The Hopes and Dreams of Lucy Baker

by Jenni Keer

  The question was obviously rhetorical because she didn’t wait for an answer but instead grabbed a ream of white paper from the shelf near the door, and said, ‘My office, Daniel. Five minutes,’ as she spun on her patent leather heels and walked off.

  Daniel, unusually, seemed as uncomfortable as Lucy.

  ‘Bloody hell, Lucy. Don’t go making allegations of sexual harassment or anything. I thought you were Jess. I’m really sorry.’

  Only because you were looking at me from behind, she thought. If you looked at the girls from the front, the differences were more obvious. Jess knew how to maximise her assets by wearing push-up bras, figure-hugging outfits and generally exposing the bits of her that men liked to look at. She drew attention to her lovely fair hair, letting it swish from side to side and twisting it around her fingers as she talked. Her almond-shaped blue eyes were accentuated by the clever application of make-up, and she had a voice and made sure it was heard.

  Lucy, by contrast, dressed down, usually with knitted accessories that never quite worked. Her hair was often swept up in a ponytail. She wore very little make-up and her posture was far from that of a catwalk model. She liked comfortable, she liked home-made, and was very much a curious mixture of both.

  ‘It’s okay.’ It wasn’t as if he’d groped her.

  ‘So we’re cool?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And these are the promotional starter sets?’ he asked, pointing to the box with the ClickIn logo emblazoned across the side.

  She nodded again.

  ‘If you slide it into the hall, I’ll grab it on my way out. Better face the music. Sorry again, Luce,’ he said as he walked away singing Elton John’s ‘Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word’ to himself. Why Jess had a thing for him was beyond her. She was sure his constant singing alone would drive her mad.

  It was only after Daniel had disappeared up the echoey stairs, his last notes debating whether they should think it over, that she realised he wasn’t apologising for his actions – he was apologising because she wasn’t Jess.

  Chapter 14

  Lucy decided to eat her chicken salad al fresco as it made her feel like she’d gone out for a meal, even though she was technically still at home. She’d checked on Brenda earlier and was now popping in a couple of times every day. Brenda always welcomed her, even if it took a few moments to place her, but she was largely back to her old self and Lucy often felt redundant. There was the occasional odd comment, muddling Lucy with someone from her past, or misplacement of items that tended to turn up later in bizarre locations, but the wandering incident seemed far behind them.

  Jess had bailed on their usual Friday night pub date, saying something had come up, but Lucy wasn’t stupid. Dashing Daniel had been singing ‘I Gotta Feeling’ by the Black Eyed Peas as he left the building. She even spied him trying out a couple of disturbing hip thrusts in the staff car park.

  Like Daniel, Lucy had been pulled into Sam’s desk-less office briefly after the Tardis incident. (Sam still used it for confidential conversations, but her desk remained firmly in sales.) She wanted to make certain Lucy was okay, so she assured her boss it had been a harmless joke. Sam muttered something about conducting an urgent review of company policies, with sexual harassment being top of the list.

  Balancing the salad on a low pile of bricks, Lucy pulled a rusty wrought-iron chair out from a tangle of brambles that had ensnared it while no one had been looking. Brushing dust and leaf debris away with her free hand, she angled it to face the last of the sun. Although her patch of garden was small (the length of the tiny gardens in Lancaster Road in complete contrast to the three-storey buildings), she felt lucky to be on the ground floor. Although Lucy was not really a gardener, there were a few pots dotted about and some low-maintenance shrubs in the thin borders, and she couldn’t imagine not having access to an outside space.

  It had rained earlier in the afternoon, but it had been a warm rain. Now, the static clouds hung in the sky, dirty grey underlined with the orange-reflected light from the disappearing sun. As she reached for the bowl of salad and tried to spear a slippery piece of lettuce with her fork, Lucy noticed the neighbourhood stray behind her begonias again. Well, she thought it was the stray, because it was black, underweight and had the same glowing yellow eyes, but this cat had a smart blue collar.

  She made kissy noises and put out her hand in a gesture of friendship, trying to encourage it over. It was the same cat – it gave the same pitiful meow and had the same twitchy demeanour. Perhaps it hadn’t been a stray at all and its owner had replaced a lost collar? But to let it get into that state was wicked. Or maybe someone had given it a home. Not Brenda, because she would have mentioned it, and not the taciturn George because he definitely didn’t have a lifelong membership of International Cat Fanciers’ Association.

  Almost able to touch it now and hoping to read the collar to work out its identity, there was a sudden crash from next door and the cat and Lucy jumped apart like guilty lovers.

  ‘Bugger, damn and blast,’ Brenda’s voice came over the wall. The cat sped away in one direction and Lucy ran in the other. She was round Brenda’s within the minute and greeted by a worrying sight.

  ‘What are you trying to do?’ Lucy asked. ‘Kill yourself?’

  Brenda had tried to move the stone birdbath and it had toppled over. The broken bowl lay next to her feet.

  ‘I was trying to take it to the bottom of the garden.’

  ‘ON YOUR OWN?’

  ‘When I bought it from the garden centre a few years ago, I carried it in from the car by myself. Of course, I still had the car back then…’

  ‘You should have asked me to help. It wouldn’t have been any trouble.’

  Brenda cast her eyes downwards and started to rub her anxious hands together.

  ‘I don’t like it, Lucy.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Not being able to do the things I used to be able to do. Not being able to remember details as sharply…’ She sunk into the cast-iron garden chair near the herb border. ‘The other day, when you and George were in my house, I’d been wandering, hadn’t I? The doctor said I had.’

  ‘You had a moment, that’s all, because of the infection, but you’re better now.’

  ‘I don’t remember any of it until you were rubbing me down with a towel, and that frightens me. The appointment for the memory clinic is tomorrow. A lady from Tudor Avenue is driving me. She said it was the least she could do since I sorted out her recurring migraines last year. Everyone has been so kind.’

  Lucy waited for her to continue but Brenda decided that was all she was going to say on the subject.

  ‘Oh God, Lucy. Don’t ever get old.’

  ‘I’ve heard it’s better than the alternative.’

  ‘I’m not convinced,’ Brenda said, shuffling up the path to her back door.

  The radio was playing a rousing anthemic Coldplay song. Lucy was on her iPad looking at images of Poldark and humming slightly off-key. She was trying to work out how to knit the breeches for the nearly finished figure, when there was a knock at the door. Expecting the burly George and another cat crisis, she was surprised to find a power-dressed Emily.

  ‘I’ve been in your neighbourhood for most of the day at the Renborough WHSmith,’ Emily said. ‘It’s been struggling, despite the introduction of a Post Office concession. So I wouldn’t be much of a sister if I didn’t stop by to say hello. Luckily Stu’s mum has got the girls and, unlike the childminder, she doesn’t charge by the hour. You’ve got me for a quick cup of tea before I have to head back. Sorry it’s not longer.’

  After the fancy air-kissing thing most of the family insisted on since becoming part of Stuart’s extended family, the girls hugged. Lucy was conscious of her sister’s expensive perfume and the feel of her soft cashmere cardigan as Emily clung to her for an unprecedented length of time.

  ‘Come in and I’ll have a rummage for some cake.’

  ‘Oo, yes. Cake would be
good,’ said Emily, closing the front door behind her. ‘I don’t think I thanked you properly for using your staff discount to help me buy Rosie’s birthday presents last month – really appreciated. And talking of the kids, I have some news…’ Emily deposited a smart leather briefcase and Mulberry handbag in the hall.

  ‘Oh?’ said Lucy, glad her sister couldn’t see her face as she followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Mum’s told you, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Erm…’

  ‘It’s okay. It’s not a secret, but I haven’t posted it online or anything yet. I don’t want to tempt fate until I hit thirteen weeks.’

  ‘It’s wonderful. I meant to send you a card, but you know how organised I am.’

  ‘I know. I’m still waiting for a Christmas card.’

  ‘How’s the pregnancy going?’ Lucy asked. She bent down and started to riffle through the cupboards for a box of Mr Kipling’s finest that she was sure she’d seen loitering behind the cereals, but it was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘There’s not been so much morning sickness with this one, but I’m incredibly tired all the time. Honestly, I could fall asleep on one of your upturned knitting needles and I’m not kidding. I said to Stuart how different it is from the first two and now he’s convinced I’m carrying a boy. God, Luce, I’d better be. I’m not going through this again for anyone.’

  A packet of Jaffa Cakes was discovered in the tinned food cupboard and the sisters decided they counted as cake.

  ‘Let’s take these into the living room,’ Emily said, casting an eye over the cluttered kitchen table and the chair backs draped with laundry. ‘I need a comfy chair. Besides, I love that room. It’s so cosy.’

  ‘Untidy, you mean, compared to your show home, which always reminds me of something from a photo shoot in Hello!’

  ‘Yeah, well, keeping it like that takes a lot of work. Sometimes I think the girls are afraid to even play in it in case they mess it up. Stuart’s overly pedantic about things like cushion placement for a bloke. Serves me right for marrying an older man. He had it all his own way for too long. Would you believe it takes me fifteen minutes to make the bed every morning? Honestly, two heads do not need eight pillows. We had to get a cleaner when I had the girls. Can you imagine trying to keep on top of all that with two small children?’

  ‘Oh, poor you. How dreadful to be forced to get a cleaner…’

  Emily whacked her sister’s shoulder with the back of her hand. ‘You know what I mean.’ She nestled herself amongst the crocheted blankets and knitted figures and let out a contented sigh. ‘You really should think about selling some of these. There’s definitely a market for them. Have a look at Etsy and Folksy. These little beauties would go down a storm.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Lucy said, nibbling the edges off her Jaffa Cake.

  Playing with a pile of Regency romances on the floor with her foot, Emily picked one up and glanced at the blurb. ‘I spent my childhood dreaming of a big house and a wealthy man sweeping me off my feet.’ Emily looked at the handsome lord on the front cover and stroked his face with her thumb.

  ‘You got your dream then?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Silence.

  She looked tired, Lucy thought. Tired and ill, but that’s what pregnancy did to you. She’d pick up in the second trimester.

  ‘So tell me all about you, sweetie. How are things?’ Emily eventually asked.

  Hastily swallowing her mouthful, Lucy sighed. ‘If you must know, my mother is turning fifty in September and is arranging a function at Mortlake Hall to rival the royal wedding, with over a hundred guests. She will probably arrive in a horse-drawn glass coach, and I fully expect a swan ice sculpture, a dramatic firework display and Tom Jones to be flown in to sing for the evening.’

  ‘What a coincidence. My mother is arranging a similar extravaganza in the same month. Only last week, I was asked to give a speech. The following day the suggested wording was emailed to me – all seven pages of it. She’s even advised me on outfits for the girls, who she’s now expecting to recite a poem about how special grandmas are. They are two and four, for goodness’ sake. What makes her think they are going to be able to stand in front of everyone and recite a poem? Neither of them can even read properly yet.’

  ‘I think all she requires of me is to turn up with a suitable boyfriend and still have a job. Neither of which I can guarantee at this stage,’ Lucy said. And the girls exchanged a look they had shared many times over the years when discussing their mother.

  As Lucy waved her sister off through the living-room window later, the skies still overcast and heavy, she saw George pull into the kerbside space Emily had just vacated. She was concerned for her sister, but hoped it was just the pregnancy making her look so drawn. Emily said all the right things, but then she was good at that – much better than Lucy. It would be a good idea to keep a closer eye on her, as it was easy to forget the caregivers needed care too, and she hoped Stuart was pulling his weight.

  Her eyes were drawn back to George, who’d obviously been indulging in a bit of retail therapy after work, as the car was full of shopping. She watched him carry a couple of M&S food bags into the house. Then he came back for what looked like a suit bag, but then she’d only ever seen him in suits.

  Finally, and rather surprisingly, he manoeuvred a tall, bulky object out of the boot. It comprised a long pole with various platforms. There was a string-covered scratching post on the base, a carpeted tube halfway up and a dangly ball attached to one side.

  He cast his eyes around, as if he was concerned he might be spotted, and a bright red ball on a string bounced along the pavement behind him as he walked to his gate.

  Chapter 15

  The headless teddy, now sporting a mismatched head and bright red bow, was sitting on Lucy’s desk when she walked into the office. She knew it was Pat, probably to cheer her up after last week. It wouldn’t bet the first time Pat had taken pity on a damaged toy.

  The sales line rang as she connected her headset and entered her password.

  ‘Tompkins Toy Wholesaler,’ she sung, eager to start the day on a bright note.

  ‘Luce, just the girl.’ It was Daniel. Her heart sank. ‘Don’t know about you, but I’ve had my knuckles rapped, whipped and grated for our cupboard shenanigans.’

  Really wanting to pull him up for the use of the word “our”, she merely said, ‘I reassured Sam it was a silly joke…’

  ‘Yeah, well, she implied I could get into more hot water than a freshly diced carrot if I didn’t pull back. Apparently, I’m on a warning and if anyone makes a formal complaint I’m sunk. Luckily no one at Tompkins thinks like that. You all love my cheeky-chappie nature and don’t take the banter seriously. Am I right, or am I right?’

  Lucy said nothing.

  ‘I reckon she’s got to be seen to follow these things up – something to prove in the new job, that’s all. Anyway, I wanted to let you know your pert behind is safe from my wandering hands…’ He paused. ‘You aren’t going to report that comment are you? I’ll keep my comments totes PC from now on – honest.’

  ‘Did you just ring to establish the future safety of my bottom or is there something I can do for you?’ Lucy wanted this unnerving call to be over as quickly as possible.

  ‘Ah, yes, can you get on to ClickIn and see if you can’t wangle us another free box of those starter sets? I might have a rival chain interested – there’s a baby doll.’ The new PC Daniel had lasted less than ten seconds.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for Adam to ring them? He carries more weight than me.’

  ‘I don’t care if he’s the newly appointed Chief Executive of the Universe, people warm to you, Luce. Adam rubs people up the wrong way and doesn’t stop rubbing until there are friction burns.’

  Flattered, but feeling Daniel’s faith in her abilities was misplaced, she agreed.

  ‘New me,’ she told herself under her breath as the call ended and a cry came from Adam’s desk.

  ‘WHAT THE…?
’

  Everyone looked up. Lucy could see he’d logged onto his computer and was staring at a screen saver that would have even the warehouse lads blushing.

  ‘Adam?’ said Sam, walking to his desk with a manila file in her hand. ‘Can I ask if… What are you doing?’

  Adam was leaning back on his desk, trying to obscure the offensive image from his boss yet remain casual and not alert Sam that anything was wrong. He wasn’t really able to pull it off.

  ‘I, erm…I’m stretching my back before I settle for the long haul. You know? Busy day ahead. Expect I’ll be stuck to the desk like a butterfly to glue.’

  Unable to resist casting a quick glance behind her, Lucy saw Connor reach for his rapidly expanding book of Adam’s more imaginative expressions.

  Sam walked to the side of Adam’s desk and placed the file on the corner. He swivelled awkwardly to mirror her journey. ‘I want to discuss the stationery needs of this office with you. We seem to get through an awful lot for such a small company. But perhaps you should finish your pre-work yoga session first? Have a look through these numbers and see what you think. Come to me when you’ve got some input.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said, arching his back and rotating his shoulders backwards.

  Sam returned to her desk and Adam, tilting his screen away from prying eyes, slumped into his chair.

  ‘Connor? Have you got a minute?’ he called across the office.

  ‘Where’s Pat?’ Lucy asked Sonjit, who was near the water cooler and removing Shaun The Sheep from Igglepiggle’s unwanted advances. It was a pointless exercise, as they would be reunited before the day was out.

  ‘All I can say is if old Pat-a-Cake has gone down to the Tardis hoping someone wants to play Postman’s Knock with her, she’s in for a long wait. Ha ha,’ Adam said, wandering over to join in the conversation. Lucy’s heart started a slow thud. If Adam knew, everyone knew. She braced herself for an afternoon of inappropriate jokes.

  ‘Sometimes you can be such a jerk,’ said Sonjit, as she filled a paper cone with ice-cold water and took a sip.