Never Can Say Goodbye

by Christina Jones

  ‘Easily. Especially if Dexter’s there to share them with.’

  ‘Well, he won’t be. He shut the flower stall down dead on five and went off with Ginny from the Greasy Spoon.’

  ‘Bugger. Did he?’ Lilly’s face had fallen. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I watched him go,’ Frankie had said smiling. ‘He waved and gave me the thumbs-up.’

  ‘Oh, well. His loss. Expect me when you see me then. I might just have one quick drink with the girls in the Toad, then leave my car here, grab a taxi and go into Winterbrook.’ Lilly had tottered back across the empty shop and thrown her arms round Frankie. ‘You’ve been ace today. Done so well. You must have made a fortune. I’m really, really proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Frankie had hugged her back. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you, though. You were all really great.’

  ‘That’s what friends are for.’ Lilly had wriggled free. ‘Now I’m going to be a young free and single girlie about town, while you turn into Mrs Cosy Slippers. Don’t wait up.’

  And Lilly had clattered off out of the door and across the cobbles in the gloom.

  Frankie looked wearily around the shop. The rails were pleasingly depleted – and in an awful mess. She really should tidy them up then go upstairs to the stockroom and sort out replacement dresses ready for Monday morning. She should, but she knew she wouldn’t. She was far, far too tired. She’d come in tomorrow when she’d had a good night’s sleep and the shop was empty and she could concentrate properly. And much as Lilly might disapprove, all she really, really wanted was the bath and the frothy chocolate and bed.

  Making sure the safe was locked, and all the lights and plugs in the kitchen were switched off, Frankie hurried into the shop and reached for her bright pink coat and selection of lilac and blue scarves. Grey person indeed. Huh!

  She paused for a moment and buried her nose in the flowers Dexter had brought. Fabulous. Rich and heady. Should she take them home? No, she thought, winding the last of her scarves round her throat: the flowers, bright and gaudy, belonged in the shop.

  ‘Bright and gaudy – just like me, Cherish,’ she said out loud, reaching for the light switch. ‘Exactly like me.’

  ‘Excuse me.’

  The voice suddenly echoing through the emptiness made Frankie stop stock-still. Her mouth was dry. She tried to swallow but couldn’t. Speech wasn’t an option either.

  ‘Excuse me, duck,’ the little grizzle-haired man stood between the now denuded 50s and 60s frock sections. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you – again.’

  Frankie stared at him. She worked saliva into her mouth. ‘Well, you did. Dear God, you really scared me. Why do you keep doing this? Coming in at the wrong time? I’m so sorry, but I’ve just closed up for the night. You should have been here earlier. I did look out for you.’

  ‘I was here, duck, but you were too busy to see me. You’ve done nicely today, I’d say. It was very crowded, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was,’ Frankie agreed. ‘But you didn’t buy, er, the dress you said you wanted, did you? Or did Lilly serve you?’

  No, as soon as she’d said it she knew Lilly would have told her. With a lot of wide eyes and gestures and exaggerated giggling.

  ‘No, duck. It’s still here. No one bought it today.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  ‘They stole it from me, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure whoever they are, didn’t. We don’t deal in stolen goods,’ Frankie said firmly. ‘I’m sure whichever dress it is that has taken your fancy was donated honestly by its owner.’

  ‘No.’ The little man shook his head sadly. ‘It wasn’t. It was mine and they stole it.’

  Frankie sighed. She was too weary to argue. ‘Who did?’

  ‘Thelma and Louise.’

  Oh Lordy … Frankie closed her eyes. However sweet he was, she was far too tired to deal with some mad old cross-dressing pensioner living in fantasy land tonight. Maybe it was best to humour him.

  ‘Really? That was naughty of them.’

  ‘Naughty? It was downright bloody wicked!’

  ‘Well, yes. Stealing is wicked, of course. And because this Thelma and Louise stole – allegedly, stole – the frock from you and must have donated it here, you want it back?’

  ‘Yes, but –’ he shook his grizzled head ‘– it weren’t my frock, duck. I don’t wear frocks. I ain’t no Danny La Rue.’

  Not a cross-dresser then. Just barking.

  He looked anxiously at Frankie. ‘It belonged to my wife. She’s gone now. Dead.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Ah, me too, duck. I thought I’d be joining her soon but it don’t seem like that’s going to happen.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that! It must be awful for you, of course, but life does go on. Honestly. My gran eventually managed to have quite a nice life after Grandpa died. She joined clubs and went on trips and—’

  ‘I tried that, duck, but it ain’t no fun any more. I just want her dress back. Let me show you which one it is.’

  ‘Ok.’ Despite her tiredness, Frankie felt desperately sorry for the lonely old man. She’d switch on the till for him and just make one last sale. ‘And then I’ve got to lock up and you really must go.’

  Frankie followed him to the 1950s rails and watched as he pointed to a cream silk shantung dress. It was very Audrey Hepburn: slim-fitting, sleeveless, high waisted with a flamboyant bow.

  ‘It’s very pretty.’

  ‘She wore it on our wedding day.’ His eyes grew distant. ‘And she had a cream rose in her hair. Her hair was as dark as yours back then, duck. Beautiful she was.’

  ‘She must have been.’ Frankie suddenly wanted to hug him. So what if he was slightly deranged and a bit deluded? He wanted his wife’s wedding dress back again. It had huge sentimental value. What was so wrong with that?

  ‘I was only seventeen when I met her at the village hop over in Tadpole Bridge, and we were wed when I was twenty-one. We had fifty wonderfully happy years together.’

  Frankie sighed. She’d have to give him the frock, she knew she would. She couldn’t ask him to pay for it – however it had turned up in the shop, he had every right to want it back, didn’t he?

  ‘Nineteen forty-six it were.’ He looked at her. ‘Just after the war ended. Things were just getting back to normal. It was nice to have the village dances and that after all the misery. I went over to Tadpole Bridge with a couple of pals. They always had a good band over at Tadpole Bridge village hall. A proper little dance band, you know?’

  Frankie, whose understanding of dance music was clearly light years away from his, nodded anyway.

  ‘Ah, it was a right good do. A smashing band with a couple of singers – crooners we called ’em back then. Anyway, I saw her as soon as I walked in. Beautiful, she was. Standing there in her pretty red and white frock, her hair like black silk. She was with some friends but I didn’t notice any of them. Just her.’

  Frankie, still just wanting to go home and sleep, could sense his deep sadness. It wouldn’t hurt her to listen to him for a little while, would it? Not if it helped him?

  ‘And did she notice you, too?’

  ‘Not straight away, duck. I was right shy, and she was so lovely, I just sort of stared at her, with my heart going like billyo. My pals were straight over to the girls and asking them to dance, you know, but not me. I hung back. Anyway, she just shook her head when anyone asked her to dance. My pals danced with her pals. They were jiving a bit – and I was never any great shakes at that, but the girls loved it. The GIs had taught ’em all the moves when they were stationed over here, see. And then the band started to play “Twilight Time”, and everyone stopped jitterbugging and I could see her across the floor … ’

  ‘So,’ Frankie asked, seeing this all unfolding in her mind like an old black and white movie, ‘you plucked up the courage to ask her to dance, did you?’

  ‘Ah.’ He grinned. ‘I did. And I was shaking like a leaf I can tell you. W
hy she’d dance with me when she’d turned my pals down, I wasn’t sure. But I had to ask her. I loved her, you see.’

  ‘But you didn’t even know her.’

  ‘No, duck. I didn’t need to. Love at first sight it were for me. I knew there and then that she was the only girl for me. And if she turned me down then I’d be alone for the rest of me life.’

  Frankie was now completely swept up in this love story from so many years ago. It was so wonderfully romantic.

  ‘But she didn’t? Turn you down, I mean?’

  ‘No, duck, she didn’t. She just smiled at me – such a lovely smile she had, it lit up the whole village hall – and said yes. And she just stepped into my arms – and off we went.’

  Frankie nodded. ‘And … ?’

  ‘And all my pals were jealous. I could see ’em all looking at me and wondering why this beautiful girl had danced with me and not with them. And holding her in my arms was like holding … oh, I don’t know … like holding stardust and moonbeams all rolled into one. Magical. And she smelled of summer flowers and I knew there would never be anyone else for me.’

  Frankie swallowed the lump in her throat. It was all a million miles away from the frenetic, frantic, noisy groping and gesturing of getting-to-know-you on the dance floor these days.

  ‘And –’ she looked at him, not wanting the story to end ‘– you carried on dancing with her, did you?’

  ‘Ah, I did. And we talked when we sat out the more lively dances and got to know one another a bit. I bought her a ginger beer – the village hall weren’t licensed – and then we danced some more. And when the night was over I walked her home.’

  ‘Oh, that’s so lovely,’ Frankie sighed. ‘Walking her home. I so wish people still did that.’

  He nodded. ‘I held her hand, and we walked across fields and along lanes and I didn’t know where I was or what time it was or anything. I was just floating along, listening to her talking and laughing – she had such a pretty laugh – and then we stopped at the end of her street and I kissed her goodnight.’

  Frankie swallowed again. ‘That was brave of you.’

  ‘Ah.’ He chuckled. ‘I thought she might slap me face, but she didn’t. She kissed me back. And I was like a dog with two tails. There wasn’t a happier lad in the whole world than me that night.’

  ‘And you asked to see her again? And she said yes?’

  ‘Yes, to both, duck. By some miracle she saw something in me – me, not very tall and not very good-looking and with curly hair and a bit of a squint. And her – the prettiest girl in seven counties. And then I told her I loved her.’

  ‘Wow.’ Frankie shook her head. ‘And what did she say?’

  He chuckled again. ‘She said she was right glad because she thought she loved me too. And that was it. We’d be together for ever, we said. And we were. From that day on … until … until she died. We courted for four years while we saved up to get wed.’

  ‘And she wore the dress?’

  He nodded. ‘She was always beautiful, but never more than on our wedding day. In that dress. It means everything to me, that dress. I’ll never, ever get used to being without her, duck. Never. My heart broke the day she died and has never mended. All I want is to be with her again. She was my life, my love, my reason for living.’

  Frankie dashed away the tears. ‘Please, please, have the dress. You don’t have to pay for it. I’ll wrap it up for you now and you can take it home.’

  ‘I can’t, duck.’

  ‘Why? Because you think, um, Thelma and Louise might –?’

  ‘Thelma and Louise is long gone. Back to wherever they came from. They took what they wanted – and there weren’t much to take, I can tell you – and then they cluttered off.’

  OK. In his grief-stricken mind, Thelma and Louise had taken their gun-toting, mad-car-driving away from Kingston Dapple. That was a relief.

  ‘So, if they’ve gone, why can’t you take it home now?’

  ‘I haven’t got a home any more, duck.’

  Oh, no … Frankie groaned. Homeless – at his age! How awful. Surely there must be shelters or something? Or was he even too mad and sad to be housed in a shelter?

  He looked hopefully at her. ‘So, now do you understand, duck? This was the only thing of my wife’s I had left. And Thelma and Louise robbed me of it – and everything else. I don’t care about the rest of it, but I care about the dress. It was the most important thing I had left in my life.’

  ‘But you came in here wanting to buy it, didn’t you?’

  ‘No, duck. I’m here with it. It brings my Achsah close to me, see?’

  Achsah? Frankie frowned. Where had she heard that name before?

  ‘Achsah?’

  ‘I thought it was a lovely name.’ He nodded and gave a little chuckle. ‘Mind, she always hated it. Called herself Betty in private. Her dad was a bit of an old fire and brimstone man. Well known for it over in Tadpole Bridge, he was. All her brothers and sisters had odd Old Testament names too. Poor souls. They all hated them and—’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Frankie interrupted, everything suddenly falling scaringly into place like a tumble lock.

  ‘Ernie Yardley, duck. What’s yours?’

  ‘Frankie Meredith,’ Frankie said faintly. ‘And you can’t be Ernie Yardley because Biddy came in here a few weeks back and bought an outfit for his funeral. Ernie Yardley’s dead.’

  ‘I know I am, duck.’

  Frankie felt very sick. And very, very frightened.

  ‘Don’t be scared, duck.’ Ernie beamed at her. ‘I was scared rigid meself when I found out I was dead but not gone – if you get my drift.’

  Nooo, this couldn’t happening. She must be dreaming …

  ‘You mean, um … ’ Frankie closed her eyes in the hope that it was all an illusion, then opened them again. It wasn’t. Ernie was still there. ‘You mean, you’re a ghost?’

  ‘I suppose I must be.’

  ‘You can’t be.’ Frankie looked wildly round the shop. ‘I can’t be here talking to a ghost. I don’t believe in ghosts.’

  ‘Not my problem, duck, if you don’t mind me saying. Whether you believe in me or not is neither here nor there, really, is it? I’m here, so are you, and we’re having this chat, so one of us must be mistaken, mustn’t we? Look, can I just tell you my side of things?’

  ‘NO!’ Frankie shouted, angry at her gullibility and still terrified at the same time. ‘No, just go home. Stop messing about, stop playing silly games and go home. Oh, you nearly had me fooled with that story.’

  ‘The story ain’t a story, duck. It’s all true. Exactly how it happened. All I want now is to be reunited with my beloved Achsah. She’s waiting for me, and I can’t reach her.’

  ‘Sorry. This isn’t funny any more. You are not a ghost! You are not Ernie Yardley! Maisie stupid Fairbrother set you up for this, didn’t she? Because I said I didn’t believe in ghosts, she’s sent you along to play at haunting. You might as well drape a white sheet over your head and go “woo-woo-woo” and—’

  ‘Look, duck, I don’t like it any more than you do. I don’t even understand it. But I left this life in Poundland just as I was getting some nice cut-price things for me tea. And it didn’t bother me a jot. I’ve wanted to be reunited with Achsah for so long, duck. But I’m not. I’m here, with her frock what they stole from me, see?’

  ‘Go away!’ Frankie marched over to the door and hauled it open. The thick grey fog swirled in, like … well, like a whole lot of ghosts. ‘Get out! Now! You don’t scare me. Not any more. It’s just some sort of stupid joke! Go, please!’

  ‘You go and ask Slo Motion if you wants to know the truth.’ Ernie looked woebegone. ‘Slo Motion did my funeral. They – Thelma and Louise – didn’t go along with my plans, duck. They changed everything to the cheapest possible.’

  ‘Stop it! You’re just being silly now. All this nonsense about Thelma and Louise.’

  ‘Thelma and Louise are my nieces, duck. My only re
lations. Pair of nasty bitches they are too. And they had me cremated when I wanted to be buried along with Achsah in the little churchyard in Tadpole Bridge, like we’d always planned. They went cheapskate, duck. They cleared out all my things and got rid of them. What they couldn’t sell, they just dumped. Like Achsah’s dress here. And that wasn’t all –’

  Frankie clapped her hands over her ears. ‘La-la-la! I’m not listening! Get out! And tell Maisie Fairbrother that this won’t work! I-do-not-believe-in-ghosts!’

  ‘As I said, I’m sorry, duck. But it’s really not my problem what you believe in. You go and ask Slo to tell you what happened before my funeral. Slo knows who I am and what happened. Get him to tell you about the car journey to Tadpole Bridge. Ask him what happened at the traffic lights. There weren’t no one there except him and me and I was dead. Not a living soul knows about that car journey except me and Slo, and I suppose I’m not a living soul, so to speak. Get him to show you a picture of me, and then you’ll know who I am.’

  ‘Get out!’ Frankie marched to the door and flung it open. ‘I’ll be fair to you. I’m going to count to ten … ’

  ‘OK, duck, off you go.’

  ‘One and two and … ’ Feeling very silly, Frankie counted slowly. ‘ … nine and ten. Right, if you don’t go now I’m going to call the police. I don’t want to, but I will, then you and Maisie Fairbrother are going to look really silly with your trumped-up nonsense, aren’t you?’

  There was no reply. She squinted round the shop. The 1950s rails stood silent. Achsah’s alleged wedding dress was still there.

  And Ernie Yardley, or whoever he was, had gone.

  How on earth had he managed to slip past her? For his age he must be amazingly light on his feet. Probably ballroom dancing, Frankie thought. He’d obviously been a good dancer in his day. And there’d been a big increase in ballroom dancing in the area since Strictly. All the oldies loved it because it reminded them of the days when every village had a little dance hall – just like in Ernie’s supposed story – or so Rita had said. However he’d managed it, he’d gone.

  Frankie carefully searched every inch of the shop. No, not a sign of him. Thank goodness, because she really would have called the police. Probably … Silly old fool – telling her such a tale. Just as well Lilly hadn’t been here – Lilly would have believed every single word of it. And damn Maisie Fairbrother. She’d have a few things to say to her, too. It would take more than a few mad old pensioners to frighten her …