‘Pleased?’ Frankie swallowed. ‘Pleased? How can I be pleased? You’re leaving me!’
‘I’m also leaving you the shop.’
‘Yes, OK – right then – if that bit’s true then I’m absolutely delighted and will never be able to thank you enough. But as I still don’t believe a word of it.’
‘Start believing, love. I’m off to Mykonos in two weeks’ time. Most of my clothes will come here, everything else unnecessary is going to Biff and Hedley Pippin’s charity shop in Winterbrook, and I’m bequeathing what remains of my life to those who I love best and who deserve it. And you, Frankie angel, deserve it more than anyone. Now, you go and put the kettle on and we’ll have another one of Patsy’s Pantry’s rum babas to celebrate. I’m so going to miss those retro cakes from Hazy Hassocks when I’m in Mykonos – you’ll have to send some out to me, won’t you?’
In a complete daze, Frankie headed for the kitchen and watched the raindrops trickle in non-stop trails down the windows as she waited for the kettle to boil. Suppose it was all true? How fantastic would that be? The one thing she’d always wanted. Her own business. And not just any business, but this fabulous retro shop …
But it couldn’t possibly be true, could it? Things like that didn’t happen to people like her, did they?
And, just supposing it was true and Rita was heading off for some Greek island paradise, which seemed impossible – she’d miss Rita so much. Rita made work seem like fun. Rita had given her a chance three years ago when she thought she’d never be able to work again after the horrors of leaving her fashion retail job in Masons under a bit of a cloud.
And would she, Frankie, ever be able to cope with running an entire shop on her own? Well, maybe, but what did she know about the business side of this shop anyway? Rita had always taken care of all that. Frankie sighed as she sloshed water into the mugs – goodness, there were so many things to think about.
And if Rita went, nothing in Kingston Dapple would ever be the same again …
Chapter Two
By the time the coffee was made and the rum babas glistened in gooey temptation on two plates and they were sitting in Rent-a-Frock’s tiny kitchen, Rita, clearly seeing the confusion and disbelief on Frankie’s face, obviously decided it was high time she made things crystal clear.
‘Right –’ Rita juggled a rum baba, fielding a spiral of syrup away from the scarlet frock ‘– now just listen to me. I went about that all the wrong way. I shouldn’t have messed around with the bequeathing thing, I should have just told you. In a nice businesslike fashion. I thought it would be fun to spring it on you, but it was obviously just confusing. But you did get the gist?’
Frankie, her mouth full of rum baba, nodded. ‘Good.’ Rita beamed. ‘As I say, all the legalese stuff has been dealt with. We can go through other things before I leave. Mind you, this has taught me something. When I tell Brian about the bungalow I’ll just tell him straight, no messing about.’
‘Good idea,’ Frankie managed to mumble. ‘Brian’s not the brightest pixie in the forest. But please, please can you tell me like that, because I still don’t really understand. Why exactly are you going to Mykonos?’
‘To make my dreams come true.’ Rita managed to remove the rum baba traces from her lip gloss and smiled dreamily. ‘I’ve bought a beachside taverna. I’m going to live in shorts and flipflops for ever and ever. I’ve used my entire life savings. This shop has done me nicely over the years. I’ve invested well in the good times. I don’t need the money from the sale of the shop or the bungalow. I love you, and in a way I love poor Brian, too. I want you both to have what I’ve been lucky enough to have but no longer need.’
‘Thank you, but—’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve never had a dream,’ Rita interrupted, ‘because I know differently. How many times, since you’ve been working here, have you said your dream was to own your own clothes shop?’
‘Well, yes, of course that was what I’ve always wanted. But I always imagined it was an impossible dream. I didn’t expect you to make it come true – never, ever in a million years.’
‘Just call me your fairy godmother, then. Making your dreams come true, just like I’ve done with mine.’ Rita beamed happily as she poured more coffee. ‘You see, Mykonos was my dream from the day I first saw a picture of it in my children’s encyclopedia at the age of eight. It was as far removed from where I lived as the moon. I’ve wanted to live there ever since.’
‘But you’ve never been there, have you?’
‘No. Not yet. I never wanted to go there and come home. I just wanted to go there – and stay. And now, when I see it for the first time – really, really see it – it’ll be because I’m going to live there for the rest of my life.’
‘But what if you hate it?’
‘Hate it?’ Rita spluttered. ‘How could I hate it? I’ll adore it. It’s my destiny.’
‘But you won’t know anyone, and how can you have bought a taverna if you’ve never been there, and who’s the “we” and “us”?’
‘Well –’ Rita’s eyes sparkled ‘– that’s the other exciting part of the story – Oh, damn, was that the door? Yes. Oh, sod it, I think we’ve got a customer.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to say, “Oh, goody, I think we’ve got a customer, on this very quiet trading day”?’ Frankie grinned. ‘Or have I got it all wrong?’
Rita frowned as they made their way out of the kitchen. ‘No, you’ve got it right, but I did want to talk to you without interruptions … and the customer is bloody Biddy. You serve her, love. I want to get out of this frock, and Biddy always brings out the worst in me, I’m afraid.’
Rent-a-Frock’s door was wide open and, in a torrent of horizontal rain, a small woman swathed in a dripping mac and flourishing an even more dripping umbrella, catapulted in.
‘Black!’ she announced from beneath the peak of her see-through Rain Mate. ‘I need black!’
‘Hello, Biddy. Nice to see you again. Nasty day, isn’t it? Let’s shut the door, shall we? Oh, and please try not to drip on the floor too much – health and safety, you know.’ Rita paused on her way to the curtained-off changing cubicles. ‘And for pity’s sake put that umbrella down. You know it’s bad luck to have an umbrella up indoors.’
Biddy, still dripping, complied with bad grace. The umbrella’s shower managed to soak everything within a two-foot radius in the process.
Frankie, despite her head reeling, slipped automatically into her friendly, chatty shop-assistant default setting.
‘You’re looking for black?’ she enquired. ‘Lovely. Party wear for Christmas?’
‘Hardly.’ Biddy sniffed. ‘Funeral. Tomorrow.’
‘Ah, right … Sorry. I do hope it wasn’t someone close.’
‘No, well, not family. More a sort of friend. Acquaintance, really. Ernie Yardley.’
Frankie looked vague. ‘I don’t think I know him.’
Biddy wiped away more raindrops. ‘You wouldn’t. He lives – lived – alone in Tadpole Bridge. His wife, Achsah died some time back – real lovely funeral she had.’
‘Achsah?’ Frankie frowned. ‘That’s a very unusual name. I’ve never heard that before. Is it Russian or something?’
‘Goodness me, no. Achsah was Berkshire born and bred. It’s biblical. Her dad was a bit of a fire and brimstone man by all accounts.’ Biddy looked disapproving. ‘All her brothers and sisters had really obscure Old Testament names. Silly, I call it. Anyway, Ernie belongs – belonged – to our Seniors Day Group.’
‘Was he a good age?’
‘One of the oldest in the group at eighty-three, but fit as a fiddle as far as I knew.’ Biddy shook herself, drenching a row of nearly new but slightly shrunken cardigans. ‘Apparently he’d had heart trouble for years, though.’
‘Oh dear.’ Frankie desperately hoped she looked and sounded sympathetic. All she really wanted to do was serve Biddy and get back to talking to Rita about the shop. ‘Anyway, I don’t suppose you wan
t to discuss it, so—’
‘Shocking, it was.’ Biddy’s pale gooseberry eyes glinted. She obviously had no problems with talking about the demise. ‘We had our usual weekly minibus trip to Poundland in Winterbrook, and Ernie got caught up in the melee round the retro foods. Went down like a sack of shit.’
Frankie bit her lip and stared hard at the floor.
Snorting with laughter behind her, Rita dived into the fitting rooms.
‘Um … ’ Frankie steadied herself with a deep breath. ‘Oh dear, how awful.’
‘Ah, it was.’ Biddy nodded. ‘He’d got his hands on the last of the Vesta beef curries too, lucky so-and-so. They’re like gold dust, they are. Just reaching for a butterscotch Angel Delight to round his tea off nicely he was when it happened.’
Knowing there was nothing she could possibly say without disgracing herself, Frankie just nodded.
‘Course we all had to stay put while we waited for the ambulance. I could of told ’em that was a waste of time, Ernie was as dead as a dodo, and pretty tedious it was too.’
Frankie, just itching to get rid of Biddy as quickly as possible, hoped she was still managing to look contrite. ‘Er, so, are you looking for a coat for the funeral, or a dress or a suit?’
‘Anything black and cheap to hire for the day.’ Biddy wiped a raindrop from the end of her nose. ‘No point in wasting good money on buying new just for the one day, is there?’
‘Er, no. I suppose not. And, of course, hopefully, you won’t be attending many other funerals.’
Biddy looked beady. ‘Oh, at my age funerals are beginning to be top of the social agenda. I go to lots of funerals, you know. But none of them stipulated black. Most don’t these days. So if you could find me anything cheap as chips in black. I don’t have anything black in my wardrobe, you see.’
‘Yes, well, it doesn’t suit everyone.’
Biddy nodded in a small shower of raindrops. ‘It’s so draining. I was told by Cherish, she’s my colour palette advisor over at Hazy Hassocks, to avoid black at all costs. Cherish says I’m a blossoming spring person.’
Blossoming? Spring? Frankie blinked. Pale and gingery, Biddy looked like an anaemic squirrel.
‘Teals, aquas and primroses are my hues, Cherish told me.’ Biddy nodded, still dripping. ‘Spring colours. But not suitable for this funeral, because –’ she glowered ‘– this one stipulates wearing black. And I really wanted to wear my eau-de-nil two-piece. Or maybe my lemon duster coat.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Frankie said soothingly, thinking that any of the pale shades mentioned would make Biddy fade into even more insignificance, and wondering just what sort of warped sense of humour Cherish, the Hazy Hassocks colour-palette advisor, had. ‘Right, let’s see what we can find in black and a size … what … eight?’
‘And in a petite,’ Biddy added, trotting towards the overcrowded rails, removing her Rain Mate and shaking it across the floor. ‘I don’t want something trailing round my ankles.’
‘Right … ’ Frankie, practically jigging with impatience, started clawing through the disorganised rails. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got … ’
Frankie found it a dispiriting task. Apart from the fact that the whole shop was in a complete muddle, and she was searching for funeral wear, Rita’s astounding announcement was the only thing she could think about. Running the shop would be amazing, of course, but what would life be like without Rita? Frankie knew exactly what it would be like: unthinkable, that’s what.
‘How about this?’ Frankie pulled a black coat with a mock-astrakhan collar from the crush. ‘It’s your size, and nice and thick, too. You’re going to need something warm in this weather, especially if you’ve got to, er, stand around outside … I mean, I suppose if it’s a the crematorium it wouldn’t be so, er, cold.’
‘It’s a cremation,’ Biddy confirmed almost cheerfully. ‘In Thatcham. We’re having a minibus. Mind you, the wind cuts across there something cruel while you’re waiting to go in if there’s a lot on that day. Like a conveyor belt, it is sometimes. Once you’re inside the crem it’s better, mind. Nice and snug. And ever so warm.’
Frankie supposed it must be. Fortunately, apart from her grandad’s funeral when she’d been very young, she’d never had to find out. ‘Shall we try it on?’
‘I will, you won’t. There’s no “we” involved here. You youngsters have no idea about syntax.’ Biddy snatched at the coat and stared at it. ‘Hmmm, not bad. And the right size, and it’ll cover everything. So I can wear something more spring-coloured underneath it, can’t I?’
Frankie nodded, stepping over the abandoned soggy raincoat and fastening the black coat round Biddy’s tiny frame. ‘Well, unless you have to take it off at the wake, I suppose. Maybe, um, the deceased’s family will expect you to be all in black.’
‘Ernie Yardley didn’t have any family to speak of.’ Biddy preened and posed in front of the shop’s cheval mirror. ‘Just a couple of nieces or nephews or something. They’re organising the funeral, they’re the ones who decreed black, but they never came near Ernie while he was alive, so no doubt they’re just waiting for the pickings. And slim, they’ll be. Poor old Ernie had nowt to show for his life but his old age pension.’
Frankie, simply itching to shove Biddy into renting the coat and shove her out of the door so that she could talk to Rita, nodded in sympathy.
‘Still, the Motions are doing the send-off, so it’ll be spot on,’ Biddy continued, irritatingly still keen to chat. ‘Old-fashioned undertakers, they are. None of this happy-clappy stuff. They know what’s what.’
Frankie perked up a bit. ‘Oh, I know Slo Motion. He and Essie Rivers have got a flat in my friend Phoebe’s house. He’s a lovely man. So funny.’
‘He’s a reprobate.’ Biddy sniffed. ‘Don’t conduct himself proper for an undertaker. Living in sin at his age – disgusting, I call it. Still, he’s organised the wake back at the Faery Glen in Hazy Hassocks, which should be a good do, they always do a nice spread. So, what I’m saying is, no one will care what I’m wearing underneath once the niceties have been observed at the crem, will they?’
Frankie, not well versed in funeral etiquette, supposed not and shook her head.
‘Lovely.’ Rita, having composed herself while shedding the red frock and now in black trousers and a turquoise sweater, emerged from the cubicles. ‘That coat could have been made for you, Biddy. Frankie always has a good eye for what suits.’
‘Yes, I suppose she has,’ Biddy admitted grudgingly as she continued to twirl and admire her reflection. ‘Yes, yes, this will do nicely.’
‘Will you be needing a hat?’ Frankie asked. ‘I think we’ve got some black berets somewhere … and gloves … and a scarf? If you don’t wear much black, you may not have the accessories, and if, as you say, the, er, wait will be chilly … ’
‘Well, now you come to mention it.’ Biddy unbuttoned the black coat and reached for her soggy raincoat and still-soaking umbrella. ‘I don’t have any of the folderols in black – Cherish advised no black whatsoever – so, yes, that’s a good idea, as long as they won’t cost much.’
‘Nothing costs much here,’ Rita said. ‘You should know that by now, Biddy. OK, so while Frankie sorts you out, shall we do the paperwork?’
Frankie, rummaging through several large cardboard boxes of jumbled accessories, glanced across at the counter. Rita, chatting to Biddy as she filled out the rental copybook in trip-licate, flicking the carbons into place, looked just the same. She didn’t look like someone who was just about to run off to Mykonos.
‘Here we are.’ Frankie placed beret, gloves and scarf on the counter. ‘All in black. Rita will sort out the pricing for you.’
‘Two days rental, if you bring them all back by close of business on Friday.’ Rita added the accessories to the handwritten accounts book. ‘You’ll have to pay an extra day if you leave it until Saturday.’
Frankie quickly folded everything into a large Big Sava carrier bag.
Bid
dy looked shocked as she parted with her money and gathered up the receipt and bag. ‘Don’t you worry, they’ll be back in here first thing on Friday morning when I come into Kingston Dapple to change my library books. I’m not going to be caught by your gazumping, Rita Radbone.’
‘And thank you too,’ Rita muttered, as they watched Biddy struggle back out into the storm. ‘And there goes one of nature’s charmers.’
Frankie frowned. ‘Why does she pretend to be so old, though? She must be in her fifties, and that’s young these days. She should still be in jeans and heels. Why does she dress and speak like someone ancient?’
‘Because she’s a miserable cow,’ Rita said comfortably. ‘Some people are born old, and Biddy’s one of them. Still, it was a clever touch of yours to get the accessories added in there. See? You’ve got a real flare for this business. You’re a natural.’
Frankie shrugged. ‘Every little bit helps, as they say.’
‘Mmm.’ Rita beamed. ‘It certainly does. Anyway, where were we before Biddy chose to interrupt me?’
‘You were going to explain about the “we”.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Rita nodded, leaning her plump arms on the countertop. ‘So, as I was saying, you were almost right earlier on when you mentioned Shirley Valentine. You see, I am going to be Rita Valentine in Mykonos … I’m going to be marrying Ray Valentine the day after we arrive.’
Frankie shrieked with laughter. ‘Ray Valentine? You’re going to Mykonos with Ray Valentine, and you’re going to get married? Dear Lord, Rita. For a moment there I thought you were serious. Ray Valentine … Funny old Ray Valentine from the market flower stall. Who in their right mind would want to marry Ray Valentine?’
‘Me, actually.’
Still laughing, Frankie looked at Rita’s face. Whoops. Quickly, she tried to stifle her giggles. ‘Er, well, I mean, er, um … Oh, dear. You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘Dead.’
‘Um, congratulations then. But I didn’t even know you and Ray were, um … ’
Never Can Say Goodbye Page 2