‘She was brilliant,’ said Fay, softly. ‘The last time we played before she got this, she got one-hundred and seventy-eight with detoxify. That’s when I knew – she was still doing the words but she couldn’t add up the scores any more.’
As Maxine moved around the room, turning a lamp on, checking the en suite bathroom, Fay remembered her mother’s satisfied sigh of triumph. In those days when she still played three times a week, beating her neighbour mercilessly on a Monday, the two long-suffering women she went to Bums & Tums with, on a Thursday after class, and trouncing Fay nine times out of ten when she visited on Saturday afternoons.
Jean always wanted to hear what Fay had been doing, with a seemingly insatiable appetite for the minutiae. It was never enough to say she’d gone for a pie with Len, her mother had to know what was in it. Probably if her mother were still the full ticket, she would tell her what was going on now. Jean would have been brisk and bracing. Reminded Fay that the Sternhouse women were tough and strong – that you could get through anything if you believed you could, and held your head up high.
Maxine said goodnight and disappeared through the door. The Horlicks mug had been drained and her mother’s eyes were drooping now.
Fay took hold of her hand for a moment, as she prepared to slip away too. ‘Sleep well, Mum.’ She felt the slightest squeeze against her fingers as she added softly: ‘I miss you.’
Chapter 19
‘You look lovely. I’ve missed you!’
Nate came into the hallway and looked at Sherie in her pale linen dress and jewelled sandals. ‘Love the beads.’
Sherie smiled self-consciously. She’d felt awkward with Nate since the night at the Swan and had been attempting to avoid him, but he’d reminded her by text about the private view and she hadn’t felt she could pull out. ‘Thank you.’
Nate was examining her more closely. ‘But are you OK? You look a bit–’
Sherie hesitated. ‘Oh, I’m just a little stressed because–’ she stopped and shrugged.
‘That bloke isn’t still bothering you?’
‘No, no,’ She gave a short, embarrassed laugh. ‘I don’t know what Fay did but whatever it was, it worked.’
Nate grinned. ‘I wouldn’t take her on.’
‘I used to be a bit scared of her too! But Charlotte always says she has a heart of gold.’ Sherie went quickly on. ‘I was only thinking about an email I’ve just had. You know I’m having this fire put in?’
Nate shook his head.
‘Oh, sorry I thought I told you. It’s an amazing flame effect. There was one in a client’s house and I honestly thought it was real. I really fancy one in the sitting room for the winter. So I’m having the fireplace enlarged and the gas supply needs to be rerouted – they said it could take a couple of days. But now I’ve got to go to Birmingham to see an artist and I don’t want to put the fire people off because they’re doing me a really good deal as they’re quiet at the moment and they said it had to be next week …’
She stopped, aware of how agitated she sounded.
Nate’s tone was reassuring. ‘No problem. School’s out. I’m around now, aren’t? I can let them in and let them out and even make them a cup of tea. Are you away overnight?’
‘No, I’m back in the evening. But it might be late. And the next day I have to meet with Geoffrey. I can let them in myself if they start really early but–’
‘Sherie, it’s fine. I’ll be on hand to supervise and look after His Highness.’ He bent to stroke Marquis who had wandered down the stairs and was now sitting at Nate’s feet.
Sherie smiled at the cat fondly. ‘He’s been out cold on my bed for hours. Let me just feed him and I’ll be with you.’
Nate laughed. ‘I’ll wait while you peel his prawns and hand press the organic llama cheese …’
Sherie laughed too, relaxing a little. ‘No cheese allowed here – cats can’t digest it properly.’
‘Try telling that to my Mum’s cat after it pinched the Christmas stilton – it eats anything!’
Sherie had suggested they get a cab but Nate insisted he’d drive her. ‘I won’t be drinking much anyway as it’s partly my do. You don’t have to stay to the end if you get bored. Get a cab whenever you want.’
‘I’m sure they’ll be lots of interesting people to talk to,’ said Sherie politely, praying there would at least be one or two.
The gallery was new and consisted of two large rooms in what had once been a Chinese restaurant in the market place in Margate’s Old Town.
A sandwich board outside heralded the imminent opening of its inaugural exhibition: Down to the Sea Again – open to the public from 10 am the following day.
Sherie had seen Nate’s latest finished painting when it was still on its easel but now she caught her breath again, seeing the beachscape resplendent against a white wall, the evening sun streaming through the large picture windows, highlighting the vibrant colours.
There were four of them exhibiting on a nautical theme and Nate’s work stood out as the most arresting by far. Sherie began to wonder where she would hang Tide Turning if she bought it. It was quite large and she had a lot of art already. Maybe if she rearranged the walls of her bedroom …
She looked around at the twenty or so people holding plastic glasses of wine and gave Nate a big encouraging smile, although her heart was sinking. She didn’t feel like making small talk with strangers. She took the drink Nate held out to her and spoke brightly. ‘Right, I’m going to work my way round and look at everything. You go and mingle. I know you need to network.’
She picked up the list and approached a canvas entitled Crab and Beach Hut and pretended to study it minutely even though she had dismissed it as lacking any real presence or conviction, from the doorway.
Nobody seemed to be taking much notice of the paintings. The two women behind her were debating the wisdom of the latest rise in entrance fees to Margate’s Dreamland, and a bloke in the corner was engrossed in his phone.
She moved slowly around the room, pleased to see that a smaller work of Nate’s – a study of shells – already had a red dot on it to indicate a sale. It was 7.15 p.m. There was another hour and three-quarters to go before Nate could leave. Sherie wondered if she could decently suggest she waited for him in a nearby bar. She had a novel she was longing to finish, in her handbag. But she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. There were still two or three paintings to stand in front of. She’d give it another half hour …
‘Sherie this is Carlos.’ Sherie turned to see a dark-haired, Mediterranean-looking man of about her age. ‘Sherie is a very important art-consultant,’ said Nate. Sherie was touched by the pride in his voice.
‘Ah – so what can I offer you to consult on here?’ Carlos took her hand and kissed it with an exaggerated bow. Sherie smiled tightly and looked at the list in her hand.
‘I was just looking at your White Cliffs.’ She resisted the urge to add that it was vastly overpriced in her opinion as well as being derivative, and instead made polite enquiries as to how long he’d been painting and where he had been exhibited before, punctuating his ensuing monologue with ‘really?’ and ‘how interesting’, until he eventually came to the end of a self-promotional spiel which Sherie suspected contained more than a dash of fantasy.
‘The Royal Academy. Gosh.’ she said drily, noting that Nate was no longer beside her.
‘In Scotland,’ Carlos added hastily, as if he’d suddenly realised Sherie might be able to disprove him.
‘Such an achievement!’ Sherie backed smoothly away.
‘Sorry,’ said Nate when she re-joined him. ‘Got called over to speak to her–’ He nodded towards a tall woman in a fitted purple dress. ‘Something to do with Tourism at Thanet District Council. Harry, the gallery owner, wanted me to speak to her.’
‘No problem. I was just thinking–’
‘I should have invited Fay and Len,’ said Nate suddenly. ‘Or wouldn’t this be her thing?’
‘I don
’t know her views on art,’ said Sherie honestly. ‘But I do know she wouldn’t keep them to herself.’ She took on Fay’s forthright tones. ‘Eighteen hundred quid for a bit of white paint on blue paint? Is he having a larf?’
‘Well I think that too,’ said Nate, lowering his voice.
Sherie nodded. ‘And he’s not got half your talent.’
‘Oh I didn’t mean that–’ Nate looked embarrassed. ‘I just meant it’s a lot to expect to get here in a tiny gallery in Margate.’
‘Too much,’ Sherie was brisk. ‘For what it is. Your work on the other hand,’ she continued. ‘Wouldn’t look out of place in the swishiest of galleries. You’re good, Nate, you’re really good.’
Nate smiled self-consciously. ‘Well thank you. Do you think Fay–’
‘You must be Nathaniel!’ A woman in her late fifties wearing very bright lipstick swept down on them and grasped Nate’s hand. ‘I absolutely love your work and want to talk to you about doing something very special for me. I’ve just bought a house in Westgate and the walls are looking terribly bare …’
Sherie discreetly stepped back, smiling as she watched the woman propel Nate into a corner, clearly enamoured, by the look of the way she was simpering, by more than just his art.
As she neatly avoided Carlos and went out onto the pavement for some air, Sherie reflected on the way it was those with the genuine talent – like Nate – who were always the self-effacing ones, while the Carloses of the world blew the trumpets. She wondered idly if Nate found Fay attractive. Fay already had one youthful lover – she clearly had something about her that appealed to younger men. She wondered what Nate had been about to ask.
Would Fay and Len have come along if they’d been encouraged to? Sherie had no idea what sort of bloke Len was or what he was interested in. She’d heard Fay talk about going to the pub with him and how terrific he was at running her business, but she knew nothing more about him, except that on the couple of occasions she had met him, he seemed very kind …
Standing outside the gallery, looking across the old square at the stretch of sea at the end of the narrow street opposite, the couples and families wandering around in the warm evening, Sherie was suddenly acutely aware of her aloneness.
She had her friends and her sister, her parents were still alive, but there was nobody to whom she felt she could lay herself bare. Nobody to whom she was more important than any other. She didn’t have a husband like Charlotte did, or a permanent lover or even a child, who might love her without condition.
Fay was in the same boat – she had made it clear Cory was short-term and kept at a distance – but Fay seemed to relish her independence.
Fay was supremely self-sufficient. She might be in bed with Cory now, or out for a drink with Len after work but she never seemed to need anyone. She couldn’t imagine that Fay ever felt lonely watching TV at home on her own. Or sat at her kitchen table, longing to have someone to tell about her day.
Sherie shook herself as self-pity threatened to creep over her. She had Marquis – he could always to be relied upon to curl up in front of a TV drama. And keep to himself the things she whispered into his furry ears.
Sherie straightened up, trying to ignore the anxious flutterings in her stomach. She fixed her smile as Nate appeared back at her side and scrutinised her.
‘You all right?’ He was looking at her with concern and she thought how kind he was too. If she were in her thirties again, she’d have thought him a real catch …
‘Fine. Channelling my inner Fay,’ she added, pulling a wry face at his confusion.
Fay had poured a glass of red wine. She mostly had a rule about not drinking on her own but there was just enough for a glass left in the bottle she’d shared with Cory the night before. And her hands were shaking.
She’d brought the laptop home because there were things she needed to look up in private. The office was like Piccadilly bloody circus with Elaine hovering about and Len in and out. She’d had to shut the page down a dozen times.
She knew even as she was searching, that it would be better if she didn’t find out more now. Because there was nothing she could do to change anything. She just had to wait. Until such times when … If …
Fay stared at the screen in front of her, quickly scanning the words, and then dragging her eyes away. She put her head in her hands repeating the words she always turned to. ‘I will get through – I always get through.’
There was no point looking for any more. But still her hand moved robotically to click on yet another search box. She was like a gambler or crack addict, knowing the results of her investigations could only cause her pain and fear but who could never quite let go. She felt the adrenalin jolt through her as she took a sharp intake of breath at what came next.
Angrily, she slammed the lid of the laptop down. She should have had more self-discipline, she should never have brought it back here.
‘It will be OK,’ she told herself.
And if it isn’t? A tiny persistent voice whispered at the edges of her fevered mind.
Fay squeezed one hand so tightly with the other that it hurt.
Then I don’t fucking care …
Chapter 20
Roz pushed the Dyson into the cupboard of the utility room that was bigger than her entire kitchen. She had polished and hoovered as Charlotte had asked her to, but the place had looked pretty immaculate already. Roz crossed to the sink where the long-stemmed white roses she’d collected from Jan at Church Street Florists, on her way over, were waiting to be arranged. Charlotte had a viewing here at nine the next morning and was fairly confident she was going to make a sale.
‘They’ve seen all the photos,’ she’d told Roz, ‘and it’s exactly the location they’re after. So if you could air it …’
Roz had flung open all the windows and now made her way systematically around the house closing them again. She didn’t want any sound carrying from what was going to happen next …
Roz had been going to stop. But the washing machine was on its last legs and the electricity bill had been huge again. They’d increased her direct debit just as the tax was due on her ancient Volvo. If it failed its MOT next time it would have to go. Roz was going to work on the bus to save money on petrol and parking. She could do without a car. But Amy couldn’t do without clothes. Especially as her daughter was barely speaking to her since the revelation about her father.
She’d hoped if she was honest with Amy, it would clear the air and they’d get back some of their closeness. But her daughter had listened to the true account of how she’d come to be conceived with increasing disgust. When Roz had finally finished, and answered Amy’s questions as truthfully as she dared, her daughter had looked disdainfully at Roz. ‘No wonder you kept that hidden,’ she said.
‘I was thinking of you,’ Roz had said, as Amy stalked towards the door. ‘I didn’t want anything to make our lives complicated.’
She’d failed on that one on all fronts, she thought ruefully now as she locked the window in the master bedroom and closed the door behind her. She’d promised Amy she’d told her everything – what would her daughter say if she knew what else she was concealing? For the first time, it being just the two of them, made Roz feel vulnerable instead of strong and self-contained.
As Roz secured her hair a little more tightly into its bun and smoothed down her skirt, she shuddered at the thought of Amy also discovering how she’d paid the recent bills.
She’d tried everything else. She’d asked Vivienne about more hours at Turner Contemporary but there was no budget for any more staffing right now. Roz had been looking for better-paid jobs but there was nothing in Thanet for a soon-to-be fifty-year-old with no specialist skills. Her years, pre-Amy, as an art director at the London ad agency, seemed a lifetime ago. The job description had probably changed beyond all recognition.
So she’d said yes to ‘John’ and ‘Eddie’ and would make a few more hundred pounds while she still could. As soon as the house
was under offer, she’d have to think again anyway. Charlotte would take back the key then. It might be a long time before she had another on her books that wasn’t overlooked or under scrutiny by the neighbours. The woman next door to the other one she cleaned, didn’t miss a trick.
John had been in and out in forty minutes when she’d first got here and had still paid for the full hour. Easy money since he’d spent at least twenty of those minutes standing in the corner while she occasionally hissed ‘Bad Boy!’ between dusting the chandeliers.
Once Eddie had left she would distribute the flower vases and be on her way. He’d been vague in his messages – despite her asking all the standard questions – but she imagined the usual paraphernalia would do. She put her slipper and cane down by the end of the sofa, put her suit jacket back on and reapplied her lipstick, wishing she could raise as much enthusiasm for this particular pastime as Melody clearly maintained.
He was certainly prompt. The bell rang at exactly a minute past midday. Slipping her heels back on, Roz walked slowly down the hall towards the front door, arranging her features for maximum severity.
She opened the door with unhurried deliberation.
‘Yes?’ she intoned icily.
Then she shrieked. ‘Oh my God!’
She stared in disbelief at the tall figure on the doorstep. This couldn’t be happening twice.
‘Please don’t shut it!’ He’d got a foot over the threshold and was wedging the door open, holding out his hand and smiling as if he’d come round for tea. ‘I’m the Eddie you’re expecting.’
‘But it’s you!’ she said stupidly.
‘Yes, it’s me,’ replied Jamie, as she leant weakly against the hall wall. ‘But I thought you might not accept me if I gave you my real name. Can I come in? I’m going to pay. It’s a professional engagement – I really do want to talk to you.’
‘NO, I couldn’t possibly–’
‘Wait till I’ve explained.’
‘You’re a parent at my daughter’s school, a colleague of my friend Charlotte. I can NOT–’ Roz hesitated. ‘Do whatever it is you want. I am giving it all up anyway,’ she added desperately. ‘It was only ever temporary. It was for research for a part,’ she said wildly. ‘That was what I meant to say before.’
The Big Five O Page 14