‘That looks good, gal,’ Jack wheezed and leaned forward, with a whoosh of breath snuffed the candles out.
‘Blimey, there’s still plenty of puff in you,’ Doreen said stepping back and almost stumbling over someone’s feet.
‘Good God, girl, we nearly lost the bleedin’ cake,’ a heavy set bald man said grabbing her arm. Regaining her balance, Doreen looked down at the cake that was inches away from being part of her apron. Blimey, she’d forgotten to take it off. Sighing loudly, ‘What am I like?’ she said pointing at her apron.
Ignoring Doreen’s consternation at wearing an apron, a pleasant woman, around Doreen’s age, said, ‘Let me take that from you,’ and pushed herself to her feet. ‘By the way, my name’s Annie,’ she added taking the cake from Doreen.
Free of the cake she let out a giggle, ‘Blimey, nearly went arse over tit, thank God you saved me,’ she said turning to the old bloke who had reached out his hand. She pulled the card out of her back pocket and handed it to Jack.
‘Thanks, Dor,’ Jack said and tore open the envelope before pulling out the card.
Doreen looked on expecting a roar of laughter from the old man at the words, but, to her surprise, she saw a tear slip down his face. ‘Gawd, it ain’t supposed to make you cry,’ she said taken aback at his reaction.
Wiping the back of his hand over his eyes, Jack stared at the card, ‘It’s just a bit unexpected,’ he said, and pulling himself up, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and dropped a sloppy kiss on her lips. ‘You ain’t a bad girl, a bit lippy at times, but still the best neighbour you could have.’ He swiped his hand over his face. ‘Now, sit your arse down and have a drink with us, we’re all mates.’
Doreen found a foot stool and squatted down. At the same time as her bottom landed on the thread bare cushion, a large glass of whisky was thrust into her hand.
‘What a card,’ Annie said returning to the room. ‘He’s an old bugger at times, but I think the words suit him.’ She raised her chipped glass. ‘Cheers to this diamond geezer.’
‘A diamond geezer,’ Doreen repeated and took a greedy drink of her whisky. Life was not all that bad, she thought, taking in the motley crew sitting in the little lounge celebrating Jack’s birthday, what more could she want, and she reached over and clinked her glass with Jack’s.
Chapter Seven
Doreen’s eyes snapped open. ‘What the bleedin’ hell is that?’ she wailed. A loud buzzing noise reverberated around the room. Unsure where she was, all she wanted to do was stop the incessant noise. Automatically, she stuck her hand out from under the duvet and, reaching out, banged it down hard on, what she hoped, was the alarm clock. ‘Thank God that’s stopped,’ she groaned. Closing her eyes she tucked her arm back under the warm duvet.
Her head throbbed. If she had not realised she was in bed, she would have believed someone had got hold of her and was beating her head against a brick wall. The pain was of nightmare proportion. Rolling on to her back, she gingerly opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. As her eyes focused, it all slowly came back to her. ‘Oh Gawd,’ she sobbed, now understanding her thumping head. What had she been thinking to down all that whisky with old Jack and his cronies? Why had she not just nibbled at a piece of cake then got to her feet and bid everyone a goodnight? But no, she had lingered and the party side of Doreen had run amok! What had she been thinking?
‘You can’t go without another drink,’ Jack had insisted, easing himself up from his chair and parking himself on the edge. ‘Annie, make sure me best neighbour’s glass is replenished,’ he had wheezed, as if Annie was the other side of the flat rather than standing next to him.
‘Blimey,’ she cried as her mind’s eye saw her glass; it was full, in fact she couldn’t remember her glass ever being empty. Every time she had looked at it, it was full despite her drinking. At some point a large bowl of crisps had appeared followed by slices of the chocolate cake she had made. She was not sure she’d had a piece of cake, but she must have had the crisps because she could still taste chilli despite her sour breath. She had never liked chilli crisps so why did she eat them? ‘Oh no,’ she sobbed as another memory flooded in, placing her hands over her face in an attempt to stop the fiasco replaying. She had leapt up from the foot stool and had belted out, Simply the Best, using an empty beer bottle as the mic. And worse, as if it could be worse, she had thought she sounded as good as Tina Turner and, getting into the spirit of the party, had leapt up on to the coffee table and with a theatrical flourish had whipped off her apron. With her arm lifted high she had flapped it above her head like a banner and had almost smashed the ceiling light.
The room had buzzed with her cavorting, everyone had clapped, whistled and cheered as the single bulb and its shade swung like a pendulum, creating a strobe effect in the smoky room. Jack had tried to get up on the coffee table, crying he was Ike and wanted to join in. Thankfully, he had been pulled back by Annie, and after gyrating around the room like a baboon, he had slumped back in his chair puffing like an old steam train.
‘Go you, gal,’ Annie had shrieked trying to get Jack back in his chair.
‘Go you, gal,’ Doreen muttered and groaned loudly as the memory of the evening played out in full digital surround sound. She squeezed her eyes tight shut in an attempt to blot out her extravagant behaviour at Jack’s birthday bash, but it was a waste of time. She was supposed to be the cake maker, not the bleeding karaoke turn.
Having remembered more than enough, all she could think right now was that Jack was going to see her in a new light. The last thing she needed was an old man thinking she was a goer. There was nothing she could do about it and, right now, all she needed to do was get something down her neck to stop the pounding in her head. The other would, hopefully, be a two day wonder and any fallout from her mad moment she would deal with when she had the wherewithal and her head was not thumping.
Determined to sort her head out, Doreen pushed the duvet off and struggled to sit up. The room appeared to be on a slow spin. ‘Crikey,’ she bleated and lowered her feet on to the thin carpet. ‘Bleedin’ hell, it’s freezing,’ she squealed. Shivering, she stood and wished she had not cursed so loudly. Her outburst had only added further pain to the fragile state of her head. Rubbing her temples to ease the agony, she suddenly remembered she had to go and meet the Drew Family. ‘Oh no,’ she cried and slumped back down on her pillow. Why, of all mornings, did she have to wake up with a hum dinger of a hangover, what impression would she give looking like death warmed up?
‘Come on, Dor, pull yourself together. Yer got to try and make yourself presentable,’ she told herself, having eventually fallen out of bed and staggered into the bathroom. She pulled on the light cord and was almost blinded by the brightness of the sixty watt bulb. ‘Half the time you couldn’t see in here and now it’s bright enough to burn your eyes out,’ she hissed. ‘Never again,’ she said letting her eyes adjust to the glare. Staring into the mirror above the wash basin, she wondered who the old hag was. ‘What a sight,’ she said recoiling as she stared at a pair of bloodshot, puffy eyes and a face that was as white as a sheet. It would take more than a splash of cold water and rummage through her makeup bag to transform the sight that reflected back at her.
Finding a packet of aspirin in the small wall cabinet, Doreen dropped two into her mouth. She cupped her shaking hand under the cold tap before sloshing the water into her mouth and swallowed down the pills. ‘Please stay down,’ she pleaded as the pills threatened to lodge in her throat.
With the pain killers settling in her stomach, Doreen slipped out of her PJs and climbed into the cold enamel bath. With the shower head in her hand, she turned on the electric water heater and waited for the warm water to trickle through.
Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed, Doreen headed through to the kitchen. With, the pain killers kicking in, she was beginning to feel a little more human. A cup of strong black coffee and a ciggie and she would be good to go. She filled the kettle and left i
t to boil on the gas ring before scooping two large spoons of instant coffee into a mug. Waiting for the kettle to boil, she picked up her packet of cigarettes from the table and flicking one out, placed it between her lips. Pushing the kettle from the gas, she leant down, lit it, took a long drag and replaced the kettle.
A few moments later and half a cigarette smoked, Doreen poured the scalding water into her mug. Stirring the thick liquid, she raised the mug to her lips and sipped at the hot, strong coffee. For the first time since opening her eyes, she smiled; the tobacco and caffeine were doing their job.
The slamming of the front door startled her, ‘What the Hell,’ she cried out as Trisha marched into the kitchen.
‘Morning, Mama,’ Trisha said, a surprised expression filling her face.
‘Morning what?’ Doreen asked and glared at her daughter as she slumped on a kitchen chair. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been out all night? What have I told you?’
‘Chill, Mama. OK, I’ve been out, but I stayed over at Chelsea’s, but knowing you’d be freaking that I wasn’t snuggled up in my bed, I came home as soon as I woke.’
‘Is that so?’ Doreen said wanting to believe her daughter, but seeing her with makeup on and wearing an outfit that screamed she had been clubbing, she knew Trisha was lying. ‘Do you think I was born yesterday? Gawd, gal, I was seventeen once and I can still remember, right? So where did you go last night that had you staying out without telling me?’
‘What! I could hardly tell you when you were giving it your all next door, but I left a note. Look,’ Trisha rose to her feet and plucked a piece of paper sitting in front of the tea caddy. ‘Here,’ she said dropping it in front of Doreen.
Doreen sniffed. She had not seen it, but, as she scanned the paper, she saw it told her Trisha was going out and would see her laters. Three kisses had been added.
‘OK, you left a note, but it says here you’d be home. Have you any idea how much I worry.’
‘Mama, you didn’t know I was out until I walked in,’ Trisha said smugly.
Doreen’s face took on a look of thunder.
Not missing the look on her mother’s face, Trisha gushed. ‘OK, I’m sorry. I hadn’t planned to stay out, it just happened, but I’m grown up these days, I’m seventeen.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ Doreen snapped, ‘but you ain’t that grown up that I don’t worry and wonder what you get up to behind my back.’ As she spoke, instead of seeing her little girl, she saw an attractive young lady, full of confidence and totally unaware of the dangers out there. She wanted to protect her, but screaming at her would do no good. She had been seventeen once and knew all about clubbing and all that went with it; after all, that’s how Trisha came into the world. It was at times like this she wished she was not a single parent.
Needing to calm down or else her headache would start up, she conceded. ‘Right now I need to go out and sort this new job, but when I get back we need to talk cos I ain’t having you ending up like I did. Right?’
‘Whatever,’ Trisha said and, getting to her feet, stormed out of the kitchen.
Gripping the handle of her mug, Doreen watched as her daughter stomped away. ‘Bleedin’ kids,’ she grumbled. Trisha might walk out on her, but she would talk to her when she got back home. She couldn’t stop her from getting involved with boys, but she would make sure she was safe when she did.
With these thoughts, she stared down into her coffee mug; it was empty. Looking down at the table she spied an opened packet of biscuits. She reached over to the packet and pulled one out.
‘Soft,’ she tutted, but it would do, she needed a bite of something to soak up all that was in her guts.
She placed her mug in the sink, picked up her bag from the floor and, tucking it under arm, she headed to the hall. If she was to be at the Drew house by ten o’clock she needed to get a wiggle on, the bus would not wait for her. Throwing on her jacket, she called out. ‘Trish, I’m on my way, so behave till I get back and stay home’. Pulling on the front door handle, she turned and added, ‘I’ll call at the chippy on my way home. OK?’
Opening the door, Doreen thought she heard a faint, ‘Bye,’ from her daughter’s bedroom. She had no time for sulky teenagers, not with her hangover, she thought, and shutting the door, she headed out into the cool morning air.
Chapter Eight
As the bus headed towards her stop, Doreen leaned forward and, reaching up, pushed the bell. Gripping the back of the seat in front, Doreen pulled herself to her feet. Thankfully her headache had gone, but one pain had been replaced with another; she had the jitters at the thought of meeting the Drew family. Telling herself she was a silly old fool and reminding herself she was going for a cleaning job not viewing the house to buy, she giggled at the thought. As if she could ever dream of living on this side of town. Dream on, Dor, she told herself, cos if you ain’t got no dreams, you ain’t got nothing. She giggled again, knowing she had plenty of both: dreams and nothing!
Pushing her musings to one side, Doreen stood at the doors and waited for the bus to come to a halt. As soon as they whooshed open, she stepped out on to the damp pavement. She was the only passenger alighting from the single decker bus and no sooner had her feet touched the ground, the automatic doors hissed closed and the bus pulled back into the traffic.
As Doreen turned in the direction of Beccles Close, all she could think of was her need for a ciggie. It would calm her nerves and give her a confidence boost. Fishing out the packet from her handbag, she saw that it was only half full. Blimey, when had she puffed the others away? She sighed at the disappointment of only having half a packet of cigarettes. Fed up at this knowledge, she shoved the packet back into her bag. She would save them for after her visit.
Taking tentative steps towards Beccles Close, the coolness of the morning did nothing to stop the palms of her hands from sweating. She only ever passed the swanky estate on the bus, never expecting one day she would need to walk through it. With each step, she took in the smart red brick houses with their shiplap facias. Her nose twitched and she sneezed as the smell of cut grass and fragrant blooms assailed her nostrils. Doreen pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose. Grass was not a smell she was used to. Where she lived, what grass there had been had long been transformed to mud by kids playing football or parked cars on the verges. Flowers were only ever seen in Mr Greedy’s at sky-high prices.
Here, on the Sundown Estate, it appeared to be all about trimmed lawns and well-tended gardens with shiny cars sitting on long drives. A stark difference to her world and she wondered what you had to do to live in a place like this? Doreen didn’t miss all the tidiness and wealth that seemed to ooze from the properties, adding further to her uneasiness, and was convinced everyone was peeping through their blind-covered windows, watching her. She also imagined their thoughts, that she did not belong in this part of town. She sniffed as if to confirm her paranoia. Suddenly her estimation of Mr Drew shot up several notches. It was clear he was far more important at Grays than she had imagined him to be.
Feeling more uncomfortable with every step, she spied the road sign for, Beccles Close. ‘Well, gal, it’s now or never,’ she said under her breath.
Turning into the Close, she looked for number six. She didn’t have far to walk before she stood outside Mark Drew’s home. His car sat on the drive, but that was about the only thing this house appeared to have in common with the other homes she had passed. Unlike all the other gardens, the lawn at number six needed cutting, the flower beds were raggy, filled with weeds and dead flower heads. The pretty semi reflected the neglect of the garden; shabby. Paintwork flaked, the windows had vertical blinds like many of the other properties, but unlike their neighbours, the windows didn’t sparkle. For the first time since she had stepped off the bus her nerves evaporated. This family might live in an upmarket neighbourhood, but it was evident they were not keeping up with the Jones’. Doreen felt a shadow of sadness follow her as she headed up the drive.
Arriv
ing outside the partially glazed front door, Doreen pushed the bell. Instantly the door flew open.
‘Hello, you must be Doreen.’ A thin woman wearing a colourful head scarf and a welcoming smile stood in the doorway. Taken aback at the frailness of Mrs Drew, Doreen almost forgot to speak.
‘Sorry, yes, I’m Doreen and I hope I’m not late,’ she said knowing she was spot on time.
‘Not at all,’ Mrs Drew said without looking at her watch. ‘Come on in. I’m Zoe and me and the boys are looking forward to meeting you.’ She stepped to one side allowing Doreen to cross the threshold of number six. ‘Mark speaks highly of you,’ Zoe added.
Doreen felt her cheeks flush at the compliment and had no idea Mr Drew kept such an eagle eye on her work.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Zoe asked closing the door.
‘That would be nice,’ Doreen said and, despite feeling a little flustered at Zoe’s words, she felt a warm, welcoming atmosphere in the Drew’s home.
‘Right. I’ll get the kettle on and whilst it boils you can meet the boys,’ Zoe said heading towards the kitchen, exuding an energy that belied her frailness.
Entering the kitchen, Doreen was met with a long room fitted with dark oak wood units. The surface tops were clear, but Doreen could make out that the sink was filled with dirty crockery and the sound of the washing machine whirred quietly under a unit with a load of washing.
‘Hello, Doreen,’ Mark Drew said, walking in through the back door. ‘Glad you found us OK.’
‘Hello, Mr Drew, thank you. Your house was easy to find, no problem,’ Doreen replied and thought it strange seeing her boss from one of her cleans appearing casual and unshaven.
The Birthday Card Page 4