A Summer Fling

by Milly Johnson

  Then Anna had to stand in front of the mirror and tell Jane what she saw in her reflection. Where to start?

  ‘My bust is too big, my waist isn’t thin enough, my hips are too wide . . .’ The list went on and on. By the time she had got to her knees looking like crêpe paper the tears were shining in her eyes. She tried to stuff them back but couldn’t. They plopped down her cheeks as she ’fessed up that she felt totally worthless and hideous and old. She was so deeply embedded in her self-massacre that she forgot the camera was there.

  ‘Cut!’ called Mark. ‘I think that’s enough for today, boys and girls. Let’s get this equipment packed up and out.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Anna as Jane pulled a tissue out of her pocket and handed it over.

  ‘You were fab and so natural,’ said Jane supportively, rubbing Anna’s shoulder. ‘Women everywhere will identify with you.’

  ‘Anna, before you go, please try something on for me,’ said Vladimir. He held up a stiff, dark red corset. Even keeping her eyes forward, Anna could tell that her chest was three feet higher with the garment on than it was without it. Vladimir leaned over her from the back and she could smell his cologne. Something she had never come across before: exotic and spicy but at the same time as fresh as wild Christmas trees.

  He expertly laced up the back then stepped away to look at her. Then he marched forward again and straightened her shoulders.

  ‘La naiba! As soon as I look at you, you try to curl into a ball! You are wearing a Vladimir Darq exclusive, how can you wilt like a dead flower?’ he said crossly. He backed off again, only to come striding forward, growling, ‘Stop doing that, you are driving me crazy!’

  Thus reprimanded, Anna pulled her stomach in and pushed out her chest. He nodded by way of approval. At least she assumed it was approval. It appeared that if he wasn’t disapproving, then he was approving.

  ‘You are married?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Anna. ‘Engaged.’

  ‘I couldn’t work out if you were unhappy because you are with a man or unhappy because you are without a man.’

  ‘Both,’ said Anna as she placed her hands on her waist, which felt very much smaller. Where had all the flab gone? No doubt it was all crushed up inside the material, but she couldn’t feel it if it was.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘My partner left me in February.’

  ‘For another woman?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t pull any punches, will you?’

  He ignored the barb.

  ‘That explains the sloping shoulders.’ He pulled the ribbon tighter at the back of her and made her yelp.

  ‘Ow! His aren’t sloping.’

  ‘No, he is parading like peacock, huh?’

  Yep, that just about summed Tony up. A peacock. One with two dicks as well.

  ‘Men can be such monsters,’ Vladimir then said in a surprisingly soft way. Which, she thought, was a bit rich coming from a bloke who probably got his nutrients from draining people of their blood. ‘OK, that’s enough for today for me too.’ And he started to unlace her. She hadn’t noticed the camera was still rolling and Bruce was smiling behind it. He’d get major brownie points for this when Mark saw the footage.

  The next day, Grace was washing up the Sunday dinner plates when there was a knock at the back door and she opened it to a smiling Charles in a smart, pale blue shirt and jeans. He really was a good-looking man.

  ‘Come in, Charles, Laura won’t be long. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Thank you, but no, I won’t,’ he said. ‘Oh hello, Mr Beamish . . .’ Gordon had walked into the kitchen. He stared at Charles’s hand that was outstretched in greeting, then his eyes lifted to Charles’s face.

  ‘Who are you?’ said Gordon coldly.

  ‘I’m Charles, Charles Onajole. I’m a friend of Laura’s, and young Joe’s, of course,’ came the courteous reply. His hand was still outstretched but more awkwardly now as Gordon had not come forward to return the greeting. There was an uncomfortable silence in which Charles was eventually forced to let his hand drop back down. Gordon’s jaw tightened and he said in a quiet voice, which was nevertheless full of menace, ‘I think you’d better get out of my house, lad.’

  Charles’s eyes flickered as his brain tried to fathom what on earth he had done to earn such a reaction to his cheerful greeting. But it was painfully obvious, because there was really no mistaking that look on Gordon’s face. Silently, Charles turned and went out of the door. Grace, watching this interchange, was dumbstruck by Gordon’s rudeness to a guest.

  ‘Gordon, what on earth—’

  Then Laura came down with Joe’s bag and Joe trotting behind and Grace bit down on what she was about to say.

  ‘Was that Charles?’ she asked, then picked up on the vibe in the room. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘There was a nigger in my house, that’s what’s up!’ snarled Gordon, not seeming to care that Joe was present.

  ‘For God’s sake, Gordon!’ Grace was horrified at the words coming out of his mouth, the swear words that followed.

  ‘Joe, go and join Charles in the car,’ said Laura quickly, pushing her son out of the door. She was shaking when she turned back and Gordon rounded on her immediately.

  ‘I don’t want you in here either, if you’re sleeping with that!’ He was stabbing his finger in the direction of where he supposed Charles to be now.

  Laura looked from Grace to her father, unable to really comprehend why he was being like this and where this hate had suddenly come from. They were all right as rain less than two minutes ago.

  ‘Dad, what’s the matter with you?’

  Gordon laughed as if everyone in the house was being obtuse. ‘Well,’ he turned to his daughter. ‘All I can say is – thank God you can’t have any more kiddies!’

  ‘Gordon!’ Grace cried out in disgust.

  Laura burst into tears. It was beyond cruel, and Grace leaped to her daughter’s side.

  ‘God forgive you for that, Gord—’

  But Gordon was in no mood for listening. He made a none-too-gentle grab at his daughter’s arm.

  ‘You. Out!’ he raged. Grace stepped forward to put herself between father and daughter and ended up being pushed into the table where a cup fell off and covered her skirt in cold tea.

  ‘Mum, are you OK?’ said Laura, coming forward to help her mother.

  ‘Laura, love, go,’ said Grace, pushing Laura safely out of the house. ‘I’m fine.’ Although she wasn’t fine at all, she was shaking with the worst mix of emotions, but her priority was to get her daughter out and away from this awful atmosphere and any more vicious, wounding words.

  Grace closed the door and turned to face her husband who was standing frighteningly still and breathing tightly. He looked like a bomb due to explode at any minute, a dangerous, harmful one full of nails and burning sugar, intent on causing the most damage it could.

  ‘Did you know? Did you know he was a blackie?’

  ‘Stop it, Gordon. Stop talking like that!’

  Gordon shook his head in disbelief and stared at Grace as if she was insane. ‘The world’s gone bloody mad.’

  He marched out, towards the soothing calm of his allotment no doubt, leaving Grace still in shock, her heart thumping and her limbs quivering. She didn’t know this man, swearing and hating like something out of the Deep South in the 1920s. Yes, she had witnessed his temper spill on a few occasions over the years, but not to the extent that she was seeing it these days. And now it seemed that two of her children weren’t welcome in the house. ‘Whatever next?’ she said, still shaking as she swept up the remains of the cup, a present from Sarah that read: ‘World’s Best Dad.’

  Chapter 38

  ‘Oh, come here, you’re useless,’ said Elizabeth Silkstone, reaching up to straighten the knot on her husband’s tie as they were about to go into church. John Silkstone was a big man and he carried a suit well. He made her knees knock in a suit, still. She was aware that he was staring intentl
y at her while she unloosened his clumsy effort and started again.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ she snapped.

  ‘I’m not,’ he lied. Had she not opened her mouth then, he would have told her his burning suspicion that Raychel Love, the wife of his newest worker, young Ben, was closely related to her – was possibly the child of her sister who went missing nearly thirty years ago. It was bursting out of him to say something. But it wouldn’t be fair, not today. They would be witnessing their friend Helen’s wedding in less than half an hour. Helen was marrying a gentleman solicitor, Teddy Sanderson, although not so much of a gentleman, they’d laughed, seeing as Helen would be saying her vows with a five-month-old son growing inside her.

  What John had to say would have to wait until later. There was a time and a place – and this was neither.

  Chapter 39

  ‘Crikey, did you see that programme last night?’ said Dawn as she breezed into the office after the weekend. The next part she directed at Anna. ‘If you thought your love life was bad, wait till you start wanting to hump buildings!’

  ‘Thanks for that, Dawn,’ said Anna, smiling. Dawn was the most verbally clumsy person she thought she had ever, or would ever, meet. But there was something simple and totally non-malicious about her that was refreshing and funny. She didn’t know much about the woman, but she was pretty sure that Dawn would be gutted if she ever thought she had upset anyone with her gauche way of speaking her mind.

  ‘What do you mean “hump buildings”?’ asked Grace.

  ‘There’s this condition where people are sexually attracted to buildings.’

  ‘Get away,’ said Anna.

  ‘Honest! This woman was married to the Eiffel Tower. People were having relationships with fences and banisters and everything.’

  ‘That’s so made up,’ said Anna, shaking her head. ‘It must have been a spoof programme.’

  ‘No, Dawn is right,’ put in Christie. ‘It’s called “objectum sexuality” or “animism”. It’s the belief that inanimate objects have feelings.’

  ‘Oh aye, and how come you know so much about it?’ grinned Dawn. ‘You’ve not been knocking off the coffee machine, have you?’

  ‘My father was a lecturing psychologist,’ said Christie. ‘You’d be surprised how many strange and wonderful people conditions there are out there.’

  ‘I wish he was here now,’ said Anna. ‘I have this recurring dream that David Attenborough is a zombie but I really fancy him. I’ve always wondered what it means.’

  ‘It means you should stop eating strong cheddar after nine p.m., that’s what my nan used to say,’ laughed Grace.

  ‘I don’t get how anyone could fancy a building,’ said Raychel, downing tools and joining in with the conversation.

  ‘I didn’t get it and I watched it!’ said Dawn. ‘I thought it was a wind-up at first. There were even some women who were in love with the Berlin Wall and when he, I mean it, got ripped down they went nuts.’

  ‘So the Berlin Wall had more than one lover?’ said Anna with a naughty glint in her eye. ‘He was unfaithful? Gawd, there’s no hope for any of us if a pile of bricks can’t even keep it in its trousers.’

  ‘Well, Anna,’ said Dawn with a cheeky look on her face, ‘I just thought that if you don’t pull soon, you could always go and try to chat up the Town Hall.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want anything that big,’ said Anna with a sniff. ‘The bus shelter on the end of my street has nice slim windows. He’s more my type.’

  ‘You two should be on the stage as a double act,’ said Grace with a chuckle.

  ‘OK, here’s a question for you: which would you rather snog – a garden fence or Malcolm?’ asked Dawn mischievously.

  ‘The fence!’ they all said in unison and laughed just as they spotted the rejected choice make his way down the office on an obvious bee-line course for Christie.

  They all had to sit hard on their giggles as his first words were, ‘I love the new furniture in here. My, Mr McAskill has really splashed out, hasn’t he?’

  Christie didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. She gave him a fixed, courteous smile. She suspected (rightly) that he had finally started to realize that his attempts to charm a friendship with her had fallen on stony ground and, as a result, something dark and bitchy was forming in his psyche.

  ‘I just came to tell you that there’s a meeting for Heads of Department at two, were you aware?’

  ‘I have the email, yes,’ said Christie.

  ‘Lovely desk,’ said Malcolm, smoothing his hand over the surface before turning to grease back up the office to his own department.

  ‘Bet the desk would say “I’m not that desperate”,’ giggled Dawn, sending them all into fits.

  The laughter caught up with Malcolm and he didn’t know what had been said but he suspected he was the subject of their hilarity. His growing resentment towards McAskill’s teacher’s pet shot up a few notches. The connection between her and the big boss was blindingly obvious and he would show up that blonde tart as McAskill’s fancy-piece the first chance he got.

  Chapter 40

  John Silkstone was trying to find the right words as he worked with Ben, skimming adjacent walls with plaster. He couldn’t get Raychel out of his mind but he needed a bit more to go on before he told his wife about her.

  ‘Finding it different from London then, lad?’ he began as an opening gambit.

  ‘Aye. A lot quieter.’

  ‘And how’s the new flat?’

  ‘Smashing. Although it’ll take a bit of time to put a stamp on it. It’s all too clean at the moment.’

  ‘Well, enjoy it being clean before any bairns come along.’ He laughed. For a little boy, his own son couldn’t half make some mess.

  He saw Ben flinch slightly, not much, as if John’s words had passed very close to a raw nerve.

  He carried on plastering for a couple more minutes before starting up again.

  ‘So your wife’s from Newcastle as well then?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Ben after a telling pause.

  ‘Your family still up there?’

  ‘We’ve got no family. There’s just Ray and me.’

  ‘How old is your wife?’

  Ben whisked around to John; he was gripping his trowel so hard that his knuckles were white.

  ‘Why all the questions about my wife, John?’

  ‘I’m just making conversation,’ said John, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. Placated, Ben started plastering again.

  ‘OK, I lied,’ confessed John. ‘It’s Raychel. She’s the spitting image of my wife and she’s been looking for her sister, Bev Collier, who ran away from home in the seventies when she was pregnant. That bairn would be about twenty-eight now. Can you see where this is going?’

  Ben kept his back towards John and carried on working. His voice, when he answered, was calm. Too calm, too measured.

  ‘Aye, I can see what you’re saying. But it’s not Raychel.’

  John had no choice but to let it drop for now. He didn’t want to push too hard, too soon. But he felt Ben’s tension from across the room and knew without any doubt now that the lad knew more than he was letting on.

  Chapter 41

  Things were far from normal at Grace’s house. She was still suffering from the seismic shift that Gordon’s outburst the previous week had caused. Then, in the middle of her ironing on Thursday night, Paul had rung to talk about Laura and made her think even more.

  ‘He’s cracking up, Mum, and I think you might need to get him to a doctor,’ said Paul. ‘I know he’s always had a temper but this is getting ridiculous. Laura said you got hurt in the crossfire.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ Grace replied quickly.

  ‘Do you know, I was only little but I still remember him and Mum having blistering rows. She stood up to him and he just blasted her down. I remember her crying – a lot.’

  Grace gasped. ‘You never told me that before.’

  ‘
Well, it’s funny, but with all that’s happened recently, it’s like parts of my brain have been woken up and things have been coming back to the surface. I know you’ll say that time’s distorted what I remember and it probably has, but not that much. You’re so different to her – she fought him. You always backed down and let him have his own way. He never had any reason to shout and bawl at you.’

  ‘I’ve been married to your father for nearly twenty-four years, love; I think I know him quite well myself,’ Grace said, desperate to underplay this and not fuel any more bad feeling between father and children.

  Paul sighed at the other end of the phone. ‘You married him for us, Mum. Laura and I know that. We’re not thick.’

  Grace opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. Her son was a wise and insightful man and he had known the truth of her situation, if not the whole story. Even when she had first come into their lives, she had realized there was a rift between Paul and his father and she had hoped to heal it. She never had and now they were totally estranged with little hope of ever reconciling.

  ‘We know he has never liked people breaking ranks, but this is something else. You must see that, surely?’

  ‘Paul, love—’

  ‘All I’m saying, Mum, is please, just humour me and take care, will you?’

  The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine.

  The next morning, as Grace was reaching for her coat, she was aware of Gordon’s scrutiny.

  ‘Haven’t seen that dress before, is it new?’

  ‘Yes, I got it yesterday in my lunch hour.’