by Rosie Dean
‘Oh, good.’ Why did I say that? ‘I’ll just let Mungo in,’ I said and shot into the house.
Josh was standing by his open car door when I returned. ‘I’ll pick you up on Saturday. Will seven-thirty be okay?’ he asked.
It was fully dark now, with just the light from Mum’s porch and a street-lamp. As he looked into my eyes, I could feel my heart pumping hard against my ribcage. ‘Seven-thirty is good.’
‘I’m looking forward to it.’ Then he put a hand on my arm and kissed my cheek. And, chaste though it sounds – hell, after Lex, it would only have been more chaste if we’d shaken hands – my nerve endings tingled and I swear my heart fluttered like a bird.
‘You seem more cheerful,’ Mum said, as I kissed her good night.
‘Do I?’ I picked up my briefcase. ‘I was a bit wound up when I came home. Thanks for a lovely meal.’
‘He didn’t, by any chance, invite you to the ball, then?’ she called as I headed for the stairs.
I’ve often thought my mother was a witch. I stopped on the bottom stair. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘Well, he had the chance to invite me but he didn’t.’ She appeared in the doorway. ‘And I’m unattached,’ she added, with a coquettish tilt of her head.
I laughed. Mum and Fun didn’t partner up very often, these days. Even though her dark eyes were heavily shaded from lack of sleep, she was an attractive woman. With a decent make-over, she could probably still turn a few grey heads. ‘Mum…do you fancy him?’ I teased.
She scowled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. But I think he likes you. You want to tell that Lex of yours to watch out.’
Seizing the moment, I told her Lex and I were no longer an item.
‘So you could go with Josh, after all.’ She was staring at me now, her eyes widening to reveal a satisfied twinkle.
‘It’s only a village dance, Mum, not a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.’
‘You know exactly what I mean.’
I certainly knew I wasn’t in the mood to debate it right then. ‘See you in the morning.’
I turned and climbed the stairs. Behind me, I could feel my mother rubbing her hands with glee and thanking God for His intervention.
‘Que Dios te bendiga.’ May God bless you, she said, and as I turned the corner of the stairs, she added, ‘Isn’t it wonderful news about Trina?’
I stopped. Ruling out the Nobel Peace Prize, I ventured, ‘She’s pregnant again?’
‘I’m so happy. It’s just one baby this time. Due in January, God willing.’
‘That’s great news.’ And it was, I told myself.
Chapter 28
The prospect of being the vicar’s date at a humble village ball kept me awake so long, I overslept. There wasn’t time to go home to change, and since Mum was a size fourteen, I had to go to work in the same suit, which caused SS Ostler to wiggle his ugly eyebrows suggestively. ‘All night meeting at Marshal & Crowe, was it?’
I smiled sweetly back at him. ‘Whatever it takes to keep the business.’
‘Really? I heard you were giving it away.’
‘Oh, that’s funny. And I heard you couldn’t give it away.’
‘The thing is, Millie, people pay good money for what I’ve got.’ He pointed to his Blackberry. ‘DJ Leisure – seventy-two grand. Just came in.’ He watched while my brain wrestled with the numbers.
Bugger! That would nudge him at least twelve grand ahead of me. ‘Oh, well done, Simon. You’re truly an inspiration. Thank you.’
As he turned and sauntered away, his head wobbled in that conceited way that made me want to launch a can-can kick at his groin. I don’t know how I resisted.
Instead, I reminded myself that on Saturday night, I would be spending an entire evening with Josh Warwick. And I had a pretty good feeling he was going to look fantastic in a dinner jacket; although, I wasn’t sure yet, how I’d feel about the dog-collar. No, that did rather put a dampener on the prospect.
It was a slow day at the office. New girl, Natasha, was showing us her first ever pitch presentation. What she lacked in presentation skills she made up for in hypnotherapy. I nodded off so many times, I earned a bigger round of applause than she did.
I was slipping. First, the Marshal & Crowe account coming in over budget, then Odious Ostler overtaking my lead and now, falling asleep on the job. I had to get a grip. So, I spent the rest of the afternoon purging my client database for hot prospects. No way was I going to lose that holiday for Mum.
As the staff gradually began to head home, I stayed at my desk and looked busy. I’d decided to visit Lulu again. Our parting conversation had played on my mind, so I rang her mum to find out when I could visit. Lulu, it turned out, had come home earlier in the day and Carla – her mother – was very grateful for my offer to pop round. ‘To be honest,’ she whispered into the phone, ‘I think she needs someone like you to talk to her…about her drinking. I don’t seem to be getting through.’
‘Oh, of course,’ I said, mentally examining the chasm of my inexperience – of counselling, that is, not drinking, I had a fair few stories to relate, there. ‘I’m sure it’s just a phase.’
‘But it’s every night – afternoons, sometimes. I’ve even rung the help-lines and they won’t come and talk to her; they say she has to see them voluntarily. I’m at my wit’s end.’
No wonder she’d threatened to chuck Lulu out. I’d seen those brats on Boot Camp TV. In fairness, I’d never found Lulu especially bratty, just high-spirited and frequently pissed.
My credentials for coaching kids in the performing arts were good, I’d passed the criminal record check, Hamlets is registered with the authorities and I’m pretty confident in what I’m doing. However, dealing with a juvenile alcoholic, well…that was for the professionals. Luckily, I knew one.
Josh answered the vicarage phone on the second ring. I explained the situation and asked him for some advice. ‘I haven’t a clue what to do. What if I say all the wrong things and drive her further into the bottle? Can you suggest any kind of strategy – top ten tips for rescuing alcoholics?’
‘If only it were that simple.’
I pulled a face. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be flip.’
‘I know. Would you like me to come with you?’
Was that a good idea? It was one thing, me preaching temperance to Lulu, quite another wheeling in the local clergy. ‘Ummm…’
‘Don’t worry, you can introduce me as a friend. I’ll leave the dog-collar and bible at home.’
‘Oh, no. It’s just…I didn’t want you to give up your evening. I thought you might have some advice. I’m a bit out of my depth.’
‘Millie, I offered because I’m happy to. And we probably won’t make any impact tonight but maybe, over time, we can help her.’
We can help her… ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘Positive. Now, where shall I meet you?’
An hour later, we were sitting on Carla’s L-shaped couch, facing Lulu who was reclining along one side of it. Her eyes were delineated with mascara the consistency of tarmac. She’d recovered some of her spirit since Sunday and gave Josh the once-over. ‘Blimey, Mill, you get through the blokes don’t ya? What ’appened to that posh one with the flash car?’
‘I dumped him.’
‘He looked like a creep, anyway.’
Carla lowered a tray of steaming coffee mugs onto the table. ‘Lulu, don’t be rude about other people.’
‘Well he did, and Millie’s dumped him anyway so it don’t matter.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
I watched as Lulu curled her lip. ‘So, Lulu, how’s the leg feeling today?’ I asked.
‘Broken.’
Carla straightened up. ‘Do you mind if I leave you three chatting? I’ve got a few things to do.’ She smiled at me – a wealth of hope and expectation behind her eyes, before she headed out and closed the door behind her.
Conversation with a sober, sulking Lulu was tough going. It was
only when Josh went on a major charm offensive, saying how much he’d enjoyed her performance in the first half of the show that she began to thaw. He empathised with her disappointment at missing the second half; he compared her portrayal of Rizzo with one he’d seen in the West End; he joked she could now set a trend for doing Grease on Crutches, ‘Well, they’ve done it on ice,’ he grinned.
She giggled, which made a pleasant change from her usual bawdy cackle. ‘You’re alright, you,’ she said, nodding her approval. ‘Not gonna dump him, are you Mill?’
‘Who says I’m even going out with him?’
‘Course you are. So what do you do, Josh?’
‘I work for a charity. I run a homeless shelter in London.’
The moment it was said, Lulu’s face sagged and her eyes darted across to mine. ‘Oh, Christ!’ she hissed. ‘Is that why you’re here? You’re setting me up with somewhere to go when Mum kicks me out?’
Josh’s head turned to look at me.
‘Lulu, no. Not at all.’ It hadn’t even occurred to me. That’s how far out of my depth I was with disturbed teenagers.
Her shoulders slumped. ‘Did she ask you to set this up?’
‘No. Sorry Lulu, I didn’t even make the connection with what you told me on Sunday and what Josh does. I brought him round to cheer you up. He’s just my boyfriend,’ I said grabbing his hand to emphasise the point and praying he wouldn’t mind.
I could tell from the look on her face she didn’t entirely buy it.
‘Hey,’ Josh stepped in, curling his fingers around mine, which felt altogether too cosy, and gave his attention to Lulu. ‘What’s all this about you being kicked out, anyway?’
Her eyes darted from him to me. ‘It’s personal.’
‘Those kind of things usually are,’ he said, quietly. I remembered his tone of voice from our night in the crypt, when he’d soothed and comforted me. I sank back into the sofa, hoping to blend with the fibres so he could hold her attention and gain her trust.
After a while she said, ‘She don’t like my drinking but I drink because of her. Once I start working, and living in my own place, I won’t need to. It’s just for now. I mean, living here is so fucking diabolically crap!’
I glanced around the lovely sitting room, with family pictures on the wall and a fat tabby cat snoring on the windowsill. She was wearing this season’s Top Shop crimson blouse and leather skirt, and dipping her hand into a box of Celebration chocolates. Josh just nodded and said, ‘I remember times like that. I promise you, it will get better.’
It must have been an hour after Carla had left us when Josh wound up the conversation. We agreed to pop in again and Lulu smiled demurely when he stroked the top of her head. It occurred to me he might be bestowing a silent blessing on her.
As we turned to go, she asked, ‘So what do you drive then? A clapped out old van?’
He laughed. ‘Yes, I do sometimes – though it’s not completely clapped out.’
‘Thought so,’ she said. ‘You’re not the flashy type.’
I didn’t mention his Austin Healy, although if she could make it over to the window, she could see it for herself.
Carla sounded bright and breezy as she saw us to the door, ‘Do feel free to come again. It’ll be lovely to see you.’ She squeezed my hand, as if I might be about to perform some miracle. I only wished I could because Lulu was way too young to be pissing her life down the drain.
Josh and I stood beside my car. The evening sun was covered by cloud and a breeze was sniffing round my bare legs. ‘Thank you so much for doing that,’ I said. ‘You were brilliant.’
He shrugged. ‘It probably helped that she didn’t know me.’
‘In the light of our recent discussion, would it be wrong for me to buy you a drink?’
He grinned. ‘Sure. You can buy me a coffee, we could…’ his phone rang. ‘Excuse me.’ He flipped open the phone. ‘Hello, Josh Warwick…Oh, hello. Yes...’ He turned and walked a few steps away. ‘Yes. When?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Okay. I’ll be there.’
When he turned, there was a deep groove between his eyebrows. ‘Sorry, Millie,’ he said as he approached. ‘We’ll have to do coffee some other time. I’m afraid I have to be somewhere else.’
‘Okay.’
‘You did a good thing tonight.’ He put a hand on my arm and dropped a peck on my cheek. ‘See you Saturday.’
He strode off to his car and drove away without a backward glance. And as his car faded into the distance, I stared down the road after him, till he disappeared around the corner. I could feel good cheer draining from me like water from a bust radiator. So, another night in front of the telly for me.
Chapter 29
Sacha was agog when I told her about my date with Josh. ‘So you’re gonna rev it up with the reverend, eh? I told you, didn’t I? He only had eyes for you.’
‘Don’t get carried away. I’m just doing him a favour.’
‘Yeah, and I’m just helping Marcus with the harvest.’ We both giggled. ‘He is quite hot though, don’t you think, Mills? Dog collars aside.’
‘Even in the dog collar…’
‘Really?!’ she shrieked. ‘I knew it. You’ve been having sneaky little fantasies about the vicar.’
I grinned. ‘He is really nice, though. I mean, funny and kind and…’
‘Seriously hot. You can say it.’
I couldn’t seem to wipe the smile from my face. We giggled some more.
Later, when we were making pasta carbonara, she asked, ‘What if it works out with you and Josh? Like…do you want to be a vicar’s wife?’
I stopped chopping the ham. ‘That would be a bit of a challenge, I have to admit.’
‘Not exactly the high life, is it? Think of all that hymn singing and flower arranging. And you’d have to look really interested during his sermons. He might even practise them on you.’ We both pulled a face. ‘And no more Sunday lie-ins. You’ll have to sit in church with a massive hangover.’
‘When was the last time I had a lie-in?’
‘You’ll have to stop swearing, too. And you can never be grumpy to anyone, ever.’
‘True. I’ll go to the ball – just for the experience – then I’ll dump him.’
‘No you don’t. Not before you’ve had your wicked way with him.’
I gave her one of my disapproving looks – one I’d learned at my mother’s knee.
‘D’you think he’ll want to put a ring on your finger first?’
‘I think you’re getting a teensy bit carried away now.’
‘It could lead to that, eventually.’
‘Well, right now, I’m just looking forward to spending some nice time with a decent guy.’
‘Hot guy.’
My tummy gave a little flip and I set about chopping the ham again.
On Thursday, I left the office at seven and shot into town to check out the options for a ball dress. Sexy but modest is a hard brief to fulfil but I found a sassy little number in kingfisher blue. It was stylish without being too revealing – one assumed one didn’t do revealing when escorting the clergy. It fitted so well, I nearly wept. It had a fish-tail skirt so I could dance without looking constipated; a double strap over one shoulder and tiny beads scattered across the bodice, which was engineered to mould my mini boobs into a flattering but not too showy cleavage.
I tottered back into Bridgeman Villas, soon after ten, to be met by the detritus of a partially consumed Indian take-away for two. I heaped it all together on a tray and parked it by the sink.
Marcus’s shoes were abandoned by the sofa, his grubby denim jacket was flung down beside them and a copy of FHM was on top of that. I’d also noticed our supermarket shop now regularly included a twelve pack of lager. It’s not that I minded buying drinks for guests but we used to buy lagers on a monthly basis not twice a week.
I sat down to watch the news but nodded off and woke with a crick in my neck around one o’clock. I forced myself through my cleansing ritual, h
ung my suit in the wardrobe and slid into bed. With any luck, I would sleep like a squirrel in winter. And I might have done, if Sacha hadn’t been so eager to bring me a cuppa on her way to her early shift.
‘Whaaa?’ I croaked as she sat on my bed.
‘Millie, I’ve got to tell you something,’ she hissed. ‘Wake up.’
‘Goway.’ I grunted.
‘Millie. It’s about your man, the vicar.’ She shook my arm. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Don’t care. G’night.’
‘Please listen. He’s been arrested for that robbery. He was in on it.’
!*!*!*!
It had to be a dream – a nightmare. My mate, Josh. He, who had kept my spirits up throughout that dreadful night, couldn’t possibly…
I forced my eyes open. Sacha was still there and, by the set of her shoulders and the gape of her mouth, deadly serious. ‘Marcus told me. It’s something to do with drugs.’
Drugs.
Josh the recovering addict…who helped homeless people…at least, he said he did. It was true – wasn’t it? My hand drifted up to my cheek. The bruising had faded but I hadn’t forgotten. ‘How – what – are you sure?’
She stroked my arm. ‘Half the village saw him driven away in a police car. I thought you’d want to know. Poor you.’
Poor me, indeed.
‘Wish I could stay with you, Mills, but Marcus is giving me a lift. Will you be okay?’
‘Where is he? What’s going to happen?’
‘Dunno. The police picked him up last night. Apparently they were asking lots of questions in the pub, too.’
I gaped at her.
‘Yeah, this is serious shit. Look, I’ve got to go but I’ll call you in my break, okay?’ She planted a kiss on my forehead and left.
I lay back, disbelief weaving through my memories…his concussion, the blood. It couldn’t possibly be true. Nobody would go to those lengths. Or would they?
Drugs.
But he’d told me about his mother, about Lucas and the homeless centre, about his calling to the church.
My mind was a muddle. I hate muddles.