“Well, whatever, Rachael. But you do have an interesting relationship pattern going on there. Shaun before Adam. And then Shaun after Adam. How did all of that come about?”
My defences were up. A very raw nerve had just been touched.
“Don’t be thinking,” I spluttered, aware that my voice had suddenly risen an octave; “that there was some kind of ‘during’ with Shaun. Shaun and I were over, long before I met Adam. I never would have…done that to...”
“Rach.” He called me 'Rach' – just like Adam used to. “I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort. And even if you did – even if there was… I’m not in a position to judge. I just wondered.”
I decided to tell him the whole story. Factual rather than emotional of course. And that the strangest thing was this; when Adam and I got together, it turned out that he already knew Shaun – because they were both into their motorbikes. So, they knew each other from various biker clubs; Adam doing the Yorkshire side of the Pennines and Shaun on the Manchester side.
“There’s an unusual trend here going on with you. Blokes and their bikes.”
I shook my head. Couldn’t deny that one.
“Sad but true. So yes, if you want to flog your Triumph in order to buck the trend, I for one won’t be stopping you.”
“Ha. It’ll take more than your seedy past, before I part with the love of my life.”
I stopped smiling. Nausea crept up my throat. Michael had used the exact same phrase that Adam had uttered - when he had finally caved in to my safety-conscious nagging. Me haranguing him about That Bloody Motorbike;
“Right, Rach, it’s all done and dusted. The buyer's money has just hit the bank account.”
“Hey – nice one, Adam. Well done. How does it feel to be a grown-up at last?”
“Very funny. I hope you’re happy now. I’ve finally dumped the love of my life for a life of domestic drudgery with the naggy old trout and two evil pixies from hell.”
Adam had been joking of course, but that craving – the desire to mount the bike and head for the open road had ultimately been the love that did take his life. That 'last day treat' in South Africa for him and Big Jim when they had hired a bike, that for one reason or another, decided to career off the edge of Cape Point.
Michael was staring at me. He tried to move the conversation on;
“And then Shaun reappeared on the scene again. After Adam died?”
“Yes.”
“How soon?”
“Oh, pretty soon. Too soon.”
“First to offer his sympathy?” Michael muttered, not attempting to disguise the disgust in his voice.
“Something like that. But he was still with Jess,” I said quietly. It didn’t sound good, however you put it. So then I admitted to him that I had been more than a little bit messed up. Befugged by the Valium. That one thing had led to another and that Shaun and I were back to the old days. Keeping it to car parks and the odd time when my kids weren't about. But that after six months, I had finally managed to put on the brakes on it all when I found out that he had gotten married.
Michael looked incredulous;
“Good grief. I mean, I was going to say that all of this was quite obviously – deceitful and calculated – behaviour. But, on second thoughts, I think that what he did to you is more… demonstrative of psychopathic tendencies.”
I laughed and nearly spilled some of my wine onto Michael’s shirt.
“Sorry. He is a bit of a spanner, that’s for sure. Or a ‘moronic nobhead tosser’ as some might say, around these parts. But I don’t think that you can put him down as someone who meets your psychopath criteria.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Michael, knowingly.
“Oh, God – don’t start spouting off about the stuff they taught you in the army again. How to spot someone with borderline personality disorder at five thousand paces or something…”
“Does he have kids?”
“No. They still don’t. Never asked why. She was always the Topic Not To Be Discussed. And the crazy thing is, even after losing Adam – Shaun was still more antsy about people seeing us together - than I was. I mean, you can just imagine the stigma that women face, can’t you? Society has this attitude of… ‘No sex for widows… forever!’ But it had always been Shaun who wanted to keep the whole thing quiet. It sounds ridiculous – was ridiculous - how two grown adults were behaving; dodging and hiding.”
“But then if he was already planning to get married… The stakes would have been quite high for him.”
“I guess so. And I didn't put my foot down with him. Looking back, I probably didn’t know any other way of operating in a so-called relationship with him. It’s incredible how easily a human being can fall back into an old habit.”
I suddenly laughed out loud as a memory resurfaced.
“Here’s an example; back – first time round - when we were in our twenties, he had already moved out of their flat and one day we had parked up in his car in Altrincham, so that he could nip into a corner shop for something. And he suddenly spotted this other couple – a friend of his and Jess’ – in their car. And he made me duck down. He threw a blanket from the back seat over me.”
“And you still think that he’s not unhinged?” Michael looked incredulous. “That sort of thing must have made you feel dreadful.”
“Yes. Bit like a leper. Something wrong with me – about me; I'm embarrassing or not attractive enough, etcetera.”
“Preposterous! The man's a fruitcake!”
“And honestly, Michael. Shaun is no nutcase. If you met him you’d find him to be a very sane, very balanced - somewhat flippant - bloke. He ticks all the boxes of a man about to hit the big time in terms of his career. But, when it came to me – both times round - he just acted like… well. He just acted oddly.”
Michael sighed.
“Well, all I care about,” he carried on, stroking my back; “is that there won’t be a repeat performance. Is all of that – the attempt at bribing you, cutting your funding - then the bloody job offer, for God's sake - is all of that over now?”
I moved closer to him and thought for a second about telling him about what had happened when Shaun had turned up on my doorstep the other night. But I didn’t want to admit to the fact that he had visited me at home. And neither did I want to confess to trying my own hand at a form of blackmail. So, I said;
“Oh yeah. All sorted. We’re on our way to getting the loan. No need for any further contact with him, other than…”
“Than what?”
“Well, did your constituency office ask you about the official invite? For you to open Charlene’s Chocolate Factory for us.”
“Ah yes – they did. Graham the Griper said that there wouldn’t be enough time in my schedule for it. He had me booked down for a visit to the WI in Marple on the same Saturday afternoon.”
“Oh. That’s a shame.”
Or perhaps not. Perhaps a ruddy great big relief. No Shaun and Michael present in the same building, after all.
“Yes. But not to worry, Rachael. I told him to park the Marple trip and to invite the WI to your launch instead. The WI can be a scary bunch… you need ladies like them on board. Two birds with one stone. Ha – excuse the pun.”
“Oh. Good. That’s… great.”
Hells Bells.
“Am I sensing that you’re not actually too enamoured with my acceptance of your invitation, after all?”
I shook my head. “Well. It’s just that… I had to end up inviting both of you. You and Shaun Elliot, I mean. Plus the Mayor of Medlock. Because we’re a co-operative. The women wanted the local bigwig and you and… oh. It’s just bloody silly really.”
“Ah. Ah, well. That could be interesting. Both of us on the same territory. That could be very interesting indeed…” Michel trailed off. I tried to sound upbeat;
“So – if you’d rather say no. Now that you realise this - after all of the aggro that Shaun has been trying to whip up in the press
, I’ll completely understand.”
He waved his hand in the air, dismissing me. “Not at all. Doesn’t bother me in the slightest. So long as it doesn’t upset you…”
“God, no. I couldn’t give a toss about him and his lot. They’ve done nothing for us at Sisters’ Space - other than to make life a hell of a lot harder than it needed to be.”
“Good. Then there’s nothing to worry about.”
He put his empty beer bottle down.
“Still, Rachael. Don’t be too dismissive of his character and of his motives. Men with an obsessive streak in their nature can decide to take on institutions - governments even – for all kinds of unfathomable and illogical reasons. Often for reasons that they can’t even admit to themselves.”
I began to laugh.
“Oh, you’re a card, Michael. As no doubt your pals at Westminster would say.”
He pressed my nose. Like Adam used to do.
“Say what you like, Ms Russell. I don’t care. Just so long as I win.”
“Win what?”
“The Biggest Willy Competition of course.”
“Ha yeah. Dick-swinging. What are you lot like? Bloody men.”
“You're so coarse. I love it when you talk dirty.”
He picked up my wrist, kissed it and we kicked Leonard DiCaprio into touch, heading for the bedroom and for an earlier night than we had originally planned.
CHAPTER 21
Michael travelled back to London on the Sunday afternoon;
“Got to try and talk the PM out of this new Winter Tax for councils who aren’t clearing the roads free of snow in time. It’s all very well for him – he never gets a sniff of the white stuff in his Isle of bloody Wight constituency – but those of us representing you rough and ready northern sorts are always the ones to get the flak.”
“Nice to know that disdain for The North has extended to the level where The Establishment is now trying to tax us for our snowflake consumption.”
“Well, it wasn’t my idea. I tried to persuade the Treasury to cough up for mass installation of underground heating for every acre of England north of Birmingham. But they were having none of it.”
Despite the banter, I was disappointed that I wouldn’t see him until the launch day itself. I thought that I had managed to disguise my feelings, but as we said goodbye, he pinched my cheek between his thumb and finger and then tried to force a smile out of my lips by stretching my mouth. Just like Matthew does;
“Chin up, Rachael. We can Skype or Facetime, or whatever. And I’ll make it up to you. The next time that I’m back up here, we’ll have lots of sweaty sex and trips to Bradford Industrial Museum so that you can look at trolleybuses. But for now, dull run-of-the-mill politics in Westminster must be the order of the day, I'm afraid.”
And it was hardly going to be a scintillating few weeks for me, either. Despite the shot in the arm that the social enterprise loan was going to provide for us, I was determined that we shouldn't be reliant on borrowing. I had had enough of being forever in the red, with regards to my own personal financial circumstances. I didn't want it for Sister's Space too. I felt sure that some trust or charity or another, would be able to stump up the cash to help us to get back on our feet without having to do the pay-back thing. So, I carried on, with doffing my cap and tugging my forelock at people who were a million miles away from my own social standing (otherwise known as ‘completing a funding application’). And when I wasn’t grovelling to the people who possessed ownership of the much-needed moolah – when I wasn’t dreaming up outputs and outcomes and performance indicator-ing myself into an early grave - I was engaged in empowering our service users to carry out effective decision-making in relation to the launch, telling the likes of Bev;
“God! I dunno, Bev! I couldn’t give a toss what tricks the magician does on the day itself! You sort his repertoire out. I’m totally bogged down with funding applications at the moment.”
And her replying;
“Well, Grumpy-gussets, all’s I’m sayin’ is that he might well have his DBS certificate, but a bloke what calls one of his ‘illusions’ the ‘Weasel Out Of Trouser Leg’ sounds like a bit of a kiddy-fiddler to me!”
“Yeah – and Bev should know,” chimed Dee. “’Cause ‘er Jordan’s back on A-Wing at Strangeways and we all know the sorts that get banged up in that section.”
Cue World War Three erupting.
During the next couple of weeks, Dawn turned up to the Centre a few times with Poppy-Rose in tow, but I was so busy that I didn’t have time to do anything other than to smile, wave and to mouth the word ‘injunction’ at her. ‘Yeah, yeah – I know,’ came the response. Two weeks had passed since her latest Vinnie-pummelling and Gill told me that she was beginning to despair of Dawn ever filing for an injunction. She had now missed three separate appointments to complete the paperwork.
The centre-users who were most closely involved in the new enterprise were thriving on the buzz of the launch day preparations. Most of them hadn’t been in employment for a long time and were enjoying the frenetic pace of plotting and planning. Dee was the only one who kept trying to sneak out for far too many fag breaks. Most of these, I noticed, involved a little saunter across to the park railings.
“Where’s Dee gone? Yet again.” Bev asked me. She was having to bellow over the clanging and the hissing of the espresso machine. It was the Monday before launch day and I had trundled down to the café to supervise how the latte art was getting on. We had paid a fortune for the barista training for both her and Jade and I wanted to make sure that we had been getting value for money.
“Oh, I think she’s having a ciggie – near the park,” I replied. “They’ve got some landscape gardeners there. Doing their thing with the shrubbery.”
“Huh,” Bev huffed. “No doubt Dee’ll be hoping that they’ll be doing her … with their things … in the bloody shrubbery.”
Jade suddenly started giggling. Bev looked over. And yowled.
“Jesus Christ Almighty! What a waste of bloody money that was, Rachael - trying to get Jade properly trained! She in’t the most talented latte-art lass, that I’ve ever seen.”
By now Jade was in convulsions, dabbing her eyes in order to stem the flow of goth-black tears. Bev carried on with;
“I mean, see… with the amount of blokes what Jade’s had – at the ripe old age of – what?”
“Nineteen,” Jade just about managed to say in between the hiccups of laughter.
“Yeah… with the amount what you’ve ‘ad, you’d think you’d be a little bit better with the old hand-shakin' movement - when you’re doing the artwork on the froth. See, Jade, I said to you before that it’s all in the movement of yer wrist. It’s only like when you’re with a bloke and you’re wan…”
“Enough, thanks, Bev,” I said as I shook my head at her. “I’d like to be able to drink my cappuccinos without wondering what Jade was imagining, when she’s producing the cute little pictures on top of the foam.”
Bev took the cup off me and thrust it under my nose.
“Yeah well, Rach. Even her artwork tells you what she’s thinkin’ of. Look at that! It was meant to be a leaf! What does it look like to you?”
“Erm… like…”
“Like a nob! Like a big bloody donger! Honestly, Jade. You’re gonna be here all week, practising this if you want to be half-decent by Saturday.”
Jade said;
“I’ve wet me pants with laughin'! Need the bog!”
Gill wandered into the café.
“Rachael, I've just heard the radio in the kitchen. BBC Manchester news; all about our Big Unfriendly Giant at the Town Hall, having a pop at Michael Chiswick and his lot again. All the Greater Manchester authorities had some big press conference about it this morning. And apparently meladdo Lurch was gobbing off again. I mean, bloody hell. That’ll look good, won’t it? Bun fight between the boys on our launch day, next week.”
She picked up one of the full cups that Bev had pro
duced;
“Hey, that’s really nice, Bev. Beautiful little love heart there. You’ve obviously got a knack at this malarkey. This one still seems warm enough for a…”
But before Bev could reply, Gill took a slurp. And then promptly spat it back into the cup.
“Oh, my God! That’s rank! What the frig did you do to it, Bev?”
“Milk’s off. We’re only practisin’ the latte art. Shouldn't matter if the milk’s on the turn – or your coffee’s shit, when you’re practisin’.”
“Well, thanks for telling me! God, that was hideous.”
“Actually, Bev,” I said, “I’m sure that the guy who trained you said that you should only use full cream, homogenised milk and you should make sure that it’s totally fresh and from Sainsbury's and — ”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But he was from Hebden Bridge. Started bangin’ on about organic or soya milk or whatever shit they drink over that way. Was saying that his wife’s a fruitarian or somethin’ and they make their own sheep’s yogurt and grow Goji berries or summat like that. Bloody weirdo. And I can't stand wastin’ stuff, me, I can't.”
She moved the cups to one side, picked up her phone and began tapping away.
“Checkin' the news for Manchester. Ah… yeah. You’re right. Shaun Elliot just did this press conference… apparently accused Michael Chiswick of ‘Nothin short of blackmail.’ Oooh – get him! Handbags at fifty paces eh, Rachael? Pair of silly sods. But what if it all kicks off between them on Saturday? Should we tell 'em we don't want neither of 'em comin' now?”
I reached over to a lonely looking chocolate bar next to the espresso machine and broke it in half, handing it to Gill.
“Doesn’t bother me. If it doesn’t bother you lot. Here, Gill. That'll take the taste of your vile cappuccino away.”
Michael’s comments in relation to the men both attending the launch, had cast away any doubts that I previously had in relation to the double-bill appearance. His own, very dismissive, attitude had filled me with confidence.
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