by Edie Baylis
Gwen swallowed the lump forming in her throat. That business with Jacky losing his wife had been a horrible time. Horrible. And the less she thought about that, the better.
All the dancing girls had loved mothering Jonah, but out of all of them, it was always her he’d come to when tumbling off the stage or thirsty.
Only a couple of years after that, the then adolescent Jonah developed more of an interest in watching the dancing girls and before she knew it, he was old enough to be brought into the firm for real. Despite him being one of the best and most vicious enforcers his father had, they’d always maintained their unlikely friendship.
Gwen smiled to herself. She would probably describe their relationship as a pseudo mother/big sister, but when push came to shove, Jonah was now her boss and she never overstepped the mark with her opinion – unless he outright asked her to.
She respected Jonah immensely, but she didn’t respect Lena.
What he saw in the conceited jumped-up loudmouth, short of her over-inflated tits, was a mystery. But regardless of her personal opinion, she wouldn’t put up with the scrawny bitch running amok over her girls just because she believed she now had the right to do so.
Gwen scowled. Girlfriend or not, Jonah wouldn’t let anyone balls up the business, so now Lena had taken it upon herself to fire two of the dancers, leaving them all in the shit for tonight’s show, she had no choice but to let him know the woman was making waves.
Peering through the small glass window of the dressing room door, Gwen watched Lena swigging from a vodka bottle then do a line of coke. Jonah wouldn’t much like that either. Despite the firm dealing in cocaine, amongst other things, Gwen knew Jonah was one of the few who didn’t partake personally in the white stuff. It was a hard and fast rule that no one on his payroll took gear under the company roof and she didn’t expect his live-in tart to be exempt from that rule.
Gwen’s hazel eyes fixed on Lena still swigging from the vodka whilst tapping out a message on her jewel-encrusted iPhone with those hideous talons of hers. Losing her patience, she pushed open the door, forcing Lena to hastily scoop her drug paraphernalia from the table into her oversized bag.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘I didn’t realise you were in here, Lena! Are you looking for Jonah?’ Gwen enjoyed the uncomfortable look on Lena’s plastic face.
Lena stared at Gwen contemptuously. ‘I don’t think I have to explain that, but if you must know, I’m planning on surprising him.’
Gwen shook her head, her eyes cold. Lena was only ever here when she wanted to stir shit.
TEAGAN MADE HER WAY carefully down the wide staircase, careful not to trip on the threadbare carpet runner. Keeping hold of the sticky banister, the thought flashed through her mind as to why none of the previous home helps hadn’t done more to keep the place in, for want of a better word, cleaner or in a better state of repair. She shrugged. It was none of her business, but she’d make a start with some decent cleaning as one of the first things she undertook.
Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Teagan glanced down the hallway, realising she had no way of knowing where Mrs Adams may have gone and a flash of unease stirred.
Was the lady a danger to herself or have a habit of wandering off unannounced? She’d taken on a huge amount of responsibility being here 24/7 with no background knowledge of the situation. It was now her responsibility to look after the woman, ensuring no harm came to her, but how could she do that if she didn’t know what she was up against? She’d have to get in contact with the daughter to get a proper low down on what her mother was like and find out exactly how severe her dementia was.
She pulled Helen’s business card from her pocket:
Helen Shepherd BSB MNAEA
Shepherd, Percival and Proctor Estate Agents
Tel: 01628 673244
Email: [email protected]
She’d call first thing in the morning and see if they could have a quick chat.
‘Mrs Adams?’ Teagan called, shoving the business card back in her pocket. She stuck her head around the sitting room door, but to her dismay found it empty. ‘Mrs Adams?’ she called again, this time louder as she apprehensively made her way down the hallway, conscious that she felt to be trespassing. She’d previously noticed a lot of the rooms upstairs were closed; the doors tightly shut. She hadn’t attempted to open any of them, even though she’d been tempted.
Detecting music, Teagan followed the sound. Moving through a door into another cluttered room, she continued through more double doors, the music getting louder and with relief, spotted Mrs Adams thumbing through records in a large case next to an old bulky stereo system.
She glanced around this room also jam-packed with knick knacks and photographs, trying to deduce what music was playing. She’d heard it before – a long time ago at her nan’s house - some funny sounding stuff from the 50s or 60s. Was it Fats Domino or something like that?
‘Mrs Adams?’ Teagan shouted, hoping to be heard over the music.
The old lady swung around, surprisingly supple, her wide blue eyes holding an expression of hopeful anticipation and then on seeing Teagan, disappointment.
‘Sorry,’ Teagan said, seeing Mrs Adams’ confused expression. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I...’
With a teeth curling screech, Mrs Adams scraped the needle from the record and the room fell into silence, leaving only the sound of birds drifting through the double doors from the garden.
‘I said, I’m sorry to have startled you,’ Teagan repeated. ‘I didn’t know where you were.’ She could still see confusion in the older lady’s eyes. ‘You said to come back down in half an hour? I’m Teagan, you booked me fr...’
Mrs Adams flapped her hand dismissively. ‘I know who you are, young lady. Despite what my children want you to believe, I’m not barking mad!’ She beckoned Teagan over. ‘I get caught up with the music, that’s all. It transports me back into another world.’ Her eyes tracked over to the window wistfully. ‘A better world...’
‘Lovely garden.’ Teagan watched Mrs Adams shaking her head slightly, perhaps to dismiss the train of thought in her mind.
‘Never mind that. Come and sit down.’ Mrs Adams patted the seat next to the chair she lowered herself into. She gestured to a small table complete with a small lamp with hanging jewels dripping from its shade and jug of something with sliced lemons floating in it. ‘I’ve made us some fresh lemonade. You can tell me all about yourself.’
Teagan made her way to the proffered chair. ‘I’m sure I should be the one making the lemonade for you, Mrs Adams. You’re paying me to come and l...’
‘Nonsense!’ Mrs Adams scoffed. ‘I’m not derelict! Neither am I dead! I’m more than capable, so come!’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And call me Dulcie. I hate being called Mrs Adams. It’s the wrong name.’
Teagan frowned. ‘The wrong name? I...’
Mrs Adams laughed, a tinkling musical sound. ‘Oh, take no notice of me. It’s an old joke. But please, I insist you call me Dulcie.’
Teagan picked up a glass. ‘Ok, thank you, Mrs Ad... Dulcie.’
Dulcie nodded in approval. ‘Much better!’ she grinned. ‘Now, tell me about yourself.’
‘Me? Well, erm... I’m twenty five and erm... Oh, I don’t know, there’s not a lot to tell really...’
Dulcie frowned. ‘Not a lot to tell? What a load of claptrap! A pretty young thing like you with nothing to say about your life? I doubt that! I like to know a bit about who is in my house.’
Teagan suddenly felt embarrassed as Mrs Adams scrutinised her with those sharp, all-seeing blue eyes.
‘No young man on the scene? You young things have so much freedom.’ She swept her arms around theatrically. ‘The whole world to explore at the touch of a button! Hopping on planes; jetting off here, there and everywhere.’
Teagan stumbled over what to say. ‘I... erm... I do have a boyfriend, his name’s Joe Singleton.’
Dulcie’s eyebrows raised high on her lined f
orehead and for the first time, Teagan noticed the eyebrows were pencilled on. ‘Well, he’s not a singleton anymore, is he? Not now he’s got you. Handsome, is he?’
Teagan’s eyes lit up. ‘We’re saving up to rent a flat. We’ve been together for three years and he’s, well... he’s everything to me.’
Dulcie raised her hands to her mouth in an extravagant gesture. ‘Oh, you poor soul! Instead of being with your handsome beau, you’re having to waste the best years of your life with only the company of old duffers like me!’
Teagan couldn’t help but giggle. ‘You’re not an old duffer!’
Dulcie pulled a face. ‘Oh, shut up! I am!’ She raised a pencilled eyebrow. ‘But I wasn’t always so old...’ Pushing herself out of the chair, she picked up one of the many photographs from the sideboard. Wiping dust from the edge of the frame, she glanced at the picture fondly, then passed it to Teagan. ‘That’s me!’
Teagan stared at the black and white photograph of a stunningly beautiful young woman wearing a sequinned leotard; one seamed stockinged shapely leg cocked behind the other, leaning side on against a gold-tipped cane. A small top hat perched jauntily and ringlets of blonde hair spilled out underneath whilst one eye stared inquisitively at the lens, the other forming a coquettish wink, framed by heavy false lashes. The pencilled-on eyebrows were very much the same ones that the lady in front of her sported, although on the photo they were heavier and more defined.
‘Wow! You look amazing!’ Teagan exclaimed.
Dulcie grinned happily. ‘Bit of a looker, wasn’t I? And to think I was convinced I could be thinner or prettier or, I don’t know... You mention it, I thought it! I wish I could have seen what age would do to me because I’d have shut up bloody moaning and been grateful!’
Teagan laughed, liking Dulcie Adams more and more by the minute. ‘You look like a film star. When was it taken?’
Dulcie reached for the photo and studied it again. ‘With that costume it must have been the Pegasus show at The Feathers, so 1962 or thereabouts. Possibly the start of 1963. It wasn’t long after I’d had Helen, my daughter.’
Teagan faltered. She’d noticed a lot of the photos and paraphernalia, especially in this room, centred around showbiz. Had Dulcie Adams been some kind of celebrity? How could she ask without being nosy?
‘The Feathers? Was that... Was that a theatre or...’
‘A club,’ Dulcie said. ‘Or rather it was. I presume it’s no longer there. It...’
Teagan blinked as Dulcie’s voice trailed off, her expression wistful once again. ‘So you were an actress?’
Snapping back to the here and now, Dulcie laughed. ‘No! Well, sort of... The Feathers is, was a club in Soho. I used to dance... Cabaret... Sing a bit... Other stuff. Lots of things... There were lots of people in the clubs in those days. Famous musicians, celebrities, gangsters...’ she continued, her gaze fixed through the double doors into the greenery of the garden.
‘Wow! How exciting!’ Teagan cried. ‘Was that where you met your husband?’
Dulcie slapped the picture face down. ‘Enough of that, I think. Drink your lemonade and let’s get on to what I expect during your time here, shall we?’
Five
MIKE POINTER SLAMMED his mouse on the desk, his face reddening with rage. He was past all this crap. Far too bloody old to learn new tricks.
Not the most patient man, he had little time for things that wasted his time. It had taken him years to get to grips with putting together an email for God’s sake, and as for sending them, that had taken even longer to get his head around.
He’d never fully understood or accepted this computer malarkey. In the early 90s when computers started becoming all the rage, he’d steered well clear. Paper was just fine, thank you. Everyone had managed perfectly well for hundreds of years without needing an oversized lump of whirring plastic to do anything, so he’d never understood how it could ever have become so popular. But it hadn’t just become popular, it had overtaken the bloody world.
He seethed silently. These days there was little that could be achieved unless it was done via computer; shopping, paying bills, booking appointments. Blah, blah, blah.
He was surprised the human race wasn’t extinct. And this social media garbage was even worse! People sitting in the same room with no one talking because they were all stuck in their own virtual worlds. Absolutely ridiculous, that’s what it was. And it was even more ridiculous because he didn’t understand it. And for once in his life, he needed to. He hated feeling incompetent, but that’s exactly how he felt. And that feeling didn’t sit well. Ever. His mother had done a good enough job of making him feeling inferior for pretty much as long as he could remember, so he didn’t need anything or anyone else doing that.
Guilt prickled. Almost at the end after a heart attack and then a bout of pneumonia, he knew it wouldn’t be long now for his mother. He’d visited her in hospital a few times – of course he had, but she still had the ability to make him feel utterly worthless.
Knowing that he would feel a lot better once she’d shuffled off this mortal coil, even without the apology he’d waited so long for, only intensified his guilt. But then she’d always made him feel guilty.
Mike’s eyes tracked back to the computer sitting on his desk like a gargoyle. Everything had been so much simpler when it had just been a case of putting adverts in Auto Trader, the local papers or every so often, a nice glossy double page in one of the top end motor magazines.
He’d had some cracking sales from those, but by God, they’d cost a bloody fortune! However, the well-off fell over themselves getting their hands on some of the motors he supplied and he was never unhappy to relieve them of their cash and cash was what he was short of right now.
Mike glanced around his large office decked out in fashionable contemporary furniture with the predictable potted plants for ‘ambience’. That’s what the interior designer had said as part of her over-priced upgrade to the overall look and feel of his showroom. He looked through the huge glass window spanning the width of his office out into the cavernous area of the showroom beyond and just had to hope that forking out for this place paid off because until it did, he was lumbered with another big debt to juggle.
Mike pushed his finger into the neck of his collar, loosening it a little. This money situation was getting to him. He’d been doing ok – not brilliantly, but ok. But the sinking realisation that the gamble he’d taken by taking on this new showroom had placed him well and truly out of his depth and he was sinking faster than he cared to admit. But he had to face facts – if something didn’t change, like a big something, he was fucked hence why it was vital to keep up with the times. And that meant computers.
He glared at the black screen, unwilling to nudge the mouse because that would mean the computer coming to life and taunting him.
Mike glanced back into the showroom to see Heath turning on the charm with a middle-aged lady eyeing a top of the range BMW. As well as being good with the punters, his son was a dab hand at computers. Good job, otherwise his adverts would still be confined to the defunct paper editions. But did he really want to relay to his son what a mess the business was really in?
He hadn’t even told Tammy, for Christ’s sake. His wife knew he’d been landed with a hefty tax bill back in April, but she didn’t know about the other mass of debts he’d accrued whilst attempting to up his game.
Mike raked his fingers through his hair, ignoring the sweat building at the base of his neck. Tammy was a good woman; she’d stuck with him from the start. She’d believed in him and he wanted to give her the life and house she deserved, but now it looked like he would even fail to keep the poxy house which he had managed to provide.
Mike stared at the gilt-framed clock on the wall. Only another hour until close. Snatching up his mobile, he resisted the usual urge to smash it to smithereens every time it told him his screen passcode was wrong. Something else he hated. Mobile phones... His passcode wasn’t bloody incorrect. He
knew what it was, thank you. His fingers were just too big for the piddly little thing to cope with.
Stabbing his finger on the phone screen, it finally unlocked and he clumsily tapped out a text:
Hi Tams, gong for drink with heave after wank. Put dinnr in oven. Wont be be b late. M
Scowling at the half-illiterate message, Mike pressed send. Thanks to the super-helpful predictive text, or whatever they called it, it would take longer to correct the damn thing. Tammy would know what he meant. Probably.
Almost jumping out of his skin as his mobile started ringing, Mike tried to remember what he needed to press to answer the call.
‘Hello?’ he barked, expecting it to be yet another double glazing salesman.
Bloody mobiles gave everyone the ability to stalk him 24/7. No escape. Being tracked by Google and GPS and mobile mast locations. Beeping all the time and never any peace. He rued the day he’d ever bought one, but again, to keep in the game, what choice did he have?
It didn’t mean he had to like them though, did it?
‘Yes, this is Michael Pointer,’ he said. ‘Right... ok...’ His heart began to race. ‘Should I come now? Ok... Thank you.’
Ending the call, Mike stared at the black screen before shoving the phone deep into his pocket. So, there it was - the call he’d been half-expecting to come any day, just had. But what he hadn’t expected when the hospital rang, telling him it was time to say goodbye to his mother, was that she had specifically asked to talk to him.
JONAH SMILED AT LENA as they ate dinner. She’d barely said two words all evening - not that this was particularly unusual. There wasn’t much about her, short of looking damn gorgeous, but there were worse things in life after all.
She may not be the most well-educated or well-mannered woman, but that wasn’t an issue. In all honesty, she was as common as muck, but she had a cracking figure and was great between the sheets, but lately she’d started to take liberties.