She saw Sherie flinch and her eyes fill with tears again. Roz immediately felt guilty but that somehow made her even crosser. She’d been listening to Sherie’s woes about men for decades. How many hours had she spent hearing what was wrong with pretty much every single one of them? Apart from the few that Sherie had decided were entirely perfect for her, who had failed to call.
‘As a general rule, if they didn’t have dietary, artistic or sartorial shortcomings, they weren’t enthusiastic enough.’ Roz glared at her friend. Did Sherie ever stop for a single moment to think about how she, Roz, might feel about anything? How maybe Roz would have liked a nice man to be a bit too keen once in a while. Sherie had no concept of what life was like for Roz. Especially at the moment …
‘You don’t understand,’ Sherie began, feeling in her handbag. ‘I’ll show you–’
She stopped as Fay swept towards them. ‘What you two having a mother’s meeting about?’
‘Nothing at all interesting!’ Roz saw the look of surprise on Fay’s face at her sharp tone. She moved sideways so Fay could open the loo door. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered.
Fay shrugged. ‘Doesn’t make any odds to me what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘But it’s got to be better than listening to those two boring on for Britain in there. You’d better go and rescue Char.’
Sherie had already walked away down the hall, whatever she was going to show Roz, forgotten. Roz sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted.
She’d had a long day at the gallery with two separate school groups to take round. And it would be another long one tomorrow as it was the start of changeover week and they were all expected to work late.
The new exhibition was about depictions of wealth. Tracey Emin’s photograph of her stuffing bank notes between her legs was getting an outing and Roz had seen photos of a giant red money box with a chute going down the inside of it into which one could, after climbing a blue stepladder, deposit yellow plastic coins.
Roz wandered back into the kitchen, thinking of the way she’d been scrabbling about for change this morning to get enough to give Amy for lunch. And the house insurance that was due for renewal, the size of the electricity bill that would mean larger direct debits for the foreseeable, the broken microwave she had promised Amy she would replace as soon as she was able.
The dominatrix work was the only thing keeping her head above water. She might live in terror of discovery but it made everything just a tiny bit more manageable. Life with Amy was calmer now she mostly had a little cash to give her. And she could go to Paris with her friends. But it wasn’t a solution long term. The empty house wouldn’t be there for ever. Charlotte, smiling as she offered Roz another drink, had just this minute said someone was interested – especially since Jamie had confirmed they’d be likely to get planning permission for a second home on the plot.
‘You made quite an impression on him.’ Roz couldn’t read Charlotte’s face – did she know? ‘He asked me for your email or phone number.’
Roz could feel her heart thumping. ‘What for?’
‘Dunno! I didn’t give it to him. Said I’d have to check with you first.’
‘Well please don’t.’
Charlotte raised her eyebrows. ‘Jamie’s lovely. Divorced, solvent …’ Then she laughed. ‘On the other hand, he might be trying to recruit you onto the PTA – in which case yes, good idea, keep a low profile!’
She laughed again. ‘Though you’ve got to hand it to him. It’s unusual for anyone to do any fund-raising much at secondary school, isn’t it? I mean at primary we all ran around and made the cupcakes but usually by the time they get to the next school … but Jamie’s right into it. He’s Chair and he puts on all sorts of things. I’m surprised you haven’t come across him before.’
Roz frowned. ‘I thought he lived in Canterbury?’
‘Oh he does, but his daughter goes to Highcourt with Amy.’ Roz’s heart performed an unpleasant jerk as Charlotte went on. ‘Pretty sure she’s in the same year.’
Roz tried to look as if this meant nothing. Jamie wouldn’t say anything to his daughter, would he? No, of course he wouldn’t. But suppose he did – suppose he told her what had happened, just by way of a funny story, and Charlotte had told him her surname and he repeated it. And this daughter said: oh there’s a girl at school called Drawthorne. It was an unusual name – she only had to ask Amy if her mum was called Rosalind … But no. Why would she? Roz breathed hard, trying to stay rational.
‘Are you all right love?’ Charlotte was looking at her curiously. ‘I wouldn’t want to be on the PTA again either – I give fifty quid a year to their lottery thing at Chattenden instead, to salve my conscience. And I did make a sponge for their charity day except my super-organized son managed to leave it at home!’
‘I’m fine,’ Roz took a larger than intended gulp of her drink and coughed.
Charlotte clapped her on the back. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I imagine he’s been struck by how gorgeous you are – I did tell him you were single – and thinks he’ll take you out for dinner … In fact, I know that’s what it is. He said as much …’
‘I don’t– I wouldn’t–’ Roz stumbled as Charlotte continued to grin at her. ‘I’m not gorgeous,’ she said in confusion.
‘You are! You’ve got that lovely skin and calm eyes. You have a–’ Charlotte was speaking in the deep-and-meaningful drawl she dropped into after copious amounts of alcohol. ‘–Inner serenity, she pronounced slowly. ‘Like a nun or something.’
At this Roz did actually choke and had to allow Charlotte to clap her on the back even harder, while Fay snorted. ‘Can’t see any of us allowed within ten miles of a convent, frankly!’ Fay laughed loudly.
Roz watched as Charlotte waved the bottle at them all again. Her heart was still thumping harder than usual. What would she say if she knew about Roz’s inner whiplash? If she knew about all the debts … and everything …
‘I think I need a cup of tea.’ An hour later, Fay was looking at a clearly-sloshed Charlotte. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Sure! Help yourself.’ Charlotte swept an arm around her to indicate the rest of the kitchen. ‘All of you, help yourselves to anything, everything! Roger can open another bottle when he comes back down. I bet Joe was still on that bloody Xbox. Roger’s probably had to confiscate the controller.’
Fay was rooting in the cupboard for mugs. ‘Do you want a cuppa?’
‘No I bloody don’t. It’s my fiftieth birthday. I want a fag and another glass of fizz!’ Charlotte gave Fay a grin. ‘So, I’m going to have a wee and then go outside with both!’
‘OK!’
As Charlotte marched out of the kitchen, Fay raised her eyebrows at Roz and Sherie. ‘Tea for either of you?’
‘We’ve noticed her drinking a lot lately too.’ Beside her, Marie’s voice was low and confidential. ‘Haven’t we, Helen? She had a glass of wine on the go just before five when I popped in the other day.’ Marie glanced around the kitchen, knowingly.
Fay’s eyes immediately narrowed. ‘So you think that makes it OK to stand here gossiping about your hostess, do you?’
Marie flushed. ‘I wasn’t–’
‘You were.’ Roz saw Marie shrink from Fay’s icy gaze. ‘I am Charlotte’s friend. And you are a guest here. You don’t stand in her house and badmouth her to me!’
Fay kept her eyes fixed on Marie while she pulled a cigarette from her packet with slow deliberation and then moved towards the open back door, speaking over her shoulder. ‘Didn’t I hear you say you were in early tomorrow?’
Roz and Sherie exchanged glances as Fay stepped out onto the patio and clicked at her lighter, inhaling with ferocity.
After a couple of minutes Sherie followed her. ‘I don’t like her either, but you can’t throw out a guest from someone else’s house.’ Fay looked unrepentant. She nodded towards the far side of the kitchen to where Marie was hastily kissing Charlotte goodbye.
‘I think you’ll find I just hav
e.’
She smiled and opened her packet of cigarettes as Charlotte came towards her, leaving Roger to show Marie out.
‘They leaving already?’ Fay called, pulling a cigarette out so that Charlotte could take it. While murmuring from the corner of her mouth towards Sherie: ‘Tell Charlotte you want a coffee.’
‘You’ve told me all this already.’ Fay rubbed her arms. The temperature had dropped considerably during the evening and there was a chilly breeze out here now. She was cold and rapidly getting bored. She gave a grin to soften her words. ‘You’re getting a bit repetitive now, Hun!’
Charlotte ground out her cigarette beneath her foot and stooped to pick up the butt.
‘You said after another Wednesday,’ she said doggedly. ‘Well, he definitely disappeared again. Whatever he does it goes on between three and five p.m. He never, never answers his phone then.’
‘We were talking earlier,’ Fay said. ‘There’s a company in Maidstone keep calling him in to sort out the contract for the buy-out …’
‘AND,’ Charlotte continued as if Fay hadn’t spoken. ‘He also went missing after work. Said they had a drink for someone who was leaving … but when I double checked the next day, his secretary knew nothing about it. So I told him that and he said it was a leaving do at one of the clients’, and only he went as he was friends with this chap. But he didn’t look at me and he blew his nose – that’s always a sign …’
Fay looked steadily at her friend who was rather red and had just poured yet another glass of champagne.
‘I really think–’ she began.
‘You said you would!’
‘I did and I will.’
‘So you’ll follow him next Wednesday?’
‘Got a crazy day then – six jobs on.’
‘But you–’
‘I’ll keep the one after that clear.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’ Fay held up her mug and Charlotte chinked her glass against it. Behind her back, Fay slowly uncrossed her fingers.
Coffee had finally been made and the four of them were sitting round the table, Roger having been instructed by Charlotte to put the bins out and Helen having scuttled after an embarrassed-looking Marie.
‘Bloody lightweights!’ said Charlotte, still defiantly drinking champagne but taking the occasional sip from the cup Sherie had put next to her. Sherie stifled a yawn. She badly wanted to go home and get under her duvet with the warm weight of Marquis on her feet.
‘It’s been lovely but I’m going to call a cab in a minute.’ She looked around the table.
Roz nodded. ‘I’ll come.’
Fay dug in her handbag. ‘Here, call this one.’ She pushed a business card towards Sherie. ‘All female band – they set up because they were sick of our usual mob being late. Len and I waited half an hour at the White Swan the other night – after the bloke said ten minutes. That’s taking the piss. As I told him!’
Sherie smiled, picturing the scene. Fay nodded, striding across to stand in the still-open doorway to the patio. ‘There’s six of them so far, and they’re working all round the clock to build it up. I said I’d put the word out.’
She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out into the dark. ‘I like seeing that – people using a bit of initiative instead of sitting around on their arses moaning because they haven’t got any money.’
Sherie saw Roz’s lips tighten. Fay was clearly gearing up for one of her favourite diatribes.
‘Not everyone who’s poor is sitting on their arse,’ Roz said tightly.
‘No, but a lot of them are.’ Fay swept on. ‘Elaine, who works for me, has a son-in-law who hasn’t worked for a year. Her daughter has two jobs and when one of her brats was ill, Elaine was late in so she could look after him, because HE’D gone bloody fishing! Idle bastard.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Roz deliberately, ‘he can’t find a job. It can be very difficult–’
‘He doesn’t want to work!’ Fay interrupted. ‘If he did, he’d set up a business of some sort. He’d become a gardener. Thanet is stuffed to the gills with elderly women with a heap of money and nobody to cut the hedge.’
‘Maybe he knows nothing about plants.’
Fay gave one of her snorts. ‘He could learn. Or be an odd job man. He could sweep paths, clean windows. You know very well what I mean – you’re just being argumentative for the sake of it.’
Sherie suppressed her choke of disbelief but Charlotte laughed out loud.
‘Look who’s talking!’
‘That is a bit rich,’ said Sherie mildly, when she’d recovered herself.
Fay tossed her head back. ‘I’m not arguing – I’m just telling you about a lazy sod who’s got two kids to support and leaves it all to his wife.’
‘And I’m just saying that we're not all the right personalities to be entrepreneurs,’ said Roz heatedly. ‘You always bang on about business and enterprise but the fact is that we can’t all start selling flowers on the side of the road and turn into Marks and Spencer's. Some of us just have to go to work from nine till five and do all the overtime we're offered and still be fucking broke!’ She had turned slightly pink.
‘I wasn't talking about you,’ said Fay. ‘And if he isn’t the type to run a business why doesn’t he stack shelves in Asda? Or be a delivery driver?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Roz. ‘So I wouldn’t presume to judge.’ She looked hard at Fay. ‘I just know there are plenty of other people in this country doing the best they bloody can but they still simply don’t earn enough money.’
‘Then they should look for better jobs.’
‘What about nurses?’ Roz’s voice had risen further. ‘Where would we be if they all looked for better jobs? The staff in the NHS–’ for a horrible moment Roz looked as if she might cry, ‘–do a fucking magnificent job and some of them are using food banks!’
‘Yes, that’s quite disgraceful, I agree.’ Fay was unperturbed. ‘But I wasn’t talking about them either. I was talking about the people who actually can’t be arsed to work – and don’t–’ she went on, as Roz began to protest – ‘tell me they don’t exist because they do!’
‘Maybe some do,’ conceded Roz, ‘but on the whole–’
‘I’m going to call this cab,’ Sherie began tapping on her phone.
Roz tried again. ‘I just feel that it’s harsh to judge someone for not making their own wealth when you don’t know the full circumstances.’ She looked at Charlotte. ‘We shouldn’t do this on your birthday. I'm sorry.’
Charlotte shrugged. ‘So is Fay! She knows all that, really.’
Fay looked unabashed. ‘Only saying what I think.’
Charlotte leant across the table and squeezed Roz’s hand. ‘Don’t wind yourself up.’ Roz nodded. Again, Sherie thought she looked emotional.
Sherie gave Fay a challenging look of her own. ‘Well maybe think a bit more occasionally, before you open that great gob of yours!’
Fay laughed good-naturedly. ‘This great gob has got me where I am today!’
Sherie spoke into the phone, giving Charlotte’s address. ‘It’s going to be fifteen minutes,’ she said when she’d rung off.
‘And it will be,’ put in Fay. ‘Right come on, a last toast to Charlotte on her birthday …’ She raised her coffee cup. ‘Happy Big Five-O. Here’s to the next decade … Can’t believe we’re going to be in our fifties.’
‘Elasticated trousers here I come!’ said Charlotte.
Sherie gave a small shudder. ‘Not yet!’ she said, at the same time.
‘Well we will be soon,’ replied Fay firmly. ‘And it’s going to be great.’
‘We hope,’ said Charlotte as Roger reappeared through the door and came towards the table.
‘It will be!’ Fay looked round the table, her cup aloft once more. ‘Here’s to us and the fabulous times ahead.’ She waved a hand around them all, her face now looking tired and a little saggy from all the booze. Her voice had taken on an evangelical note. ‘Al
l will be good!’ she declared rousingly. Almost, Sherie thought, as if she were trying to convince herself …
Chapter 13
Sherie’s boss Geoffrey had not got any less eccentric in the three weeks since she’d seen him. He was wearing a mustard yellow corduroy jacket over a purple silk shirt and electric blue trousers. A purple and green silk scarf was elaborately knotted around his neck and his mad-professor grey hair was over-due for a cut. Again.
‘You look like something out of a Dickens novel,’ she said, as he put two cups of peppermint tea on the big leather-topped desk and proffered a plate of shortbread.
Geoffrey ignored her. ‘So spill. How’s the boy Byron?’
‘His work is amazing.’
Sherie folded back the case of her iPad and propped it up between them so Geoffrey could see the screen. She began to swipe through pictures of artwork. ‘Charles Saatchi is rumoured to have bought this one–’ she paused on a photograph of a twisted metal sculpture depicting an entwined couple without heads. ‘And these are the two paintings I offered on for Edwin.’ She clicked through to a pair of black and white abstracts.
‘And?’
‘Coming back to me. But he’ll sell. He’s got this ‘agent’ who’s playing hard to get. Full of bullshit. But I said that was absolutely our final figure and that I’d be securing something else for the client if I didn’t hear by today.’
‘Edwin’s very keen. You could go up a bit.’
Sherie shook her head. ‘Let’s not set a precedent. Edwin is bound to want more.’
Geoffrey nodded. ‘He does like a protégée. Someone he can ‘discover’.’
‘Yes and this one is right up his street. Very unusual style. And he’s very strange himself.’
‘All the best people are.’ Geoffrey scrutinised her. ‘Are you all right? You look a bit pale. On one of your silly diets again?’
Sherie spoke tersely. ‘No I am not. And just because I do not stuff my face with sugar and lard all day long, does not make what I eat silly.’
‘I’m going take you to Rules for lunch,’ Geoffrey said, unabashed. ‘And have the steamed steak pud. With an Oyster.’
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