Me and Mr Jones

by Lucy Diamond

  ‘Jesus. How did he get your number?’

  ‘No idea. Only a couple of people know this new one. I don’t suppose …’ She licked her lips. ‘Could he have got it from Ricky?’

  ‘No way!’ Louise sounded hurt. ‘Of course not. Ricky doesn’t even have your number, does he?’

  ‘Sorry. I just …’ Izzy felt bad for asking. ‘Sorry, Lou. I’m freaking out. I’m scared. What if he finds out where we are?’

  ‘Oh, love, don’t worry. How could he?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Izzy admitted. She twitched the curtain back and gazed into the darkness beyond her window. He could be anywhere, she thought. He could be in the back garden watching me right now, plotting how he could break in and … and …

  ‘There you go, then. Remember what a dumb-arse he is. He can barely count his own fingers, let alone find you. And he’s lazy too, right? Even if he has a clue where you’re living, can you imagine him getting off his fat bum and driving all the way down there? Not a chance.’

  It was mad how, even now, after everything, Izzy could still feel protective of her ex. It wasn’t Gary’s fault his education had been so chaotic. He wasn’t dumb, whatever anyone else said. She’d known him to be sharp, funny, switched-on. He’d held down his job with Little’s Insurance for more than ten years now, hadn’t he? Ten years – that was better than a lot of people. Louise didn’t know him like Izzy did.

  She let the curtain fall against the window again with a sigh. It was complicated, disliking and fearing a person you’d once loved. ‘Lou, don’t be offended, but I’ve just got to ask, so humour me, will you? Have you told anyone where I am, even Rick? Have you mentioned Lyme, or the south coast, or … ?’

  ‘No! Of course not, what kind of mate do you think I am? A promise is a promise, and I never break promises. All right?’

  Izzy cringed. Louise sounded really miffed now. ‘All right,’ she said meekly. ‘Thanks. I’m sorry I had to ask. I’m just paranoid, sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. Try to forget him. Block him on your phone, so that he can’t contact you. Change your number! And keep your cool, love. He’ll get bored soon.’

  ‘Yeah. God, I wish you were here. I miss having a mate like you.’

  ‘I wish I was there too. I’ve got Ricky’s mucky football kit to wash here, and I’d much rather be with you.’

  Izzy couldn’t speak for a second, wishing her only problem was a pile of muddy football clothes. ‘Give him my love, and lots to you too,’ she said in the end. ‘Bye now.’

  ‘Bye, love. Take care and stop worrying, yeah? See you.’

  Meanwhile Charlie was making life difficult as well. After the disastrous episode at his parents’ house, he’d come crawling round to her flat, apologizing and grovelling, but she’d given him short shrift. She was through with men.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think,’ he’d said, his voice crackling through the intercom. ‘Really, Izzy – I’m sorry.’

  ‘Go away,’ she’d said, refusing to buzz him in.

  The next day he came into the tea shop with a bunch of daffs. ‘Don’t take any notice of my family, they’re all mad,’ he told her.

  ‘I’m busy,’ she replied, ignoring the flowers and whirling into the kitchen where he couldn’t get to her.

  ‘Was that Charlie Jones I spotted?’ asked Margaret, her boss, making a tutting noise. ‘He’s a waste of space, that one. Don’t get involved with him, whatever you do.’

  ‘I’m not planning to,’ Izzy replied, but Margaret was on a roll.

  ‘He was meant to be decorating the building for us over Christmas last year, then made excuses at the last minute. Completely unreliable. I’m surprised he dared show his face in here.’

  ‘He used to go out with my cousin’s friend,’ one of the other girls, Patrice, piped up, overhearing. ‘He’s full of shit – excuse my French.’

  ‘Works at the garden centre now, I think, the one on the edge of town, doesn’t he?’ Nicci, the washer-upper added. ‘God knows how long he’ll last there.’

  Izzy sighed. Did anyone have a good word to say for Charlie Jones? ‘Thanks for the warning,’ she muttered.

  He had tenacity, though, you could say that much for him. Staying power. Bloody-mindedness, more like. He was waiting outside on the wall when she finished her shift that day, still clutching the daffs. They were drooping by now, but he wasn’t. ‘When can I take you somewhere nice, to make it up to you?’ he said with his best smile.

  It was the final straw. She already had one nutter stalking her by text; she didn’t need another doing it in person, especially one with such a rubbish track record. ‘Charlie, for fuck’s sake, get it through your thick skull,’ she said, snatching the flowers and throwing them to the pavement, ‘I am not interested. It’s not a game. It’s not me playing hard to get. Just leave me alone, or I’ll call the police. I mean it. Jog on!’

  People had stopped and stared – you didn’t usually get raised voices and flying daffodils in the middle of Broad Street – but she couldn’t have cared less. She stalked away up the hill, furious, fists clenched, just daring him to run after her. He didn’t, luckily for him.

  When Saturday came around, she dreaded him turning up at her ballet class and making another scene, but to her relief Alicia dropped Matilda off and left without saying a word. Then, when she returned at the end of the lesson, she came over and quietly apologized for the awfulness of the Sunday before.

  ‘I’m so embarrassed about the way Charlie’s mum treated you,’ she said, twisting her fingers around the handle of her smart leather bag. ‘She was absolutely vile. I’m really sorry.’

  Izzy shrugged, hardened against the situation now. It was no skin off her nose. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said, trying to brush the whole thing aside. Some mistakes were best left forgotten.

  ‘I know it’s small consolation, but she’s got a lot on her plate right now,’ Alicia went on. ‘I’m not making excuses – she was rude to you, and shouldn’t have been. But I promise she’s not always like that. If Charlie invites you again, then—’

  ‘Charlie won’t be inviting me anywhere,’ Izzy interjected. ‘Or rather, if he does, I won’t be taking him up on it.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Alicia said, looking awkward. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Well, don’t be. I’m not.’

  She was verging on rudeness, and it was only the whipped-dog look in Alicia’s eyes that stopped her going even further. ‘But thanks for being nice about it,’ she managed to say. ‘It’s not your problem.’ Alicia was her customer, after all – and a good one too, always paying Matilda’s fees promptly. Izzy couldn’t afford to start pushing people away.

  To her relief, Alicia merely nodded and said, ‘Okay,’ before leaving with Matilda. Then Izzy was distracted by another parent wanting her attention and moved on. She felt guilty about her tone for the rest of the morning, though. Alicia seemed a nice person and had only been trying to build bridges, even if Izzy had gone about kicking them all down again. The problem was, it was hard to trust anyone when you felt as paranoid as she did right now.

  Another week went by, and Charlie seemed to have taken the hint at least. No more calls, no more visits at work, no more apologies. Good. As far as Izzy was concerned, if she never saw that idiot again it would be too soon. From here on in, it was just going to be her and the girls, with no room for incomers.

  If she thought she’d washed her hands of the Jones family, she was mistaken, though. Much to Izzy’s surprise, Alicia approached her again at the end of the following week’s lesson, looking rather pink. Oh God. Don’t say Charlie had asked her to put a good word in for him now? Please, no!

  ‘Hi,’ Alicia said without preamble, as if in a hurry to get out her words. ‘Listen, I wanted to ask you something. I’ve recently started a belly-dancing class on Thursday, and … well … I wondered if you wanted to come along sometime with me? It’s right here in Lyme, in the community hall. No problem if you don’t wa
nt to, though.’

  It took Izzy a few seconds to process this. Alicia wanted her to go belly dancing with her one evening? Well, she hadn’t been expecting that. Somehow she couldn’t imagine this elegant, rather posh-sounding older woman in her nice navy coat shimmying to the Dance of the Seven Veils. Was it some kind of trick?

  ‘This hasn’t got anything to do with your brother-in-law, has it?’ she replied cautiously.

  ‘Charlie? God, no, don’t worry about him. And honestly, just say no if you don’t want to – it was only a thought. And of course you might be really, really busy, and I know you’ve got the girls to look after too, obviously, but …’

  ‘Okay.’

  The word took both of them by surprise. Alicia coloured and licked her lips. ‘You want to? Oh, good!’ Clearly she hadn’t been anticipating a positive outcome; she’d had defeat written all over her. Curious, thought Izzy. Why was she so nervy, so unsure of herself? ‘I’m trying to challenge myself, you see,’ she went on in a rush of new-found confidence. ‘Trying to do new things.’

  Izzy raised an eyebrow. ‘What, and I’m a new thing, am I?’

  She was joking, but Alicia looked mortified, turning even pinker. ‘No! Not at all. Well, I am trying to – you know – broaden my circle, get to know some new people, but …’ She laughed in relief when she realized that Izzy was grinning. ‘You know what I mean. The belly dancing is the challenge. I’m going to be forty this year, you see.’

  Izzy didn’t see at all, if she was honest, but Alicia seemed harmless enough, if kind of flustered. Moreover it was the first time since Izzy had moved down here that another woman had extended the hand of friendship. Hopefully Mrs Murray would babysit for another evening. ‘Right – you’re on, then,’ she said, conscious of her next lesson, which was about to begin. ‘Here,’ she said, scribbling down her number. ‘Text me the details and we’ll sort it out. See you then!’

  The next week turned out to be much better than the last, thank goodness. Business was brisk at the tea shop and Izzy’s dance lessons went well. Willow was elected to be her class’s ‘School Council’ member, and Hazel came home with a ‘Star of the Week’ certificate, which seemed to be on a par with being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, if her elation was anything to go by. Best of all, Gary had gone quiet on her. He hadn’t sent a single text for almost a week. The relief was absolutely enormous; she felt lighter and more free with each passing day, less worried about spotting him on the beach or in the high street, less panicky whenever she heard a northern accent or glimpsed a tall, burly man with a crew cut. Lou must have been right – he’d got bored when she hadn’t responded, had moved on to tormenting someone else.

  Thank God for that.

  On Thursday she met Alicia in Lyme for the belly-dancing lesson and ended up having the most fun she’d had for weeks. The actual dancing wasn’t really her cup of tea – the music was a bit weird, and the steps were pretty repetitive, once you got the hang of them – but she loved the energy of the movements and the joyful feeling of shaking her tush with a room full of other women, all of whom seemed to be having a whale of a time as they swayed and swung.

  Even more surprising was the way mousy Alicia let rip – really going for it with the hip-shaking and general jiggling. Look at me! I am all woman! I am strong and gorgeous! her body seemed to say, as she bounced about, boobs flying, thighs shaking, sweat pouring down her face. Her skin was flushed, her hair fell messily around her face and she wasn’t remotely well coordinated, but there was no disguising her look of elation. Go, Alicia. Who would have thought?

  ‘That was great,’ Izzy said afterwards, once the class had clapped the dance teacher and started dispersing to gather coats and bags from the side of the hall.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful? It always makes me feel so alive and happy,’ Alicia replied breathlessly. She fanned her hot cheeks with a hand. ‘As well as sweaty and unfit and completely ungainly, of course, but that’s by the by.’

  There she went – retreating back into mousiness, Izzy thought ruefully. Back into apologizing for herself and being the little woman. ‘Who cares about being sweaty and unfit?’ she replied. ‘The main thing is enjoying it, and expressing yourself. That’s what I love most about dancing.’

  Alicia smiled and pulled on a shapeless black jacket. ‘I hope it wasn’t too much of a busman’s holiday for you tonight,’ she said. ‘I hope you didn’t mind me asking you along, it was just …’

  ‘No way!’ Izzy said. ‘I’m glad you did. Thank you – I loved it. Can I come along next week too?’

  Alicia beamed. ‘You’re on.’ Then she paused. ‘Um, I think a few people are going for a drink now – someone I know from work and her friend. Just in the local, nothing wild, but … well, would you like to join us?’

  Izzy glanced at her watch. Almost nine o’clock. Not late by any means, but she didn’t want to antagonize Mrs Murray, not when she needed to keep her onside. Besides, she couldn’t afford to pay for drinks and any more babysitting, on top of what she’d already shelled out tonight. ‘Sorry, no,’ she replied regretfully. ‘I told my neighbour I’d be back by nine, and I don’t want to mess her about. Another time, though, definitely.’

  ‘Okay,’ Alicia replied. ‘See you on Saturday then – for ballet, I mean.’

  ‘See you.’

  Izzy walked into the cold night feeling as if she’d made a new friend. An unusual sort of friend, yes – not someone she’d have picked out immediately as being friend material, but she couldn’t help liking Alicia. Maybe something good had come out of the Jones family after all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Having David to stay was a godsend in Lilian’s eyes. They said middle children were the awkward squad, but he’d always been the easiest of her boys: the sunniest, most good-natured and thoughtful. Hugh was solid and practical, Charlie made everyone laugh, but David was the one Lilian could really talk to – the one she felt was most emotionally engaged with the other members of the family.

  It had broken her heart, seeing him so disillusioned of late, so tired of his life. His demeanour had reminded her of a man left in the airport, still staring at the baggage carousel going round and round after everyone else had grabbed their luggage and moved on. Thank goodness she had him under her roof again now. Home cooking and some hard work helping Eddie – that would see him straight.

  Eddie, too, appreciated David being there. Charlie hadn’t exactly been dependable when it came to building and decorating work in the past, however well-meaning he was, but they’d always struggled to take him to task on it. Charlie was different from the other two, that was the thing. He’d been a sickly little boy, skinny and weedy, asthmatic from the age of six. Those night-time trips to Dorchester hospital, where he’d wheezed and struggled for breath and she’d actually thought she was going to lose him, had been the cause of her first grey hairs. She was not a religious woman, but she’d found herself praying by his bedside when he was hooked up to the ventilator, watching his oxygen levels until her vision blurred. Please, God, let him be okay. Please, God, I’ll do anything.

  Those days were long gone, of course, and nowadays he was a strong, healthy man, but when she looked into his eyes, she still sometimes glimpsed that frightened little boy, cheeks concave, skin turning blue as he gasped helplessly. You never got over something like that. It changed you.

  It was simpler with David. Barring a few dodgy girlfriends, he’d never given them any trouble and was good company, easy to be with. Her favourite photo of him was one taken when he was about ten and they were holidaying in Ilfracombe. There was skinny, freckly David holding a mackerel he’d caught after a fishing trip, with the most enormous grin. Lilian knew that at least half the triumph came from the fact that Hugh hadn’t caught a thing, and Charlie had been repeatedly sick over the side of the boat. Boys, eh?

  Twenty-five years later, he’d slotted back into the house as if he’d never been away, and she enjoyed having him there. He wasn’t bossy, as Hug
h could sometimes be, or as needy as Charlie; he merely got stuck into whatever needed doing: wallpaper-stripping, plastering, painting, fixing … He’d even helped out with the gardening and breakfasts on occasion, always whistling cheerfully as he did so. Already the house felt transformed.

  You could see the difference in him too, within a week. His skin had changed from pasty grey to a healthier pink; the bags under his eyes had vanished, as if he was sleeping well. Hard work was good for a person, Lilian had always thought. And he was smiling again, enjoying the satisfaction of making a difference to the house. His home. If only he’d move back for good!

  ‘I think the country air suits you, David,’ she’d said innocently a few times. He’d put up some feeble argument about loving city life in Bristol, but she wasn’t fooled. Dorset ran in his veins, she knew.

  He wasn’t daft, though, her son. Hugh and Charlie might not have noticed anything different about their father lately, but it took just three days for David to realize Eddie wasn’t himself. ‘Is Dad all right, Mum?’ he asked that evening. They were in the kitchen together and he was drying the dishes as she washed them. ‘Only he seems a bit … absent-minded.’

  Her hands felt numb in the hot water and she floundered for what to say. A bit absent-minded … Yes. He was that, all right. Just that morning he’d left the tap running in the bathroom sink with the plug in. It was only when water began dripping through the kitchen ceiling that she realized what had happened. It took six bath towels and a lot of mopping before the flood was dealt with.

  Then there was the fact that words seemed to escape him. Of course, it happened to everyone sometimes – you’d grasp around for the phrase you wanted, only for it to slip away into the shadows of your mind, tantalizingly out of reach. Eddie seemed to have forgotten some really basic words, though, words so everyday that she wondered how his brain could have misplaced them.

  ‘Have you seen my … my … you know,’ he’d asked the day before, pointing at his wrist. ‘My clock – my hand-clock.’