by Lynda Renham
‘Because we ain’t,’ says one defiantly. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
Nothing as it happens. Their father has already been done twice for grievous bodily harm to interfering neighbours and I don’t want to be next on the list, thank you very much. It comes to something when you’re scared to answer back to ten-year-olds.
There’s no sign of Matt Fisher. There’s just a girl sitting on the steps of the entrance. Most likely she’s shut herself out. I nod as I walk towards the doors and she jumps up.
‘Rosie,’ she says.
I turn. It’s Holly, Archie’s granddaughter. What is she doing here?
‘I asked someone on the estate where your flat was,’ she says.
Her face is red and blotchy. She’s clearly been crying. This is all I need. I really don’t want trouble with ‘up her own arse’ Moira. Not as I’m just about to move into my new flat.
‘Holly?’ I question, just to be sure. She bursts into floods of tears and rushes towards me.
‘Oh Rosie, I didn’t know where to go.’
Oh dear, this doesn’t bode well, does it? A sobbing teenager sitting on the steps of your home nearly always spells trouble doesn’t it? I’ve got enough trouble on my doorstep with Frank’s legacy. I don’t need any more, thank you very much. Talking of Frank, I really ought to get a headstone. I’ve not mentioned it to Doris or Shirl because they’ll only tell me I can get a cheap one on eBay. That’s a thought, though isn’t it? I wonder if you can get cheap headstones on the internet. For all I know there could be a Tombs R Us. After all, it’s not something you look for every day is it, so how would you know? Maybe they do reconditioned ones. I don’t mind one of those. Frank’s a popular name. There’s a good chance that there are a lot of Frank headstones that went wrong. Frank was dyslexic anyway, so he wouldn’t care if the spelling wasn’t right and who’s going to be looking at it? I certainly shan’t bother. Sam might, but he’s a man and most likely won’t notice if the spelling is wrong. I’ll look on Google. I don’t want to be spending hundreds on a tombstone for that two-timing whatsit do I?
‘Whatever is wrong?’ I ask Holly.
She looks around and whispers, ‘Can we go to your flat?’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Your mum …’
‘Is going to kill me,’ she blurts out and promptly burst into tears again.
‘Now, come on. You can’t keep crying like this. It’s ridiculous. You can come up for a cup of tea but then you must go home.’
‘Thanks Rosie.’
I can almost hear Frank’s voice. ‘You’re daft you are, Rosie.’ I was daft alright. Fancy not realising your husband is playing away. Only a dimwit like me wouldn’t realise. I only hope that Matt Fisher isn’t outside my flat. If Holly has a run in with him, Moira will have my guts for garters. By the time she’s finished I’ll be lucky to have a job sweeping the streets.
Holly heads straight for the lift.
‘I don’t normally use that,’ I say.
‘Why not, what floor are you on?’
‘The sixth but it doesn’t take long to go up the stairs.’
‘I can’t do that,’ pouts Holly. ‘I’ve been sick.’
I look to the kids sitting on the wall. I wouldn’t put it past them to muck around with the buttons.
‘Come on,’ says Holly getting in.
It stinks of urine. Holly puts her hand over her nose.
‘Disgusting,’ she mutters. ‘Destiny’s lift isn’t this bad.’
Lucky Destiny, she’s obviously in the best part of the Tradmore Estate.
The lift door opens and we both take a deep breath. There’s no Matt Fisher or his puny little sidekick. What a relief. But I don’t understand it. That day in Waitrose he made it clear he was coming after me for his money, so where is he? Not that I’m keen to see him, you understand.
I wasn’t expecting company, so the place isn’t as tidy as usual. I drop my shopping bags onto the couch. It was a relief not having to drag those up six flights. Holly doesn’t seem to notice the mess and hurries straight to the loo where I hear her throwing up. My eyes land on the copy of Wuthering Heights that I’m reading and with a jolt I remember Archie’s book. I’d forgotten to post it.
‘Are you okay Holly?’ I call.
‘Yeah, I think so.’
I fill the kettle and wait for her to come out. She looks awful when she finally does emerge.
‘You’ve got someone’s ashes in your loo,’ she says.
‘Yes. They’re my husband’s.’
‘Why are they in the loo?’
‘Because it’s the best place for them,’ I say honestly.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she says.
Talk about drop a clanger. My heart sinks.
‘I didn’t know who else to turn to. Then I thought of you. Will you help me get rid of it?’
‘What!’ I gasp.
‘I thought you’d know where to go.’
‘Why would I know where to go?’
‘I don’t know, I just thought …’
‘You just thought that because I live on the Tradmore Estate I’d know all about abortions.’
She fell onto the couch and dropped her head into her hands.
‘I can’t go to the doctor. They’ll tell my mum, won’t they?’
‘I don’t know, probably not as you’re over sixteen. Are you absolutely sure you’re pregnant?’
‘I bought a pregnancy test from the pharmacy.’
I sigh.
‘You will help me won’t you Rosie?’
It never rains but it pours.
Chapter Forty-Five
Alfred
I scoop up the Saga holiday brochures and sling them into the recycle bin. I’ve got no interest in Paris now. It’s no fun travelling on your own. Margaret walks in with her basket of cleaning materials.
‘I’ve only done one hour,’ she says accusingly. ‘I’m booked to do two. But I can’t make work where there isn’t any.’
‘No, I’m sorry about that,’ I say.
I don’t know why I’m apologising for being clean.
‘I’ll have to speak to Becky. One hour is no good to me,’ she says briskly.
‘Fine,’ I say dismissively. I don’t like her anyway. She’s got the personality of a flea. Cleo doesn’t like her either. She dives under the duvet as soon as Margaret arrives.
‘I’ll be off then.’
‘Okay,’ I say.
No angel cake for this one. She’s far from an angel. The door slams and I sigh with relief. I’m just about to make a cup of tea when there’s a knock.
‘Who is it?’ I ask.
I’m not in the mood for people peddling stuff at the door.
‘It’s me, Holly.’
‘Hold on love,’ I say unlocking the door. I swing it back to see a tearful Holly and standing at the side of her is Rosie.
‘Rosie,’ I say surprised.
‘I wouldn’t have bothered you Archie but …’ she says nervously.
She’s embarrassed and so she should be. If she hadn’t wanted my house, all she had to do was say so.
‘It’s no bother, come in both of you,’ I say, although I’m feeling far from gracious.
Holly sniffs and wipes her eyes.
‘What’s up with you?’ I ask.
‘Rosie will tell you,’ she says and hurries into the living room.
I look at Rosie. It’s good to see her, although I can’t help feeling cross. She hands me a book.
‘I didn’t get to give you this back.’
I don’t understand what on earth is going on.
‘I’d like to know why you stopped coming,’ I say bluntly. ‘Out of the blue, no explanation, honestly Rosie, I expected more from you.’
No point beating about the bush. It was hurtful what she did, and I want her to know it.
‘Can we talk about Holly first?’ she asks, blushing.
She looks harassed and anxious. If Matt Fisher has been to see her, I�
��ll have him.
‘Matt Fisher hasn’t been harassing you, has he?’
She shakes her head.
‘Grandad,’ calls Holly.
Rosie walks into the living room and I follow.
‘What’s going on Holly?’ I ask.
‘I didn’t want to tell you, but Rosie said I had to. She said she wouldn’t help me unless you knew.’
‘Knew what?’ I say angrily.
‘I’m pregnant Grandad.’
‘You’re what?’
Surely I misheard. Of course I did. My hearing isn’t all it used to be. Maybe I should get some hearing aids after all.
‘Sit down, Archie,’ says Rosie. ‘I’ll make a cuppa.’
‘I’m having a baby,’ says Holly, ramming it home.
‘How the hell did you get pregnant?’ I ask shocked and let me tell you, it takes a lot to shock me.
‘The usual way,’ says Rosie calmly, walking into the kitchen.
‘Does your mother know?’
The minute I ask I realise what a stupid question that is. I’d have heard the ruckus all the way from Gidea Park if Moira knew.
‘I can’t tell Mum,’ says Holly tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘You silly mare,’ I say before thinking. ‘Why didn’t you go on the pill? Who is he?’
‘Archie,’ says Rosie, coming in with a pot of tea. ‘She’s really in a state.’
‘I don’t care if she’s in a state. What were you doing worrying Rosie with this?’ I say.
I can feel my blood pressure rising.
‘I didn’t know who else to go to. I thought Rosie would be able to help.’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘Archie,’ says Rosie.
‘You’re sounding like my Cath,’ I say, turning to Rosie.
‘Sorry.’
‘Why did you think Rosie would be able to help?’
‘Because … because …’
‘I live on the Tradmore Estate,’ says Rosie, in a matter-of-fact tone.
‘Holly, what’s wrong with you?’ I say crossly.
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do.’
I look to Rosie. She shrugs.
‘Don’t look at me. I’m not Vera Drake. I don’t do backstreet abortions. I suggest she tells her mum and gets it over and done with.’
I sit down and take the teacup from Rosie.
‘Why did you stop coming. Becky won’t tell me anything. She treats me like some old codger who doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.’
Rosie smiles and it lightens the atmosphere.
‘Moira thought I was after your money and told me I wasn’t needed any more,’ she says flatly.
‘You what?’ I thunder.
I don’t believe I’m hearing this.
‘After my money?’ I echo. ‘Do they think I’m stupid?’
‘Apparently I shouldn’t fraternise with the clients and I did have shepherd’s pie with you.’
‘What a load of old bollocks.’
‘Grandad,’ scolds Holly.
‘You’ve no right telling me off, not the predicament you’re in.’
Rosie hands Holly a cup of tea and she takes it gratefully.
‘What are we going to do?’ Holly asks.
‘Firstly, Rosie, you’re coming back as my cleaner and secondly, we’re going to have all this out with your mother, Holly.’
Rosie sighs and sits down.
‘Oh dear,’ she says
Holly wipes her eyes.
‘I think that’s a bad idea.’
‘I don’t have any others,’ I say.
Chapter Forty-Six
Sam and Moira
Sam was still thinking about Moira. For some reason he couldn’t get her out of his head. She was a stuck-up little madam that’s for sure, more strung out than an elastic band. They had a nice house too. He couldn’t imagine why she was getting so uptight about her father-in-law’s money. It’s not like she hadn’t got any of her own. As if his mum would be after someone’s money. He worried about his mum. Maybe this new little flat would make a difference; as long as that Matt Fisher didn’t come after her. Honestly, what had been wrong with his old man, getting involved with people like that? You needed your head examined borrowing money from loan sharks. He’d heard what Matt Fisher did to people. He ought to phone the police, but Mum would go spare if he did that. He wished he had a bigger house. She’d be able to come and live with him and Mike. When he’d made the last payment on the garage perhaps he’d look at houses. The garage would be his in a year. Mum could sell her little flat and move in with him and Michael then. Anyway, he decided, if Matt Fisher bothered her again then they’d phone the police and that’s that, whether Mum liked it or not.
‘I’m making a brew,’ said Joe, breaking into his thoughts. ‘You want one?’
‘Sure,’ said Sam sliding beneath a shiny new Audi.
It was late night shopping tonight. Maybe he’d pop to Lakeside. He ought to get some presents. They needed decorations for the tree too. Christmas was looming. Snow was forecast. He sighed. As if the garage wasn’t cold enough.
Joe slid a mug of steaming tea under the car.
‘That should warm you up.’
‘Thanks mate.’
He was so busy working on the Audi and singing along with the radio that he didn’t really notice the clicking of heels in the workshop. It was only when he turned and saw a shiny black pair of heels at the side of him that he realised she was in the garage. He looked up at the slim legs and heard a voice say,
‘Is that Sam Foster?’
There was a slight tremble to her voice. He recognised it immediately. Well I never, he thought. He slid out from under the car and forced his eyes from her legs. Moira stepped back and looked shyly at him.
‘Hello,’ he said, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands. He looked beyond her to the Range Rover outside.
‘The garage couldn’t look at it until the end of the week and they didn’t have a courtesy car so …’ the words came out in a rush.
‘You thought of me?’
‘I just wondered if …’
‘It’s a long way to come from Upminster.’
She flushed. She looked more vulnerable when she blushed, Sam thought.
‘Well, if you can’t do it,’ she said turning.
‘I never said I couldn’t do it.’
She stopped.
‘How urgently do you need it?’ he asked.
‘As soon as possible,’ she said.
She was back to her old uppity self and Sam smiled.
‘Yeah, well, that probably won’t be possible.’
‘You’re not being very helpful,’ she snapped.
‘Well, there are other garages,’ he said dismissively, bending back to the Audi.
‘Alright,’ she said, changing her tone. ‘Can you just take a look at it for me?’
‘Right now?’
‘If you don’t mind?’
‘Take a seat in the office. I’ll look at it in a bit.’
‘Oh but …’
‘Take it or leave it,’ he said sharply.
She took a step back at his firmness.
‘Okay,’ she said meekly strolling into the office.
‘Do you have the keys?’ he asked, stopping her.
‘Oh, yes of course,’ she said handing them over.
Her hand touched his and he was amazed at the sensations that produced. She blushed again and hurried into the office.
‘You want me to bring in the Range Rover?’ asked Joe.
‘No, I’ll do it,’ said Sam.
The inside of the car smelt of Moira’s perfume and he wondered what it was; an expensive one, no doubt. She certainly had expensive tastes. He drove it into the garage and slid underneath to investigate the oil leak. Odd she’d come here. There were plenty of garages in Gidea Park. He wondered why she hadn’t gone to one of them.
*
Moira watched him through the doorway o
f the office. She was still shaking. How ridiculous. She’d started trembling as she got near the garage and hadn’t stopped since. This was madness. She watched him slide his firm body out from under the Range Rover. He strolled confidently into the office and nodded at her.
‘I can do it for you. It’ll take about an hour. You can bring it back tomorrow or wait and I’ll do it in a bit.’
She thought of Harry and dinner and checked the time on her phone.
‘What time do you think it will be ready?’
‘I don’t know. Sometime after six I imagine.’
‘Oh, I …’
‘Bring it back tomorrow then. Joe can look at it in the morning.’
‘I’d rather you look at it,’ she said.
‘I’ve got other jobs on tomorrow,’ he said pulling off his top.
She was unprepared and didn’t have time to turn her face away. Moira couldn’t take her eyes off his toned body. He pulled on a clean top and faced her.
‘What do you want to do?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘What do you want to do about your car?’
‘I’ll wait,’ she said decisively.
‘Right, there’s a kettle over there and some mugs. Feel free to make yourself a cup of tea.’
Chapter Forty-Seven
Rosie
I hurry to the pub. I’d forgotten I’d agreed to meet Doris and Shirl for a Christmas dinner. It’s started to snow, and my fingers are frozen. The smell of beer and chips greet me at the door of the pub. I’m feeling much happier. It will be nice cleaning for Archie again. What a muddle though. I don’t know what to do about the flat now. I didn’t like to ask Archie about his house. Not with all that Holly malarkey going on. I’m really glad I won’t be around when they tell Moira that Holly is up the duff. That’s going to be a shock, not to mention the bollocking Archie will no doubt give her. I wouldn’t like to be in Moira’s shoes.
Doris and Shirl are all dolled up.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know we were tarting ourselves up.’
‘We’re not really,’ says Shirl.
Not much. I could smell her Estee Lauder Youth Dew perfume the minute I opened the doors.
‘Becky is coming, and Crabbers,’ says Doris, avoiding my eyes.
‘Crabbers?’ I repeat.