Love on the Rocks

by Henry, Veronica

  Mimi still found it hard to believe they could have been so cruel, that they held their snobbish values over their own daughter’s wellbeing, that their sniffy disapproval came before what should surely have been unconditional love. Now she was older, now she could make a mature assessment of their circumstances, Mimi was determined that Victoria shouldn’t be short-changed. Yes, she’d made mistakes – didn’t everyone? – but she shouldn’t be crucified for them. She needed love and support as much as the next person.

  At first, after Nick had cut them off and before she had found George again, Mimi had wondered whether her real father, her biological dad, might be the one to save them. Maybe it was time for him to cough up, face up to the responsibility he hadn’t even known existed for seventeen years. After all, reasoned Mimi, if he had a bit of money lying about going begging, they could certainly use it. He’d got away with a good seventeen years of child maintenance, hadn’t he? Perhaps it was payback time.

  Victoria had always been fairly open about who her dad had been. In the past Mimi had sensed that to declare any real interest in him might have caused ructions, so she’d never bothered to find out very much about him. But once she’d decided that he could be the answer to their problems, she’d pieced together the few scraps of information she had and had tracked him down quite easily to an address on the outskirts of Bath. Which was a relief – after all, he could in theory have been anywhere in the world.

  The house was tiny, terraced, rather run down but quite pretty, with a white front door and big pots filled with geraniums that gave it a continental feel. There was a sign outside advertising furniture restoration and French polishing. By peering along the alley that led down the side of the house, Mimi could see evidence of some sort of ramshackle workshop in the back garden. She felt a small prick of disappointment. Somehow she didn’t think she had stumbled across a potential gold mine. The hunky school handyman who had fathered her hadn’t gone on to make his fortune, as she had sometimes fantasized. He wasn’t going to reappear in their lives, conveniently unattached and miraculously wealthy, only for him and Victoria to fall into each other’s arms. He wasn’t going to hug the daughter he’d never known he had, and whisk the pair of them off to his small but tasteful manor house to live happily ever after.

  Mimi was still curious, nevertheless. While she was here, she might as well catch a glimpse of the man whose genes she shared. She waited nearly two hours before he finally emerged, in a baggy T-shirt and khaki shorts, a well-built man with shaggy hair and a beard. Definitely attractive, in an alternative, artisan way. She could see an earring and he was smoking a roll-up. She peered at him for signs of any resemblance to herself and thought that perhaps that was where she had got her slightly crooked nose and her full lips. Moments later a woman with long hennaed hair followed him, in a turquoise batik skirt. They got into a transit van and drove off, the exhaust spluttering and the engine protesting. No, thought Mimi, thinking of her mother’s penchant for sports cars. This was definitely not her route out.

  She hadn’t felt particularly strongly about the man she’d seen. He’d looked quite handsome, but she couldn’t imagine what he could bring to their lives. He’d have to restore a lot of furniture to keep Victoria in the style to which she was accustomed. Besides, he looked to have a life of his own. She wasn’t going to go knocking on his door. It wasn’t as if he’d rejected her, after all. He’d never known she existed. Mimi had told herself, before she went to look for him, that she would go with her instinct. If she felt compelled to meet him, then she would. But when she looked at him, she felt nothing. As she took the bus back through Bath that afternoon to the horrible hotel they were still staying in, she finally decided that there was only one person who could get them out of this mess. Only one person who had ever provided them with love and security and laughter and a home. And no way was Mimi going to let George slip through her fingers again.

  Now, she’d managed to get them as far as The Rocks. All she had to do was her cuckoo act. She had to budge Lisa out of the nest. Mimi was a thoroughly resourceful creature. She’d worked out that Lisa must have secrets, because everybody did, and she watched and listened carefully for clues. Before long, she heard Lisa regaling people with the story of how she and George ended up buying The Rocks. Lisa told a good story: she exaggerated stripping off at the motor show until everyone had tears in their eyes from laughing.

  ‘My agent wasn’t best pleased, I can tell you,’ she finished off. ‘In fact, I think I was the first person ever to tell Tony Lavazza to stick it. But I’ve never regretted it. Not for a second.’

  It hadn’t taken Mimi long to track down Lisa’s agent. She’d used Yasmin to bait him. And just as she surmised, Tony was eager for revenge, as the photographs in the bottom of her rucksack proved.

  12

  Hannah was very worried about Molly. She’d missed two shifts in the last week, claiming illness. And she did indeed look pale, but Hannah suspected there was more to it than just a summer cold. Molly seemed jumpy and agitated. She shot off home after work like a scalded cat. And while she was at work she was withdrawn. She seemed to keep herself to herself. Whereas once she would have joined in the gossip over a coffee, now she carried on working without a break. Molly had always had a ready smile; she had warmth. Everyone liked her. But now, a light inside her had gone out.

  Hannah decided that it was up to her to do something about it. So she cornered Molly one morning, in the bedroom she was cleaning.

  ‘Moll, if there was something the matter, you would tell me?’

  Hannah put her hands on the younger girl’s shoulders, forcing her to meet her gaze. Molly looked back at her, wide-eyed.

  ‘Course.’

  ‘You seem… well, you don’t seem happy.’

  Molly shrugged. Hannah noticed that she was incredibly thin, her collarbones jutting out of her uniform.

  And her face was milky white, with purplish-blue shadows under her eyes.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Bruno told me you didn’t want the housekeeper’s job.’

  Molly looked at her sharply.

  ‘So?’

  ‘I think you’d be good at it.’

  ‘I don’t want the responsibility.’

  ‘It’s not that big a deal, counting sheets.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Molly was sharp. ‘Anyway, I might be leaving.’

  ‘Why? Where are you going?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘You like it here.’ Hannah frowned, puzzled by what Molly was saying. ‘Don’t you?’

  Molly was silent for a moment, then shut her eyes. Hannah suspected she was trying not to cry.

  ‘Yes, I like it here,’ she said wearily. ‘But… I might have to move. That’s all. Family stuff.’

  Hannah hugged her, instinctively sensing that the girl was struggling inwardly.

  ‘You know you can talk to me. If you want to.’

  Molly managed a smile.

  ‘Thanks.’ She wriggled out of Hannah’s arms and made for her trolley, fishing around amongst the cleaning agents for the window cleaner. ‘I’d better get the mirrors done. I don’t know why people have to touch them with their mucky fingers, but they always do.’

  She smiled brightly at Hannah, making it clear the conversation was over, then squirted the bedroom mirror liberally with Windolene.

  As soon as Hannah left the room, Molly blinked back the tears she had been trying to hide, wishing fervently that Hannah hadn’t been so nice. She could always cope when people were horrible, but when they were understanding, when they acted as if they might care for her… There was a moment back then when she’d thought she was going to lose it.

  The strain of the past couple of weeks had almost been more than she could bear, trying to arrange for someone to look after Alfie now Skyla had gone. Her mother seemed to enjoy tormenting her, turning up to look after him late so that she had to kill herself running for the bus, or not letting her know if she would be a
ble to cover until the very last minute. Molly knew she would never do anything to hurt the little boy – Teresa might be a selfish cow, but she wasn’t a total monster. But her nerves were shredded by the uncertainty of her existence. When her mother couldn’t cover, Siobhan, her sister, was usually happy to step in, but Molly didn’t trust Siobhan’s boyfriend Zen one bit. If she knew the two of them were looking after him, she made sure she took all her cash with her to work. Zen was a drug user, a heavy drug user to boot, and Molly knew his type had no qualms about who they pinched money from. And again, although she was certain Siobhan wouldn’t let Alfie come to any harm, she felt uncomfortable with the arrangement.

  Without reliable back-up, there was no way she could take on the housekeeper’s job. Bloody Joe. Why did he have to go and abandon her and Alfie like that? Even if they hadn’t turned out to be the love story of all time, then at least they could have shared the responsibility a little bit. And there would have been more money.

  Molly sighed as she pulled back the eiderdown from the recently vacated bed, then stripped the sheets and stuffed them in the dirty linen bag. The memory didn’t haunt her very often, for she’d trained herself very well indeed to shut it out, but when it came back it hit her hard.

  And she had no one to blame but herself.

  Hannah was heading back down the corridor when she walked smack bang into Caragh.

  ‘The last time I looked, the reception desk wasn’t on the third floor,’ she said accusingly.

  Hannah pulled herself up to her full height, which meant she was head and shoulders above Caragh.

  ‘I was just delivering a message to a guest,’ she retaliated.

  Caragh raised a corner of her mouth into a smirk.

  ‘You’re quite sure you weren’t… consorting with a guest?’

  Hannah looked shocked.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘No. Of course not,’ mused Caragh, her voice at its lowest and most dangerous. ‘After all, they’d need to be pretty desperate.’

  Hannah stood stock-still, rigid with shock. How on earth could anyone be so cruel? What kind of kick did Caragh get from taunting her about her looks? It wasn’t as if Hannah was any sort of threat. No one in a million years would choose her over Caragh, with her creamy skin and her glossy auburn bob. But she didn’t have to crow about it.

  ‘You fucking cow!’

  The pair of them wheeled round to see Molly in the middle of the corridor, her eyes blazing.

  ‘Hannah’s worth a million of you, you stuck-up ginger bint!’

  Hannah’s hand flew to her mouth. Caragh breathed in deeply, her nostrils quivering with suppressed rage, and looked down at Molly witheringly.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Don’t bother doing the snooty manageress bit with me. You’re nothing but a jumped-up slut.’

  ‘And you’re fired.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Molly shot back. ‘Fire me and Bruno finds out about every single fiddle and every single scam you’ve been operating here.’

  ‘You’d have to prove it first,’ said Caragh.

  ‘Trust me – I know where all the bodies are buried.’ Molly smiled sweetly. ‘I promise you I’ve got more than enough evidence. Now I want you to apologize to Hannah.’

  Caragh looked mutinous.

  ‘No way!’ she declared.

  Molly stared at her implacably.

  ‘Cash deals with guests?’ she asked. ‘You forget that the rooms still have to be cleaned, even if the bookings haven’t been through the register. I’ve kept a note.’

  An angry red flush was creeping its way up Caragh’s neck. She took a step forward and for a moment Hannah thought she was going to hit Molly. But Molly just folded her arms and took a step forward too. Caragh looked her up and down, before turning to Hannah.

  ‘Hannah, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me,’ she said, in such sugared tones it was impossible to believe she wasn’t genuine. ‘It’s the wrong time of the month and I’ve got an awful lot on my plate. I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ mumbled Hannah.

  ‘I’m sure the guests would be queuing up to sleep with you, if they thought they were in with a chance,’ she added insincerely, before turning on her heel and striding off down the corridor, leaving a trail of Chanel in her wake. Hannah turned to Molly, incredulous.

  ‘You were amazing.’

  Molly’s eyes were hard.

  ‘I haven’t finished with her yet.’

  Hannah recoiled slightly, shocked at this side of Molly’s character.

  ‘You’re a bit of a tough nut on the quiet, aren’t you?’ she said admiringly.

  Molly gave a grim smile.

  ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ she answered gruffly. She pushed her trolley away from Hannah down the corridor, and Hannah knew somehow from the set of her shoulders not to go after her.

  Later that afternoon, Caragh was lying naked on Frank’s bed. He was pulling his jacket on, getting ready for the evening shift. He should be in the kitchen now, supervising the prep. But she had swooped in on him an hour ago, all fired up, making demands. And even he thought she’d gone a bit far this time. He’d thought of reminding her gently that the catalogue had referred to them as toys, not instruments of torture.

  Not that he didn’t enjoy it. Though sometimes he wondered if he’d ever be able to have straightforward, normal sex again. Or had she ruined him? Would he always have to go through some faintly sadomasochistic ritual in order to get it up in future? He hoped not. Nipple clamps and dildos had their place, he was sure. But Caragh seemed to have a rather warped idea of who wore what and what went where.

  She was doing his head in. She was power crazy, divisive, sex mad and paranoid. She’d scared him this afternoon. She’d reminded him of Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. She’d seemed elated, her pupils enormous. And she’d been quite without mercy. There was one point where he didn’t think he could take any more, but she always seemed to know just how far to go.

  Of course, he could have defended himself if he’d wanted to. He was incredibly fit. His limbs were toned and strong from surfing. He could have held her down with one arm alone. But that, he supposed, was the weird thing about it. It wasn’t so much a physical as a mental thing.

  He glanced over at her as he did up his buttons. She was stroking her breasts dreamily and unbelievably he felt himself stir again. He wouldn’t have thought it possible.

  ‘We rule this place, Frank,’ she said to him. ‘This is our kingdom. We should have things exactly as we want them. Your man Bruno is going to get bored any minute. He’ll be back to the big smoke once the last of the sun has gone, you mark my words. That’s when we’ll take over, you and me.’

  He didn’t have the courage to contradict her. He hated himself for his gutlessness, because he knew what was holding him back. He’d known at the time it was wrong. Taking a bung from a supplier – being invoiced for prime organic free-range meat when what he was supplied with was perfectly ordinary, and splitting the difference with the rep. It had been Caragh who talked him into it, who told him it was chef’s perks, regular practice, and if he didn’t do it then he was a fool. Now he’d supped with the devil. If he ever got arsy with her, or objected to anything she was doing, she reminded him of what he’d done.

  He thought longingly of the advert he’d seen in the local paper. The new hotel that was opening on the other side of the bay was looking for a chef and he knew instinctively it was just the career move he was looking for. Somewhere he could really stamp his own signature, be creative and make a name for himself. Not that he didn’t appreciate the opportunities Bruno had given him, but the Mariscombe Hotel was never going to be on the foodie map. He belonged somewhere like The Rocks, a hip hotel that was aspiring to great things and was gastronomically adventurous, but was small enough for him to be able to cut his teeth.

  If he hadn’t been so weak and gullible, he would have had the freedom to
do exactly as he wanted. He tucked his red curls under his chef’s hat, sighing inwardly. He was manacled, literally and figuratively, to the crazy Caragh. He was well and truly trapped.

  Caragh waited until Frank had got dressed in his chef’s whites and gone off to the kitchen. Then she rolled off the bed, pulled her clothes back on and tiptoed out of his room and down the corridor until she found the door she was looking for. She took her pass keys out of her pocket and swiftly undid the lock.

  She looked around the room in scornful distaste. The cuddly elephant on the pillow, the Robbie Williams calendar, the pitiful collection of cosmetics on the dressing table. Carefully, she pulled open the drawers and started searching. Before long, she found a sheaf of bank statements and a building society book, which made interesting reading. But not interesting enough. She shoved them back and carried on looking.

  In the next drawer down she found something that made her grin from ear to ear. A prospectus. A prospectus for a private hospital. And with it, a letter.

  Dear Miss Baldwin

  We are delighted to confirm that a bed has been

  reserved for you on the above dates…

  Blah blah blah. She didn’t need to read much more. She took out her mobile, programmed in the number at the top of the letter, then stuffed everything back in the drawer and left the room exactly as she’d found it.

  Ten minutes later she was in the privacy of her own room at the hotel. She pulled out her phone and pushed a button.

  ‘Is that Mr Burrough’s secretary?’ she asked. ‘It’s Hannah Baldwin here. I’m awfully sorry, but I’ve been thinking about it long and hard. I don’t want to go through with the operation. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s the nose God gave me and I’m just going to have to live with it. It just doesn’t seem right to tamper with nature somehow… So I’d like to cancel.’