Happy Ever After

by Christina Jones

  Not a lot there, Cindy thought as she started to compose a letter to a late-paying account customer, to inspire a woman who’d soon be approaching fifty.

  Now, if she was on one of those television lifestyle makeover programmes she and Polly hooted over, those scarily self-confident, aggressive presenters would have a field-day with every aspect of Cindy’s humdrum existence. They probably wouldn’t know where to start – and neither did she. Maybe it was time, she thought as she couched her letter in firm but tactful terms, to do something about it…

  Her desk phone rang just as Cindy had reached the final paragraph of the letter, warning the late-payer that thirty days meant thirty days.

  ‘Customer Services… oh, hello Hilda. What? Now? Yes – okay. Give me a couple of seconds to finish this letter and I’ll pop up. Okay. Bye.’

  ‘Trouble?’ Kath raised her eyebrows. ‘What have you been up to? Hilda always discusses run-of-the-mill stuff on the phone.’

  Cindy shrugged. ‘I can’t think of anything really bad that I’ve done. Hopefully it’s nothing too awful…’

  She’d soon know, Cindy thought, as, abandoning the idea of using the lift – the three flights of stairs surely meant she could have a doughnut at coffee break? - she climbed the carpeted sweep to Dexter’s upper floor.

  Hilda Dexter, the unmarried elder stateswoman, a great-granddaughter of the store’s founder, ruled the business with a velvet glove and no iron fist. Warm, approachable and good-humoured, she epitomised the Dexters ethos. As Kath had said, Hilda never summoned staff to the upper echelons for no reason.

  By the time she’d reached the highly-polished door of Hilda’s office, Cindy had decided she was guilty of any number of perceived clerical sins. Or maybe it was worse than that…

  Now she had two things to worry about. Because of the article about Benfield, which she was sure now, was going to ruin her day anyway, her imagination roared into overdrive.

  ‘Come in!’ Hilda sang out cheerfully. ‘Ah, Cindy… sit down, please.’

  Cindy sat, feeling sick, convinced that after years of resistance, Hilda and the rest of the family had decided to sell-out to one of the corporate companies who’d love to get their hands on Dexters. Hilda was probably, in her gentle way, going to tell each member of staff individually that their days were numbered.

  Cindy knew she’d cry. She’d been at Dexters for nearly thirty years, on and off. She’d started there in 1981 when she’d first moved in with Steve; stayed after her marriage; taken breaks when both the children were born and until they started school, but apart from that – Dexters had been her rock for her entire working life… What on earth would she do now? Where would she go? It would be like losing part of herself… a bereavement…

  Cindy loved the store with its old-fashioned gleaming counters each with a uniformed properly-trained salesperson, and its three floors stocked with absolutely everything any one could want. She adored the wooden floors, stairs and banisters all glossy with years of polishing, always smelling of beeswax and lavender and evoking a million cosy memories.

  Of course Dexters was an anachronism – but it had, under Hilda’s skilful guidance, regained its market-share and then some – and had become the retro-must-visit place for miles around. They’d even had coverage in some of the national broadsheets. Dexters was probably a goldmine now, all ready to be snapped-up by the highest-bidder.

  ‘I won’t beat about the bush,’ Hilda’s grey eyes smiled. ‘It’s about holidays.’

  ‘Holidays?’ Cindy, who’d been waiting for completely different words, was somewhat wrong-footed. ‘Er – holidays?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hilda nodded. ‘Your holidays… Have you forgotten your holidays?’

  ‘What? No, of course not…I go down to my parents in Cornwall – the kids love it – they take friends with them and just lose themselves on the beach, surfing and swimming and messing about and - ‘

  ‘That’s wonderful, Cindy,’ Hilda looked as though she was trying not to laugh. ‘It sounds absolutely idyllic, but it wasn’t quite what I meant. Did you not read the relevant memo?’

  ‘Memo?’

  ‘Email,’ Hilda tapped expertly through her computer. ‘I sent it to all department heads last week… Here we are. Change to Company Holiday Policy.’

  Cindy frowned. ‘Yes – I saw that. I copied it on to everyone. Why? Is there a problem?’

  ‘Not with your customer services staff, no.’ Hilda said softly. ‘They all replied on the same day. You didn’t.’

  ‘Didn’t I? I’m really sorry…’

  Cindy racked her brains. What had the memo said? Oh, yes – the generous company holiday allowance was now to be taken entirely within a specified twelve month period. There was to be no carrying over of accrued leave and no payment in lieu. Anyone with holiday entitlement still to take must do so before the start of Dexters new financial year.

  ‘Sorry,’ Cindy shook her head. ‘I thought I’d replied too. Er – is that what you wanted to tell me? About my leave entitlement?’

  ‘Yes. Use it or lose it,’ Hilda beamed. ‘And you have quite a few days to lose. A week, Cindy. Which means, either you take that time off straight away or I’m afraid you’ll be unable to add it to your next year’s leave entitlement.’

  ‘A whole week!’ Cindy was astonished. ‘Is it really that much?’

  Hilda nodded. ‘You never take your full quota, and it’s mounted up. It’s up to you, of course but I’d hate to see you lose the time off when you’ve earned it. So I’d suggest you spend your lunch hour collecting those gorgeously tempting glossy brochures from the travel agents and give yourself a much-deserved treat.’

  ‘But a whole week off – that means…’

  ‘That your holidays could be starting right now. Or, being realistic, next Monday.’

  ‘But I can’t take a week off! Not just like that!’

  ‘Can and should,’ Hilda continued to smile. ‘Dexters will still be here when you get back. And personally, I feel a break will do you good. You’re looking very tired… Go on, Cindy. Be a devil…’

  By coffee break time in Dexters canteen, everyone in Customer Services knew about Cindy’s unexpected holiday. Crowded round a table with their cappuccinos and sticky buns, they all echoed Hilda’s suggestion that Cindy should book a last-minute flight to sunnier climes.

  ‘You can get some great bargains if you book late,’ Kath said enviously. ‘If it was me I’d be knocking on the travel agent’s door right now.’

  ‘Or you could book online. You can get some really good offers online.’

  ‘Oh, yes – custom-build your own holiday. Sun, sea, sand – and oodles of gorgeous men…’

  ‘The Caribbean – or Spain, or the Canaries – well – anywhere that’s warm…’

  ‘It sounds great,’ Cindy laughed, ‘but there is the little matter of finances and the fact that it’s still term time. I can’t take Polly and Dylan out of classes – and I’d never have the holiday of a lifetime without them.’

  ‘They’d be fine on their own. They’re practically grown-ups.’

  ‘Yes, but,’ Cindy continued to argue, ‘I just couldn’t go without them. It wouldn’t be fair. I’d never enjoy myself, soaking up the sun – even if I could afford to – knowing they’d have to make do with the usual fortnight at my mum’s.’

  ‘They’d understand. They’d know you deserved it.’

  ‘They probably would, but I still couldn’t do it. No,’ Cindy finished her coffee, ‘I’ll take the time to stay at home and catch up on the decorating…’

  There was a universal groan of dismay as the others stood up and started to drift back to the office. Only Kath remained.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of them – they’re young, free and single – but I understand,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t leave my kids behind, either. And not just because they might have a week-long party and trash the house. But surely you can find something more exciting to do than DIY?’

  ‘O
h, I can think of plenty of things,’ Cindy sighed, ‘but the finances just won’t stretch. No, it’ll be nice just to be at home and catch up on all the little jobs I never seem to have time to do.’

  Kath grinned as she stood up. ‘Well, you make sure you include some lovely long lie-ins, and a bit of pampering. Blimey, Cindy – what I wouldn’t give for a bit of me-time…’

  Alone at the table, Cindy sighed. Me-time… When had she ever had any of that? And what would she do with it anyway? Well, she might find time to get her hair styled properly – and she could mooch round the shops and treat herself to lunch out – but after that…

  ‘Hopeless…’ Cindy laughed to herself. ‘I’m a hopeless case… Still it’ll be nice to be at home when the kids get back from school, and cook proper meals, and not be too tired to do anything more than flop in front of the television in the evening… ’

  She stood up. The article was poking from the top of her handbag.

  Cindy sat down again. The summons to Hilda’s office had been good news, hadn’t it, despite her fears otherwise? What was to say that the article wouldn’t make her feel good, too? She had to read it. If she tore it up she’d wonder about it for the rest of her life. It was only words and pictures about Benfield. It couldn’t hurt her. Nothing could hurt her anymore…

  Taking a deep breath, she shook the pages open. The article was about the need for affordable housing and the journalist’s opinion of the folly of knocking down perfectly good housing estates to produce new ones…

  ‘Oh!’

  She stared at the pictures of the Floribunda Estate – the estate where she’d grown up – and her eyes filled with tears at the rows of back-to-back houses… Cindy’s heart started racing as the memories, so carefully locked away, started to escape. She took a deep breath. She couldn’t have a panic attack…

  Several people stopped their conversations and stared at her. Aware that her exclamation must have been audible, Cindy pulled a self-mocking apologetic face at them, feeling her mouth grow dry, and her palms grow damp.

  … the whole of the Floribunda Estate has been bought up by a property developer to be transformed into a modern and vibrant housing complex, which, according to local sources means they’ll knock down solidly built houses and erect twenty times as many tiny boxes at huge costs – not for the young couples who so desperately need them – but for people who work in the city. Bluebell Walk is the first street to be demolished and the council are planning – ironically - a celebration for the occasion. Daffodil Lane is scheduled to go next. Those tenants still remaining are being compulsorily rehoused on the other side of Benfield…

  The article went on in a similar vein but it was the date of the demolition that stayed in Cindy’s mind. Next week… Her childhood home – and the memories – would be destroyed – next week…

  Next week – when she wouldn’t be at work. When she could, if she wanted to, go back to Benfield and lay the ghosts that had haunted her for so many years.

  It must have been meant. The unexpected time off, reading the article, the timing of the demolition…

  There were too many coincidences for it not to be meant, surely? And if she went back, she could put an end to the horrors, and then maybe she really could start to get on with her life…

  Cindy swallowed. Bluebell Walk would be gone forever – and then Daffodil Lane – oh! What would happen to Ivy? If she was still alive of course…

  Ivy Morton’s tiny terraced house in Daffodil Lane had backed on to her own terrace in Bluebell Walk. Their narrow back gardens had been linked by a gate, and throughout Cindy’s childhood Ivy had been like a second mother to her, part of her family.

  But then, that’s how it had been in Benfield – everyone knew everyone else. It had been a really close community, a large village – certainly not a town – with its terraces of back-to-back houses on the rural outskirts, and all the families growing up together and sharing lives. She was ashamed to admit it, but she’d let Ivy slip away with everything else.

  Cindy groaned. How could she, in eradicating all her other Benfield memories, have forgotten about Ivy?

  She blinked away a tear. How very odd, she thought faintly, that the thought of her childhood home being razed to the ground should make her react like this?

  Bluebell Walk, as far as she was concerned, had already disappeared nearly thirty years ago, and no longer existed. Bluebell Walk had gone the same way as those last awful weeks in Benfield. Pushed away, demolished, destroyed, forgotten.

  If anyone had asked her, she’d have said she’d be delighted that the house – and those dreadful, painful memories – was being obliterated. How very odd, that her instinctive reaction was so different…

  Bluebell Walk – given a flowery name, like the other back-to-back streets, to somehow compensate for the meadows it had been built on – hadn’t always filled her with dread, of course. Quite the opposite…

  She’d had a blissful childhood there, and she’d loved every minute of her time in the tiny two-up two-down Bluebell Walk terrace. Well, almost…

  Dexters had disappeared. She was back in Benfield, at five, at ten, at fourteen, at seventeen… the memories flooded back.

  She still dreamed about the Bluebell Walk house, and in her sleep, every detail was uncannily accurate. Not even the awful things that had happened at the end could wipe away the happy memories in her subconscious…

  She tucked the article into her handbag and pushed away her chair, then slowly made her way back to Customer Services, her mind made up. She’d go back. Yes, she would. She should have done it years ago…

  It was only as she was logging on to her correspondence programme, that Cindy had a sudden heart-stopping thought.

  If she went back to see the demolition of Bluebell Walk – who else from the past might be there...?

  ‘Wow, mum!’ Polly said later that night, having returned from the delights of Josh, the veggie restaurant and the indie band. ‘How cool is that? A whole unexpected week off! Lucky you!’

  Dylan, having scored the winning goal in his football match and been richly rewarded in the pizza parlour by Steve, was equally enthusiastic.

  ‘You won’t have to get up, Mum! You can laze in bed and watch day-time telly, and eat chocolate!’

  Cindy laughed. ‘I don’t think it’ll be quite like that – although it does sound very tempting… Actually, I was thinking about going away –‘

  ‘Yay!’ they yelled together. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Oh, no – nothing like that. Sorry – look, I was wondering if you’d mind if I went somewhere on my own.’

  ‘Without us?’ Polly and Dylan were wide-eyed in horror.

  ‘Not on holiday or anything lovely like that. Just for a few days. I don’t know if it would work, but…’

  Quickly, Cindy told them about Benfield and the demolition. It had to be quickly otherwise she knew that the ideas that had been spinning through her head since coffee break would disintegrate and she’d be sensible and stay at home and catch up on the things that she should be doing.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ Polly frowned. ‘If I hadn’t given you that article you wouldn’t even have known and – ‘

  ‘And I’ll always be grateful to you, love.’ Cindy hugged her. ‘This is something I should have done years ago, and now it really is time to say goodbye and let go of the past.’

  She could tell Polly and Dylan of course, but not her parents. Cindy knew exactly how they would react to the news, could hear her mother’s voice in her head:

  ‘… your Dad and I never want to see or hear about the place again, Cindy! You must not go back there. Raking up the past won’t help you at all. It’s over. Another lifetime. Finished. We moved away to put an end to Benfield. Put this nonsense right out of your head now!’

  No, she definitely wouldn't tell her parents - but she knew that if she didn’t go back to Benfield now it would be too late. The pain had never really left her, and if she didn’t
go back and see Bluebell Walk demolished, then there’d never be any closure.

  Closure…

  She’d laughed at herself. Psychobabble! But it was true. She needed to draw a line under the memories that lurked in the darkest corners of her mind. And what better way than watching the house, the street, the heartache, destroyed for ever? Maybe then she’d be able to move on, and really forget those last terrible months…

  She’d telephoned Nita, Steve’s new wife, and explained the situation.

  ‘So, I wondered if you and Steve would mind keeping an eye on the kids? I know they’re old enough to be left on their own – but I’ve never done that before, and – ‘

  And Nita, only having the briefest outline of why Cindy needed to make the journey back to Benfield, had readily agreed to step into the breach, saying that she and Steve would be there to keep a watchful eye on Polly and Dylan – and Cindy should go away and enjoy herself.

  Now, trying to explain about Benfield to her children, Cindy knew that it wouldn’t involve enjoying herself. It was far, far more important than that.

  And Polly and Dylan, finally reassured that they weren’t missing out on a trip to Florida or Barbados, and excited at being left home alone – even if Steve and Nita were on-call - said they thought it sounded a really, really b-o-r-i-n-g way to spend her unexpected holiday – but if that was what she wanted then she should go for it.

  So, before common sense kicked in, and in the absence of a phone number for Ivy, Cindy wrote to the address in Daffodil Walk saying she would be coming back to Benfield early next week and she’d look for somewhere to stay and did the White Bull still do B&B?

  Then she sealed the envelope, stuck a stamp on it, and in the darkness, hurried from the house and shoved the letter into the post box on the corner of the street.

  There! It was done! No going back now. She’d made her decision.

  On Monday morning, despite all her misgivings about making this journey, Cindy was strangely calm as she settled back in her seat and watch the Spring countryside flash by as the morning train rattled south towards Benfield.