Never Can Say Goodbye

by Christina Jones

  ‘Lovely, dear, thank you. I do enjoy the sorting out, as you know. And cocktail frocks, you say? How gorgeous … I’ll take my coffee upstairs now, dear, and make a start.’

  And with a spring in her step, pale, wispy, faded Cherish, disappeared happily towards the stockroom.

  Frankie leaned against the counter and shook her head. Cherish and Brian? Brian and Cherish? No, surely not …

  Chapter Twenty-one

  ‘So where’s he taking you tonight?’ Lilly asked on Wednesday evening, watching with amusement as Frankie ripped everything from her wardrobe and hurled it onto the pink and purple flounced bed.

  ‘Some place called Hideaway Home,’ Frankie muttered, trying to sort out her clothes and manipulate the hair straighteners on her fringe at the same time. ‘It’s a new restaurant out in the wilds somewhere round here. They do vegetarian Farmhouse Feasts or something. Dexter thought it was time we ate healthily.’

  ‘Of course he did.’ Lilly giggled. ‘I’m sure your badly treated digestive system was the only motive he had for suggesting it, and –’ she plonked down on the bed dislodging half a dozen dresses ‘– I know all about Hideaway Home.’

  ‘Do you? Really? Have you been there?’

  Lilly shook her head. ‘No, but it’s owned and run by those people who won Dewberrys’ Dinners last year. The telly cookery programme? You know? We watched it together.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I remember them. Is it? Really? Wow.’ Frankie grinned. ‘They were great.’

  ‘Especially that chef – Ace? Ash? How hot was he?’

  ‘Very,’ Frankie agreed. ‘So it should be good, then?’

  ‘Apparently it’s totally brilliant.’ Lilly stood up. ‘Jennifer Blessing and her husband have been there. She says it’s amazing. You’ll have a great time. And when you’ve decided what you’re wearing come and give me a twirl. I’d better get on; I’ve still got loads of packing to do.’

  Frankie switched off the straighteners and peered at her reflection framed by the ropes of little rosy fairy lights. Her hair looked fine, and her make-up was OK. Now, should she dress up or down? Or somewhere in the middle? Should she wear rare black for sophistication or a bright colour for fun?

  ‘Packing?’ She looked at Lilly through the mirror. ‘You’re not going away until the day before Christmas Eve.’

  ‘I know, but I can never decide what to take and what not to. I have to start packing early because I keep changing my mind, you know what I’m like.’

  ‘Only too well, but what I never know is how you can bear to go somewhere warm at Christmas and New Year. It seems all wrong, somehow.’

  ‘What seems wrong,’ Lilly said with a grin, ‘is spending my Christmas with Mum and Dad and their new partners and all the step-brats. It’s hell on earth, believe me. They love it; it drives me insane. It’s not natural for everyone to get on so well – and to have so many kids. And then they do it all over again only at the other house for New Year. It’s totally gruesome. No, me and the girls will have a really kicking time in Cyprus and we’ll think of you freezing to death over here.’

  ‘We’ll certainly be doing that,’ Frankie said, listening to the north-easterly wind howling outside. ‘We’ll probably be twenty feet deep in snow by the time you get back in early January.’

  ‘Which means the airports will be closed and we’ll have to stay in Cyprus for ages longer.’ Lilly shimmied happily out of the bedroom. ‘What a bummer.’

  Pink, Frankie thought when Lilly had gone. Pink would look nice tonight. Less vibrant than her usual daytime colours, and feminine and pretty, but not looking as though she’d made too much of an effort. She didn’t want Dexter to think she was trying.

  She pulled out a clover-coloured frock from the heap on the bed: short, swirly and long-sleeved. Perfect. And she had a pair of darker pinky-purple tights somewhere … She started rooting through the drawers, discarding unsuitable items over her shoulder. Ah! Got ’em! OK, now the purple boots … Great …

  ‘Oooh, you look fabulous!’ Lilly nodded in approval when Frankie eventually presented herself in the bedroom doorway. ‘He won’t be able to keep his hands off you.’

  ‘He better had.’ Frankie laughed. ‘This isn’t any sort of romantic date, Lill. We’re mates and we’re just going out together to chat about stuff.’

  ‘Yeah, right. What sort of stuff?’

  Frankie shrugged. ‘Business, business, business, oh, and probably ghosts.’

  ‘You could talk about all of that in the Greasy Spoon or the Toad,’ Lilly said prosaically. ‘You don’t need to be going to some smashing restaurant to talk about any of that. And –’ she grinned at Frankie ‘– despite me being blown away by what happened on Saturday night, I haven’t mentioned anything about the ghosts. Or about your shop being haunted. Not a word. Not to anyone. Not even when I’ve been a little bit drunk. I’m dead proud of myself.’

  ‘And I’m amazed.’ Frankie laughed. ‘But very grateful.’

  ‘And they’re still all there?’

  Frankie nodded. ‘Unfortunately, yes. We’re just leaving everything alone until the new year by which time hopefully we’ll have found a proper medium to sort them out.’

  ‘Sad to think they’ll be there over Christmas on their own.’

  ‘They’re dead, Lilly. They won’t mind. I don’t think they do Christmas in the afterlife.’

  ‘Course they do,’ Lilly said scornfully. ‘That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Christmas? Jesus being born? And living in heaven and everything? Which is where they’ve come from, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Frankie shook her head. ‘Neither do they. And I’m not getting into any deep religious arguments about the afterlife. I don’t even want to think about it.’

  ‘Well you should. They’re your ghosts after all.’

  ‘Hardly. Most of them are down to Maisie.’

  ‘OK, but not Ernie.’

  ‘Not Ernie, no. And I do want to help Ernie. And I will try.’

  ‘Good, because he’s sweet. Oooh – is that a car stopping outside?’ Lilly skittered to the window and looked out into Featherbed Lane. ‘Yep, it’s Dexter. Cool. Have a great time.’

  ‘OK, thanks. And you enjoy your serial packing and unpack -ing. Bye.’

  Frankie grabbed her bag, struggled into her coat, wound her scarves round her neck and ran downstairs, annoyed to find that she had tummy-dancing butterflies. Get a grip, she told herself. It’s not a date. You’ve spent loads of time alone with him before. This is no different to eating at the Greasy Spoon – except it’ll be posher and less, er, greasy.

  She hurried quickly down the path. It was a desperately dark night, and the bitter wind seemed to cut right through her coat and stab viciously at her face.

  ‘Hi.’ Dexter opened the passenger door for her. ‘Right on time. Impressive.’

  ‘So are you.’ Frankie smiled as the car purred away into the cold, dark night. ‘On time, that is. Not impressive.’

  Dexter laughed.

  Frankie undid her coat in the car’s warmth and relaxed back in the seat. It was OK now. No butterflies. No problems.

  ‘You look lovely.’ Dexter glanced across the car. ‘Really fan -tastic. And I’m delighted to say that I’m not wearing pink tonight.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m glad we’re not a matching pair for once.’ Frankie looked at his pale-blue shirt and black trousers under the leather jacket. ‘And you look pretty neat yourself.’

  ‘Neat? I’m devastating,’ Dexter said and laughed. ‘So, have you had a busy day, today? I haven’t seen much of you.’

  ‘It’s been really hectic. And you?’

  ‘Manic. And I’ve loved it. I think I might have found my true vocation at last. I’ve got loads of ideas for the spring. I was thinking we might somehow join forces and promote both businesses – you know, Easter weddings, frocks and flowers – that sort of thing.’

  Frankie, delighted that Dexter was planning to stay in Kingston Dapple,
and then annoyed with herself for being delighted, nodded. ‘Sounds brilliant. Yes, I can see all sorts of things we can combine on. And by then we’ll have got rid of our other problem.’

  Dexter negotiated the narrow streets out of Kingston Dapple. There were few cars on the road and no pedestrians. The night was far too cold for anyone to venture very far.

  ‘The ghostly incumbents? Yes, let’s hope so. Are they still behaving themselves?’

  Frankie smiled in the darkness as they headed through the buffeting gale towards Bagley-cum-Russet and Fiddlesticks. ‘Mostly. They do appear at odd intervals but so far no one seems to have taken any notice of them. And Cherish, bless her, after her one close encounter with Jared, is totally unaware of them, so there’s no danger of her blabbing to Biddy or anyone.’

  ‘I’m surprised –’ Dexter stopped at a deserted crossroads ‘– that Maisie hasn’t been in touch this week.’

  ‘Me too,’ Frankie admitted. ‘Actually I’m a bit worried about Maisie. She knows too much. I just think she’s biding her time before going public. Perhaps we’ll have to pay her another visit and make sure she doesn’t say anything.’

  ‘And what about the undertaker bloke? Has he asked you anything more since you told him that Ernie, who he knew was dead, actually wasn’t quite.’

  ‘Oh, Slo – love him. No, he’s kept his side of the bargain. He’s got a lot to lose, er, well, professionally if any of this gets out. I promised I’d tell him when it was all over and I will.’

  ‘And Lilly? Has she managed to keep quiet?’

  ‘So she says, and I believe her. And anyway she’s far to busy thinking about her Christmas trip to Cyprus with her oldest school friends to worry too much about anything else. Lilly, bless her, is fairly single-minded. Right now her whole time is taken up with packing and wondering if she can drink a different cocktail in every bar on the Strip in Protaras and still be standing at the end of it.’

  Dexter laughed as they left Bagley-cum-Russet behind. ‘Sounds like a plan to me. I might think about jetting off somewhere warm for Christmas myself.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Nah. Not really. Not this year. I’m already sorted for Christmas, actually. And anyway –’ he yawned ‘– working for a living is turning me into an “early to bed, early to rise” bore. I was up at three this morning to go to the flower market to pick up a new consignment of Christmas roses. And they’ve gone like hot cakes. I’ll have to get more tomorrow.’

  ‘Three o’clock! You must be wiped out. We could have rescheduled tonight if you’re too tired.’

  ‘I’m running on adrenaline, and if I hadn’t got the table tonight we’d have had to wait until well into January, and I don’t want to do that. They’re booked for weeks and this was a cancellation. Anyway, if I fall asleep in my uber healthy and nutritious soup you can drive me home, can’t you?’

  ‘Drive this?’ Frankie snorted. ‘I doubt it. I’ve never driven anything bigger than a Mini in my life. And is this a BMW?’

  ‘You’re really not a petrol-head, are you?’ Dexter said kindly. ‘It’s a Mercedes.’

  ‘Well, whatever, it’s massive and powerful and scary.’

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Dexter said as they left the last signs of habitation behind them and plunged into the dark, bleak, windswept Berkshire countryside. ‘And practically the only thing I have left of my previous life.’

  Frankie said nothing. She wanted to know, but she didn’t want to pry. Not yet.

  ‘Now –’ Dexter glanced at his satnav ‘– I’ve been told that maybe we’ll need radar to find this place, so you can navigate if we get lost. Apparently we have to turn off on the Fiddlesticks road, then past the turning to Lovers Knot and carry straight on, ignoring all other turnings. We have to find a road called Cattle Drovers Passage and it’s at the end of there.’

  ‘Easy-peasy.’ Frankie chuckled. ‘And it’s certainly out of the way. Did you know it was owned by the people who won Dewberrys’ Dinners last year?’

  ‘Brian told me this morning. I didn’t see the show. I had other things going on at the time, but I do know about it. I’m impressed.’

  ‘As impressed as Cherish is with Brian?’

  ‘What? I mean, I know they’re friends – and an odd couple they make – but are you suggesting that there’s something more?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything at all – Ooh, wasn’t that the Lovers Knot turning? Were we supposed to ignore that or turn down it?’

  ‘Some navigator you are.’ Dexter laughed. ‘We’re dead on track. So go on – about Cherish and Brian.’

  ‘There isn’t anything to go on about, really. But Cherish is positively blooming and never stops talking. And Brian gives her lifts to and from work even though he has to go out of his way to do it. And she always beats me out to you with the coffee since Brian started helping you out.’

  ‘Do you mean she fancies Brian?’ Dexter sighed. ‘Is that why she’s become the deliverer of my morning coffee? And I was under the illusion that, just when I need defrosting with scalding caffeine delivered by a gorgeous lady in a short dress and long boots, and all I get is mumsy Cherish in all-over beige, it’s because she’s madly in love with me.’

  Frankie chuckled. ‘Get over yourself. Not every female in the world fancies you, you know.’

  ‘Don’t they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Damn.’ Dexter slowed down and peered through the wind-screen. ‘I’ll have to work on my technique. It’s nice if Cherish and Brian have formed a friendship, I guess. Two lonely people. Two lonely very nice people at that.’

  ‘They are,’ Frankie agreed. ‘Brian had great hopes of his romance with Rita, I know, and was very hurt after it ended. And Cherish just seems to have been used by everyone she’s ever known. But I don’t expect it’ll develop into the romance of the decade, do you?’

  ‘Probably not. And maybe they wouldn’t want it to, anyway. Maybe they’ll be more than happy to settle for friendship and companionship, and good for them. Maybe they won’t. Maybe they are right for one another, and then again, maybe they’re not. Who knows? But in my experience, falling in love with the wrong person causes an awful lot of problems. Right, any idea where we are?’

  Frankie, soaking up yet another snippet of information about Dexter’s past, stared vaguely through the windscreen, and then shook her head. ‘It’s so dark out there and I haven’t seen any signs or road names or anything. Still, we haven’t turned off anywhere, so we must be on the right route. Oh, look, there are lights over there, and the tail lights of cars up ahead. So maybe that’s it?’

  It was.

  After negotiating the narrow and winding Cattle Drovers Passage, they drove along a well-lit gravelled track, which ran beside a beautiful old farmhouse, and eventually pulled into a spacious and well-filled car park.

  ‘Wow.’ Frankie blinked at Hideaway Home restaurant. It was a huge and traditionally converted barn, softly illuminated by dozens of strategically placed lights. ‘It looks fabulous.’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ Dexter switched off the engine. ‘And I’m starving. I could eat a horse.’

  ‘Horse,’ Frankie said with a chuckle as she unfastened her seat belt, ‘is definitely not on this particular menu.’

  They hurried through the bitter, blustery, ice-dark night into the glorious golden warmth.

  Inside, Hideaway Home glowed with discreet lighting, rumbled with conversation and laughter, and smelled divine. A towering Christmas tree stood in one corner of the entrance, covered in hundreds of pinprick white lights, and carols played softly over the sound system.

  Frankie looked around her, delighted that they’d just let the massive converted barn speak for itself. There were no deliberately placed ploughshares or cartwheels or other kitsch farming implements to accentuate its barn-ness. Instead, the original slatted wooden walls had been lovingly restored and towered dizzily upwards to where the ancient thick, knotted beams criss-crossed the ceiling, supporting th
e tile-and-slate roof. The decor was pale and natural, with scrubbed wooden tables, comfy farmhouse kitchen chairs, heavy polished cutlery and fat cream candles.

  Perfection.

  ‘Good evening, I’m Poll, and I’m delighted to welcome you to Hideaway Home,’ a tall woman with amazing cheekbones, and wearing a long flowing frock, lots of beads, and with her hair tied back with matching ribbons, said and smiled at them. ‘Can I have your name, please?’

  ‘Valentine. A table for two.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ Poll checked her clipboard. ‘Lovely. Follow me, please.’

  ‘I know her!’ Frankie hissed as they made their way through the dozens of well-spaced tables, amused to notice yet again that almost every woman in the restaurant had stopped eating to stare at Dexter. ‘Well, no, I don’t, but I recognise her from the television show. Oh, how brilliant – it’s like celeb spotting! And look at that open-fronted kitchen – you can actually watch them cooking – that’s brave.’

  ‘It is.’ Dexter smiled at Poll as she showed them to their table and handed them the menus. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Here’s the wine list –’ Poll beamed ‘– and tonight’s menu. All our food is fresh and locally grown. Take your time to choose. Would you like some breads while you make up your mind?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Frankie nodded enthusiastically as they shed their coats. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘Good.’ Poll laughed. ‘I can guarantee you won’t be by the time you leave. I’ll get my husband Billy to bring you a selection of his home-made bread straight away. And what would you like to drink?’

  ‘White wine spritzer for me, please, as I’m driving. Frankie?’

  ‘The same, please.’

  ‘Shall I bring you a bottle of our house white and some soda? Then you can top up as you go?’

  ‘That’d be great, thanks.’

  ‘Lovely. I’ll get them for you. Enjoy your evening.’

  ‘Wow,’ Frankie said again as Poll swept away, and she looked around. ‘Everyone’s food looks fabulous, and the smells are incredible … and oh, look, there’s the boy chef that Lilly fancied – Ash? He’s even hotter in real life. I can’t wait to tell her he’s actually cooking tonight. Oh, and the pretty girl – can’t remember her name … Ellie? Ella? – she’s cooking, too. Now –’ she screwed up her eyes ‘– we just need to spot Poll’s husband Billy, the one who made all the bread and things – Ah! There he is! Just coming over with a basket. Blimey – this is soooo cool.’