The Mysterious Miss Mayhew

by Hazel Osmond

  ‘He hasn’t told us a thing.’ Kath’s delivery was slow as if she was considering something.

  ‘No? Well, Tom came to the rescue. The second time he’s helped me out really. The first time was with Greg Vasey … Although, strictly speaking, I’d already rescued myself with the Striking Cobra with Half Twist. Oh—’ Fran stopped abruptly.

  Tom could see Fran wanted to apologise for mentioning Vasey, but if she did, that would have revealed that she knew more about Rob than she could possibly have found out during a quick hello and goodbye in the market place.

  Hattie, unwittingly, dug her out of the hole by pulling on Fran’s sleeve. ‘Did I tell you that I defeated a whole Spanish fleet?’ she said. ‘I put everyone to the sword. Except for two Spaniards who I spared because they fought really well.’

  ‘And because one of them gives you your pocket money,’ Tom added.

  Fran’s laugh felt like a hand trailing over his skin. He was beginning not to care that his soppy smile in response to it would be picked up by Kath.

  ‘Oh! I’ve left them in the car,’ Fran suddenly said and went out at the side gate.

  Her departure allowed Rob to say, ‘What in hell’s name is a Striking Cobra with Half Twist?’

  ‘No idea, but it laid Vasey on his back on her carpet. He’s the estate agent letting out Fran’s cottage.’

  He waited. Kath was looking at the side gate. ‘And she works for you, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Kind of,’ he said, not wishing to go into the Mawson situation.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Kath replied and then said nothing more. Her silence was worrying.

  Fran came back, carrying a plate of scones covered in cling film. They actually looked like scones.

  ‘I brought you these as a “thank you”. Such a kind thing to do, Tom. And … I think we’ve cracked scones.’ She tilted the plate. ‘See, they even have a seam.’

  ‘We?’ Rob asked.

  Tom knew he was rumbled.

  ‘Tom’s mother and I,’ Fran explained. ‘Well, she’s your mother too, of course. Tom asked her if she could find time to help me get to grips with some recipes. She came round this afternoon.’

  ‘I’ll bet she did,’ Rob said.

  Kath was all wide-eyed innocence. ‘That was kind of you, Tom. Very neighbourly.’

  He tried to ignore them both and watched Hattie. She was touching the cling film with a finger. ‘They look nicer than last time. Do they taste better as well?’

  Tom tried to apologise, but Fran simply laughed. ‘Who am I to take offence at someone saying just what they think?’ She handed over the plate. ‘Do with them what you will, Hattie.’

  ‘I thought I’d eat some of them.’

  Another laugh from Fran. ‘So literal. Marvellous.’

  Kath put her hand on Hattie’s back and started to steer her in the direction of the house. ‘Come on,’ she called back to Rob, ‘let’s see if we can find some jam.’

  If Rob’s head had been facing in the right direction, he would have seen the meaningful look he was getting from his wife.

  ‘Rob!’ Kath repeated, sharply. It was as if she’d shouted, ‘Heel!’ Soon Hattie was being bundled into the house.

  ‘You’re very lucky,’ Fran said. ‘A family.’

  She didn’t put an adjective in there – no ‘lovely’ or ‘friendly’ – and at some level he filed that away.

  He agreed that he was lucky.

  They could be a lot more bloody subtle, though.

  She looked apologetic. ‘I’m really sorry about mentioning Vasey.’

  ‘I think you got away with it. Besides, you didn’t mention the cemetery, that’s the main thing.’

  She beamed at that and he decided he wasn’t really bothered about talking any more, he would have been happy just standing with her in his garden on a summer’s evening. Happier lying naked with her, obviously, but if this was all he could have, it felt great. A kind of bitter-sweet great, with the knowledge that Jamie was waiting in the wings.

  ‘Your mother has a great deal of patience,’ Fran said.

  ‘She needed it, with Rob and me as sons.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure neither of you was much trouble. I was trouble from the moment I was conceived.’

  He felt he’d lost her and he didn’t know what to say, but seconds later, she jollied up again.

  ‘Nice to see the hat is getting used.’

  ‘I dread the day when anything happens to it. She’ll be distraught.’

  ‘No need for that. I’ll simply make another.’

  ‘So you’re not thinking of leaving?’

  The way she glanced at him made him suspect he’d blurted that out, but she went on to say, earnestly, ‘No. I still have a tiny bit of hope left that Mrs Mawson will start to feel less threatened by me.’

  ‘Threatened?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked as if she really wanted him to understand her. ‘She’s lashing out because she’s scared that I might take something from her. But if I don’t make waves, surely it’s only a matter of time before she understands—’

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on it. They’re hard people, Fran. I didn’t get anywhere with them yesterday. And, I’m sorry to tell you this, but when I mentioned you, the atmosphere, well, it didn’t improve.’

  ‘You mentioned me?’

  ‘Of course. I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark about what’s going on. And as you won’t tell me anything …’ He smiled at her so that she would know he wasn’t blaming her. ‘I had to talk to Mrs Mawson.’

  Her hand was suddenly on his arm. ‘Tom, don’t get yourself into trouble over this. You have a career and a family to think of.’ She looked towards the back door.

  Tom was really, really glad his family was taking so long to find that jam. He wondered which of the windows Rob and Kath were peering out of. Whichever it was, they wouldn’t be able to see how Fran’s hand on his arm was affecting him. He was sinking into the warmth of her, his body trying to reach out for hers even though he was standing still.

  ‘Please promise me you won’t ask her about me again,’ she said, and her eyes were so imploring that he couldn’t help staring into them. ‘Promise, Tom,’ she insisted.

  ‘I promise.’ Emboldened by the stillness between them that followed, he wondered whether the world would fall on his head if he just kissed her.

  And then the look was broken. She broke it and he remembered the day in the office when she had not looked away at all. It felt as if she was stepping back and made him remember the bitter part of this sweet interlude.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘the Mawsons are just afraid that you’ll take Jamie away from them.’

  She frowned and her hand went from his arm. ‘There’s no reason I’d do—’

  ‘I saw you, Fran,’ he said, gently. ‘On the stairs, last Friday. You and Jamie.’ It felt like scratching at an old hurt.

  He looked at her lips and wished he knew what they felt like against his. After what he’d just said, he guessed he’d never find out – he’d portrayed himself as peeping Tom, spying on her.

  Which is why he didn’t expect the way her hand came back to his arm. ‘Jamie and I have become close, I won’t deny that,’ she said. ‘I won’t deny I rewrote his copy too, although you’ve been too kind to mention that. But Mrs Mawson has nothing to fear from me on the Jamie front. At. All.’ There was the slightest pressure from her hand. ‘In fact, nobody has anything to fear from me regarding Jamie.’

  She was back holding his gaze and he wanted to wallow in her eyes and believe what she’d just said. The more he kept looking at her, the more he felt drunk with the intimacy of it. The way she was smiling, the curve of her cheek, the contrast between the colour of her hair and her tanned skin. He couldn’t see the small scars on her hands or that lump on her finger, but he wanted to know what they felt like under his mouth.

  Two people standing in a garden with the birds still singing.

  He was afraid that if he spoke he was going
to break this moment, but it seemed to him that the signs he had been looking for were really there this time. He glanced towards the house.

  ‘Fran,’ he said, ‘I’m going to take a chance here—’

  ‘Can I just stop you, Tom?’ she said quickly, letting her hand drop again, and he did stop because he was confused by her being so very upbeat and reasonable. He had no sense that she was going to kick him into the kerb. In fact, she was leaning closer.

  ‘The thing is, Tom, I’ve found that being successful with something isn’t just a matter of determination. Timing is crucial too. It’s essential not to rush the moment for all kinds of reasons …’ She lifted her arm and swept it through an arc. ‘For example, because very soon scones will appear with jam on them. Or the people standing in a garden listening to the birds have had a very rough week indeed, and it’s still only Tuesday. Or even – and this will sound like complete gibberish to you, Tom, because one of the people standing in the garden is in shadow.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, still wanting to kiss her, ‘that is complete gibberish. Neither of us is in shadow – the sun doesn’t disappear until it goes behind that conifer.’

  ‘I know.’ She shook her head in that way she had when agreeing that she was really hopeless. ‘But, Tom, when the timing is right, it will make perfect sense.’ She looked towards the house, and he realised that he even liked her profile – that slight lift to the end of her nose. ‘What you have to remember,’ she carried on, ‘is that it’s not a case of “Let’s never have this conversation again.” It’s “Let’s not have it right now.”’

  Her smile suggested that was all sorted. ‘Right, on to other matters—’

  ‘No, Fran—’

  ‘Yes, Tom,’ she said, firmly. The look she was now giving him did not encourage him to try to persuade her. It would have been like throwing a load of bubbles at a cactus.

  ‘So, moving along …’ she said, talking quickly. ‘I want very much to do you a kindness in return for sending your mother to help me.’

  He didn’t think in a million years that the kindness she had in mind was the one he wanted from her.

  ‘It’s about the people who work for you, Tom. You really need to pay more attention to what’s going on.’

  Was she telling him off now?

  ‘Victoria is … Well, she’s not as squeaky clean or even as nice as she makes out. Kelvin is completely barking up the wrong tree. And Monty. Now he’s the one I’m really worried about.’

  That, at least, stirred him to speak. ‘Monty? But he’s a changed man.’

  She smiled, sympathetically. ‘Tom. There’s trouble ahead there. Oh! Goodness! You took a long time to find that jam.’

  Hattie was coming towards them. He guessed that Rob and Kath had been unable to keep her in the kitchen any longer.

  He still had a few more seconds of Fran standing beside him and he willed himself to ignore everything she’d said and try again to tell her how he felt.

  Too late. Hattie had dropped a couple of scones and Fran was setting off to retrieve them. He watched her move, watched her bend. He couldn’t stop watching her.

  Rob and Kath were coming out of the back door and Fran was replacing the scones on the plate and smiling down at Hattie – another of those smiles that was merely an approximation of happiness.

  Hattie must have picked up on that too, because she said, ‘I’m sorry I dropped the scones. You don’t have to eat them.’

  ‘Oh I don’t mind a bit of dirt and some grass clippings.’

  ‘You sure? ’Cos you looked a bit sad when you put them back on the plate.’

  ‘No, no. It wasn’t the scones that were making me sad, Hattie. I’m just not feeling myself at the moment.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Hattie said, looking up at her. ‘We’ve got a boy in our class – Neale Sutton – he’s always feeling himself. Mrs Tucker, our teacher, keeps sending him out to wash his hands.’

  *

  The phone was ringing. Which was weird as both he and Fran were naked in the garden and he didn’t have his mobile on him. Where, after all, would he have put it?

  And then he was blinking in the darkness, pushing up from his dream and realising it was the phone in his bedroom that was ringing.

  He grabbed at it.

  ‘You’re a complete shit.’

  Even in his half-awake state he knew who that was.

  ‘Thanks for that, Steph.’ He looked at the time on the bedside clock. 03:09 the cheerful red figures said.

  ‘A complete and utter shit.’

  ‘Guessing you’ve rediscovered your ability to open envelopes. What did you think of the photos? I particularly liked the one where—’

  ‘Don’t try and make small talk with me. It would kill you, would it, to let her come out on her own for Christmas? You always have to muscle in on the act. Well, if you think I’m going to agree to a quick visit from her and then it’s “Bye-bye, Steph, we’re off skiing”, you’re stupider than I thought.’

  Tom waited for her to take a breath, but on she went. ‘You know what I’m going to do when I put down this phone? I am going to tear up your letter. If you want me to restart divorce proceedings, you send Hattie out here in December. On her own.’

  Tom was waiting for his anger to kick in, but it wasn’t coming. He couldn’t even be bothered to sit up and rearrange the pillows to make himself comfortable. The clock changed to 03:13 at the same time as a moment of clarity arrived – he didn’t care if Steph rang off.

  ‘Know what, Steph?’ he said. ‘Tear up the letter. Burn it if you want. Eighteen months’ time, more or less, and it will be five years since we split up. The divorce can just slide through on a nod. I’m fed up with trying to keep you happy on the vague chance that you might play ball and put Hattie first.’

  He stopped to check on his anger levels. Rising but not spiking. ‘I’m fed up of being your PR person. Next time you let Hattie down, I’m not making excuses for you. She’s getting to an age where she doesn’t really believe what I’m saying anyway, she just wants to. Do you even think about how heart-breaking that is?’

  As Tom had been talking, he had started to think of Fran in the garden, the way she had said, ‘It’s not a case of “let’s never have this conversation again” …’

  Steph’s silence seemed different than usual. As if she didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Are you drunk?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘No. I’ve fallen for someone else. Hattie likes her too. So sod you.’

  And this time, it was him who put the phone down.

  CHAPTER 38

  Tuesday 10 June

  Yes, I know I threw this book into a corner of the room and said, dramatically, ‘What is the point in filling it in? I’ve learned nothing.’

  But I’ve calmed down a little since then. And I’ve missed sorting out in ten points or less, what has been important.

  So, since my last entry on Sunday, I have learned:

  1) Beating cake mix is a very effective way of getting rid of the urge to beat a person.

  2) This feeling only lasts for a while – then the urge to lay about Edward Mawson with a wooden spoon resurfaces with a vengeance.

  3) Being patted on the back while someone says ‘There, there’ is no substitute for having him put his arms around you and letting you cry all over his shirt.

  4) Tom’s mother, Mrs Howard, is very knowledgeable about baking and an extremely patient teacher. She may also have an ‘interesting’ private life. When she was putting her apron on and rearranging the collar of her blouse, I saw a love bite.

  5) Kath is all those things I thought she was. She also seems like good fun. She is not, however, very subtle about getting a small child from a garden to a kitchen.

  6) Tom will not only hurtle into a house if he feels your honour is being threatened, he will also go and fight dragons in their own home.

  7) Hattie is as tactless as I am. Which would be a comfort, were she not on
ly five.

  8) Tom has no trouble asking questions or spotting things in stairwells, but has failed to see that I am not being one hundred per cent honest about my relationship with Jamie.

  9) Tom has also failed to spot that I am not being anywhere near honest about what I feel for him.

  10) Points 8 and 9 are beginning to keep me awake at nights. That and the ‘other’ noises in this bungalow.

  CHAPTER 39

  He didn’t exactly dump Hattie in the playground, but it was one of his quickest goodbyes ever and then he was off like a heat-seeking missile. Sod work and all the little thorns scattered on the floor there – whether to tell everyone that Fran was off the team, having to find someone to replace her, Jamie even existing – he was on a trajectory that led only to Fran’s bungalow.

  His conversation with her the previous evening seemed unreal. Why had he just stood there and let her stop him talking? Well, this morning he wasn’t going to be put off. He parked his car by the hedge and fumbled pressing the button to lock it.

  While he was confident enough to think he stood a chance with Fran, he wasn’t so sure of himself that he could imagine what might happen next. In his imagination, he’d only got as far as taking her face between his hands and kissing her.

  He didn’t even bother with the front door today, and as he rounded the side of the bungalow, he rehearsed in his head how he might begin: ‘I know you said yesterday about not having the conversation right now, but is twelve hours later, later enough for you?’

  He guessed at this time of the morning, she’d be in the kitchen. Or maybe she wouldn’t even be up yet. If so, she might come to the door in whatever she slept in.

  He prayed she slept in nothing.

  He glanced towards the kitchen window as he walked and stopped so abruptly he felt a jolt as the momentum in the top half of his body carried on. Jamie Mawson was there, just turning away from the sink, a glass of water in his hand. A bare-chested Jamie Mawson.

  Tom could see that he had on a pair of striped pyjama bottoms. The first leaden feeling of unease reached his stomach.

  Realising his hand was raised to knock on the door, he lowered it and side-stepped out of view. But he could still see anyone who came to the window in the kitchen and here was Jamie again to re-fill his glass. His hair was messed up as if he’d not long raised his head off the pillow.