Best Served Cold

by Limey Lady

  Thank goodness!

  Heather would joke about scary girlfriends, but there was some truth in what she said. Nowadays, on the few occasions she wasn’t shagging Graham, Vic nearly always went for domineering, no-nonsense types who would probably fight tooth and claw. However good Nina looked, Vic just wouldn’t go there.

  Heather didn’t play on such a narrow field.

  Well, outside of WYB she didn’t.

  Not normally.

  Besides, she’d been a goody-goody at work for far too long.

  Snow White . . . Me?

  ‘Okay,’ she said out loud. ‘I’m game if you are. Shall we say half past nine?’

  ‘I’d rather say now, this minute.’

  Heather hadn’t expected that level of urgency. Not that she was knocking it. All that to-be-or-not-to-being had got her well in the mood.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’d suggest your place, but I'm just out of the bath. Do you want to come round in a bit?’

  ‘I'm here already; halfway up the steps. I’ll be in your hallway in two ticks.’

  ‘And I am worse than a man?’

  ‘Just let me in, Heather. Please.’

  Sure enough, when Heather opened the door Nina was waiting there, but not in her work clothes. The powder blue outfit had been replaced by a short black leather skirt and a low-cut white top, boobs almost popping out. She was carrying two bottles of Shiraz and looked even yummier than ever.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Nice skirt,’ Heather replied. ‘And even nicer legs.’

  ‘Nice rugby shirt,’ Nina countered. ‘It doesn’t cover much, though.’

  ‘It’s not meant to.’

  ‘I sort of guessed it wasn’t.’ She gestured with one of bottles of wine. ‘Do I get to come inside?’

  Heather grinned. ‘I sincerely hope so.’

  Part Three

  To betray you must first belong.

  (Kim Philby)

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  (Tuesday 16th September 2008)

  ‘I thought it would be best to do this face to face,’ Gavin said, ‘over a drink and on neutral ground.’

  ‘Can’t get more neutral than this,’ DeeDee replied. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to intrude in Bradford. And I thought you might be uncomfortable coming to Bristol.’

  ‘I’m back in Bristol at least once a month. And for goodness’ sake please, less of the Bradford. I am living in Bingley, not the middle of Bradford. It’s like confusing Clifton with St Pauls.’

  ‘It’s got a Bradford postcode.’

  ‘The postcode is incidental. Bingley is second only to Harrogate. Level with Ilkley and miles ahead of everywhere else.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘And stop saying you’re sorry. I’m the one who messed everything up, not you.’

  ‘Sorry. For keeping saying sorry, I mean.’

  DeeDee had to smile. They were in a hotel bar on the outskirts of Stratford-upon-Avon and Gavin was surprisingly relaxed. She hadn’t known what to expect when he’d proposed this little get-together. In fact she had half-feared he might beg and plead. But no, he had a gleam in his eye. He was up to something and wouldn’t be begging.

  ‘Okay then,’ she said, as if opening negotiations. ‘Let’s get on with it. Seeing as you wouldn’t give me an agenda, I’ll let you begin.’

  ‘That suits me. Clear the air first. It’s over between us, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m sorry Gavin but yes, it is.’ She’d anticipated this bit and prepared accordingly. ‘I’ve said already that I didn’t plan it. I honestly never thought I’d see Pat again. When my mother died . . .’

  ‘I know. I know.’ He held his hand up. ‘You don’t have to apologize or explain yourself. We are where we are.’

  ‘Well I do apologize anyway. If nothing else, my timing was utterly crap.’

  ‘Apology accepted. Now, can we move on to a financial level? I think we’re both comfortable talking about money; much more than we are about emotions.’

  DeeDee wasn’t so sure. Just lately (and for the first time in her life) money was a big worry. She was struggling to sell her apartment in Bristol and had got nowhere with house-hunting in Yorkshire. Not within her very limited price range.

  ‘Last emotional words,’ she said. ‘There was never anyone else when I was with you. I never wanted to look elsewhere. Then, when it happened, it really was a bolt from the blue.’

  ‘Thank you. I respect that. Now . . . Let’s talk money.’

  DeeDee could see Gavin had gone into FD mode so clicked that magic switch inside her head.

  ‘Constantine Bay then,’ she said, ‘the one thing still linking us together.’

  ‘I want us to keep it.’

  ‘There isn’t an “us” anymore.’

  ‘Not even when there are tens of thousands to be made?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. It may be a fantastic long term investment, but I can’t afford the outlay right now.’

  ‘What, on your exorbitant salary?’

  ‘Don’t mock me, Gavin. I’m currently paying two mortgages on empty buildings. It’s a sore point.’

  ‘Shouldn’t that be one and a half mortgages; same as me?’

  ‘My half on Constantine Bay is more than I pay on Bristol. I have to get rid.’

  ‘We’d both take a hit if we sold it now. Even Constantine Bay property’s taken a bit of a dip.’

  ‘That can’t be helped. I’m very possibly going to end up bridging. Two and a half mortgages would too much.’

  Gavin had a sip of his lager. DeeDee left her gin and bitter lemon untouched and watched him. His eyes were still gleaming. He definitely was up to something.

  He also looked quite cute. Not to mention much younger than his thirty-eight years.

  ‘How about I make you an offer?’ he resumed.

  ‘What?’ she said, hopefully, ‘to buy me out?’

  ‘I don’t have a lump sum. Not yet. But I have a proposal you might be interested in.’

  DeeDee’s heart jumped a little. She hadn’t really expected to be bought out, but this was suddenly starting to feel promising.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You appreciate I got us an exceptionally good deal on the mortgage? And that we’re tied into it for another three years?’

  ‘We’re tied in for another thirty-one instalments.’

  ‘So what if I meet all thirty-one?’

  ‘You mean one hundred per cent meet them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why should you?’

  ‘Because you’re going to sign the place over to me, we’re just not going to tell the bank. As far as they are concerned, we’re still “us”, and still entitled to the heavily discounted rate.’

  ‘I put twenty grand into that house.’

  ‘And you’ll get it back in thirty-one instalments’ time, plus a percentage of any increase in equity by then.’

  ‘What if it’s negative?’

  ‘You get your twenty thousand and I stand the loss.’

  ‘It sounds okay,’ DeeDee said cautiously, ‘but I have this feeling you know something I don’t.’

  ‘All I know is that Constantine Bay is going to be a goldmine, later if not sooner. You can share it with me, on a completely platonic basis. Or you can bow out like this.’

  He passed her a legal-looking document and leant back, signalling a passing waiter while she studied it.

  ‘It looks as good as you made it sound. But I’ll need to get my solicitor to give it the once-over before I seriously consider.’

  ‘Get him to rewrite it if you want. Just don’t increase that percentage too much.’

  ‘Have you struck oil at the bottom of the garden?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And there’s no way you can give me the twenty grand now?’

  ‘No. That has to be at the end of the deal, when I re-mortgage in my own name.’
>
  The waiter arrived with more drinks. ‘Put them on room three-five-five,’ DeeDee said, charmed by the youngster’s smile. Then, business-like again: ‘I reckon that favourable rate saves us twenty-five thousand over three years: twelve and a half each.’

  ‘It’s more like thirty, fifteen.’

  ‘Even so, I can’t see that being enough to make you take over all the payments.’

  ‘Spoken like an accountant.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘So I re-mortgaged my own house at the same time. Paid off my ex once and for all.’

  ‘The one you divorced ten years ago?’

  ‘Yes, the very same ex-wife.’

  DeeDee considered a while. Getting her twenty thousand back immediately would have been nice but it wouldn’t have been enough. Not to satisfy her irrational fantasy of building a place of her own. But, once she was free of those crippling monthly payments . . .

  Well that still wouldn’t be enough. But it was a step in the right direction; quite a big step. At the very least it would move her house-hunting budget up a few brackets.

  ‘This agreement frees me of joint and several, but how about my share at the end? Please don’t call me mercenary, but your ex seems to have cleaned you out. How can I be sure you’ll be able to keep up with the instalments?’

  ‘I’ve got a tenant for Constantine Bay. Twelve months with an option to extend for a second year. I’m going to cover that mortgage with rent.’

  ‘That’s very convenient. Seeing as we only managed to let it out for one fortnight all summer.’

  ‘It’s someone who used to work with me. She’s become a writer.’

  ‘It sounds more risky by the minute.’

  ‘It’s not at all risky. It’s nailed on. Her first book went down so well they’re giving her a mega advance for the second.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. She writes chick lit set in Cornwall.’

  ‘I won’t, because she writes very violent murder mysteries.’

  ‘Set in Cornwall?’

  ‘I don’t think so. More like Birmingham. She told me she wanted to live in Cornwall for the peace and solitude. So she can concentrate.’

  ‘And she’ll be there for a whole year?’

  ‘For two at least, if her second book goes down as well as the first.’

  ‘Hmmm, if we’re pretending to still be an “us”, wouldn’t her rent cover my half of the mortgage? Save us all the subterfuge?’

  Gavin had the grace to blush. ‘She thinks I’m single,’ he said. ‘I mean, she knows I’m single. But she might not be so keen if she finds out Constantine Bay still belongs to “us”.’

  ‘Are you telling me the woman’s your lover? And you’re going to rent her our house?’

  ‘She’s only recently become my lover. And you and I never did get to spend a night in that house. It doesn’t have any memories.’

  DeeDee chuckled. ‘And I thought you were heartbroken!’

  ‘Well, you know how it is. Life goes on.’

  *****

  Penny thought Geoff had taken his dad's death very well. It helped that it had not been at all unexpected; Cliff Rodgers had started to die the day he’d lost his wife, three or four years ago. Even so, Geoff had that prickly, sensitive side to him that sometimes made him emotional and hard to predict. And that was the old fit and well Geoff. She’d half-expected the latest setback to send him into bleak depression.

  Thankfully he had been philosophical about it.

  Unlike Jamie; Jamie had loved his granddad more than sunshine and fresh air.

  Not that there was anything wrong with Jamie wearing his heart on his sleeve. That was a far better than him bottling everything up until it turned to poison and ruined his life.

  Still, at least Geoff had been positive in the weeks since his close shave. Penny was sure that, once he’d stopped being sorry for himself for not being able to die, once he’d heard a few people telling him he looked a little better . . .

  Well, once he’d done that, he actually had started to get a little better. Even Dr Strohl admitted that much.

  Her list of positives wasn't very long, though. The pneumonia had been beaten without the need for a ventilator. Geoff's NG tube diet had stabilized his weight at a loss of a straight four stones.

  Four stones!

  He'd been through the immunoglobulin and initial steroid stages of his last ditch treatment, and was about to start the plasmapheresis. And yes, he did look a little better . . .

  But the list of negatives hadn't really changed. Cure someone of pneumonia and of course they were going to look better. They might even stop losing weight, especially if they didn't have any weight left to lose. But they would still have self-inflicted CIDP, still be paralyzed and bed- ridden for life . . . unless the plasma change worked miracles.

  She’d tried to discuss the possibility that Geoff’s condition had been caused by stress with Dr Strohl, but it had been useless. He’d been as non-committal about that as he always was with the prognosis. In fact he gave the distinct impression he didn’t think the cause even mattered. As far as he was concerned, Geoff was on Prozac as a precaution, in case he suddenly realized how life-changing this all was for him. If he was harbouring stress or depression from before, the Prozac would take care of that as well.

  Penny could appreciate that, from where they were now, the cause was incidental. She could even agree with the doctor's analogy that, having been shot, it didn't matter whether the bullet was made in the UK, France or Outer Mongolia. She could not, however, stop seething. She’d read somewhere that there were less than a hundred cases of CIDP a year in the UK. To her mind this made it more likely to win a million on the Lottery.

  Yes, maybe more likely, but nowhere nearly so easy to self-inflict.

  So far, not wanting to smash his positive vibes, she hadn't mentioned stress to Geoff. One of these days, though . . .

  Geoff had already shown her the brutal-looking twelve inch, two-way catheter that the doctors had inserted into his throat, ready for the first plasma transfusion tomorrow. Not that she could have failed to notice it if she’d wanted to. It was sort of big and vertical and jutted out of him. Apparently they’d planned to slot it neatly behind his collarbone but it wouldn't fit, so they had made him look like a broken cyborg instead.

  She waited until he had run out of his limited conversation before saying Frank was still struggling to get in touch with their brother.

  ‘Has he contacted Rick's regiment?’

  ‘Of course he has. They keep telling him Rick’s in Northern Ireland and they'll let him know. He hasn't called back though. Frank's worrying because the funeral's so close.’

  ‘Frank's always worrying over something and nothing. If Rick's been told, he'll be there.’

  ‘Well Frank's concerned they haven't passed the message on.’

  ‘I think we can trust the British Army to pass on a message.’ Geoff chuckled weakly. ‘And I’m sure that if I can make it there from this place, Rick will certainly make it from Belfast. The only difference is that I'll be early and he'll turn up at the last moment, as usual. Now, how's Jamie bearing up?’

  They spoke a while about the kids and other aspects of the funeral arrangements, keeping everything business-like and impersonal. Close, intimate talk had ended some considerable time ago; it had simply expired. Gone, Penny feared, forever.

  As if all forms of intimacy had died with her husband’s ability to walk.

  And be a man.

  She left it right until the end of Visiting before even mentioning the hen party.

  ‘Amsterdam?’ Geoff said. ‘Why would a load of women want to go there?’

  ‘It's an historic, beautiful city with more miles of canals than Venice.’

  ‘You could say that about Birmingham.’

  ‘Maybe, but Birmingham doesn’t have the museums.’

  ‘I didn’t know Amsterdam was famous for museums.’

  ‘Of course it is. It has some of the fi
nest in the world.’

  ‘It also has the world's most notorious red light district.’