by Maeve Haran
‘Is there a cache of costume jewellery hidden behind the counter? I didn’t think that was allowed.’
‘Not yet there isn’t,’ Olivia replied, looking like a witch who’d defied the ducking stool. ‘But there jolly well soon will be!’
‘Shall we go and eat in your local hostelry, seeing that the chef’s absconded?’ Lou suggested to Sal. ‘Rose is still hopping mad.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Sal grinned. ‘Rose is very fussy about her food. And then to find Murdo corridor-creeping from Mrs Lal’s cottage . . .’
‘To be fair it wasn’t a corridor and no one knows if it was her bedroom. He might have popped in for a cup of coffee. You Brits are so moralistic.’
‘I thought it was Americans who were moralistic. All those Puritans going over in the Mayflower. Besides, old Murdo was carrying his shoes in his hand so as not to make any noise.’
‘Hmm, a tad incriminating, I’ll admit. So what about a light supper in The Laden Ox?’
Sal smiled at him lovingly. The truth was, she’d been feeling rather devastatingly tired lately, and didn’t want to think about possible causes. ‘Why not? Get one of their steak and kidney pies down you and you’ll never want to live in Brooklyn again.’
‘That good, huh?’ Lou had noticed that Sal had taken to sleeping more, even in the afternoons, which she’d never done before, and it worried him too.
‘No, it’s just they’ll immobilize you for the foreseeable future.’ She held her hand up tenderly to his face. ‘Do you know, I might just go and lie down for five minutes before we set out for the pub.’
‘You do that. Would you like a cup of tea in bed?’
‘You really are starting to get the hang of the British character.’
The next day Ella and Laura went shopping.
Laura wanted to buy something new for Gavin’s visit. To Ella’s amazement the previously prim Laura stopped outside Victoria’s Secret and stared longingly in.
‘Do you think my boobs are too big for one of those balcony bras?’ She indicated a skimpy black number with non-existent matching knickers. As far as Ella knew, Laura had never had any interest in such things when married to Simon.
She had been with her friend more than twenty-four hours now and witnessed her excitement waiting for the next message from Gavin, and noted the sheer number the man sent. How he had time to develop solar power when he spent most of it on the phone sending Laura intimate messages morning, noon and night, she couldn’t fathom. Yet Ella was beginning to see how her friend could be feeling so loved-up and intimate with the man via this long-distance courtship.
But it wasn’t courtship. That was what made Ella feel vaguely uneasy. It was the sheer persistence of the man. To Ella it smacked almost of control, though Laura would never see it like that. She was simply basking in the attention after being married to a man who hardly noticed she existed. Ella found herself wondering if this was the way the men in Rotherham groomed their victims, and then felt shocked at the thought.
Even though Laura was blooming like a rose that had withered and was suddenly flourishing again, Ella wished she’d met a man through more conventional means.
Laura had decided against the balcony bra and was dragging Ella into a boutique in South Molton Street where they sold off-the-shoulder black dresses to the wives of rich Russians and despite living in a two-bed rented flat, Laura was clearly going to buy one.
Laura caught her expression. ‘Look, I’ve got my half of the money for the house in the bank. One little dress isn’t going to bankrupt me!’
‘That money’s for your new home as soon as you find one.’ Ella knew she sounded like a spoilsport parent. Or her own disapproving daughter Julia.
Good Age, the charity shop two doors down from The Laden Ox, had never seen anything quite like its two new volunteers when Olivia, with a somewhat reluctant Mrs Lal in tow, arrived the following Monday.
‘My God,’ decreed Mrs Lal, looking round in disgust. ‘We would never allow such a down-and-out retail outlet at home!’ She sniffed roundly. ‘And what is that terrible smell?’
Olivia breathed in. It was the instantly recognizable charity-shop aroma: clothes stored in musty attics, shoes which ought to have been thrown out decades ago, spiced with the remotest suspicion of ancient pee. But she wasn’t going to admit that to Lalita.
‘That, my dear Mrs Lal,’ announced Olivia, hoping not too many people could hear, ‘is because this retail outlet is in need of someone to take control, someone with taste and vision.’
Mrs Lal’s fine black eyes began to sparkle with enthusiasm at the challenge. ‘Indeed!’ She regarded the two seventy-plus ladies who were watching her with a mixture of admiration and fear, much in the way hitherto unshepherded sheep stare at a new sheepdog, as they opened the newly arrived bin bags of kindly donated items.
‘The first challenge is to make the space look like an attractive shopping experience.’ She eyed the ladies with their bin bags clutched to their cardiganed chests. ‘Here,’ she commanded, ‘give me one of those!’ She began to scatter the contents in the middle of the floor. ‘How dare people offer such rubbish in the name of a good cause? No one I know would wear such things.’
Olivia guessed that Mrs Lal’s familiarity with the concept of the charity shop was decidedly limited. ‘It’s quite different here, Mrs Lal. Lots of people use thrift shops, especially young people. They don’t call it second-hand, they call it vintage.’
‘I will stay on tonight,’ Mrs Lal announced as if volunteering for the Charge of the Light Brigade. ‘And tomorrow you will see something different.’
‘I’m not sure you can do that,’ protested one of the cardiganed ladies whose name turned out to be Flo. ‘I don’t know what the manageress would have to say.’
Mrs Lal turned to her. ‘I will deal with the manageress.’
Flo knew what authority sounded like when she heard it. ‘All right,’ she agreed nervously, ‘but perhaps you’d better phone her first . . .’ She began scrabbling around behind the till for the number.
Olivia had always wondered what a gimlet eye was. Now she knew.
‘That will not be necessary,’ Mrs Lal assured them firmly. ‘I have found in life that bureaucracy is the enemy of creativity.’
‘Would you like some help?’ Olivia offered, wondering what she had unleashed on an unsuspecting Minsley.
‘No thank you,’ Mrs Lal insisted. ‘I always work better alone.’
Without further hesitation she removed her Stella McCartney overcoat and looked around her.
Olivia tried not to smile as she reassured Flo and her friend and got them to write down how to shut up the shop, whereupon they waddled off like two tough old turkeys trying not to think about Christmas.
Ella stood in the queue for Costa Coffee at Waterloo station trying not to think about Laura and the mysterious Gavin. One train had just departed and irritatingly the next wasn’t for twenty minutes. At least at this time of day she’d get a seat.
‘How about something stronger?’ suggested a voice behind her.
Ella swung round to find Daniel Forrest watching her and smiling.
‘You’ve got a nerve,’ Ella replied, turning back to the counter.
Somehow he insinuated himself into the queue. ‘Look, that was a stupid thing to do the other night. I’m really sorry.’
‘Too right. You managed to really upset Claudia and Don.’
‘I thought that was all water under the bridge. Claudia and I just flirted a bit, shared the odd kiss, it never went further than that.’
‘Maybe it did for her. I gather it almost wrecked their daughter’s wedding when Don found out.’
‘Yes, well, he was up to no good himself. Even if it was only online, which seemed pretty weird to me.’
She was about to say that at least online was better than actual betrayal, but thought better of it as the memory of Laura flashed uncomfortably into her mind again.
‘Look, I’m reall
y sorry. Do you think I should apologize to Claudia?’
‘Absolutely not. Just don’t show up at the manor again.’
‘What other penance could I do? Offer myself as a human sacrifice to the outrageous Mrs Lal so she can practise her matchmaking skills?’
‘Daniel,’ Ella replied severely. ‘I think that would only cause more trouble.’
‘I’m not Casanova, you know.’ Ella had to admit his smile was very charming and had to shake herself mentally.
‘Nothing I can think of at the moment, I’m afraid,’ Ella said firmly.
‘Well, if you do think of anything, let me know.’ He handed her a business card.
‘Very formal.’
‘I thought formal was what you wanted.’ Ella decided he was attractive and exasperating in equal measure. And definitely dangerous.
Anyway, she didn’t need romance in her life, the pain and the worry of it. Besides, she was too set in her ways. And look at what it was doing to Laura. She was shining like a star at the moment but what if it ended in a black hole?
Once she was on the train she ordered a G&T from the trolley, opened her iPad and began browsing ‘The Dangers of Online Dating’.
Maybe she was overreacting, but better safe than sorry, surely? Whether Laura would agree with her, she wasn’t at all convinced.
Twenty-One
‘Come on, Claudia dear,’ her mother Olivia chivvied the next morning. ‘I can’t wait to see what your Mrs Lal has done with the charity shop.’
‘She’s not my Mrs Lal, she’s Laura’s if she’s anyone’s. Besides, I’m busy looking at temporary chefs with Bella and they all seem to either be working in schools or on work experience from their FE Colleges. Hardly Rose’s style.’
‘Does she really care that much about food?’
‘Yes!’ chorused Bella and Claudia. ‘Rose was adamant we had a proper cook and somewhere to eat together. Civilized living demands it, according to Rose. I think she’s right, even if it is an extravagance. Eating together is important. And she’s not the only one. We’ve been having a lot of mumbling since Mrs Lal drove the chef out. Wretched woman.’
‘I must admit,’ added Bella, ‘I haven’t been able to detect this heart of gold that’s supposed to lurk beneath the tough exterior.’ Noah distracted her by tugging at the toggle on her vintage Afghan dress.
‘I was just explaining to Mrs Lal how young people like you consider second-hand to be quite trendy,’ Claudia commented.
‘Pre-loved,’ stated Bella with a grin.
‘Sorry?’ Olivia shook her head and made a face.
‘Pre-loved. That’s what the Americans call second-hand.’
‘Really,’ Olivia opined. ‘Americans are such extraordinary people. Do you know they all think our road sign for deceptive bends is terribly funny? And guess what they call their own? Dangerous curves. I mean, I ask you!’
‘Lou’s all right, though.’ Bella picked Noah up and put him on her knee.
‘He’s practically one of us,’ agreed Claudia. ‘I mean, fancy preferring Lower Minsley to Brooklyn!’
‘I went to Brooklyn once,’ Olivia announced. ‘It was closed.’
The others looked at her strangely.
‘It’s a joke! A parody of WC Fields.’ She on put quite a convincing imitation of the great man’s double-chinned stature. ‘I went to Philadelphia once. It was closed. You see how I put in Brooklyn instead . . .’
‘Yes, Ma, we both got it.’
‘Well, you didn’t laugh. No sense of humour, your generation.’
Claudia grabbed her arm and led her off as Bella stifled her giggles.
‘Now she gets it,’ announced Olivia with satisfaction. ‘A bit slow, I must say.’
Olivia then insisted on stopping at the baker’s and bought rock buns plus three takeaway coffees.
‘She’ll never be there at this time, Ma,’ Claudia said. ‘If she really did stay on for ages.’
‘You wait. I saw the look in her eye. Besides, we can always give them to Minnie and Flo or whatever their names were.’
‘The thing is, though,’ Claudia said gloomily, ‘even if she has tarted up the shop, I can hardly see her working there alongside dear old Minnie and Flo . . .’
She stopped in her tracks transfixed by the sight of Mrs Lal standing in the window of Good Age, her immaculate hair in dusty rat’s tails round her face, wielding a paintbrush and completing the last of a colourful honeycomb of wooden boxes, in orange, blue and yellow.
‘That’s the last bloody box!’ Mrs Lal announced triumphantly, falling on the rock cakes as if she’d never seen food before. ‘I remembered seeing a pile of them outside the wine merchant and just managed to pick up paint and brushes before the hardware shop closed.’
‘But what are they for?’ Olivia asked.
‘I’m going to put vases and some pairs of shoes and that cake stand in them’ – she indicated a rather pretty glass-topped object – ‘to catch the eyes of passers-by.’
It was at this point they noticed the cardiganed volunteers, Minnie and Flo, who were struck dumb at the transformation as they arrived for work.
And what a transformation it was. Mrs Lal had sorted all the random dresses, tops, blazers and skirts into areas of colour that somehow managed to echo the boxes in the window. Particularly eye-catching was the orange section with a row of similar-toned handbags, shoes and other orange objects on the shelf beneath it, next to a section of blues, which morphed elegantly into greens, yellows and purples with all the impact of a kaleidoscope.
It really was stunning.
‘Goodness,’ remarked Olivia.
‘Bloody hell,’ echoed Claudia. ‘I can hardly believe it’s the same shop!’
‘I wonder what Vera will say,’ mumbled Flo.
‘I’m not sure she’ll like it,’ Minnie announced nervously.
‘And who is this Vera?’ enquired Mrs Lal scornfully.
‘The manageress,’ chorused Minnie and Flo.
‘Then she should look and learn,’ Olivia pronounced.
‘I must admit,’ Flo said, putting her hands into her cardi pockets and pirouetting in admiration. ‘It is very nice. Pity we’re too late for Best Charity Shop.’
‘And what is Best Charity Shop?’ Mrs Lal seemed suddenly to recover her energy.
‘The forms came in the other day. Vera put them in the bin.’
‘In this bin?’ Mrs Lal delved into a metal bin behind the cash desk and pulled out some pieces of paper triumphantly.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ replied Flo, visibly losing her nerve. ‘The prize is a thousand pounds and lunch with Mary Portas.’
‘She has always been my heroine,’ announced Mrs Lal reverently. ‘That haircut. The perfect colour red.’
Claudia marvelled at modern global media that Mrs Lal in India could follow a show about the revival of the British high street.
Mrs Lal took out a gold Parker pen from her Prada handbag and began to fill in the form.
‘I’m not sure Vera’s going to like this,’ announced Minnie again.
‘Then Vera,’ pronounced Olivia in her best cut-glass tone, ‘can take a running jump.’
‘Thank you, Ma,’ Claudia whispered as they waited for Mrs Lal to come back to the manor. ‘You’ve saved the day again.’
Olivia picked up her coffee, a small smile of satisfaction just visible as she bent down.
‘Would you like to come to my house for a cup of tea?’ she asked Mrs Lal.
‘I’d prefer something stronger.’
‘What a very good idea,’ agreed Olivia. ‘Are you coming too, dear?’ she asked her daughter.
‘Why not?’ Claudia nodded.
They were all laughing when they pushed open the door to her parents’ apartment on the ground floor of what had been the main hotel building. It always amazed Claudia how her mother had achieved exactly the same look and feel here as she’d had in their old house: country house with a touch of shabby chic before anyone d
ecided to call it that.
‘I wonder if your father would like to join us?’ Olivia surprised Claudia by enquiring, as she led them all out to the shed to ask him, then stopped, suddenly frozen.
On the sofa sat her husband, still as a statue, his eyes closed, a glass of whisky next to him on the coffee table, today’s crossword, always done in competition with his robotic companion, just completed at his side. Hiro sat next to him.
Olivia knew at once that he was dead.
‘When did it happen?’ she asked Hiro quietly.
‘Half an hour ago. I came to look for you.’
The words ‘Not very hard!’ were on her lips, but she didn’t say them. Len had told her often enough that this was the way he wanted to go.
‘Oh Dad, no!’ Claudia flung herself onto her knees and kissed his hands.
‘My dear lady, I am so sorry for your loss,’ Mrs Lal put her arms around Olivia and to Claudia’s amazement her mother, who hated to be touched, returned the embrace. How wonderful it would be if Mrs Lal could fill the role of comforter. Relief flooded through Claudia as she realized that her mother wouldn’t be alone having to face an empty house, now she was part of a community of friends.
Claudia tried to hold herself together for her mother’s sake. She supposed they had better do something, but felt paralyzed by grief.
In the silence they could hear Rose McGill, who had just arrived back from her walk. ‘Has anyone seen the charity shop in the village? It looks absolutely amazing.’ And then, sensing the stillness of the figures gathered around the shed door, she came over.
‘It’s my father,’ Claudia explained in a low and anguished voice, ‘he’s just died. Probably a heart attack.’
‘Oh my God, Olivia, I’m so sorry. Shall I call for the doctor?’
‘Thank you, Rose,’ Olivia replied, standing even straighter than usual to try and contain the grief that was threatening to fell her. ‘That would be most useful.’
Choosing the hymns and readings for the funeral seemed to offer some consolation to Olivia, as it often does to the people left behind. ‘Leonard loved a good funeral,’ she announced to Mrs Lal. ‘He always said they were for the living, not the dead. At our age they’re the number one social event.’ She smiled nostalgically. ‘His old friend Bill said there were so many of them dying it wasn’t worth going home, really. They might just as well stay in the cemetery.’