Lew didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m so sorry,’ was what fell from his lips.
‘My whole life was so focused on Joel that I hadn’t realised my dad was slipping away from me too. What we’d both put down to just daft “getting older and forgetful” stuff was far more serious and he’d kept it from me, not wanting to add to what I was going through. I walked in one day to find him putting the electric kettle on the open fire to boil it. Dad went from nought to sixty with dementia and then he stayed at sixty for years. He was a huge man and I couldn’t handle him when he started lashing out. I had to put him in a specialist care home.’ She flicked away the tears that were pumping out of her eyes. She could still hear Alma speaking to Stephen at three hundred decibels, Don’t think you’re going to stuff me in an old people’s home like she did that poor thing sat dribbling who hasn’t a clue where he is or why. ‘It was something I said I would never do to Dad, whatever happened, but I had to. That . . . that horrible disease kept him alive and fit and strong everywhere but in his head. Then my lovely dog got a tumour and I lost him too.’
‘And in the middle of all that along comes your husband?’ guessed Lew.
‘Yep.’ Bonnie gave a dry chuckle. ‘He couldn’t have timed it better if he’d tried. I dropped all my shopping in the rain and this man appeared at the side of me like a knight in shining armour. He gave me tea and sympathy and attention and he drove me up to see Dad and helped me sort out all those little things that were weighing me down, forms to fill in, Dad’s house bills to sort out, car repairs. He said we should get married then he could look after me properly. I was so drained, so grateful and he was so kind . . .’ She cringed at her own stupidity. ‘Looking back, I wasn’t in the right place to make big decisions like that. We were married so quickly I hardly had time to draw breath . . .’ She rapped on her head with her knuckles. ‘Idiot, eh?’
‘Not at all,’ said Lew, his voice soft, understanding. ‘Sounds a little as if you were manipulated.’
Was I? thought Bonnie. She hadn’t thought of it that way; she’d always blamed herself for being needy. She couldn’t even recall Stephen proposing. She just remembered him telling her to leave all the arrangements to him and he’d make sure he looked after her.
‘You’re probably wondering why I’ve stayed with him so long,’ said Bonnie, but she guessed he’d just think she was stupid.
‘It’s not hard to guess,’ said Lew, which surprised her. ‘It’s a huge task leaving a marriage when you have nowhere to go to and no energy to carry you.’
‘Dad’s nursing home took almost every penny from the sale of the house and the little savings he had, and Stephen took the rest and put it in our joint savings account that I don’t have access to,’ said Bonnie. ‘I nearly left Stephen once but—’ She stopped. She couldn’t tell him the truth of why she stayed. She couldn’t tell anyone. ‘I wasn’t quite brave enough to go through with it.’
‘It doesn’t sound like a happy marriage, Bonnie,’ Lew said, just stopping himself from placing his hand over hers, to comfort her.
‘It isn’t a marriage in any sense of the word,’ said Bonnie. ‘I didn’t even feel giddy or excited at my wedding. My dad was there and I wanted him to see me settled before he died, but he didn’t even know who I was . . .’ She’d had dreams about her wedding over the years, distorted images of everyone in black, Harry Grimshaw pulling on her hand to leave but her feet being glued to the floor, her dad drooling, Alma laughing at him and Bonnie slapping her face hard over and over again until her hands stung, but still she wouldn’t stop cackling like an old witch.
She’d presumed what she felt for Stephen was just a different sort of love from the one she’d had for Joel. When he’d been well, they’d talked about getting married and she’d been filled with joy and excitement about it all. He must have said a million times how much he loved her, yet she couldn’t remember Stephen saying it once. It was a different sort of love, all right.
‘And why now?’ asked Lew. ‘What’s finally made you decide to go through with it?’ He reached into his pocket and passed his handkerchief over. ‘Getting to be a habit, this,’ he laughed softly.
‘Thank you,’ smiled Bonnie, pressing her face into the soft material. She didn’t say that she was in love with her boss, that meeting him had wakened and warmed up her heart more than she thought possible. And that just being around him had given her the energy to risk leaving Stephen in the hope that she just might outrun the darkness that would surely follow her. Instead she answered, ‘Timing. Starstruck’s daughter has a small house for rent nearby. It’s affordable, if I’m careful with my money. He’s bringing the keys around tomorrow and I’m going to move in whilst Stephen is at work. If I tell him I’m leaving, he’ll make it awkward. I can take what I need in the car, one trip. I can have everything packed and be out of the house in an hour, max.’
‘Do you need any help?’ asked Lew.
‘No, thank you. I’m better off doing everything alone,’ replied Bonnie. She didn’t want Lew near the house. She was scared what Stephen might tell him.
‘Where’s the house you’re moving into?’ asked Lew.
‘Dodley Bottom. It’s on Rainbow Lane, next to the old
Duck Street Chapel. It’s only a tiny place but it’ll be perfect for me, I’m sure. I’m hoping I won’t be that late to work. I’ll make up any time . . .’
‘Oh don’t be silly, Bonnie,’ Lew remonstrated. ‘Why don’t you take the day off?’
‘No, I’ll need something to keep my mind occupied.’ She was adamant on that.
‘Then I’ll follow you after work and help you lift things in.’
‘No, really, you’re okay. I’d like to do it myself anyway. On my own.’
Something in her tone convinced him that she wasn’t just saying that, she really did mean it, so he relented with a nod.
‘Tell me if you change your mind, and I’ll leave it at that.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Can I ask you something, Bonnie? I don’t want you to get worried, I’m just curious. I heard that you manhandled Regina out of the shop like Bruce Lee. Is it true?’
Bonnie’s eyes snapped up to his face to find that he was wearing a lop-sided smile. She’d noticed that his ‘business-smile’ was a regular one, his lop-sided one was the genuine article. It gave his face extra handsome points.
‘Dad’s friend had a nightclub and when he was a young man he used to do a bit of doorwork for him. He was handy, my dad, and he taught me a few moves just in case I ever needed them.’
‘Ah, I see,’ said Lew, noticing that Bonnie’s cheeks had a pink flush to them. ‘You said he was a big man, didn’t you?’
‘In every way you can think of,’ said Bonnie. ‘Six foot six tall with massive shoulders. He was lovely.’ She pictured him holding her hand, walking her to school and remembered feeling proud that he was her dad. Sometimes she had to work hard to force the pictures of him in the grip of dementia from being the dominant ones in her memory album: of him going berserk in the house, smashing things in frustration, of him being an empty shell in the home, drool down his shirt. ‘If I ever get like that, shoot me, Bon,’ he’d once said when they were watching a documentary about dementia on the TV. ‘I hope to Christ I never end up like one of those poor buggers.’ And he had. Cruel, cruel disease.
‘Well, your dad did you a favour there. Though I hope you don’t come into contact with any more undesirables who need ejecting from the shop, but it’s good to know that the Pot of Gold is in very safe hands,’ grinned Lew. He was glad to see that he’d made her smile with that. She has such a beautiful smile, he thought.
Lew took Bonnie back to the Pot of Gold where her car was parked. She went home knowing that the next time she drove it, it would be away from Greenwood Crescent forever. It all felt too easy, too smooth, especially for a Sherman, who was born on the back side of the rainbow, as her dad always said.
Chapter 30
Stephen was
standing by the sink washing up a plate when Bonnie walked in. He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled and she thought how odd that was, because she couldn’t remember the last time he’d greeted her with a pleasant expression.
‘Did it go well?’ he asked. Again odd, because he never asked about her day, only told her about his.
‘As much as could be expected,’ replied Bonnie. ‘It was very well attended.’
‘Burial or cremation?’
‘Burial. Then a wake.’
‘I have no idea why people expect to be fed and watered after a funeral,’ said Stephen with a sniff.
You wouldn’t, thought Bonnie, casting her mind back to Alma’s funeral. There had only been a few mourners because Alma had alienated most people. Not even Katherine, her so-called best friend, had attended it. The few pensioners who turned up uninvited to the church were shocked to find that no sandwiches had been laid on for after the service. Bonnie had argued it was the decent thing to do, but Stephen had called it an unnecessary expense.
‘A lot of people travelled a long way to pay their respects to Jack,’ said Bonnie.
‘Then they should have fortified themselves with a hearty breakfast.’
Bonnie made a face behind his back. To think that this time tomorrow she would be in another life sent a thrill fizzing through her down to her bones. She didn’t know how she’d managed to stay with Stephen for so long; she’d only been in the house five minutes now and already wanted to scream.
‘I’ve defrosted some pork loin medallions for tea,’ said Stephen, pumping some hand-cream out of the dispenser at the side of the sink and rubbing it into his palms.
‘Yes, fine,’ said Bonnie, though something was rattling around in her brain. They rarely had pork and it was always pasta on Thursday, never anything else. He’d broken with the pattern and that small thing concerned her because Stephen never did that. It meant something, but she didn’t know what.
‘I’ll go up and change before I start dinner,’ said Bonnie.
‘There’s no rush.’ Stephen poked the pork chops through the cling film. ‘They need another half-hour before they’re fully thawed, I’d say.’
Bonnie went into her bedroom and stripped off her black dress. She opened the wardrobe to hang it up and her scalp prickled as if something wasn’t right, in fact the feeling was as thick as sauce in the air. She flicked through her clothes, looked on the empty top shelf and down below on the floor where her case sat but nothing looked amiss. She was unduly anxious, she concluded. Her nerves would be in shreds by the morning if she didn’t pull herself together. She had one more night to endure, one more meal sitting opposite Stephen and his relentless chewing, one more morning waving him off to work. She had to act normal and claw through the next sixteen hours. It sounded hardly anything and at the same time, an eternity.
*
When Lew got home he walked into a wonderful aroma of beef cooking in red wine and a smiling Charlotte standing by the hob. It was a welcome sight given the wrong foot they’d been on for the past weeks. Lew walked over to her and gave her a kiss, intending it for her mouth but she gave a little twist at the last minute and it landed on her cheek.
‘How did it go?’ Charlotte asked.
‘As good as these things can, I suppose,’ said Lew, placing his jacket over a dining chair back and loosening his tie. ‘There were loads of people there and the wake was cheery enough. The service was a bit heavy though and very black.’
‘I want everyone to dress in light blue at my funeral,’ said Charlotte, stirring the cooking pot.
‘What did you have lined up for me then, when I had my heart attack?’ asked Lew, realising that he’d never actually asked her this question before.
‘I . . . I didn’t even think about that,’ said Charlotte. ‘I always knew you’d be fine.’
He had a sudden vision of Charlotte going shopping in Meadowhall for a very expensive black ensemble, including hat and new handbag. She’d have had her nails done black as well, he bet. Then the thought of a younger Bonnie in black knocked the image of Charlotte out of his head. He imagined her at Joel’s funeral, a picture of quiet dignity, her emphasis set on letting her lover go on to wherever he was destined rather than being the belle of the black ball.
‘I’ll go up and change,’ said Lew. ‘I might have a shower if I’ve got time.’
‘Loads,’ said Charlotte. ‘This will be half an hour at least. Oh and did I say that we’re going to Patrick and Regina’s for dinner on Saturday?’
‘Okay,’ said Lew, but he hadn’t heard her. His thoughts were still taken up with Bonnie. It sounded as if she hadn’t had a great deal of luck in life. Luck, he’d found, was not a commodity that was fairly distributed. He’d had more than his fair share: money, breaks, success, even the heart attack that didn’t kill him but gave him the wake-up call he needed to begin a career he was loving that brought him into contact with the mad, motley bunch of wonderful dealers. Charlotte would think that people like Starstruck were common and not worthy of her attention, until she found out he had a holiday home in Barbardos, of course. Even then he couldn’t see Charlotte enjoying his stories and throwing back her head and laughing at them, like Bonnie did. He couldn’t imagine Charlotte wanting to mingle with Long John and Uncle Funky or being interested in anything they sold.
She was missing out. He’d had more fun in the past three months than he had in the past three years. He loved the camaraderie of the traders, their banter, their expertise, their familial-type warmth towards each other. And most of all, he looked forward to the company of Bonnie with her brightly coloured clothes and her huge rainbow umbrella and her beautiful autumn eyes.
Lew stripped off his suit and had a shower. He turned the cold tap to full to chase away the pictures in his head of Bonnie and her lovely but sad face.
Chapter 31
The evening passed ordinarily enough for Bonnie. After they had eaten, Stephen went into the lounge to watch a documentary about fish wars in the world’s oceans and she watched the clock’s hands crawl round to the time when Stephen would announce he was going to bed. Bonnie left it half an hour after that before retiring herself. Then, with the water running into the bath in her ensuite to mask any noise, Bonnie pulled the suitcase out of the bottom of her wardrobe to put the rest of her clothes in it.
When she opened it, she found it was empty.
Her mind tumbled. She had half-filled it, she knew she had. She plundered her memory bank for evidence and she found it: hi-def footage of her putting in underwear and her jeans, her flowery dress. She flicked through her wardrobe again and found the clothes that should have been packed away hanging there and she knew that was the reason why she’d done a double-take when she changed out of her black dress. She looked around for the box holding Bear’s ashes and her family treasures and couldn’t find it and she knew then that Stephen had been in her room, in her wardrobe. He had found the half-full case and realised that she was planning to leave him. It must have happened whilst she was at the funeral, because she would have noticed the flowery dress there, next to the empty hanger for her funeral outfit. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in boiling rage. She wanted to fly into his bedroom like a bullet and scream into his face: how dare he touch her things, how dare he take her precious belongings, but she forced herself to be calm and think. She sat on the side of the bed and willed her heart to stop its wild, angry beating. He knew that she wouldn’t leave without her treasure box; it was his way of trying to anchor her here. She cursed herself for talking back to him recently. It had set his warning flags running up the pole.
Think, Bonnie, think. She closed her eyes and concentrated. She needed to formulate a codicil to her plan of action. Stephen would be back at work in the morning. As soon as he was out of the door, she would hunt for her missing possessions and she would find them, then she would go. The morning could not come fast enough for her now. She might be crushed if she left, but she would definitely be d
estroyed if she stayed.
Silently and quickly, she packed all the clothes and possessions that her suitcase, the plastic box and a large holdall could carry then she got into bed and invited sleep to come, but her hatred for Stephen drove it back for hours.
Chapter 32
By lunchtime the next day, Bonnie had still not arrived at work and Lew was worried about her, especially after their conversation the previous day. He had no doubts that she told him she would be coming into work with her car packed full of her belongings by mid-morning at the latest. Starstruck had already been and gone and left the key for the house on Rainbow Lane. Something didn’t feel right. Lew found her home and mobile numbers from a file in the office and rang both, but there was no answer. He left a voicemail asking her to ring the shop. By one o’clock he had still heard nothing and he had no idea what to do. It would be rather odd for a boss to go over to a member of staff’s house enquiring where they were, he thought, and could even be seen as harassment. Maybe she and her husband were having an eleventh-hour reconciliation and ringing in to work was the last thing on her mind. But somehow he didn’t think so because he was sure that Bonnie would have let him know, had her plans changed. Lew didn’t work on hunches usually, but he could not shake off the suspicion that Bonnie might be in trouble. She’d said her husband was ‘sticky’, hadn’t she? He was certainly manipulative, if her story was to be believed. He decided that it would be better to risk coming over as interfering and over-zealous than have her come to harm because of propriety.
Lew waited for a loitering customer to leave the shop, then he closed the door quickly behind her and scooped up his car keys.
*
Bonnie had woken a full hour before her alarm went off. She washed and dressed for work as normal and tried to suppress the current of adrenalin surging through her system. She needed to be out of this house as soon as humanly possible. Yesterday she had wondered if guilt would have followed her out of the door, leaving Stephen silently and without notice, even though she knew that was the only way she could avoid his barbs sticking into her, trying to drag her back. But when she had discovered that he had emptied her case and confiscated her things, she knew she would sail out of the front door devoid of any sympathy for him at all.
The Queen of Wishful Thinking Page 16