The Big Five O

by Jane Wenham-Jones

  He hadn’t. Sherie had her own arm down the gap, swinging ham and making encouraging noises, when Nate came back carrying a plastic box. ‘He’s gone quiet again,’ she said, feeling sick. ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Nate was fitting a head onto some sort of power tool. ‘11ish?’

  ‘This morning?’ Sherie tried not to shriek. ‘He could have been down here hours. He might be dehydrated. Oh please Nate, hurry. Please get these up …’

  ‘I’m pretty sure he went out.’ Nate examined the nearest floorboard and started rooting about in the box again. ‘Cats are clever. He’ll work it out in a moment. He’s just being curious. He was trying to get up the chimney earlier.’

  Sherie saw from his expression he’d realised immediately it was the wrong thing to say but she’d already exploded. ‘Why did you let him back in here, then? Why didn’t you shut the door?’

  Nate frowned. ‘Sherie, be reasonable – the blokes were working – they were in and out all the time. Marquis was fine. I’m pretty sure he went in the garden. He’s probably only just gone down here.’

  Sherie sat on the floor, hugging her knees and worrying about Marquis being scared of the noise, as Nate used the power tool to lift up the many nails holding the old oak floorboards down. His face was creased in concentration as he loosened one after the other, until he could prise two boards up near to where the cries seemed to be coming from. He lay down again, and stuck his head into the gap and used the torch on his phone. ‘Come on, old chap!’

  Nate sat up and turned to Sherie. ‘I can see two huge eyes shining back at me. Give me that ham!’

  He got back in position holding out a hand to her as she passed over another slice of meat. ‘Oh! Hang on – he’s gone the other way.’

  Moments later, there was a shuffling sound and Marquis appeared through the original opening. As Nate shook his head in disbelief, Sherie gave a squeal of joy. ‘Oh darling! You look like Miss Havisham.’

  She scooped Marquis up into her arms, brushing the cobwebs from his face, holding him close against her chest and kissing his head as he purred like an engine.

  She gave Nate a wide smile. ‘Thank you so much. I’m so grateful. And I’m sorry I was–’

  ‘You were worried,’ he finished for her.

  As Marquis began to wriggle out of her arms, she carried him into the hall and put him down, turning back to Nate. ‘What can I do? Let me make you a G&T. I’ve got no real food in – I was just going to have a boiled egg –but I’ll take you out to dinner. What would you like?’

  ‘Let me put the boards back first. I’m going to shut this door – can’t have him going down there again. Then–’ He grinned. ‘A gin would be good!’

  Cross-legged on Nate’s sofa, sipping at the small brandy he’d put down next to her coffee, Sherie felt the most relaxed and hopeful she’d been in days.

  She looked fondly at him as he sat across from her in the armchair, his feet up on a raffia storage box. He was so kind and thoughtful.

  ‘You don’t want to go out,’ he’d said. ‘You look exhausted. Let’s get a take-away and have it in mine where there’s somewhere to sit. You can bring him.’ He’d nodded at Marquis. ‘And it doesn’t have to be unhealthy!’

  But the cat was stretched out asleep on her bed below, apparently worn out by his adventures. Sherie had changed into a comfortable pair of jogging bottoms and a loose long-sleeved t-shirt while Nate had gone for food. She’d insisted on paying but had left it to him to choose and he’d gone to the Turkish at the top of the High Street and brought back halloumi and houmous, delicious grilled lamb koftes, tangy cacik, warm flat breads and several different salads, laying it all out on his long, low coffee table, while she sank gratefully into his bright patchwork cushions.

  Coming in from the kitchen with some lengths of kitchen roll, a couple of forks and two plates, so they could eat on their laps, he’d put a bottle of red wine on the end of the table and smiled down at her. ‘You suit sitting there. I’d like to paint you. Just like that. Would you mind–’ he hesitated, looking suddenly diffident, ‘if I took a photo?’

  ‘Oh, I must look such a mess,’ she put a self-conscious hand on the hair she’d piled loosely on top of her head in a clip, remembering her make-up had worn off long ago.

  ‘You look wonderful,’ he’d said, snapping her with his phone, as she smiled back embarrassed. ‘I won’t do anything with it. Except remember the pose …’

  He’d been the perfect host, not letting her help clear up, checking what sort of music she liked. Now he was flicking through channels on his TV. ‘Have you got the energy for a film? One Day is on – with Anne Hathaway – have you seen it?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Read the book?’

  She shook again.

  ‘Neither have I but it’s by David Nicholls who wrote Us – you haven’t read that one? Oh, Sherie you’d love it – about this chap taking his family around Europe to see the art.’ Nate leapt to his feet and disappeared into another room, returning with a red paperback. ‘It’s funny and sad and so … real,’ he said. ‘Here – borrow it.’

  She tucked the book down beside her.

  ‘Let’s try the film,’ Nate’s face was alight. ‘It’s a love story about a couple called Emma and Dexter and it’s under two hours. If you get tired …’

  ‘It’s fine.’ She’d declined the wine but the food had lifted her up again. If she watched this she could go straight to bed when she got back downstairs and maybe tonight, she would sleep …

  ‘Great.’ Nate got up and again and switched off lights, leaving only the small lamp on in the corner. ‘Let’s go.’

  Sherie, sipping her brandy, was glad she’d stayed. It was ages since she’d watched a film with anyone else but her mother. Dexter, in the story, was now with his mother and Sherie felt a strange tug of emotion at the closeness between the two of them.

  ‘You enjoying it?’ Nate asked a bit later. ‘Oh dear,’ he went on. ‘Why do they do that? Whenever they show a woman in a headscarf sitting by a window, you know she’s going to die. But it’s such a cliché!’

  Sherie swallowed. She didn’t want Dexter to lose his mother. The angry father had already unsettled her. She was so emotional at the moment.

  She tried to focus on the happy ending that seemed to be coming for Emma and Dexter. When the next shock came, she tried to pull the kitchen roll towards her without Nate noticing but he turned and saw her face.

  ‘Oh hey!’ Nate sprang up and sat down again beside her, throwing a brotherly arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him. ‘I’ve got a lump in my throat too,’ he said. ‘After all that–’ he added. ‘I can’t bear it for him.’

  Sherie kept the paper towel pressed against her eyes but still the tears soaked through. Nate put the other arm round her too. ‘I’m sorry,’ he was saying. ‘I didn’t want to upset you.’

  Sherie silently shook her head, trying to breathe deeply, to stop herself actually sobbing. She should make some excuse about her hormones being in uproar but didn’t want to embarrass Nate or herself further. ‘I’m just a flake,’ she managed to say eventually, attempting to laugh and making a funny, strangled snorting noise. ‘I wanted a happy ending.’

  Nate gave her a squeeze and kissed the side of her forehead. ‘It’s all any of us want,’ he said.

  Chapter 27

  A Happy Ending, Roz had just had to explain again, was not part of the deal.

  She did thrashing – slippers, canes, rulers, or on one particularly bizarre occasion, two lengths of rhubarb encased in an unsuspecting wife’s stocking – but nothing … she hesitated as she tried to think of some suitably euphemistic wording to add to the email … ‘intimate’.

  Once again, she had intended to put an end to doing it at all, but she was afraid to turn the money down, knowing she needed to earn as much as she could while it was available and still possible. The queries kept coming in and she still had the key
s to the house although Charlotte had said this would probably be the last week for cleaning. She needed to get a financial cushion behind her and she desperately wanted to get the straighteners – at an eye-watering one-hundred and sixty-nine pounds – for Amy’s birthday. Her daughter had been so much warmer since their talk about her father – apart from the occasional standard hormonal bad mood and slammed door – she had been so much more like her old self.

  Jamie had texted twice more – the last time only this morning – but Roz was still ignoring him, anxious not to do anything to rock the boat. Especially since he evidently had no shortage of female company. She certainly wouldn’t want to ‘share’ as Amy had put it.

  He’d asked her if she would be around today – either here at the house or the gallery. He had to come to Ramsgate for a meeting and could perhaps meet her for a coffee? She’d felt a moment’s alarm that he might drive past but she reminded herself that he wouldn’t know her car. She’d still parked right up the road. Just in case.

  Roz put her phone back in her handbag and looked at herself in the long hall mirror. ‘Darren’ had been very specific about his requirements and she hoped she was going to fulfil his vision of a brutal aunt. She had scraped her hair into a tight bun and had on her latest tweed suit and buttoned-up blouse – another charity shop find – teamed with a pair of stout lace-up shoes.

  She picked up the print-out of his email which listed his misdemeanours, and familiarised herself with his preferred terms of chastisement. He’d booked for a full two hours so she’d better spin this first bit out as long as she could or her arm would drop off. A lengthy spell in the corner while he reflected on his wrong-doings was probably the way forward. It would also give her an opportunity to change the water for the flowers.

  Roz felt her usual mixture of adrenalin, anticipation and nerves, laced with a slight rising hysteria. She remembered a rainy afternoon last winter with Charlotte, watching old films. Charlotte loved anything with singing and dancing and had got a DVD of Sweet Charity, which Roz had never seen before. She had a sudden picture of Shirley MacLaine jumping round the bedroom with that top hat and knew just how she felt. She felt a sudden giggle rise in her throat.

  If my friends could see me now …

  Fay was glad Elaine was leaving soon for a dental appointment because the woman was driving her insane.

  She’d been in and out with queries all afternoon – even though Fay’s notes in most cases were crystal clear – and was now apparently unable to decipher a perfectly legible set of figures in order to raise an invoice for storage.

  ‘Yes?’ Fay said sharply as Elaine put her head round the door yet again.

  Elaine flapped a piece of paper. ‘She’s phoned up to complain that she didn’t start with us till 28th May and we’ve charged her for the whole month.’

  ‘Well knock it off then,’ said Fay, with exaggerated patience. ‘Say you’re sorry for the mistake’ – she put a slight emphasis on the word— ‘and just charge her for June.’ Fay looked at the clock. ‘Don’t you want to be getting off?’

  She watched through the glass as Elaine took down her jacket from the peg near her desk with irritating slowness, and stooped to unplug the computer. No matter how many times Fay told her not to bother, Elaine still did it every night. She worried about electrical fires.

  Fay breathed out as Elaine’s back disappeared through the door beyond as three of her blokes came in, talking and laughing.

  Fay took one last look at the screen in front of her, shut off her computer with an angry jerk of the mouse, and walked to the outer office. ‘Where have you two been?’

  Toby continued to grin but the other two were immediately straight-faced.

  Will spoke. ‘The stud farm job.’

  Fay narrowed her eyes. ‘I know that. You told Len you’d finished there four hours ago.’

  Will nodded. ‘Yes, but then she wanted us to move some of the crates from the main house into the barn conversion. So we were a bit longer.’

  ‘How long?’

  Will shrugged. ‘Half an hour?’

  ‘Sevenoaks to Broadstairs takes one hour and twenty-two minutes at four in the morning and anything from an hour and a half, to one hour, fifty, at other times. Depending on which route you take.’ Fay glared. ‘Which way did you go?’ she barked, looking straight at Matt.

  He frowned. ‘The usual way,’ he said, doubtfully.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘M20,’ put in Will, apparently unfazed by her interrogation. ‘And the traffic was all backed up on the A249,’ he added. ‘Something going on around Detling. It was slow on the M2 until the Faversham turn-off.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Fay looked at them both hard, knowing her rage was misdirected but unable to unbend. ‘Just seems to me that these jobs take longer and longer …’

  How much bloody longer? Roz’s arm was aching and she was beginning to get a headache.

  Darren had warned her he would be making a lot of noise and he wasn’t joking. Not for the first time, was Roz glad the house was detached with large gardens surrounding it, and double glazing. Darren was now practically howling.

  She was glad she had insisted on a safe word or she would have stopped long ago. As it was, it was hard to keep going when he was bawling and begging for mercy. It was lucky he hadn’t pitched up when she was just starting out – she’d have thrown in the towel the first time he screamed.

  But he hadn’t shouted ‘brussels sprout’ yet so she made herself keep going.

  ‘Please stop!’ Thwack.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ Thwack.

  ‘Please don’t hurt me!’ Thwack, thwack.

  ‘No more! Stop now!’ Thwack, thwack, thwack.

  Roz glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece and down at the boy-scout shorts of Darren’s bottom bent over the end of the sofa. Christ, she was going to deserve this dosh. Thwack!

  Darren gave a truly blood-curdling screech of pain. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’

  As Roz lifted an arm to carry on regardless, she was aware of someone behind her. She was shot through with fear.

  ‘A question I rather want answering myself,’ came a familiar voice with an icy undertone she’d never heard before.

  Roz swung round, heart banging furiously. Shit, she’d forgotten to put the chain on.

  ‘Well?’

  Roz mouth gaped open as Darren twisted round to stare also. Roz tried to speak but no words came out.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ said Charlotte.

  Chapter 28

  Nate was waiting too.

  Sherie was not sure whether to be pleased or not to find him spooning chicken into a bowl for Marquis, when she eventually got in after a wearisome journey home.

  Geoffrey had been in expansive mood and had spent three hours on something that could have been dealt with in half an hour and then her final meeting had run on, after the client was late.

  By the time she’d got to St Pancras, the train was rammed and had ground to a halt outside Canterbury where it had lingered for forty minutes. Sherie had been looking forward to a long, hot bath and an early night.

  She’d felt a bit uncomfortable with Nate since crying all over him. Something had shifted and he was now behaving as if they were closer than they were. Sherie, mindful of the weirdness of Greg – who had sent one final, defiant ‘bitch’ and then gone quiet – did not want to give him the wrong impression, but was also chiding herself for imagining that Nate – seventeen years her junior – would be interested anyway.

  ‘I thought I’d just check if you were back in case His Highness was peckish,’ he said now, looking up from putting the pot of cooked meat back into her fridge. He was wearing jeans and a loose linen shirt. He had a tan and his curls looked particularly blonde as if they’d been bleached by the sun. Sherie pictured him on a surfboard, sending the hearts of teenage girls into overdrive.

  ‘That was very kind of you.’

  Nate grinned. ‘Rough day? Shall I make you a gin?
’

  ‘I think I’ll just have a cup of tea.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘But you have one if you want,’ Sherie added hastily. ‘Help yourself!’ Nate had been hugely helpful while the work was being done. Letting the builders in and keeping an eye on Marquis. It was the least she could do.

  ‘Are you pleased with the fire?’ He put ice-cubes into one of her tall glasses.

  ‘Very. Want to see it in action?’

  She carried her cup into the sitting room and set it down on the low table next to the sofa. ‘We’ll be sweltering but I’ll show you.’

  She crouched down and removed the grate at the bottom of the fire to reveal a gas tap, reaching above her for matches. ‘Look at this!’

  She sat on the sofa, her back against one arm, legs stretched out long-ways, aching feet propped on the cushions. Nate sat in the big chair. Both watched the gas flames flickering – still blue-tinged – through the mock coals. ‘Need to give it a few minutes to warm up before it looks truly authentic,’ she said. ‘But it ends up like the real thing, if we just wait.’

  ‘I’m in no rush.’

  They sat quietly for a moment, both looking at the fire.

  There was a chink of ice as Nate had a mouthful of his drink. ‘Did you hear them kicking off again last night?’ he asked

  Sherie raised her eyebrows in query. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  She waited, then smiled. ‘Well go on then – spill the gossip.’

  ‘Oh, the usual – she was outside crying. I could hear his voice – sounded like he was trying to placate her. I think he got her to go back inside for a while and then I looked out of the window and saw her standing by the gates. Like she was waiting for a taxi or something. I heard their front door slam. But whether that was her coming back in, or him coming out, who knows. I was watching something by then and had lost interest.’

  ‘I haven’t seen her since we spoke on Floorboards Day.’

  Nate laughed. ‘An adventure never to be forgotten.’ He hesitated, then said: ‘Actually I’ve been giving her a wide berth. Since she came on to me.’