Love-40

by Anna Cheska

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ Jade said to the woman who had come in.

  Liam turned to face her. Her hair was the same colour as her daughter’s and equally unnatural, she was tall and had muscular well-toned legs and a figure she was not trying to hide. She looked very out of place in the school hall with its dark laminated floor, fluorescent lighting and magnolia walls decorated with child-art. Liam was just thinking that she seemed vaguely familiar and not just as the mirage that Jade would become in thirty years’ time, when he realised who was now standing just behind her.

  ‘Amanda?’ He blinked.

  She waggled her fingers, put them to her lips and indicated that she would wait at the back of the hall.

  Bloody hell, thought Liam.

  ‘I hope,’ said Jade’s mother, with a wiggle of the shoulders, ‘that there won’t be too much close contact.’ She looked Liam up and down, and he was sure he could make out a suggestive glint in her eyes. ‘If you know what I mean.’ She winked. ‘Jade’s a big girl. But she’s not even twelve yet, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ Liam said crisply. ‘And I can assure you, Mrs Johnson, that you need have no concerns on that score.’ What he did not need were accusations of sexual harrassment, or of encouraging tweenage boy/girl intimacy, come to that. They could manage that kind of thing without him. And he didn’t need Amanda witnessing this sort of scene either. ‘That’s enough for today.’ He clapped his hands in dismissal. ‘See you all Tuesday after school.’

  Liam waved away interruptions of, ‘She sticks her bloody elbows into me, sir. When I try and get in close, I mean.’ (Bradley). And, ‘I could do it better, sir.’ (Crystal). ‘I like Bradley…’ (at which point Bradley made a puking action behind her back). ‘I started ballet when I was three and my mum says –’

  ‘Tuesday,’ Liam said firmly. ‘And thank you all.’

  As they began to disperse, he approached Amanda, who was smiling, her eyes wide and excited. ‘Golly, a real rehearsal. With lots of drama too!’

  ‘Drama I could live without.’ Liam kissed the cool cheek she offered him, conscious at the same time of the rumours of approaching wedlock that would be circulating Chestnut Grove Middle School by lunchtime tomorrow.

  ‘But the show must go on,’ Amanda said obscurely. ‘And it looked terribly exciting.’ She was dressed in an almond-green suit, the skirt of which hovered just above her bare knees. It looked classy and expensive. She looked classy and expensive.

  ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ he asked her, aware how oafish that sounded.

  ‘You didn’t call me.’ She pouted prettily. ‘So I came to you.’

  What for, he wondered. What would a girl like Amanda want with a man like him, a poor – and oafish – hung-over teacher (he’d been drinking too much since Estelle left) whose time was so taken up with coaxing the kids of the youth club into tennis and the school’s year 7s into Shakespeare that he had no time left for Amanda. Or Estelle, he thought sadly.

  ‘You did offer me a drink.’ Amanda moved one step closer. ‘So I thought, how about tonight?’

  Liam smelt again that exclusive perfume, quite a contrast to Jade Johnson’s. They should ban scent like Amanda’s, he thought. Who needed aphrodisiac in a bottle when you were looking at Amanda Lake? ‘Sure.’ Liam was expansive, though he was so knackered, he’d rather get his head down – alone – in his garret flat. Things must be bad.

  He was distracted by the approach of Jade’s mother. All bony shoulders and tits, he found himself thinking.

  ‘Call me Lorraine.’ She thrust long, painted fingernails towards him. ‘And if you need any help with…’ She floundered.

  ‘The set?’ suggested Amanda.

  ‘Yeah, the set. Or…’

  ‘The lighting?’

  ‘Yeah, or…’

  ‘The costumes?’

  Liam took the hand she was offering him, and the opportunity to pull her away from Amanda and her not so helpful comments. ‘Thanks. I’ll let you know,’ he said.

  ‘Good.’ She looked him up and down once more. ‘I like a man who knows what he wants.’

  Was he one of those? He doubted it.

  ‘But don’t you let them boys get too close,’ Lorraine reminded him as she ushered Jade out of the hall. ‘She’s only eleven, remember.’

  How could he forget? Ye Gods. Liam thrust a hand through his hair. Where was Estelle when he needed protection?

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful how your life can change when you’re free?’ Amanda took his arm.

  ‘Wonderful,’ echoed Liam.

  ‘Poor darling. She’s after you, and who could blame her?’ Amanda chuckled.

  Liam frowned at her. ‘I’m sure she’s not. She’s probably happily married and –’

  ‘A compulsive man-hunter,’ Amanda said. ‘I know the type. But let’s not talk about her.’

  Fine by him. Liam watched the kids gradually dispersing from the hall and into the narrow corridor beyond. ‘Why did you come here – really?’ he asked her.

  ‘Among other reasons…’ A seductive smile. ‘I wanted to know…’ She led him gently back towards the stage. ‘If you’re umpiring for the under-9s tournament next weekend?’

  Next weekend? Liam did some rapid calculations. What with the play and the tennis coaching on top of his other commitments, he was in danger of getting seriously overbooked. But he had promised … ‘Yep,’ he told her. ‘Unfortunately.’ The under-9s were the worst. He waved off the final stragglers, checked no one was left behind.

  ‘So am I,’ said Amanda, as together, they left the hall.

  ‘Good.’ Liam leaned back to switch off the lights. The only problem was that so, God damn it, was Estelle.

  * * *

  ‘Who was that?’ Estelle demanded.

  ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘On the phone.’

  Should she lie? Suzi decided not to bother. ‘A dealer.’ But she didn’t mention she’d as good as promised to sell half their stock to him, didn’t add how much she’d liked him. ‘Not to be trusted,’ she added, to convince herself.

  ‘Men…’ Estelle rolled her eyes.

  Suzi grabbed the chance. ‘And talking of men –’

  ‘No.’ Estelle smoothed a lock of dark red hair away from her face. ‘I don’t want to talk about Liam, Suzi, I really don’t.’

  Suzi wasn’t going to let that stop her. She was fed up with both of them mooning around missing one another like two separate halves of the same circle. The trouble was that she loved them both. And it might sound ridiculous, but there was something wrong with her world when these two were apart. ‘But you still care,’ she reminded Estelle. ‘You should talk to each other at least.’

  ‘There’s no point.’

  Suzi sighed. Liam had his faults but he was hardly an out and out bastard. Or low-down hypocrite … like Josh Willis, for example.

  ‘And a relationship needs more than two people caring,’ Estelle added. She was sitting, head bent, cleaning some jewellery. ‘It needs to be worked at, it needs to be cherished. Otherwise…’ she squeezed more metal polish on to her cloth ‘… it withers and dies.’

  Suzi thought of Michael. Had their relationship withered and died? Could it be revived with a dose of Grow-more and a snippet of mutual affection? She flipped open the till and began to count the takings. It didn’t take long. And what happened when a relationship became suffocating, she found herself wondering. When there was no sunlight, no water? What happened when a pleasant Friday-night change of routine became an everyday thing? And you didn’t like it, didn’t want it, needed your me-time back?

  Suzi shut the till again. It wasn’t Michael’s fault, and perhaps that was why it was so hard to remind him that theirs was supposed to be a temporary live-in arrangement. It would be like kicking out Samson or Delilah, she thought. Or Hester. She smiled as she recalled the expression on Michael’s face that evening – when he’d finally got Hester back to the cottage, when he got up from the lawn where she’d head-butted him. Poo
r Michael. She’d had to stop herself from rushing out there to comfort him; she’d realised somehow that loss of face would be the worst injury Michael could suffer right now.

  ‘Forget about me and Liam.’ Estelle jumped up from her seat, red hair flying, as Suzi realised guiltily that she already had. ‘And listen to my great idea.’

  ‘Mmm?’ Suzi wondered when Estelle would realise that she was the only one getting great ideas. That Suzi’s plans (like the one concerning Josh Willis for example) had a habit of ending in disaster.

  ‘How d’you fancy specialising in jewellery – antique and modern? Repairs, old and new, the whole bit?’ Estelle paced the floor, expanding on her theme, showing Suzi first a garnet bracelet (‘an antique any woman would want in her collection’) then a modern jade and platinum choker (‘they’re both compatible with today’s woman, today’s lifestyle, don’t you think?’).

  ‘Mmm.’ Suzi was only half-listening, the other half still mulling it all around – Josh, Michael, Liam and Estelle.

  ‘It makes sense, Suzi.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Talking of sense, she was a fine one to talk. Getting drunk and painting the shop sunflower-yellow were hardly the actions of a rational woman.

  What Estelle needed … no, what Liam and Estelle needed, was a helping hand – her hand, Suzi decided. She simply had to get them in the same place at the same time. Should be easy enough.

  She nodded as Estelle shoved a casket of ear-rings into her lap and continued to drone on. ‘Mmm,’ she said.

  A concert perhaps? The music would stop them talking for long enough to avoid the risk of another row, long enough surely for the chemistry to kick in. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘You like the idea?’

  Well, anything was worth a try, Suzi thought. ‘It’s brilliant. You’re brilliant.’ And as for Suzi, she might mess up big time in the men department, but she could still be a matchmaker made in heaven, she decided.

  * * *

  Estelle hadn’t meant to go to the garret flat after work, but something Suzi had said, had made her think. You should still talk to each other at least. Suzi was right, of course. It was childish not to talk, not to let the man you had loved for so many years know what you were thinking, feeling.

  She walked out of the shop, registered the presence of her Mini Mayfair, did a double-take and then swore softly. The car had a flat, front nearside.

  She hesitated, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She’d deal with it in the morning, maybe ask Liam if she could borrow the footpump to get enough air in it to make it round to the garage.

  Liam … Could they talk?

  Why not? Estelle made her way along West Street towards Pride Square, pulling her jacket closer around her. They were both adults – allegedly. And Liam, whatever else, was not telepathic. If he was as confused as Suzi seemed to think he was, if he was anywhere near as depressed as Suzi said he was, then he deserved some explanation.

  Estelle felt a pang of … what? Love? Humanity? Friendship? Whatever, it was enough to make her stop at the off-licence to buy a bottle of wine. Liam was too disorganised to have any in the flat, and it would save them from going out somewhere too public for proper talking. The wine would be a peace offering, of sorts, she decided, and conversation was always easier after a glass or two.

  She took her change and the brown and gold carrier bag and set off down North Street. Not that she had any intention of going back to him – she would make that clear from the outset. She would merely tell him – in a calm and reasonable way – that although she still cared for him, would always care for him, she was tired of being second best to whatever might momentarily catch hold of his passions, tired of waiting for Liam to give her some time, tired of being taken for granted, tired of running scared, half-waiting for him to leave.

  It would help him, she decided, groaning as the first drops of rain fell on her head and stained her vivid pink sarong, in any future relationships with the opposite sex. When the time came, of course. She pushed this thought away, quickly, before it could spoil her mood, this strange sense of optimism.

  But why not? Because she was getting there, wasn’t she? She was managing on her own, creating a space to live in that was hers, thinking up new ideas that reinforced her independence as well as hopefully helping the future of Secrets In The Attic. And she was doing it without Liam. That was important. She’d never managed alone before.

  She got to the big Victorian terrace, rang the doorbell and waited. No answer. ‘Damn.’ Estelle couldn’t believe that after all this planning, he wasn’t even here. And now it was bucketing down, and she hadn’t brought her umbrella. She was bare-legged, wearing her roman sandals, the pink sarong, a T-shirt and a thin jacket. She must be mad – it was still only May and this was England, after all. She shivered as the wet carrier bag from the off-licence brushed insinuatingly across her bare flesh. ‘Bugger it.’

  She had a choice, she realised. She could go in, shelter from the rain, pour herself a glass of wine and wait for him. And why not? She had her key, a lot of her stuff was still in the flat, and she was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind. Or she could give up, go back to her new flat above the shop, leave it till another night.

  No contest. It wasn’t in Estelle’s nature to give up, so she delved in her multi-coloured rucksack for the key to the outside door, let herself in, and shook off the worst of the rain. If she went back to the flat above the shop she might never summon up the courage to come here again, and the chance would be wasted, the chance to put things right.

  She would wait for him inside, she decided. She had the wine, didn’t she? He would come home tired, cold and wet and she would surprise him. She smiled at the thought, curiously excited at the prospect of seeing him again – her love, her Liam, the only man she’d ever wanted. No, she wouldn’t go back to him. Not yet anyway. But talking – they could still do that, couldn’t they?

  Chapter 11

  The following day, Suzi noticed that Estelle was being very heavy-handed with some rather delicate china.

  ‘Have you seen Liam?’ she asked her, thinking of the Arts Centre tickets.

  ‘You could say that,’ Estelle replied.

  ‘And did you talk?’ Something, Suzi realised, was wrong here. She was no mathematician, but surely three and three didn’t make four and a half?

  ‘We did not.’

  There was also a certain something in Estelle’s expression that reminded Suzi that redheads had notorious tempers. As teenagers, Estelle and Liam had fought tooth and nail, but over the years, Estelle, at least, had calmed down. However, she didn’t seem too calm right now. Suzi winced as another piece of china shuddered from its impact with the table top.

  ‘Any particular reason why not?’ Suzi asked, half-wishing she hadn’t brought the subject up.

  ‘Let’s just say,’ said Estelle, ‘that the first part begins with an A and ends with an A and the second part is something I’d like to throw her into.’

  Suzi frowned. She wasn’t sure she was up to anagrams at this time in the morning.

  Estelle muttered something as she went out the back.

  ‘What was that?’ Suzi asked, thinking she’d misheard.

  ‘I said, he’s a cheating bastard,’ Estelle repeated. ‘And you can tell him that from me.’

  Hmmm. So far, Suzi reflected, the matchmaking didn’t seem to be going too well.

  * * *

  Michael fed Samson, Delilah, Castor and Treacle, picked up the local paper from the doormat and sat down with a cup of strong coffee at Suzi’s kitchen table to confront the situations vacant columns.

  He realised, of course, that it had been naive of him to expect to live from the profits of gigs alone, when he had no established circuit, no record of performances, and when he was in competition with other artists who were tried, tested and came from Dorset. He realised too that he should have looked for a day job to tide him over, that he had no right to sponge off Suzi and that at this moment in time
he felt like a spare fart.

  But the fact was – despite what he’d told Suzi about applying for jobs – Michael didn’t want one. This was an obvious disadvantage when it came to job-hunting. But he simply wasn’t interested in a run of the mill job. He was fed up with being bossed by little men with big egos, to whom time-keeping was a religion – especially hard to take when he’d spent so long working for himself. And now? He didn’t want his life to be like that, damn it. He wanted to sing, he wanted to be creative for a change, he wanted to be free. ‘Really free, really free,’ he mumbled, recalling some punk hit from the 70s.

  Consequently, he half-heartedly ringed a couple of ads with red felt-tip – mainly for Suzi’s benefit when she looked at the paper later – but when he picked up the phone, it was the number of The Hardy Arms in Dorchester that he punch-dialled. He’d left a tape there yesterday, the landlord had been friendly enough, and if he could tell Suzi he had some more work when she walked in through the door … well, surely that would ease the tension between them? And unfortunately he was not talking sexual tension here – resolved or otherwise. He was talking cut-the-atmosphere-with-a-bloodied-knife type tension.

  But, no, the landlord told him, he hadn’t had a chance to listen to it yet. I’ll call you …

  Michael was despondent when he put down the phone. Now, even if the landlord decided Michael had talent, he would also have him labelled as a needy man.

  Samson came over and rested his jaw on Michael’s knee in sympathy. Michael rubbed his ears and the dog slobbered gently over his jeans. Shit, another pair for the wash, thought Michael. He should do all that himself, but he hadn’t got round to it yet, had no idea where Suzi kept such things as washing powder or ironing board. ‘What d’you want, boy?’ He looked into Samson’s big brown eyes. ‘A walk?’

  Samson’s tail shot into action. ‘A walk it is then.’ Better, at any rate, than staring into space. And a hell of a lot easier than walking a goat. Michael sighed as he got to his feet. He had expected to feel at home here, to fit effortlessly in with Suzi’s routine, to be appreciated for what he brought to the household.