by Nikki Ashton
“Tom, if you don’t feel well then go back to bed.” Kathleen sensed that Tom may just be about to give Grant a piece of his mind, and wanted to avert a scene.
“I’m fine,” he said, turning back to Grant.
“Well that’s good, you can come and help me in the kitchen then.” Kathleen glared at him, moving her eyes in the direction of the kitchen. “Now would be good.”
Tom got the message and remembered he was supposed to be on his best behaviour. “Okay, just be gentle with me.” With great effort he heaved himself off the sofa and followed his mother into the kitchen. Everyone else gave a sigh of relief; Tom was known for not suffering hangovers well.
Ten minutes later, they were all sitting down to eat lunch. Archie had stopped crying at the sight of Grant and was sitting in his highchair, opposite the special guest, while Tom, looking pale and uninteresting, was on Grant’s left hand side.
During lunch everyone tried to make conversation with Grant but generally, as Charlotte had on their first date, they listened to what he had to say. Tom, who was extremely bored and unable to eat, started pulling faces at Archie who, equally bored, pulled them back. When Tom raised the bar with the faces he was pulling, Archie had no ammunition left in his armament, and so had no alternative but to throw his uneaten lunch at Tom. As the blue plastic plate flew through the air, Tom knew he had to save himself. Like Bruce Willis, as John McClane in Die Hard, he dived to his right, and grabbing hold of Grant he pulled him into the line of fire. With a splat, the plate landed on the reddened spot on a bewildered Grant’s head. It slowly slithered down, until it landed, with a plop, on his lap.
“Shit,” he cried, standing up so quickly that he almost toppled the table over. “What the…”
“Archie,” cried Tom through his giggles. “That’s really naughty, what did you do that for?” He bit his clenched fist to stifle the laughter that was bubbling in his chest.
“Grant are you okay?” Charlotte moved over to him, wiping mashed potato and carrots from his forehead.
“My carpet,” cried Kathleen, as more food, mixed with gravy, fell from Grant’s groin to the floor.
“Archie, say sorry to Grant, that’s really naughty.” Amanda scolded her son, while also hiding a smile; she didn’t know why, but she had also taken an instant dislike to Grant.
“Sorry Gyant.” Archie lowered his head, not able to look at his victim, and then started to cry. “Sorry Mummy,” he sobbed.
Ken suddenly stood up at the head of the table; he spread his arms out wide. “Stop!” He bellowed. “Everyone be quiet and get this mess sorted. Kathleen, sort the carpet, Charlotte, take Grant upstairs and sort him out…Thomas less of your smuttiness please, and Amanda, take Archie into the kitchen and calm him down. Dave, well you just carry on drinking your wine.”
“Ooh Ken, that’s the second time today you’ve been all masterful,” gushed Kathleen.
“What?” asked Amanda, looking at Tom quizzically.
“Don’t ask,” he replied, leaning over to take the bottle of wine from Dave. “Hey Dave, give me some of that wine, I feel a bit better now.”
An hour later, after everything and everyone had been cleaned up, Ken decided that it would be a good idea if the men went to the pub for a couple of hours. Charlotte waved them off from the doorway, worrying how on earth Grant would manage with her dad and Tom without her; hopefully Dave would look after him. As she went back into the lounge Amanda erupted into howls of laughter.
“What?” Charlotte asked. “What, may I ask, is so funny?”
“Oh Charlotte, you have to admit, it’s been hilarious.” Amanda wiped the tears of laughter from her cheeks.
“No I don’t because it isn’t. And you Archie, why are you being such a little horror? Oh Mum what a mess!” she cried.
“I know dear, all over my carpet.”
“Not your bloody carpet! Bloody Grant, his bloody clothes, the whole bloody situation.”
“Less bloodys, please Charlotte.” Kathleen grimaced, as she folded away the table cloth.
Amanda moved over, she put a comforting hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “You have to admit, he did look a picture, with that food sliding down his face, and when it landed in his crotch…I thought he was going to explode.” With that she erupted into laughter again, this time with Kathleen and Archie joining in; even Charlotte had a little grin to herself.
Later that evening it was time for Grant to leave; a pleasant hour in the pub telling everyone about his “classic car” had lifted his spirits somewhat. Standing in the kitchen with Charlotte, he was quite chipper and considered the visit to have gone well.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” said Charlotte, burying her head into his chest.
“No probs babe, kids like me and think that I want to play all the time. Anyway, do you know where your mum put my coat?” Charlotte looked around. She spotted it on the back of a kitchen chair.
“There you go,” she said, passing it over to Grant.
“Now, where did I put the keys to Caprice?” He smacked his hands against his pockets, Charlotte groaned inwardly at the pet name for his car. “Ah here in my pocket…urgh what the hell is that?” Grant pulled out his keys, which along with his hand, were covered in something dark brown and sloppy.
As Charlotte and Grant both started to gag, Amanda walked in carrying some dirty coffee mugs. “Oh no, sorry Grant, I wondered what Archie had done with his chocolate mousse!”
Grant’s relationship with the Price family continued in the same vein throughout the eleven months that he and Charlotte were together. They all tried to like him, for Charlotte’s sake, but each time they met him his treatment of Charlotte, and the way he acted, was worse than the time before. He either ignored Charlotte completely, or laughed at what she had to say. Everyone noticed that as time went on Charlotte stopped giving an opinion. Grant seemed to do all the talking for them.
On one occasion, at a family barbeque, Grant told Charlotte not to put too much on her plate. He said she was starting to put weight on; he didn’t want a “hefty bird on his arm." Charlotte was mortified, but tried to hide her embarrassment by laughing it off. Kathleen, on the other hand, could do no such thing. She was absolutely furious with Grant.
“Please don’t speak about my daughter like that, Grant. I happen to think she’s beautiful, and always will be no matter what size she is.” Kathleen’s face was crimson. She was so angry.
“Sorry Kath, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Grant muttered, frowning at Charlotte as he spoke.
“It’s Charlotte you should be apologising to, not me. Plus I’d thank you not to call me Kath in the future. My name is Kathleen.”
In the end they stopped trying, all agreeing that he was an idiot, and so treated him accordingly. Funnily enough, Archie was the only one who seemed to grow to like him. He couldn’t understand why 'Gyant' never wanted to play with him.
Charlotte also began to realise what Grant was really like. At the beginning he’d treated her like a princess, but within a couple of months all she was to him was a cleaner, a washerwoman, a taxi driver and, very occasionally, a sex object.
Despite all this, Charlotte agreed to move in with him after a few months, but when your boyfriend says “why don’t you get a mortgage, buy a house and then I’ll move in, but keep my own house, to stay at when I need a bit of space”, it’s very difficult to say no to such an attractive, and romantic, proposition. Grant’s lack of financial support and increased need for “space”, soon made Charlotte realise that she was being too much of a soft touch. Although she hated the thought of losing Grant, Charlotte knew that she had to make a stand. She needed to encourage him to change the way that he treated her. But, before she could even think of a strategy, Tom provided evidence that Grant would probably never change, and needed to be dumped and pretty quickly.
He spotted Grant in a fast food place in Manchester, feeding chicken nuggets to a red haired girl while she ran a hand up and down his thigh.
Tom made a decent and brave choice; he told Amanda and asked her to tell Charlotte. Charlotte didn’t believe it at first, but when Grant called her Eve during sex, even she had to admit that Tom had been right. Grant obviously tried to talk his way out of it, saying that Eve was just a friend, but enough was enough. Charlotte threw him out on to the street, along with his clothes and a bin liner full of car magazines.
She cried for weeks. She knew that she was the one that had finished it, but the thought that she hadn’t been enough for him, and that he’d slept with someone else, broke her heart. Kerry and Bets had been there for her, trying to get her to do things - mainly to wash and brush her hair - but nothing that they could do or say would take away her feelings of sadness and failure. In the end Kathleen called in the troops; she sent her own mother around to Charlotte’s house. If Charlotte would listen to anyone, it would be her Granny Joan.
“Charlie,” she asked, stroking her granddaughter’s lank, greasy hair, “what has that man left you with? Please tell me.”
“Memories Gran, we did have some good times.” Charlotte sniffed loudly.
“Memories won’t keep you warm at night. You should be out there, putting yourself about a bit. When Grandpa died I didn’t hang about, a woman has her needs, even at 72. I was never away from the bingo, that bingo caller couldn’t get enough of me, even with all that cellophane on my legs and bottom; and he was younger than me!”
“He was still a pensioner Gran, and anyway it’s cellulite not cellophane.”
Choosing to ignore Charlotte’s lack of enthusiasm, Joan pulled the duvet away from her granddaughter’s sofa bound body.
“Come on, get yourself up and dressed; you’re coming to the bingo with me. There’s a new caller starting tonight, he might be a decent bit of trouser.”
Charlotte didn’t go to the bingo, but it did make her realise that a night out with Kerry and Bets was a much better option.
All that was three years ago, and she was now okay. She’d had some love action, but nothing serious; in fact sex twice, in three years, was not a good ratio. Her main priority had been her job, working tirelessly to help Paul to build up the business, which they had been very successful at. Paul’s father was to retire permanently the following year, and both he and his business partner, Gerald Blunderstone, wanted Paul to take over the reins. This obviously meant that Paul couldn’t be at Palmer Insurance every day, so because of her hard work and commitment over the years, Paul had offered Charlotte a promotion; he wanted her to take over the helm, which she gladly accepted.
Her salary was generous enough for her to have saved a sizeable amount of money, to have been able to buy a lovely semi-detached house, furnished with all the best furniture, and to wear all the best clothes. Life was great, or so she kept telling herself, but something was missing. She wanted to be able to cuddle up in front of the fire with someone, other than her beloved cat Petula. She wanted to be able to talk about her day, and even though she was an independent woman, she wanted to be cherished and to be in a happy, committed, trusting relationship.
Chapter 2
The wind and rain were fighting with each other outside Bets’ window as she buried her head further under the duvet. She was bored, as usual for a Sunday, spending her time thinking about inconsequential nonsense such as why you don’t get white dog poo anymore, why are Wagon Wheels now so small, and do men who wear toupees really think that their hair looks real? As well as being bored her head hurt, as usual, after a “quiet night in” with the girls. She glanced at her watch it was 2 p.m., which meant that Charlotte would be here soon looking a lot worse than Bets herself looked - Charlotte was not a good “morning after the night before” person. That would relieve the boredom for a short while, but Charlotte wouldn’t stay long because of Bets’ terrier Alfred who would be jumping up and trying to get her to play – when she was hung over Charlotte had very little tolerance for Alfred.
Bets was the party animal of the three friends, and the one who tended to attract the most attention from the opposite sex. She was tall and toned with long, dark, naturally curly hair, and after losing both her parents by the time she was eighteen, she was also very strong and ballsy. Bets was so hardly ever without some poor sap sending her flowers, declaring undying love or generally stalking her. Bets was the one who relied on her two best friends the most. She could look after herself no problem at all, but Charlotte and Kerry were the only family she had and she didn’t know what she would do without them.
Disturbing Bets from feeling sorry for herself, the doorbell rang and Bets hauled herself off the sofa to answer it. As she opened the door she laughed, but not too loudly because of her head; Charlotte stood on the doorstep looking like a rag doll that had been dropped in a puddle. Rain was dripping from every protrusion, and by the way she waddled into Bets’ apartment it had obviously also reached her knickers. Charlotte glanced at Bets and groaned; despite her de rigueur Sunday outfit of fleecy pyjamas, blue socks, sloppy old cardigan and scraped back hair, Bets still looked totally stunning. Charlotte sighed at the unfairness of it.
“Don’t say anything,” she said, catching the small smile on Bets lips, “and keep that dog away from me!”
“Do you want to borrow some clothes?” Bets asked, throwing herself back onto the sofa.
“Please, I’m soaking.”
“Well you know where they are, and sort your hair out while you’re at it; frizzy isn’t the word.”
Charlotte tutted and disappeared in the direction of Bets’ bedroom only to reappear ten minutes later looking a lot dryer and warmer, but still looking rough with frizzy hair. She plonked herself at the other end of the sofa to Bets and hauled the duvet over her legs.
“What?” she exclaimed, noticing Bets’ eyes looking at her hair. “Some of us don’t have naturally beautiful hair; some of us suffer from dampness.” Charlotte raised her eyes towards her mass of brunette hair pulled up in a hair band. “Anyway, what time did you leave this morning?” she asked rubbing her feet together to generate some more heat.
“Ooh about 9 o’clock I think. Didn’t you hear Kelvin laughing at us? He is so dead next time I see him,” muttered Bets as she rubbed her temples to try and ease her headache.
“Did he enjoy Ryan’s stag night?” Charlotte pulled her sleeves down over her hands.
“I think so; he said that they were home for midnight though. They did the usual, beer and curry, they’ve no imagination have they, men?”
“So did he say whether Stuart was there or not?” asked Charlotte coyly.
Stuart was Bets’ latest fantasy. He fancied her like mad, but she was playing it cool and trying to stay in control by dangling him on a string. Bets screwed up her nose as she peered over the top of the duvet at Charlotte.
“What makes you think that I asked?” she said. “It’s not like I’m interested.”
Charlotte tutted so loudly that Alfred stirred from his slumber by the fire. He opened one eye but when no one moved on the sofa he rested his head back on his paws and went back to sleep.
“I really can’t believe that you said that! You are so interested that you could have him as your specialist subject on Mastermind. You have scored 50 points and no passes; get real Bets you want him so badly,” laughed Charlotte, staring at Bets wide eyed.
Bets grinned at the thought of having the wonderful Stuart; he of the lithe gym instructor’s body, handsome chiselled jaw and piercing blue eyes.
“Yeah, well I don’t want him to know that,” she giggled.
Bets had been playing the game with Stuart ever since she had first met him in the summer at a barbeque at Kerry and Kelvin’s house. He had made a beeline for her straightaway because on that evening, having just returned from a two weeks holiday in Greece, Bets looked particularly beautiful. When Stuart introduced himself as “Kelvin’s friend, Stuart; I run the new gym in town,” Bets feigned disinterest.
“Oh yes, I think I’ve heard Kerry mention you,” she said dismissively
, even though she knew exactly who he was. “You’re a friend of Kerry’s aren’t you?” he said, looking her straight in the eyes with alarming intensity.
“Yes I’m Bets, Kerry’s friend from school. In fact I really should help her to put some food out. Nice to meet you, erm… Stuart wasn’t it?”
With that she was gone to join Kerry and Charlotte in the kitchen not to help out but to grill Kerry for more information on the lovely Stuart.
And so the cat and mouse game had gone on throughout the summer. Charlotte’s party, Kelvin’s birthday meal and the Christening of Kerry and Kelvin’s baby, Esme. Stuart was at Bets’ side on each occasion, leaving just the right amount of time so that he didn’t appear to be stalking her. She would flirt back, laugh at his jokes, touch his arm when she spoke, smile with her eyes at him over the rim of her glass, and then just when she thought that he was going to ask her out she would go, muttering something about helping Charlotte or having to mingle.
“SO!”
“So what?” asked Bets, burrowing further under the duvet?
“Was he there or not?” Charlotte shook her head in despair. “Why haven’t you two got together yet?” Bets opened her mouth to answer, but Charlotte held up the palm of her hand to indicate that she hadn’t finished her diatribe. “I know, I know, you say you don’t want the commitment and that you enjoy playing the field because it makes you still feel young, but that’s not really the case, is it Bets?”
Bets kicked Charlotte’s leg gently under the cover. “I hate that you know me so well. Okay so I’m scared of getting close to someone.”
Charlotte sighed and smiled gently at her friend. She knew why Bets found it hard to commit, because she had told her on the night of her mum’s funeral. Bets had only lost her dad two years previously, so it had been a long and difficult day for her, and drinking had seemed to be her only way of coping. That night, when everyone else had gone, a very drunk Bets let everything spill out to Charlotte. She told Charlotte that she was scared that if she let herself fall in love with someone that one day they would leave; she loved her parents dearly and felt that they had left her alone. It was easier not to fall in love and to leave them first. Charlotte tried to point out that life wasn’t always like that, and that surely Bets didn’t want to be lonely, but Bets said that she wasn’t lonely; she had Charlotte, Kerry and Alfred, who gave her unconditional love, and to fill up the rest of the time she had lots of men with no strings attached. “Besides,” she had said, “it’s easy to get a bloke to fancy you, but what if my parcel doesn’t quite match up to my packaging?”