Never Can Say Goodbye

by Christina Jones

  Cherish nodded. Brian was right, of course. Brian was very sensible about things like that. And Brian would tell her the truth, wouldn’t he? Brian didn’t have any sort of hidden agenda, not like Biddy.

  ‘You listen to me, gel. Biddy just wants you to be as miserable as she is. She’s just got a touch of the green-eye because you’ve made a nice little life for yourself now. She’s just trying to scare you away. And if there’d been a skeeance – or whatever you called it – then we’d have heard about it, wouldn’t we? No one can keep a secret in Kingston Dapple, can they?’

  Cherish smiled. Yes, they would have, and no, they couldn’t. And of course Brian was right – again. It was just Biddy trying to cause trouble.

  Reassured, she smiled at Brian. ‘Thank you. You’re right of course. I was just being silly. I, of all people, should know Biddy by now.’

  ‘Yes, you should. And another thing – just to put your mind at rest – have you ever seen a ghost in your shop?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Exactly. And does young Frankie seem scared at all?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ Again, Cherish shook her head.

  ‘So.’ Brian beamed. ‘There you go. There ain’t no ghosts. Never have been and never will be. Happier now?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. So, on a much more cheerful note –’ she nodded towards Brian’s carrier bags ‘– did you get everything you wanted?’

  ‘I did gel, yes. And wrapping paper and gift tags too. And proper lovely it were, too. Real Christmassy. Shopping for surprises. What about you?’

  ‘The same.’ Cherish smiled warmly. ‘I enjoyed it, too. Oh, shall we have another pot of tea?’

  ‘Good idea.’ Brian stood up. ‘No, you put your purse away. This is my treat this time. Another scone?’

  ‘Oh, yes please,’ Cherish said happily, so glad that Biddy hadn’t spoiled things with her spitefulness. ‘That would go down a treat.’

  ‘Right-o.’ Brian stopped and looked down at her. ‘And you know that the presents for each other were your clever idea? Well, I’ve had one of my own.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘I have.’ Brian nodded seriously. ‘I was thinking, well, we’ve bought the presents for each other, so why don’t we watch each other unwrap them?’

  ‘No!’ Cherish said. ‘We can’t unwrap them now. It would spoil the surprise.’

  ‘Not now.’ Brian chuckled. ‘I didn’t mean now. No, I was thinking, Rita’s bungalow as was, is smashing and cosy. And I’ve got me decs up and a lovely little tree that young Dexter sorted out for me, and more food than I know what to do with. I know you’ve bought some, too, but you’ve got your little freezer, haven’t you? I thought it would be right nice if we could open our presents in front of each other. Oh, I’m making a mess of this … What I mean, Cherish, gel, is why don’t we spend Christmas together?’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Christmas Eve. Breathlessly cold and gloomily dark, but none the less Christmas Eve at last. Thank goodness.

  Much as she loved running Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks, Frankie couldn’t wait to go home and relax and see her family and do all the traditional Christmas stuff and be fussed over by her parents and catch up with her brothers’ and sister’s gossip.

  Although, she admitted to herself, as she opened up the shop, she was going to miss Dexter. A lot. Which was stupid. Very stupid. It was only for three days after all. But she’d got so used to seeing him every day. And after the magical night out at Hideaway Home they’d seemed so much closer somehow.

  And it had been wonderful to actually tell someone all about the Joseph thing. It was true, Frankie thought as she scooped up the last of the post from the doormat, that talking about your troubles aloud really did help to put them into perspective. And Dexter had been a brilliant listener.

  All in all, she thought, shivering as she crossed the shop and quickly turned on the lights and the non-stop Christmas pop on the sound system, their evening out had been a huge success. Which, in a way, made things worse on a personal level. Because now there was no way she could kid herself that she wasn’t very fond of Dexter. Very fond of him indeed. OK, let’s face it, head-over-heels fond of him.

  After her confession session in Hideaway Home, they’d moved on to more general topics – none of them, annoyingly, involving Dexter’s past or the wrong person he’d fallen in love with – and laughed and joked and teased each other in easy friendship. And then they’d had coffee and she’d had a brandy and had more or less floated out to the car and all the way home.

  And once they’d arrived outside her house in Featherbed Lane, she’d resisted doing the ‘are you coming in?’ bit – because, one, she knew he had to be up ridiculously early to get to the flower market, and two and more importantly, he might have said no and ruined everything – and simply thanked him for a fabulous evening, and he’d kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand and driven away.

  And she’d continued the floaty thing until she’d fallen asleep amongst the multitude of pink and purple flounces.

  And now they’d be apart for three days and Dexter would no doubt find someone to spend Christmas with because he simply wasn’t the home-alone type, was he? He’d said he’d got plans for Christmas. Being Dexter he probably had a short-list drawn up already. She didn’t even know if he was staying in Kingston Dapple. He’d said he wasn’t going abroad, but maybe he’d change his mind. Maybe, like Lilly had yesterday, he’d be flying off to warmer climes and have a passionate holiday romance with some gorgeously tanned, sarong-wearing, glamorous no-strings woman.

  Or maybe he’d really just stay at home in the clearly not-solonely bedsit and have relays of festive visits from his multitude of local conquests.

  Frankie sighed heavily as she hung up her coat and scarves.

  ‘Why the long face, duck?’ Ernie was leaning against the counter. ‘It’s Christmas.’

  ‘I know.’ Frankie switched on the till and the computer and tried not to listen to Mud being lonely this Christmas. ‘And compared to the sort of Christmas you’ll be having, I shouldn’t even feel a teensy bit miserable. Sorry.’

  ‘You don’t need to apologise to me, duck. What’s your problem? Not bought all your Christmas presents yet?’

  ‘Oh, they’re all done. And packed and piled in my car ready to go. No, I was just thinking about Dexter.’

  ‘And he makes you sad, duck?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t. That’s the problem. He makes me happy. Very happy.’

  ‘And you make him happy, too, duck. I’ve watched you, don’t forget.’

  Frankie shrugged. ‘I know, but it’s difficult. We’ve both got so many things in our pasts – and I don’t even know what his are, but whatever they are they’re pretty bad, I just know it. I’ve told him mine now but even so, because I know what he’s like, I know I’ll never be able to trust him.’

  ‘Sounds very complicated, duck.’ Ernie pursed his lips. ‘It was so much easier in my day, I must say. Folks got together younger and stayed together. There wasn’t all this – what do you call it – garbage?’

  ‘Baggage.’

  ‘Ah, that’s it. Baggage. You just met someone local at a dance or somewhere, like me and Achsah, and you courted for a while and then you got married. For most people, if you weren’t married by the time you were twenty-five then you were on the shelf. And very few people got divorced – they couldn’t afford it for one thing – so you just shuffled along together, taking the rough with the smooth. Mind, it was mostly all smooth with my Achsah. She was one in a million.’

  Frankie reached out to pat his arm, then realised she couldn’t touch him and withdrew her hand. ‘Oh, Ernie, I’m so sorry. And sometimes I wish I’d been born in your era. It all sounds so much simpler.’

  Ernie chuckled. ‘Well, it was in one way, but we all only know what we know, don’t we? I think young Dexter is a smashing bloke and I think you should trust him. Just my opinion, of course. I don’t know what it
is that bothers you about him.’

  Loads of other women, Frankie thought, and far too many secrets, and something awful that happened in Oxford, and someone he loved madly, truly, deeply, and the fact that he’s just an all-round drop-dead gorgeous bad boy who will break my heart – again.

  She smiled at Ernie. ‘Oh, let’s change the subject. I’ll drive myself mad if I keep thinking about it. But I still wish I’d been born years ago and met him at a dance like you and Achsah and didn’t have all these things to dig away at.’

  Ernie sighed. ‘I hope it all works out right for you, Frankie, honest I do. Like I hope it works out for me and Achsah. Oh, I ain’t complaining. I know you’ll get us sorted out before too long. I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck in finding someone?’

  ‘None, I’m afraid. Both Dexter and I have been looking up people on the internet.’

  ‘That’s the computer thingy, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is. We’re trying really hard. It’s just finding someone who’s genuine and who we can trust. I’m sure we’ll find someone. Er, where are the others, by the way?’ Frankie looked hopeful. ‘Have they – gone?’

  ‘No, duck.’ Ernie chuckled. ‘They’re as earthbound as I am, so they’re still here. But, being more developed, spiritually speaking, than me, they’re planning to have a bit of a Christmas party. They don’t celebrate it in the afterlife, apparently, but I think it’s all the lights and the glitter and the excitement down here that’s got to them. They’re making party things right now.’

  Frankie frowned. ‘So they can touch things and hold things, and you can’t?’

  ‘That’s about it. The newly dead are pretty useless at most things to start with, so Bev says. We can do a bit of vanishing and a spot of astral transportation, but not much more than that. One good thing about this haunting business, I’ve learned a lot of what I can expect, from Bev and Jared. They’ve been really helpful explaining stuff. Ruby and Gertie have been less helpful. They’re still just thrilled to bits to have lots of dresses to look at and, well, between you and me, duck, they scare me.’

  ‘You’re a ghost.’ Frankie giggled. ‘You can’t be frightened of other ghosts.’

  ‘But Ruby and Gertie – they look a bit, well, dead, duck, if you get my drift.’

  Frankie bit her lip. Ernie was right. He and Bev and even Jared looked relatively normal for dead people, but Ruby, and particularly Gertie, certainly looked rather creepy, even properly dressed. Especially in a full light.

  ‘So, this party,’ Frankie asked, ‘does it involve playing games? Murder in the dark?’

  ‘Not even funny, duck.’ Ernie grinned. ‘And as we don’t eat or drink then it sounds pretty pointless to me. Never mind, it’ll pass the time until you come back and get me and my Achsah reunited.’

  Frankie sighed to herself. Ernie still had this absolute faith in her, and she was beginning to think that maybe it was completely misplaced. Maybe Ernie would never be set free. Oh no, too awful to even think about …

  ‘We’ll, as long as you don’t start partying until this afternoon,’ Frankie said, ‘I don’t mind. I’m closing at two and going straight home to my mum and dad. I don’t think anyone will be wanting a frock this afternoon.’

  ‘But they might this morning.’ Ernie motioned his grizzled head towards the door. ‘Looks like you’ve got a couple of customers already. I’ll just make myself scarce.’

  And he did.

  Frankie smiled at the two women. ‘Hello, Happy Christmas.’

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ they chorused. ‘Blimey, it’s bitter out there – it’s got to snow soon. The wind’s coming dead from the north-east. Lovely if we had a proper white Christmas this year, wouldn’t it?’

  Frankie nodded. ‘I’d love it, but not until I’ve shut up shop and driven home this afternoon.’

  And then, she thought, it can all thaw again in three days’ time so I can get back to Kingston Dapple easily. Which was a pretty silly thought, because Dexter was probably not even going to be opening the flower stall until after New Year anyway, was he?

  ‘Oh, sorry, what did you say?’

  The younger of the women chuckled. ‘I just said we popped in on the off chance to see if you’ve got anything really slinky for a last-minute party tonight. We’ve tried everywhere else – must have done every shop in Berkshire yesterday – and it’s all for size zero teenagers. Sadly, we’re far too old for knicker-high net skirts.’

  Frankie laughed. ‘I don’t think we have anything like that, although we have some lovely nineteen sixties minidresses. But we do have some really gorgeous cocktail frocks that might be just what you’re looking for – they’re all on the appropriate decade rails, starting with the nineteen fifties over there – oh, er … ’

  Jared, still in his favoured purple, but now with something in scarlet and embellished with baubles wrapped turbanlike round his head, making him look like a gay Carmen Miranda, was salsaing round the frock rails.

  The two women didn’t seem to notice, and were soon rattling through the dresses with cries of appreciation.

  ‘Happy Christmas, dear heart,’ Jared cried, frolicking across the shop towards her. ‘And I must say you look absolutely ravishing in that emerald green. Ravishing.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Frankie hissed, ‘and please go away while I’ve got customers – and what are you wearing on your head?’

  ‘It’s my Christmas bonnet.’ Jared struck a pose. ‘Bev said we had to wear party hats, so I made my own. It’s from a nineteen nineties frock – I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No, not really, as long as you’re happy, but, please, keep out of sight. They don’t seem to be able to see you but—’

  ‘Underdeveloped sensory perception.’ Jared pouted. ‘So much of it about these days. No one uses all their lobes any more, poppet. So sad.’

  ‘Yes, whatever – Oh, look, more customers. Go away!’

  ‘Will do, sweet thing.’ Jared blew her a kiss and disappeared.

  The two original women, both clutching several frocks, had dived into a fitting room, and three more eager last-minute frock-shoppers took their place.

  For a moment Frankie was sorry that she’d given Cherish Christmas Eve off. It had seemed pointless for Cherish to come in, she’d thought, on a day when she was closing early anyway, and surely everyone in the world would be thinking of anything other than buying dresses.

  But it seemed not.

  Making sure that Cherish realised her days off would be paid for, and handing her a small wrapped present – a pretty diary and notebook set with a rather nice pen because Cherish seemed like the sort of person who wrote things down a lot – the previous day, Frankie had been touched when Cherish had kissed her and, with tears in her eyes, had thanked her profusely for letting her work in the shop.

  Then she’d handed Frankie a beautifully wrapped-in-robins-and-holly box. ‘Just a small token, dear. Have a lovely Christmas.’

  ‘You too.’ Frankie had taken the box which smelled strongly of bath cubes. ‘And thank you very much for this. I’ll keep it until Christmas morning. Thank you for all your help, I honestly couldn’t have managed without you. I’ll see you on the twenty-eighth.’

  ‘You will dear. You will.’ And Cherish had practically scampered from the shop.

  ‘We’ll take these.’ The women had just emerged from the fitting room. ‘They’re perfect, love. Perfect. We’d heard about your shop from a friend and thought it couldn’t be as good as she said, but it is.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Frankie laughed, then she stopped.

  Ernie, looking anguished, was standing at the end of the counter, pointing at the frocks.

  Frankie, horrified, looked down at Achsah’s wedding dress, then at the customer. ‘Oh, I’m really sorry, you can’t have this one.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’ The woman looked annoyed. ‘It fits like a dream. It’s exactly what I was looking for.’

  Ernie had his hands over his face in abject misery.


  ‘Because, er, it’s already promised to someone.’ Frankie pulled it across the counter. ‘I’m really sorry, it shouldn’t even be on the rails.’

  ‘But I want it,’ the woman insisted, pulling it back again. ‘I’ve searched high and low for something like this.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Frankie grabbed the frock and exchanged appalled looks with Ernie. ‘I should have, um, put a sold ticket on it, or put it in the back room or something.’

  ‘Yes, you should,’ the woman snapped, tugging Achsah’s dress back again. ‘What sort of shop is this? A frock shop where you can’t buy the frocks? Just when I was thinking I’d become a regular customer. No, it’s got to be this one.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Frankie said firmly, pulling the frock back across the counter in a sort of tug of war, ‘but it honestly isn’t for sale. Please, go and have a look for something else. Choose another dress, and you can have it for half price.’

  ‘Can’t grumble at that,’ the second woman said grudgingly. ‘Go on, Rose. Go and try that bright pink one on again.’

  ‘I don’t want bright pink.’ Rose frowned mutinously. Frankie almost expected her to stamp her foot or roll on the floor having a leg-kicking tantrum at any moment. ‘I want that one.’

  Frankie sighed. ‘I do apologise. Look, I’m delighted that you’ve found dresses you like, and obviously I want you to come back again – please, try the pink one again, and if you like it, you can have it.’

  ‘Have it?’ Rose looked doubtful. ‘For free?’

  ‘For free,’ Frankie agreed. ‘It’s the least I can do to rectify my mistake.’

  ‘OK,’ Rose said, finally mollified, and with a last lingering look at Achsah’s cream shantung frock, headed for the rails again.

  Ernie, beaming again, watched happily as Frankie placed Achsah’s frock carefully behind the counter.