’ she explained apologetically to Sam and Lily. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen a man who isn’t wearing a mask and a Lycra bodysuit for years.’

  ‘Well, you can probably find loads just like that on Tinder,’ said Sam. ‘Joking!’ she added swiftly. ‘We should go on a girls’ movie night, refresh your cultural references a bit. But that’s only after you’ve done a bit of dating.’

  Why did Beth feel as though she was being made to do a painful bit of homework, with no treats until she’d finished it to these three strict teachers’ specifications? Surely dating was meant to be fun? Or was she just hopelessly old-fashioned about the whole thing? On second thoughts, she didn’t really need an answer to that. It was quite obvious she was stuck in some sort of Jurassic dating past, whereas these women – and probably everyone else she knew – had moved into a sleek cyber-future where the worry was not how you met someone, but whether you liked them enough to progress beyond a hot beverage. Luckily, the bell rang, signalling the daily stampede back to the classrooms after lunch.

  ‘Ok, Beth, so next time we meet, you’re to have gone on at least one date, and we want to hear every detail,’ said Lily.

  ‘That’s everything, mind,’ said Sam.

  Janice lingered a little after the others had rushed away, gathering up her things in a slow and stately fashion and using both hands to push herself up from the table, bump ascending first. ‘You know you actually don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to?’ she said, kind as ever. ‘But it is probably time, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose it is,’ agreed Beth with a sigh.

  Chapter Seven

  For once, with a displacement activity that was less compelling than her job, Beth got loads of work done that afternoon. She’d found a rich new source of information about Thomas Wyatt’s Caribbean activities in the form of the ships’ manifests from his fleet, which ferried coffee and tobacco back to Britain and then, chillingly, snatched slaves from Africa on the round trip to drag off to the island plantations as free labour.

  It made grim reading, but Beth knew that it would make a fascinating display, once she’d chosen the best pull-quotes to tease out of the mass of documentation. She was planning to have the original handwriting – the beautiful curling copperplate of Sir Thomas’s meticulous head clerk – blown up in size and reproduced on boards, leading visitors round the exhibition space. There weren’t many surviving artefacts she could use to punctuate the mass of words, but she’d found pictures of comparable ships, like the tea clipper, Cutty Sark, which was in dry dock at Greenwich. They would also have glass cases breaking up the display, containing samples of sugar, coffee, and tobacco – Sir Thomas’s key money-spinners. These would obviously not be authentic; Beth was planning to stock up on own-label, modern-day versions on one of her trips to the Camberwell Morrisons. There was no point in wasting money on goods no-one would ever enjoy. But the fact that commodities like these were now so cheap and plentiful was, in part, due to the heinous activities of men like Wyatt developing trade routes and methods of intensive farming – at huge cost, of course, to those he’d exploited.

  In one display case, which she thought would exert a horrible fascination, she was planning to show some of the glass beads that, according to the ledgers, were used to entice people onto the ships and into a life of slavery. They wouldn’t, of course, be the original beads, but Beth was sure that a pile of pretty paste baubles, sourced from the nearest Hobbycraft shop, would still provide quite a compelling effect.

  It was 3.30pm before she knew it, and she faced the usual sprint down to the Village Primary for Ben. When she got there, only a few minutes late, three-quarters of his class was still milling around but there was no sign of Ben. With a flash of annoyance, she remembered at last that it was his day for extra reading after class. She’d been so wrapped up in work she’d completely forgotten.

  Although Ben’s previous reading helper had abandoned her post at very short notice, the school had been swift to find a replacement. This time, it was a mother with kids in the lower reaches of the school, who was glad to dip her toes back into employment in the easy stages offered by a few hours here and there before looking for something more onerous. Beth was, in any case, pretty convinced that Ben no longer needed any extra work on his reading, but as she was paying a fortune for Belinda’s tuition, she’d graciously accepted the school’s free help when it was offered, and hoped he’d derive some benefit from it. You never knew, it might tip the scales when it came to the much-dreaded entrance exams.

  Just as she was deciding what to do with the extra twenty minutes she unexpectedly had on her hands, one of the other mothers sidled up to her. ‘Excuse me, are you Ben’s mum?’ she asked.

  Startled, Beth realised that the woman wasn’t a mother at all. Rather, it was Tim’s partner, Babs. An attractive woman somewhere in her thirties, she had the sort of physique you only got from spending, in Beth’s view, far too long in the gym. Babs also had one of those heart-shaped faces she’d always envied, allied to large brown eyes and a smooth a
nd unlined forehead. She was dressed from head to toe in black, but it wasn’t the Sweaty Betty leggings and sweatshirt ensemble many of the mums lived in. Instead, she was in chic separates – the sort that women’s magazines called a ‘capsule wardrobe’, which Beth knew she would be incapable of mustering, even if her life depended on it. A beautiful teal cashmere scarf was looped round her neck in an oh-so-casual fashion that looked as though it had taken months to achieve. Add a small and classy handbag, definitely not big enough to stuff a school project into at the last moment, and it couldn’t be any clearer that this woman’s uterus had never been brought low by a passenger.

  ‘Yep, that’s right, I’m his mum,’ said Beth, a little wary. For a long while, Babs had been spoken of as pretty much the anti-Christ. Playground chatter condemned Tim, Jessica’s father, as weak and indecisive – but then he was a man. The real villain of the piece, as far as many of the mums were concerned, was always the Other Woman. She had knowingly lured a father away from his child, and broken Jen’s heart into the bargain.

  Beth looked around to see who would be watching her consort with the enemy. But then she thought, what the hell? It was all ages ago now. Jen was safely remarried – she hoped – and they all had to move on. She smiled at the woman encouragingly.

  It was all Babs needed. She edged closer, no longer seeming worried that she might get a sharp kick in the shins, and smiled a little tremulously in return.

  ‘It’s just that I’m waiting for Jess, and there’s been no sign of her.’

  ‘Oh, I’m doing the same with Ben. I completely forgot he was doing extra reading after school today. I still haven’t got used to the new timetable,’ Beth said, rolling her eyes. ‘Is Jess doing extra reading, too?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but she could be, I’ve no idea. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around to ask…’

  ‘No, the teachers do all scarper the moment they can, unless they’re on duty. And they tend to keep a bit of a low profile even if they are.’ Beth didn’t blame them. She’d hide too, instead of being held at bay by a mass of mummies, all with very particular concerns about their own darling offspring and no interest at all in the teacher’s personal space or anyone else’s child. ‘Have you tried asking Tim?’