by T J Price
Before she could stop herself, Carla had asked whether there was anyone else in his life now.
‘Maybe,’ he said in a low voice that was full of dark, wondrous hints.
Carla had oscillated between hope and despair ever since. Their meetings were bliss, their partings hell. Carla was sure that, despite his brave front, David had been so hurt he was afraid to show his real feelings. She almost trembled in her bed now as she recalled her resolve to declare her love soon. There wasn’t much time, the court proceedings would be over by the end of the month. She would win and Philip would pay up the money, as agreed. After that, she would sell Romance and with the proceeds from the sale, and Philip’s bribe, she would have enough capital to begin again.
To that end, she had asked David to look over different franchise contracts and assess them for her. He was going to give her his report tomorrow. Perhaps that would be her best opportunity – or maybe she was being too hasty. And yet, after the court case, every connection between them would be severed.
Oh, the notion was crushing. No! She had to tell him what she felt today . . .
Just then, a muffled bump from downstairs interrupted her tremulous meditations.
Carla strained her ears. She caught something like a voice, and then another. Half fearful and half eager, she slipped out of bed and picked up the extra-powerful air rifle – one of Gwynne’s – which she kept propped against the dressing table – and, having loaded this and pumped it up to maximum strength, she left the room and crept downstairs in the dark.
Light was shining from under the kitchen door at the end of the hallway. She could hear two voices now and although she recognised the more stupid-sounding one as Gwynne’s, she nevertheless stalked up to the door like she was going to burst through and kill someone.
At the very last moment she took her finger off the trigger and stole through into the kitchen.
Gwynne was slouched at the table and a big-boned young woman was poking through the cupboards, emitting a simpering burble as she went.
‘Alright, Carl!’ Gwynne yelled when he saw her, breaking out into a sottish grin. The woman turned with the least-rapid surprise Carla had ever seen, and presented a large, dozy face.
‘Hi!’ She whinnied.
Carla put the safety on the rifle. ‘Evening.’
‘This is Louisa, Carl,’ Gwynne slurred with a shapeless grin.
Carla sighed and leaned the rifle against the fridge. ‘Gwynne’s told me all about you.’ She stepped up to Louisa with her hand extended. ‘I’m Carla, pleased to meet you.’
Louisa dragged her eyes away from the rifle, examined Carla’s hand and put her own into it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
Pumping her hand, Carla answered, ‘Don’t mention it . . . what for?’
‘We obviously disturbed you. And you must think I’m mooching through your cupboards.’ Louisa said.
‘Yeah, Carl,’ Gwynne hollered from all away across the other end of the kitchen, ‘where’s the coffee?’
Carla let go of Louisa’s hand and took a step back to look her up and down.
So, this was the idiot who had Gwynne for a new boyfriend. Without turning to him she said, ‘It was your turn to buy some more and that’s why there isn’t any here.’ She smiled at Louisa. ‘But I’ll brew you some tea, if you want. I fancy a cuppa myself.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Go on, sit down.’
Carla grabbed the kettle and started to fill it at the sink. ‘So, Gwynne tells me your father makes aeroplanes,’ she said over her shoulder.
‘Daddy is an aeronautical engineer,’ Louisa tittered from the table. Greater proximity to Gwynne had reduced her IQ still further.
Carla connected the kettle. A depressing reality was dawning upon her now as she set the cups out and dropped a tea bag into each of them. Louisa had that air of brainlessness and that cut-glass accent that characterised the typical customer of Romance.
Gwynne had gone native.
She took the milk from the fridge and poured some in each cup and then, steeling herself, she turned to face the happy pair.
They weren’t smooching.
Thank God!
Gwynne already had his hands full, propping his head up off the table, while Louisa sat adjacent, demure in a rock-solid sort of way and watched Carla with benign curiosity.
‘Tea will be better for him than coffee. It’ll stop him dehydrating in the night. You don’t want that,’ Carla said. She frowned. ‘You are staying over, aren’t you, Louisa?’
‘The train at Thames Ditton – ’ Louisa began, but Carla halted her with a raised hand. She understood and sympathised.
‘Say no more.’
A silence developed, broken only by the singing of the kettle.
Without warning Louisa broke out, ‘I like your rifle!’
‘It’s mine, Lou,’ Gwynne splattered, full of pride.
‘I thought you might be burglars,’ Carla explained, stifling a yawn.
‘Is it a legal rifle?’ Louisa asked.
‘It’s only an air gun, not a proper rifle, lover,’ Gwynne confessed bitterly. He dragged his arms back, setting the ugly head they were supporting into a more upright position. ‘Though the fact is, it isn’t legal,’ he added, rallying a little. ‘Because it’s fitted with an extra powerful spring.’
‘Ah,’ Louisa said.
‘It can kill at close range,’ Carla chipped in. Then she scowled at Gwynne, her voice heavy with suspicion. ‘It can, can’t it?’
‘Yeah!’ He protested in defence of his impeccable honesty.
‘Have you been burgled often?’ Louisa asked.
‘Never!’ Carla spat with disgust. ‘We’ve got nothing worth nicking, have we? A load of plants, that’s all.’
‘I was thinking of the takings.’
‘Huh, some hope. This place is dead on its feet. That’s why the burglars don’t come. They can smell failure a mile off.’
‘But it’s so lovely,’ Louisa neighed in distress. ‘Romance!’
The kettle boiled as Carla and Gwynne guffawed.
‘Trust her, she knows,’ Gwynne confided to Louisa. ‘This place is a dog.’ Smiling, Carla turned away and attended to the tea. She heard Gwynne add, in a loud, loud whisper, ‘Carla’s going for a hardware franchise in Milton Keynes.’
There was no verbal response to this from Louisa.
When the tea was ready Carla took the cups to the table and set them out.
‘Sugar, Louisa?’
Louisa’s face was still clouded. ‘No, thank you.’
Carla fetched the sugar bowl and spoon from the work top and placed them in the middle of the table. Gwynne lurched into action, grabbing the spoon and heaping sugar into his tea.
‘Leave some for me, pig!’ Carla yelled as she sat down. Then she giggled and smiled at Louisa. ‘We’ve both got a bit of a sweet tooth.’
Louisa’s expression brightened. ‘Sweet by nature.’
‘I’ll get another packet when I get the coffee,’ Gwynne slopped and slurred, giving Carla the spoon.
‘You already sound like you ain’t got no teeth left,’ she observed happily as she spooned sugar into her tea. ‘Never mind, that lets the beer sluice through quicker, doesn’t it?’ She beamed at Louisa. ‘You’re not a drinker, are you?’
‘Hardly at all.’
‘Me neither,’ Carla said. She picked her tea up and slurped. Gwynne began to slurp too. Carla gave him a dirty look and then exchanged a covert smile of female camaraderie with Louisa.
Louisa responded with, ‘But I can’t believe you want to sell Romance.’
Carla stopped mid slurp. Hadn’t she already covered that subject from every angle? ‘Maybe it is a mistake,’ she said, to be nice, ‘but events have taken over. I’ll be finalising a franchise tomorrow, and then I’ll have to put this place on the market soon. Of course, you’re right,’ she added with perfect equanimity, ‘it might be the worst mistake of my life.’
Gwynne rinsed his mouth out with more tea and leered. ‘Carl’ll be okay. She’s got her very own financial advisor.’
‘Oh?’
‘He’s a top-notch lawyer too,’ Carla said with an almost girlish pride. It sounded odd to her, this girlish pride of hers. Unnatural.
‘Oh, super,’ Louisa said.
‘Yeah,’ Carla cleared her throat and spoke more gruffly. ‘He’s making sure I get the best deal. Like I’ll be able to buy out the new shop after a certain time. The franchise companies didn’t like that, but David drives a hard bargain.’
‘David sounds nice,’ Louisa tittered, provoking a double-take from Carla. But Louisa’s smirk was already gone. ‘So anyway, if you asked him, couldn’t David give you some good advice on making Romance more profitable?’
‘I said he was a top-notch lawyer, I didn’t say he was Jesus Christ.’
‘But surely you don’t need Jesus Christ,’ Louisa persevered. ‘I mean, Kew is a wonderful location for a florist’s shop.’
‘Milton Keynes is an even better location for an ironmonger’s.’
‘Yes, but you’re already here. You have to move to Milton Keynes and that costs money, I should think.’
Carla considered this. ‘Yes, you have a point there – except, getting out of this dump will be worth every penny. On the other hand, I like what you’re saying about Kew being a good location. See, I’ll have to start talking this place up when the buyers come round. Okay, every word’s going to stick in my throat, but I’ve got to try.’
‘Well, I shouldn’t mind buying it, for a start,’ Louisa panted.
Gwynne, who had powered-down for a while, was now thrashing about like he was about to drown. ‘Lou! Lou! No!’ He gasped.
‘Hey,’ Louisa murmured, stroking his arm. ‘Be careful.’
‘Are you choking?’ Carla enquired, before taking a delicate sip of tea.
Gwynne gulped and flopped about like a stranded fish, but in the end he managed to draw breath again. ‘Lou,’ he coughed and wheezed, ‘you mustn’t say things like that. This place sucks.’
Carla broke out into a hearty laugh.
Louisa kept petting Gwynne. ‘But why don’t we talk to Carla’s financial advisor? See what he thinks?’
Carla started. ‘No you won’t!’ At that, Louisa stopped petting Gwynne and settled her steady, bovine gaze upon Carla, causing the blood to tingle in her cheeks. ‘What I mean is,’ she muttered in confusion, ‘it’d be a conflict of interest.’
Louisa began to smile – very, very slowly.
Gwynne said, ‘That’s right. Carla and this guy have got a thing going on. Deep shit I can’t even talk about.’
Louisa’s brows arched and the smile became more knowing.
Carla’s toes curled in her slippers. ‘What he means is,’ she explained, biting the words out, ‘David’s a family friend.’ Carla glared at Gwynne, willing him to open his big fat mouth. ‘He only helps family. Our family.’
‘But that’s not going to be a problem for me, is it?’ Louisa simpered at Gwynne.
Gwynne’s two-inch brow corrugated for a moment. Then he erupted. ‘Yo, that’s right! Carl, we’re getting married!’
Carla hadn’t been drinking her tea, but she almost choked to death anyway. ‘Come off it!’
‘Straight up, it’s true! Ain’t it, Lou?’
Louisa laughed, ‘Of course it is, silly.’
Carla gaped at her. Then she managed to speak. Her tone was mechanical, like a robot’s – the old fashioned kind of robot that works off gears and valves. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you,’ Louisa mewed with pleasure.
‘No, you’re welcome,’ Carla added, floundering. Beyond expletives, was there really anything else to add?
Hell’s bells – there was something!
‘But if you’re getting married, Gwynne, you can’t both of you live with me in Milton Keynes.’
‘That’s what I thought – thank fucking God!’
‘Never mind,’ Carla commiserated, ‘you’ll find it so much easier to buy something around here with a partner, won’t you?’
Gwynne’s soused grin vanished. He quivered with emotion. ‘But we’re not buying this place!’ He turned to Louisa, and more calmly reiterated his reasoning. ‘Because, sweetie, we’d be cutting our own throats, see?’
Carla wasn’t so anxious about them cutting their own throats, but having realised this marriage was the ideal way of getting shut of Gwynne, the last thing she wanted was for them to argue and break up. Not yet.
‘That’s right, Louisa,’ she assured her. ‘And you being a part of the family now, like you say, I wouldn’t advise you wrong, would I? This place would be a total liability for you.’
Louisa’s docile gaze softened. ‘Of course, you would know that better than I would. Even so, it’s such a pity.’
‘Yes, it is a pity,’ Carla said, ‘but on the positive side, Louisa, as you are going to be a member of the family now, I can speak to David and ask him to find you the best deal on a mortgage, and arrange the legal stuff for you too. He’s so great like that, you know.’
‘Is he?’ Louisa asked, her knowing smile was back.
‘But you have to get married. I mean to Gwynne. Anyone else and the deal’s off.’
‘Oh, for sure,’ Louisa hastened to agree.
Carla glared at Gwynne, who was frowning at his tea, troubled by this talk of David. She barked, ‘So you’re going to be nice and friendly with David, aren’t you?’
Gwynne glared back. ‘Why friendly?’
‘Gwynne!’ Louisa mooed. ‘It’s a really fantastic idea. Free financial advice saves us money twice over.’
Instead of provoking him to louder petulance and greater obstinacy, which was Carla’s experience over the past twenty-five years of trying to reason with her brother, Gwynne’s reaction was all meek agreement. ‘Yeah, go on then.’
Carla could have slapped him.
‘It’s so good of you to help us like this, Carla,’ Louisa said.
‘Well, I’m just relieved to be gaining a sister . . . it’s got to be better than gaining a brother.’ She wondered at this new and sentimental side to her personality – such is the transforming power of love!
Louisa was filling up. ‘Thank you.’
Gwynne, who had been filled to overflowing hours ago, now arrived at the maudlin stage.
‘Carl’s a great girl,’ he spattered. ‘And I tell you this, babe,’ he clamped a huge, bony, comforting hand over Louisa’s shoulder, partly to support himself, ‘if there’s some problem down the line with the old tubes and stuff, then don’t worry – Carl here will stand in. She’s done it before. Only for us it won’t cost no five thousand, will it, Carl? . . . Carl? . . . Carl!’
Carla was rising to her feet. Gwynne fell silent with awe as she leaned forward and drew back her right arm. Way, way back, at the shoulder, so she could give Gwynne the almightiest clout across the chops. And most obligingly, Gwynne’s chops went all slack as he gawped up at her.
Time became suspended. Tension drenched the air.
And then Carla brought her left hand forward and gave Louisa’s arm a gentle squeeze.
She spoke woman to woman. ‘Louisa, dear, he’s started to ramble and lose the plot. Best get him tucked up now, eh?’
Louisa’s bust hitched up a notch with motherly responsibility. ‘I will, Carla.’
Carla nodded, turned, picked her rifle up and went to the kitchen door. She paused to look back. ‘Nighty night.’
‘Nightly night,’ Louisa breathed.
Gwynne didn’t answer or even seem to hear. He gripped the edge of the table and gawked at the rifle, which Carla had angled to point straight at his sweaty forehead. And with that uplifting image in mind, Carla turned away and pretty well skipped back up the stairs.
Fourteen:
Nomance
Gwynne woke at dawn.
His pillow always got harder than his head after an evening on the booze.
Louisa lay beside him, fast asleep. She liked to get a good nine hours a night. While he listened to her, working hard at filtering all the oxygen out of the room, he waited with great patience for the agony at the back of his skull to become unendurable as it rested on what felt like a bag of stale cement.
When it did become unendurable he vented a melancholic sigh, got to his feet and stumped around for a bit, snatching his clothes up from the floor. He slipped out the door and crossed the landing into the bathroom, where he put the light on and looked at himself in the mirrored door of the wall cabinet.
He vented another sigh – more melancholic than the first.
‘Oh, fucking hell.’
Then he took a shower, dressed and left the bathroom to go downstairs. But he hesitated on the landing when he noticed light shining from under Carla’s bedroom door.
What had brought him up short was the sudden recollection that in a month’s time he might well be homeless. For some reason last night that had not seemed to matter at all, but right now he found himself wanting to clarify the situation without delay.
He went over to Carla’s door and tapped at it with just one knuckle, the way his hangover was telling him to.