by Judy Jarvie
“Poor Jack. He’ll hate this,” I say.
“You’re close to him, aren’t you, Izzy? I didn’t realize quite how much until Jack talked of your friendship earlier.”
“A friendship partly forged out of the mutual football thing. But he’s a great guy. I’ve known him on a personal level for many years.”
Dibian’s once bright magenta lipstick has paled to a pastel pink. Her eyes are dark and black rimmed. “He talks of you like one would do of a daughter. You make him proud.”
“Me? Don’t be daft.” I huddle deeper inside Will’s sweatshirt.
“He’s fonder of you than you think.”
“Don’t!” I say softly. “He’s the dad I haven’t had—mine passed away when I was four. Mum brought me up solo, after he died in an accident walking into work as a Billingsgate fish marketman. Early morning accident, poor visibility and a careless driver. Uncle Cyril passed on Dad’s love of Arsenal. Meeting Jack forged an instant bond—sometimes I swear we read each other’s minds.” I gulp out a final sob. The tears are running fast and free. “I’m so cross with him because he had a turn and he told me he’d gone to the doctors. I suspect now he was giving me a line.”
Shit. Now I’m crying. Now do you see why I don’t go on memory lane trails? I like being stoic Izzy, the non-crying, sensible pragmatist. Emotional Izzy, the weeping train wreck isn’t a version of me I encourage.
Dibian’s arm sneaks around me and provides surprising comfort and calm.
“There, there. I know why he picked you. And vice versa. I find myself becoming ever so fond of you both.”
“Dibs. I’m not good with crying,” I say, my voice dry and strained.
“Who is? But it’s better out than in.”
She’s right and I let the tears roll.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?”
“I hope so, darling. I do hope so. And he’s in one of the best places to make that happen. Let’s give him all the positive vibes we’ve got, eh, sweetie? Vibes, positive energies. And hope. Let’s feel a firm conviction that he’s a lot more Arsenal matches ahead of him.”
* * * *
Jack is doing better. It’s a huge relief—there are question marks over the handling of his future health condition, but it’s been positive that he’s improving. He remains in hospital—still under observation, but we’ve been reassured that our vigil in the waiting room won’t help.
We’ve left him to the medical experts and returned home to restore and replenish. Dibian’s going back for afternoon visiting and I’ve agreed to pop back soon.
Back at my flat, I look like a total troll tonight. Possibly the result of too much crying and sitting around without sleep in hospital. Even Flo shut up in shock at my appearance, and that speaks volumes.
It’s partly because, with backed-up laundry, I had to get down and dirty with the U-bend, due to a problem with the washing machine. I’m no stranger to jubilee clips or fitting a new washing machine seal, so I did my bit. But, alas, I got spewed on by the outlet pipe in the process. My hair’s a bloody disgrace and I fear I smell like a ruddy bog monster. And when I’ve smeared something up my face while removing my rubber gloves, the doorbell rings.
I’m fully suspecting it’ll be Will.
After all, isn’t this when you want the man of your loins to find you? He’s dreaming of lace and lingerie and I’m smelling of stagnant water and rancid sinks. This view will certainly challenge our relationship.
But it’s not Will.
It’s Tessa, Will’s maid. I can’t even cover my shock.
“Oh, hi,” I say as my mind reels on why she could possibly be here.
I slap my forehead with my palm. “Shit. I forgot. I need to reimburse you for the pajamas and things… Come in! I apologize that it slipped my mind. That was so bad of me… Life’s been a bit crazy.”
A tiny semi-smile tugs at the very corner of her lip but it, as swiftly, vanishes like the briefest slash of golden sun during an overcast, gray, leaden picnic. “No. I’m not here for money. But I want to talk.”
I’ve only ever seen Tessa from a distance. She’s model-caliber good-looking—thin, long ultra-blonde hair, impressive boobs and a Cupid’s bow you’d kill for. There’s an accent to her voice I can’t place. Her manner’s more than a little off-putting. Maybe she’s had a bad day—clearing up after Will’s party, that’s hardly a surprise.
“Nothing wrong is there?” I ask and motion her toward a chair in the lounge, pulling stray throws and strewn hoodie tops off it, in order to clear the way. “Must’ve been a right mess to tidy up after the party. Hope nobody threw up in the Jacuzzi.” I rummage in my bag to retrieve my purse and, after a lot of fruitless searching, I’m delighted when I find it at the bottom of the bag—like a forager finding a truffle in the forest.
Tessa sits tentatively on the very edge of my sofa seat, as if she thinks it’s going to bite her bum and gnaw a bit off. She closes her eyes briefly then stares hard into mine. “I don’t clean. I’m a services maid, not a cleaner. There’s a team at the house getting it ready now. I don’t deal with such menial basics.”
Wow. Talk about touchy. I feel like I’ve stood on a status landmine or something. So I backpedal. I can’t undetonate the faux pas but I can wrap it up in apologetic gift wrap.
“Sorry. I figured you managed the team or something. Anyway…how can I help you? Will okay? Nothing’s happened, has it?”
She stares me down. “Everything’s happened. Since you came. You do realize you’re one in a line.”
I stand, staring back at her, nonplussed. My brain is fighting off the rabid ninja instinct to grab her by the neck, even at the inference of what I think she means. But my ninja’s had the day off booked for a while. Maybe he doesn’t want to come to the party when I look and smell so bad from my behind washing machine and under sink activities. So today I’m on my own in terms of fending Tessa off.
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to be clearer and explain what you mean.”
Man, what a wuss. Ninja get the fuck out here now and help me.
“You’re his latest thing. It’ll pass. Don’t get ideas you’re special.”
“Will?”
“Who else do you think I’d be talking about or interested in?”
“And why are you telling me this?”
“To give you the message to back off.”
“Why? Tired of changing bed sheets?”
I inwardly salute my tenacity. I can see a glimmer—he may not have totally departed the building. That last one cut a slash and I can see from her face that she’s displeased.
Her blue eyes are ice shards, meeting my gaze head on with piercing threat. “I’ve slept with him. Many times. You’re his latest thrill. You were there at a disadvantage and, heaven knows why, but he got interested. But don’t bank on it lasting beyond a few weeks. It never does.”
“And you’d know this because you’re his…what? Relative? Employee? Micromanaging maid? Or scary stalker? Take your pick. I’m kinda thinking all four would fit the bill.”
Tessa makes a pit bull face and spits out her words. For a pretty woman, she’s damn ugly when riled. “I knew you were a bitch when I first saw you. You and your ridiculous tartan knickers. What kind of man could ever fancy that?”
My purse, in my hand from when I rummaged to get it to reimburse her, is still there clutched in my fingers. I unzip it and yank out forty pounds—leaving me with only a couple of quid to my name but hell, who cares? I toss the money in her face.
“Take your money and get out, you slag.”
“I don’t want your money. I want to warn you. Back off. Leave him alone or you’ll regret it. I will make sure you regret it.”
“What are you going to do? Beat me to death with a duster? Spray Captain StreaksAway in my eyes? Ouch. Watch me tremble. Me and my tartan knickers are quaking with fear!”
“Fuck off. You’re an easy lay. You can’t possibly keep him interested. He’ll be back, knocking o
n my door, before you know it.”
“He said you have a husband and kids. Nice Mary Poppins image you’re presenting here?”
“And who are you to criticize me? My husband knows I have needs on the side.”
“Tessa. I don’t think I want to talk to you anymore. I might catch something.”
She rises from her seat. It’s only then I notice her higher-than-high leopard-skin stiletto shoes. And the tiny anklet that glimmers with diamonds around her ankle. She’s a leopard all right—but I’m no fusty, fat old cat and I can give her a good old feline fight if pushed.
“Fuck off. Don’t dare to speak to me again. And keep your dirty bed-changing, rubber-gloved desperate hands away from Will. He’s with me now. You weren’t his thing. Deal with it.” I almost can’t believe I’ve used her profession against her, it’s so against my principles but sometimes only the lowest jab will do.
I’m right behind her, forcing her back up my hall and out of the door with my words. It would have made me feel powerful if she hadn’t tossed her waist-length, much-highlighted hair in my face as she turned on the door threshold. The over-sweet smell of her bubblegum shampoo tickles my gag reflex.
“Better go and buy some new underwear if you stand any chance of turning those words into action.”
She turns, walks down my path, gets into a sleek, scarlet-starlet sports car and slams its door as I let rip with mine. But, as I’m standing behind the closed door, my hands shake.
I’ve been bitch-slapped. But hell, so has she.
And what the fuck do I think of this little episode? I’m so confused.
I dive for the phone and ring the only person I can.
Dibian.
And that’s something my friends would never have bet on in a month of ruddy Sundays. Fuck, how weird has my life got.
* * * *
Dibian proves to be exactly the right choice for reassurance—mostly because she was the one who first knew about me and Will. She’s practical and would make a brilliant agony aunt.
“Nasty little fucker,” she says.
I love Dibian. Couldn’t have put it better myself.
“And do you believe her?”
“Well. That’s it. I’d love to think not. That she’s just a deranged, jealous bunny boiler. But I haven’t known Will that long. As much as I’m enamored, he could be faking and playing me a line? What if she’s right and she is telling the truth?” And much as I hate to think it, I’m risking a tightrope of taut, treacherous doubt by casting all my hopes into Will’s, as yet, unknown waters.
There’s a long pause while Dibian ruminates.
“Do you plan to tell and ask him?”
I bite my lips. “I don’t know. We’ve not had things going on that long. A big part of me doesn’t want to sully the fragility. Or dampen the thrill or the excitement.”
“Then don’t.”
“Really? But what if I’m wrong? What if she’s right?”
“Leave it with me. I have means of finding things out.” Dibian’s tone doesn’t brook questioning or doubts.
Then again, I’ve never been one to back down without answers. “What do you mean?” She’s always so full of mystery. What on earth can she be planning? Is she going to read our tea leaves or something? Does she have a spy-cam up and running in the school or a bug on his phone?
“I mean that. Leave it with me. You try your level best to be as you were with Will. Forget Stalker Girl ever dropped by. I’ll use my contacts to get to the truth.”
Easy for Dibs to say—but she isn’t the one who’ll be seeing suicide blonde streaks and acid-bath eyes staring out of the dark at night. The woman would kill me in a blink. She loathes me and my knickers with an insidious hatred I can only liken to my fear of oral tests in French.
I pipe up yet again. Forever a voice with misgivings. “But isn’t shrugging shoulders and pretending like she doesn’t exist going to be more than a bit tricky?”
“Depends how you deal with it. Trust me, Izzy. Leave this to me to do some digging about Psycho Maid. And put it out of your mind. In fact—set up a tryst for amour. You can use that time with Will to ask him some gentle questions, safe in the knowledge that I’ll get to the bottom of things for you. And you’ll have more great memories to treasure with your man. Trust me—we’ll find out and then you can make an informed choice. And I’m pretty sure she’s trouble-making—I have a great instinct for these things.”
If only the same could be said for her ‘instinct’ for the many crimes of her paramour, Ronald.
“I’m not sure. Kinda smacks of denial.”
“Oh. No. You’re dealing with it cleverly. And skillfully. Trust me.”
“But how on earth are you going to do this? I don’t get it.”
“Best you don’t, my love. But trust me. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. No pun intended. I’ll get your answers. And you can help me in return.”
“How?”
“Let me go and visit Jack tonight?”
“You sure?” I’m quite shocked at her directness. Then the penny drops and I realize she’s got a crush on my pal. “You into Jack?”
“Course. I’m outside the hospital now for afternoon visiting. Cutting to the chase, I’m keen on him. I do want to see him. If you don’t mind. I’ll tell him you’ll drop in tomorrow? I wanted a second chance to drop in today.”
“Of course.” I smile. Impressed and slightly pleased that Dibian has a crush on my best buddy Jack. She clearly has good taste. And I’m so very glad that Ronald the Pilfering Rogue is second billing. She couldn’t find a nicer guy to get over bad stuff with.
Will Jack be up for it?
We’ll have to wait and see.
“Go for it, girlfriend,” I tell her.
“Just putting on my lippy now.” I hear her lips smack together on cue. “I wholly intend to, darling. Jack’s a keeper and I know when I’ve hit solid gold. Wish me luck, Izzy. I’ve never prayed for it more.”
My phone pings with a text seconds later. I wonder what I’m going to say to Will, if it’s him, but I needn’t have worried.
“Can you come by the gym earlier tonight? Say half four?” It’s Ben and we’ve a coaching session planned. Shit, I’d forgotten about it entirely.
“No probs. Cancel if you like?”
“No way—you don’t avoid it that easily. You can’t default on me, Lazybones.” His answer’s on the money. “Tonight Janey and I are doing something special. Very special. Stay tuned.”
I intend to grill him at my lesson. For something inside me tells me this might be a bigger deal than he’s revealing.
Chapter Sixteen
Ben refuses to put me out of my misery about what he and Janey are doing tonight, though he wears a rather enigmatic smile. Not quite Mona Lisa but a mysterious celeb-footballer looking pretty pleased with his private thoughts expression was in evidence.
Of course, I’ve never been any good at taking advice, however well intentioned. Call me Izzy the Idiot. And now, after my football session, and because my visit to the hospital has been canceled, and my brain is playing paranoia solitaire with itself, on insanity mode, I’m in a dangerous mood.
I’m girlfriend with a gremlin on her shoulder, telling her to take things into her own hands and enact exacting measures… Never a good idea. I should simply go to the pub and get hammered. But I don’t.
The gremlin suggests going over to Will’s unannounced to see if he’s getting the jiggy on with Temptress Tessa and, before I know it, I’m behind the wheel, chain-eating caramel chocolate drops while doing thirty miles an hour toward Totteridge.
Some would say I’m crazy. The psychotic among us would say—right on, Izzy. Great plan. Let’s go, and gun the gas while you’re at it!
All the way over, I’m telling myself one minute I’m quite right to turn up on the doorstep at Hangley Grange. After all, he’s maybe there schmoozing Tessa? She’s probably in a French maid’s pinny, see-through French knickers and no bra
with stellar tits—way better than mine could ever be. At heart, I do have a thing that one nipple is slightly higher than my other, but I’ve never admitted it to a soul. In my paranoid fantasy, the Psycho Strumpet is straddling Will in the whirlpool, and feeding him Parisian absinthe macaroons…
Does he even like macaroons? The other voice berates the very thought and shoves my hair shirt on my self-flagellating guilty shoulders. End result is I’m getting angrier and more perplexed by the minute, and if I’d known how crazy this was going to get me, I’d have stayed at home to do class prep. Instead, I’m here because I don’t know when to back down. Sodding bugger.
In the end, I pick up the phone and dial Dibian from a lay-by somewhere near Arkley. Dibs should run her own agony hotline franchise called Dial-a-Dibian, or something.
“It’s me. I’m heading over there. I need answers.”
“Whoa. Darling. This isn’t a good time. I’m indisposed and breathless as a mating seal on a midsummer’s night.”
Ick. “Are you with Jack now?”
“Yes, darling. Things are intense.”
“In hospital?”
“Believe me. He’s very much better. Dibian knows how to medicate a love-starved man.”
“Oh. Dibs.” Shit, why did I ring her? She knows how to put limited time to good use and I dread to think what they’re up to behind the ditsy hospital curtains.
“Don’t you dare go,” she says but it’s too late.
I press the red button. I’m not finishing the conversation. Ten minutes later I pull into Will’s long and affluent avenue and soon have my finger on the security gate’s entry buzzer.
“Hi. Will. It’s Izzy. You free?”
“Izzy?” I hear Will’s voice and the question in it, but I’m not in the mood for roadside explanations. Or further recriminations. I can hear my phone trilling in the back seat where I threw it. It’s Dibian. There’s no way I’m being talked down from the parapet now. Believe me. I’m wearing my crazy circus tutu of angst and my tightrope ballet pumps are primed for dance.