Winning the lottery had come into its own today; happiness oozed from her. Even Trisha had kept up and instead of moaning about being bored she had chosen enough dark clothes to fill a shop! The three of them had sipped champagne in Harrods, eaten fresh baked fish with more champagne in Selfridges, wandered around M&S Food Hall. She had insisted on this visit having always wanted to shop there. As it turned out she had bought nothing, but there was always tomorrow.
Running her tongue round her lips she could still feel the tingle of the champagne bubbles. There was no doubt this was her new drink from now on. Just thinking about it all she had never seen so much food and so many people eating and drinking in such expensive places. It had been an eye opener that so many people could afford such extravagances.
What a day, she reflected reaching over and taking hold of the largest bag amongst all the purchases. She pulled open the bow that held it closed and opened it. She removed a tailored black dress and could not believe she had found something so gorgeous. Sally had insisted it was totally perfect for her. There had been no sniggering or laughing.
‘Go put it on,’ Sally had insisted. ‘You need something that is eye catching, glittering with style and panache for your big day at the Savoy. And this little number looks just what you need.’
Whilst sipping champagne, she had told Sally all about the publicity that was being organised to splash her win across the headlines.
‘Even more reason you need to look a millionaire and, importantly, you want to be wearing clothes you are comfortable in. Did you know that your smile is wider and your eyes sparkle like diamonds when you feel comfortable in your own skin and wearing special clothes,’ Sally had told her sagely.
Sally was right. The dress she had bought in the charity shop had had her feeling like a million dollars. With that dress in mind she had held the black dress against her. It was not too dissimilar to the charity shop one. She had slipped it on and had stood in front of the mirrors and cried. Nothing had prepared her to see the young woman that reflected back. Gone was the scruffy casual top and jeans and in its place was a beautiful dress that fit perfectly, as if it had been designed and made specially, for her. Mesmerised, Doreen had no idea she had such curves. Slowly she twirled and watched as hundreds of sequins sparkled in the micro lights of the changing room. Gold sequins in the shape of a champagne bottle filled the front of the dress whilst silver sequins created the image of bubbles that shimmered upwards and over her left shoulder. The neckline was low enough to show her round breasts without being vulgar.
‘You look absolutely stunning,’ Sally had pronounced as she carefully tweaked at the shoulder line and hem. ‘Walk down there,’ Sally had pointed to the length of the room. ‘Now turn and walk back to me.’ She had done as she was told. ‘You must buy this,’ Sally insisted. Then running her hand gently across the sequins, added, ‘Champagne for a bubbly lady.’ For a split second she hesitated, what was the price?
‘There are no price labels on the clothes in this department,’ Sally had cut in as if reading her mind. ‘Come on, let’s get you out of this,’ Sally had added and deftly unzipped the dress.
Now as she held up the champagne dress, she felt familiar tears prick. No matter what happened in the future, today would be one of the best days of her life. She had loved every minute she had spent with Sally. A personal shopper she may be, but Doreen saw her as a breath of fresh air and a like-minded person who was not afraid to be extravagant and sparkle.
Doreen pulled the dress towards her and placed a gentle kiss on the black fabric. ‘Thank you, Sally,’ she whispered and carefully laid it over the back of the sofa. She turned and attempted to take in the mountain of bags that covered every inch of the lounge. They had gone crazy and had bought underwear, shoes, shawls, bags, make-up, perfume, even oils for the bath. No more using washing-up liquid, she smiled, rummaging for the bag that contained the fragrant oils. Plucking out the bag jammed between bags from Harrods, she lifted out the bottle and unscrewed the top. The fragrance immediately filled the room with a gentle perfume of apple blossom. ‘Almost too good for the bath,’ she said and dabbed a little on to the back of her hand.
As she placed the top back on the bottle, it occurred to her, that today she had bought more clothes than she had owned in all the years since she’d had Trisha. How far she had come in a few days, she mused, and reached over to open another bag. Peering inside, she saw it contained a small black leather handbag. She rubbed her hand across the softness. It felt as smooth as silk and had cost more than she spent on food for a whole month.
Leaving the bag in its wrapping, it occurred to her that whilst she had been having a ball in the shops, she had let others down. The sunshine that had filled her day clouded over and the smile of moments ago was replaced with a frown and doubt. She could not even count the number of bags that filled her flat. What she should have been doing was talking to those who had been there for her when she needed help. Jan had called round, but only because she had phoned in days earlier to say she was sick. Other than that, she had remained silent. For the first time since Trisha had made the phone call to the number on the back of the lottery ticket, she felt a huge stab of guilt. Her little flat was covered in expensive shopping bags that contained items totalling more than she would earn in years.
She flopped down on the sofa with a deep sigh. She had been told not to tell anyone except close family about her win, but did these people have any idea how impossible that was? She had kept herself away from anyone who knew her and had Jan not knocked on her door, she would never have told her. This was not good or right and she needed to do a few things before her win hit the headlines. Fumbling through the debris on the coffee table she found her cigarettes and pulling one out she placed it in her mouth and lit up. It tasted good and familiar in a world that was alien to her at the moment. She thought about what needed to be done and decided it was time to talk to the people who mattered. She did not have to reveal all the details, but she owed a few people an explanation for her absence.
‘Tomorrow, I’ll talk to the Mr Drew and Mr Greedy…’
‘You’re still at it,’ Trisha declared tapping on her new mobile phone as she wandered into the lounge.
Glaring at Trisha and taking in that she was dressed from head to foot in black, Doreen saw the only colour from her daughter came from the reflection of her new mobile phone on Trisha’s designer sunglasses.
‘With all you’ve had today, you shouldn’t be so cheeky,’ Doreen said, getting to her feet and wrapping her arms around her daughter. ‘Wearing sunglasses in a council flat when the only illumination is having the big light on makes you look as scary as me in my bling.’
‘What!’ Trisha yanked off her glasses and glared at Doreen.
‘As long as I can talk to myself you can wear your shades indoors,’ Doreen added, ‘because your mama is not only crazy, but rich.’
Doreen giggled at the insanity of their lives. It was madness, but it didn’t matter she had a plan for tomorrow that did not involve advisers, banks or the lottery. It was her plan and as mad as it was, she was in control for the first time in days.
Chapter Thirty-Six
With nowhere to store all the shopping from their spree of yesterday, Doreen pushed her way through the bags and boxes and headed to the kitchen. She should have slept like a baby after all the miles they had tramped through those department stores and if that had not worn her out, the champagne and fancy food should have seen her pushing out the zzzz’s, but her mind was far from still. All she could think was what she needed to sort out before the reality of all that had happened to her was splashed over the newspapers. She felt she owed it to a couple of people to let them know before the news hit the streets.
Leaning against the kitchen top, Doreen spooned instant coffee into a mug taken from the draining board whilst she waited for the kettle to boil. She reached across to the windowsill, wet from condensation, and picked up a packet of cigarettes. She sigh
ed, the packet was wet. Thankfully she had not fully removed the cellophane. Pulling open the packet, she counted the number of ciggies inside. She had tried to cut down, not wanting all her new things to stink of her smoking, but she needed one to go with her first drink of the day. Seeing only three, it seemed cutting down had not been as successful as she would have liked.
Shrugging at her weakness, she pushed one between her lips. The kettle gave out a tinny whistle announcing it had reached boiling. She pulled her sleeve over her hand to avoid the scalding handle and pushed the kettle from the gas. With the naked flame exposed she flicked her hair behind her ears then bent down and lit the cigarette from the flame. Turning the gas off, she poured hot water on her coffee powder. The aroma filled her nostrils. It might not be the fancy ground stuff she had drunk yesterday, but it still smelled and tasted good. She added a drop of milk and a spoonful of sugar. Picking up the mug, she smiled; coffee and a fag, the best way to start a day, she mused and shuffled her way back into the lounge.
Dropping on to the sofa, Doreen swept her gaze over all the bags and boxes; what a day they’d had. What she was going to do with all she had bought, she had no idea, but it had been the best day of her life. Never did she think she would buy anything without checking the price. Just thinking about how lavish the day had been brought her up sharp reminding her about what she needed to do before the day was out. Today would be a very different day to yesterday. She might have a flat full of expensive shopping, but before things got really out of hand, she needed to put a few things straight.
Sipping her coffee, she thought about the mental list she had compiled during the dark hours. It was not long, but each task needed care and the right words. Her first task would be to phone Reeds and give in her notice. She was no longer going to skivvy for anyone again and she was not going to waste shoe leather going to their offices only to be lectured or told she was sacked anyway for not turning up. How many times had she been told, when she had dared to ask for a pay rise or time off, ‘There’s a queue outside this office entrance begging for work,’ Mr Tetley, the manager would announce, his hands in his trouser pockets and his dark eyes staring down at her with distaste. It was never personal, despite it feeling that way. It was his mantra; he trotted it out to anyone who had the audacity to speak up.
After that call, the next on her list was to talk to Trisha’s school about her absence. Part of her suggested it would be best for her to go to the school and talk to the secretary in person. The phone was easier as it allowed her to keep the real truth from the school. With anything official her nerves always got the better of her and she would gabble and end up saying more than she should. After tomorrow she would go to school with Trisha and explain their change of circumstances and the truth about why Trisha had been absent.
She sighed as she imagined the look on her daughter’s face when she told her she would be going into school with her. Already anticipating Trisha’s reaction, she decided to keep this little gem until after tomorrow.
Once she had these two phone calls out of the way, she would go and see Mr Drew. She also needed to try and catch up with Jan. Interestingly, she had not seen nor heard from her since she had left her sitting on her couch yesterday morning. Apart from a dirty mug and an ashtray filled with stubbed out cigarettes, there was no other sign her mate had stayed the night.
Finishing her cigarette and drinking the last drops of her coffee, Doreen was satisfied with her plan.
‘Come on, gal, get your arse into gear,’ she said cheerfully and trundled back into the kitchen. Throwing her tab end into the sink, which hissed in the water from the dripping cold tap, she rinsed out her mug. She should make Trisha a brew, but decided the two phone calls needed dealing with first.
Doreen replaced the phone and shook her head from side to side. Mr Tetley had not let her down. He was as predictable as Monday follows Sunday.
‘I am surprised you thought you needed to give notice to leave,’ he had scoffed. Not turning up for days, I’ve had to find someone else. So you can take it you’ve lost your job. Your P45 awaits you when you have the time to collect it.’
‘But…’ she started to argue, then realised there was no point; she didn’t want the job anymore and importantly she didn’t need the job. Wanting to say something cutting, she opened her mouth to speak when the phone went dead. Mr Tetley had hung up on her. ‘Hang up if you like, I’ll be having the last laugh,’ she cried slamming the phone down on the low table. We will see who is grinning from ear to ear after tomorrow. She wanted to go to the office and tell him just why she had not gone to work, but decided knowing that he would hear about her luck soon enough would be poetic justice.
Not feeling the euphoria she had hoped after being able to quit her job rather than be sacked, she decided another coffee and ciggie was needed before she girded her loins to phone the school. God knows how they would react.
Feeling calmer, Doreen braced herself for the school call. Punching in the number, the phone was answered after the first ring. Not expecting such a swift pick up, she flustered, ‘It’s… it’s Doreen Wilkinson, mum of Trisha,’ she said, her voice warbling. ‘Me gal’s not been at school this last few days cos we’ve had some unbelievable news.’ Blimey why was she sounding like a halfwit? Pull yourself together, she castigated herself. She took a few breaths and continued. ‘Of course, I plan to come in and see you in a couple of days to explain further.’ She listened to the modulated voice of the school secretary, Mrs Marlow-Evans, ‘Thank you, Mrs Wilkinson, for informing us. It is unfortunate Trisha is missing school as she is a very bright young lady, but we hope whatever has happened will not be too disturbing and Trisha will be back to her studies very soon.’
Doreen nodded her agreement as if the secretary could see her response, then added, ‘She’ll be back in a couple of days and I’ll make sure she catches up.’
‘Excellent. We look forward to seeing you both very soon. In the meantime, I will pass on your message to the Head.’
‘Thank you,’ Doreen said relieved the call was over. Why did talking to posh people get her flustered? The school always intimidated her no matter how polite they spoke. Maybe she would feel better when she went with Trisha after tomorrow, though she was not holding her breath.
With two of the jobs ticked off her mental list, Doreen made a mug of tea for her daughter.
Gripping the mug of steaming brew, she knocked on Trisha’s bedroom door before opening it. Trisha sat up, leaning against the headboard, staring down at her new phone, ‘Blimey, gal, you ain’t on that thing again?’
‘And morning to you, Mama. And, yes I am. You cannot believe just how smart this phone is. I am going to show you all these little tricks on yours too,’ Trisha said holding out the phone.
‘We’ll see,’ Doreen said, squatting on the edge of the bed. She had more or less been brow beaten into having a smart phone. It was still in its box amongst all the other bags and boxes in her lounge. She had enough to get her head around at the moment without worrying about how to play with a phone. ‘Here you are, love, a cup of Rosie Lee and I’ve used one tea bag for this cuppa, no sharing from now on,’ as she spoke she handed the mug over to Trisha.
‘Really!’ Trisha said not moving her gaze from her phone.
‘Blimey, I thought you’d be pleased,’ Doreen said disappointed that there was no reaction to her extravagance.
‘You are just so sad at times, everyone has a teabag in their mug, we are just being normal for once,’ Trisha said and chuckled. ‘I’m only teasing,’ she added with the mug in one hand and the phone now propped on her knees.
‘Right,’ Doreen said and rose from the bed. ‘I’m going out to see Mr Drew and Mr Greedy. So stay in and don’t talk to anyone.’
‘As if! So, if I’m to stay silent, why are you going to see those two?’ Trisha glared taking her eyes from the screen for the first time since Doreen had entered the room. ‘If I was you I would stay well away until after the publicit
y.’
‘I need to sort a few things out.’ It would be easy not to go, Doreen thought, and wait until everyone found out from the papers. Even with these thoughts, Doreen sensed Mr Drew and Mr Greedy deserved to know something because no matter how much she had moaned about them, they had been good to her. She owned it to each one to let them know something had happened to change her life. ‘That’s the thing, gal, you ain’t me and sometimes you have to think of others. Anyway, I’m going.’
Pulling a face that spoke volumes of her mother’s foolhardiness, Trisha said, ‘If you insist,’ then returned her attention back to her phone.
Stomping out of the room, Doreen accepted she would never understand her daughter if she lived until she was a hundred. Reaching the door, she turned, ‘By the way, I’ve phoned your school and told them you’ll be back after tomorrow. I explained we’d had some news. We’ll explain when we go together. OK?’ She had decided after all she would tell Trisha about her going to school with her. Every now and then Trisha needed to know who was mother and who was daughter.
Sizing her mother up from the corner of her eye, Trisha scoffed, ‘You are so not coming to school with me.’
‘Fine,’ Doreen batted back and turning left the room, ‘but you won’t be coming with me tomorrow,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘It’s school for you.’ She giggled at the look her daughter would have on her face.
‘That is not going to happen,’ Trisha called startling Doreen.
‘Lordy, lordy,’ Doreen cried dropping her cigarette on to the worn carpet. ‘It’s simple, we go to school to talk to the Head about your absence and you come with me tomorrow. There is no other deal.’ Not wanting to prolong the conversation, Doreen, reached down, picked up the cigarette and moved off down the hall. She pulled her jacket off the wall hook and shrugged into it. She looked down at her jeans and trainers; she had a flat full of beautiful new clothes, but today was not the day to wear them. What she had to do needed her to be her old self. ‘I’ll just get my bag and then I’m out of here. Whilst I’m out, you decide what you want to do and while you’re thinking about it, tidy up the flat.’
The Birthday Card Page 17