Belle was in her room doing homework, so Rory closed all the doors to the sitting room; she didn’t want the acrid smell of the paint stripper travelling upstairs. Belle had come home full of a story about something Alfie – her boyfriend – had done in Maths. Now Rory knew about her boyfriend, he dominated their conversations. Rory knew Alfie’s favourite colour, what he liked to eat, how hilariously funny he was. But she still hadn’t met him. She’d shooed away Sheila’s suggestion that she invite him over: “It’s not the Victorian age, Mum. He’s not about to send a calling card.” But she might feel less concerned if she’d seen him in the flesh.
She’d painted a section of the fireplace with the paint stripper. The instructions said to leave it as long as possible without letting it dry. This was the problem with all these DIY instructions – they were too vague. What was wrong with giving an exact time? Should she sit here and watch it? The doorbell rang.
It was John. ‘Hi, I got some more of that wire wool that you need for… are you all right?’
Maybe it was the rush of fresh air after the chemical fumes of the paint stripper. Maybe it was the sight of John in a bottle green shirt and dark jeans. Maybe it was the smell of his aftershave doing something funny to her insides. Whatever it was, John swam before Rory’s eyes and she had to grab hold of the arm he offered her. ‘I just need a minute.’
John tilted his head backwards and smelled the air. ‘What is that smell? Have you started on the fireplace? Please tell me you had all the windows and doors open when you used that stuff? It’s toxic! Can I…?’ He pointed at the sitting room door. Rory nodded and stood aside.
When he pushed the door open, he pulled his head back, grimacing at the smell. ‘No wonder you feel strange. I’m surprised it didn’t knock you out.’
He covered his nose and mouth with his hand and walked around the entire downstairs of the house, opening any windows and doors. He was right. The smell was very strong. Somehow, Rory hadn’t noticed it so much whilst she’d been painting it on. Then she remembered the instructions and called out: ‘You’re not supposed to let the paint dry.’
He came back to the hallway. ‘Is that what you’ve been doing? Watching paint dry?’ His face broke into a grin. It was infectious.
‘That’s what my life has come to. It’s Friday night and I’m watching paint dry!’ The more Rory thought about this, the funnier it seemed. She couldn’t stop the laughter.
John was watching her. ‘You’ve got a great laugh, you know.’
Well, that stopped her. They stood in silence for a moment. Then Belle’s head appeared over the bannister. ‘What are you two laughing about?’
John was still looking at her. Rory coughed. ‘Nothing, I was just about to make John a drink. Do you want one?’
Belle put a hand over her mouth. ‘Yes, please. What is that stink? I’m going back upstairs.’
Rory held her breath through the sitting room and closed the kitchen door behind them. ‘Speaking of Friday night, you look like you’re on your way out.’
John looked down at his clothes as if he hadn’t seen them before. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting a couple of mates for a drink later, but I’m not really in the mood. I could stay and help you with the fireplace?’
‘Don’t be daft. I was only going to have a go at a bit of it anyway, and you’ll ruin your shirt.’ It was very odd to see John in his real clothes. He’d shaved too, and he smelled good. Why did she have that weird feeling when she looked at him? Maybe it was the paint fumes.
‘I’ve got overalls in the van. We can make a start together, at least.’
Together? That word made Rory’s stomach flip. ‘Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind…’
He didn’t need asking twice.
By the time Rory had made the tea and taken a cup to Belle, John had his overalls on and was scratching away at the orange paint with the wire wool he’d brought. ‘Who lived in this house before you? Turquoise cornice, pink walls, orange fireplace – Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz?’
Rory kneeled beside him and started to scrape. ‘I would say, you should see my bedroom, but you already have.’ Instantly, she wanted to cram the words back into her mouth. It sounded like she was flirting with him. Was she flirting with him? Did she want to flirt with him? Quick, say something else. Anything. ‘I’m not really in the mood to go out tonight, either. But I’ve got to: my friend is having some problems at work.’
John nodded. ‘It’s good to support your friends. You’re a good person.’
He needed to stop complimenting her. Her insides couldn’t stand it. ‘I’m not sure about that. But it’s nice to help people. Like you. You like helping people.’ That wasn’t flirtatious. Was it?
John looked up at her. ‘I like helping some people.’
The alarm started to beep on Rory’s phone. How was it seven o’clock? ‘I need to go and get ready. Susie won’t be happy if I’m late.’ Rory hadn’t been looking forward to going out tonight anyway, but now it was the last thing on Earth she wanted to do. She’d much rather stay here, drink tea and scrape away at pumpkin orange paint with John. Together.
John turned his eyes back to the wire wool. ‘Of course. Of course. You go and get ready, I’ll just finish this last corner bit.’
* * *
‘You look great, Mum!’ Belle was coming out of the bathroom when Rory emerged from her bedroom. ‘You haven’t worn that dress in ages. It looks good on you.’ Her eyes carried on down to Rory’s feet. ‘Oh my G… What the heck are those shoes?’
Rory looked at the inoffensive black pumps she had chosen to wear. They might have to stand at the bar and she’d already been on her feet all day. ‘What’s wrong with them? They match the dress.’
‘They might be the same colour, but they are not a match.’ Belle looked disgusted. ‘What about your black heels?’
‘Too high.’ Rory shook her head. ‘They’re only good for dinner parties, when you get to spend most of the evening sitting down.’ Even then, they made her feet throb. Was she moving into the ‘dressing for comfort’ stage of her life? Did she even care?
‘Hold on.’ Belle disappeared back into her bedroom and returned with a pair of glittery black shoes with a small heel. ‘You can wear these. They’re really comfortable. Honestly.’
Rory was dubious, but she didn’t like to turn her daughter down. ‘That heel looks a little thin.’
Belle nudged Rory back into her bedroom and onto the bed. ‘Just sit down and put them on.’
Once Rory had her shoes on, she did a twirl for her daughter’s approval. This was the first time she had borrowed something of Belle’s. It felt like an important moment. She wanted to pull her towards her and breathe her in.
But Belle was heading back to her own bedroom. Rory followed and watched her packing a rucksack. Where did she think she was going? ‘What are you doing, Belle?’
‘I’m going to Fiona’s for a few hours.’
‘But your gran’s coming. I’ve asked her to keep you company.’ Rory had learned the hard way to no longer use the word ‘babysitting’.
Belle turned, her face thunderous. ‘Mum! I’m sixteen! I’ve told you I don’t need looking after.’
Rory didn’t want to spoil the evening. ‘I know that, but I’m going to be back late. You might get lonely.’ If only Belle could understand how young sixteen really was.
‘I’ve made plans now. Tell Gran she doesn’t need to come.’
‘But I won’t be here when you get home.’
Belle shrugged. ‘I’ll be all right. Look, I’ll call you when I get home just to confirm that I haven’t been abducted or murdered.’
Rory turned to go. She would have been a lot happier knowing that Belle was home, with or without Sheila, rather than letting herself into an empty house later tonight. She could put her foot down. Demand that Belle stay at home. But what argument would she have? Belle was sixteen. Why should she stay home?
No one prepared you for this when you
had children. The nappies and lack of sleep had been bad, but at least she’d known where Belle was at all times in those days. Not knowing was much worse. The bigger the child, the bigger the problems. Was it time to give her daughter a bit of freedom?
John had slipped off his overalls and was waiting for her with his van keys in his hand. ‘I can drop you off in town if you like? I’m going that way anyway.’
* * *
John’s van was surprisingly comfortable and warm. Rory’s dad’s old blue van had been a museum piece compared to this.
‘Do you realise that this is the first time I have ever been in a white van?’
John pretended to doff his cap. ‘I am very honoured to be your first. If we had the time, I could show you what she can do. Top speeds of 60mph are not unheard of.’
Rory rang Sheila on the way. Sheila was disappointed not to be needed, but she did have some news.
‘I visited the new lady. I saw her husband go out with a shopping bag, so I went up to their flat. She was lovely, but very vague. She asked if I wanted a cup of tea and then brought me back a mug of juice. George, that’s her husband, had gone somewhere but she wasn’t sure where.’
Rory wanted to hear about this, but she also wanted to get off the phone, so she could talk to John. ‘Did she say anything else?’
‘We’d barely started talking when I heard his key in the lock. He was surprised to see me, I suppose, so I tried to explain that I was just visiting to welcome them to the building, but I’m pretty sure I looked as guilty as hell. He looked worried when he saw my mug and asked her if she’d made me a hot drink. Quite abrupt, he was. Then he thanked me for visiting and almost shuffled me out of the flat.’
Rory bit her lips together to stop herself from interrupting. Once her mum was mid-flow, there was no stopping her.
‘I’ll be honest with you; my mind was doing cartwheels. By the time I was talking to Barb over a game of whist in the lounge later – she’d just wound up Flo by telling her that we were practising our cards because we were going to invite Sid to play strip poker – I had practically decided that he was keeping the poor woman prisoner. I feel terrible now I know the truth.’
Rory couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘Which is?’
‘Olive has Alzheimer’s. George came and found me in the lounge to tell me. He wanted to apologise and explain. Apparently, she’s had it for a few years, but it’s got to a point where she can’t be left alone for long. That’s why they’ve moved to Seymour House. He couldn’t look after their bungalow and her at the same time.’
Rory didn’t want to rush Sheila, but it was rude to be talking on the phone like John was her taxi driver. ‘That’s really sad. The poor man. And Olive.’
Sheila nodded. ‘I didn’t tell him what I had been suspecting, but I felt terrible. He seems a very nice man and it must be difficult. I invited him to poker night but he said it’s a bit tricky with Olive, although if she was having a good day, maybe they could come together. I offered to sit with Olive sometimes too, so that he could go out and do some shopping or even just go for a walk. But he thinks she wouldn’t like to be left with someone she didn’t know.’
‘That’s really nice of you, Mum. It’ll be good to make more friends there, too.’
Sheila laughed. ‘You sound like me when you started school! Is this the beginning of you treating me like a child?’
‘Of course not.’ But this was the exact same feeling that Rory had had when she’d put on Belle’s shoes earlier. Roles changing. Time moving. Stages reaching. She wasn’t ready for any of it. ‘I’ve got to go now, Mum. I’ll call you in the week.’
‘Everything all right with your mum?’ John glanced across at her.
‘Yeah. All good.’ But Rory couldn’t say the same for herself. Time to shake herself out of this mood. Penny needed cheering up. Deep breath. Happy thoughts. It would be fine when she got there.
Chapter Thirteen
Rory and Susie were both teachers. They both enjoyed reading, a glass of wine, a good laugh. But there, the similarities ended. And taste in men? They were on different planets.
Susie most definitely went for brawn over brain. Or muscles over mind. Or packaging over contents. However you wanted to describe it, her predilections in the men department were based at a primeval level. Which is why, Rory believed, they never seemed to last.
When Rory arrived, it was obvious that Susie had had a few drinks before she came out. ‘You’re here!’ She enveloped Rory in a hug. ‘Just in time. We need a rational voice. So far we have considered, A: framing Nathan for stealing school funds, or B: killing him. What are your thoughts?’
Penny sighed. ‘Lovely though it would be to staple him slowly to his own desk, I think we need to accept that he is going to be here for the duration, and think about how we can live through it.’
‘Have you spoken to Derek?’ Rory couldn’t imagine their amiable headteacher letting anyone bully his staff.
Penny nodded. ‘He was really nice to me, but says his hands are tied by the governors. They are the ones who employed Nathan and they love him, apparently. He’s going to have a word with Nathan, but he didn’t look too confident about it.’
Rory squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll fight this, don’t you worry.’
‘What’s all this talk of fighting, ladies?’ asked a man who had joined them at the bar. ‘Who has upset you? Just tell me.’
Susie whipped around on her bar stool, crossed her short but shapely legs, and gave him her brightest smile. ‘No one worth boring you with. You don’t look like the fighting type to me.’
He held his hands up in surrender. ‘You’ve got me. I’m a lover, not a fighter.’ He dropped one of his hands, took Susie’s and kissed it. ‘Although for you, I would make an exception.’ Susie looked ecstatic. Rory wanted to throw up. ‘I’m sitting over there with my friend. Why don’t you come over and join us?’
Before Rory could open her mouth to say that they were in the middle of something, Susie had pulled a reluctant Penny out of her seat and was dragging her over. ‘Follow!’ Susie hissed at Rory.
The rest of the evening was a predictable cocktail of flirting and innuendo. Rory only got through it by drinking. And drinking some more. Eventually, she realised that she wasn’t even part of the conversation any more. Susie was talking to one of the Chuckle Brothers and Penny, albeit less enthusiastically, was talking to the other. Far from being disappointed by this, Rory welcomed it as a good time to leave.
She put her hand on Penny’s arm and waited for her to stop laughing politely at whatever had just been said. ‘I’m going to head off.’
Penny turned around in her stool and held Rory’s arms. ‘Oh no! Please don’t go!’ She lowered her voice. ‘Don’t leave me here on my own. We’ll go back over to where we were if you’re bored here.’
Rory waved her hand hazily. ‘No, I’m not bored,’ she lied. ‘Just tired. All the work at the house – it’s taking it out of me. You stay and enjoy yourselves. There’s a taxi rank outside. I’ll be fine.’
But Rory had timed her exit badly. The rank had a very long queue and there didn’t seem to be any sign of a cab. The house was only about a forty-five-minute power walk away, though, and it would do her good to get some fresh air. There was DIY to be done in the morning, and she could do without a hangover for company.
For the first ten minutes, the walk was quite pleasant. There were plenty of people milling around on a Friday night. She felt completely safe. As she left the town centre, though, the streets emptied out, and walking didn’t feel like such a good idea any more. Then it started to rain.
Rory was cross with herself. She’d have killed Belle for walking home alone at this time of night, and here she was doing exactly that. What a great role model. With any luck, Belle would be in bed and wouldn’t see her mother falling in the (now fixed) front door, soaking wet and inebriated. Rory had done her very best to show her daughter what a single, independent woman should be like, and t
his wasn’t the picture she wanted to paint.
When Rory had been Belle’s age, her dad would always come and pick her up from any night out. He’d insisted upon it, often to her embarrassment. She would make him promise to wait around the corner, so that her friends didn’t find out that she wasn’t allowed to walk home on her own. She wished her dad was here to call now.
With the rain, the alcohol and the reminiscing, Rory’s mind wasn’t on her feet. When the road became darker, she picked up the pace and almost immediately lost her balance. As her foot slid sideways, it became a slapstick comedy routine as she tried to right herself, failed, tried again, and then hit the floor. Snapping the heel clean off her shoe in the process. Worse. Belle’s shoe.
Uncharacteristically, tears pricked her eyes. The events of the last week had been mounting up on her: the house, Nathan Finch, Charlie’s disappearance. And now she was sat in a puddle, with rainwater seeping into her knickers. Wrenching the stupid shoe from her foot, she threw it into the nearest bush, then dropped her face into her hands and indulged in what her mother would call a ‘good cry’.
‘Rory?’
Looking through running black mascara, Rory saw a large white van pulled over next to where she was sprawled. ‘John?’
John Prince switched on his hazard lights and jumped out, holding out his hands to help her up. ‘What happened? Are you all right?’
Taking a deep breath and wiping her face with the hem of her dress, Rory nodded. ‘I’m fine. What are you doing here?’
‘I got a call from a friend with a… er… a… stopcock emergency. I haven’t had a drink because I’m driving, so I’m going to pop over and help her out.’
Did the man never do anything but work? ‘Well, I am on my way home from my crappy night out, which was made worse by the appearance of men.’ She accepted his hand as he pulled her up. ‘Not you, obviously. You, I am very happy to see.’
Happily Never After_A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Page 8