Chapter 23
Two months passed and Bonnie still went home to Greenwood Crescent but she was not able to slip back into life there as if she were a snail sliding back into the familiarity of its shell, because it was as if the shell had changed into a smaller shape that caused her discomfort and threatened to burst open from the pressure. She wished it would, but in the meantime she secretly banked every penny she could and scoured the local newspapers for a place she could afford, but with no luck. A lot of the landlords required a substantial up-front bond or a long-term agreement. One of them was very cheap but in a horrible area at the other end of town. Then one came up which was situated perfectly but it was four-bedroomed and far too expensive. The Rainbow Lady had made over a hundred pounds profit through eBay selling and Clock Robin had sold her a box of interesting and unique craft punches from Eastern Europe for the princely sum of a cup of coffee and a couple of chocolate digestives.
Life in Greenwood Crescent ticked along with no great dramas. To keep Stephen happy, she tipped up an extra thirty pounds one week and twenty-five the next and told him she’d had bonuses because the shop had been doing so well. It stopped him nagging about her ‘lack of contribution’ as he so stuffily put it. She played the textbook dutiful wife, even though beneath her calm exterior there was a mutiny raging. Every day was closer to the one when she would shut the door of number 39 behind her and never return, and she was both thrilled and afraid about it, but she would do it and risk being bumped around on the sea of uncertainty. She was bored and lonely and restless and frustrated, but the main reason why Bonnie knew she had to leave Stephen was that she had fallen in love with her boss.
She hadn’t planned it, she hadn’t wanted it; it was a complication she didn’t need because where could such feelings go? Cupid really was an evil little sod. She would have to press those feelings down, keep them secretly packed away in her heart and just be happy to be near him, moving in his orbit, working with him. When she was with him, she felt alive again, energised and smiley inside. He made her believe there might be another Lew out there for her who would cherish her and love her, as Lew obviously cherished and loved his wife. She had gathered through snippets of coffee-time conversation that Lew had been married for over fourteen years to Charlotte. They didn’t have any children, which probably made them stronger as a couple, though it hadn’t in her and Stephen’s case. He was fair in business, the traders liked and respected him and he treated Bonnie as if he valued her help, her input, her knowledge, the way old Mr Grimshaw had. She liked Lew because he wasn’t the sort of man to play around behind his wife’s back. She might have imagined what it would be like to kiss him, but if he had done so in real life, she would have run a mile. The minute he crossed the line, he would have become someone she couldn’t respect. But in her fantasies, he was single – and so was she – and her feelings were reciprocated.
Lew was kind to her, talked to her with warmth in his voice and wasn’t above making frequent cups of coffee. He never flirted but she could guess by the way he treated her that he liked her too and it was enough for her. Bonnie was starved of affection; a little respectful attention was bound to enter her heart and flood it.
And because butterflies flapped in Bonnie’s stomach whenever she saw her boss and her days were filled with brightness, her life at home felt all the more drab and stifling. Working with Lew had awakened something in her that mocked her situation, that she’d settled for so little, so quickly. The fear of being by herself was not a reason to stay with Stephen; she knew she could not be more lonely than she was in her marriage.
The box with the teabags, soap and towels still remained under her bed, her clothes were still waiting in her suitcase and her savings account continued to grow steadily and secretly. This time, when she was ready to leave, she would go through with it, she would be her mother’s daughter and take that third step. There would be no repeat of what had happened before. When her brain was flashing the signal that all systems were go, she would close the door to Stephen’s house behind her and she would not be pulled back through it. Not for anything. She had wished and thought of herself happy in a little house somewhere too much now to retract.
Lew was very happy with the way things were going in the Pot of Gold. He had a full complement of dealers now; all the renowned names were renting cabinets and space from him and there was even a waiting list. What a mad bunch they were too: Stantiques, Medal Mickey, Goldfinger, Vintage Valerie and Jackpot were fully settled in and making money enough to pay for their units plus profit and the footfall over the threshold was growing heavier with every week that passed. Lew had opened on the last two Mondays by himself to test what custom was like and it wasn’t bad, not enough to merit two of them working there, but he thought it might in the coming months.
Lew was all too aware that working with Bonnie Brookland lent sunshine to his days. She was a lovely woman, and he suspected an unhappy one, an unfulfilled one. She didn’t talk about her home life but he surmised that her marriage was less than perfect. Her husband was older than her by fourteen years, she’d let slip one day, and like him and Charlotte, they had no children. He thought she might be unloved and deserved more and something in his heart responded to her sweet vulnerability. Tread carefully, my friend, that wise voice in his head had warned because he didn’t want to be lured by another woman’s warmth to compensate for the increasing chill he was feeling at home. Charlotte was turning more and more into a mini Regina. She’d lost weight on a faddy no-carb diet, had hair extensions to ape Regina’s at a cost that caused an argument, and even the way she spoke had acquired the impatient arrogance that Regina employed. And despite her dresses being lower cut on top and higher cut on the bottom to show off her new figure to everyone that cared to look, their sex life hadn’t improved. It was as if the rest of the world were granted the sight of the curve of her boobs in public, but not Lew in private.
Is this what happened to Patrick, he had wondered more than once now. Unlike Patrick, though, Lew was not a flirtatious man. He kept his barriers up and his boundaries defined and Bonnie gave him no encouragement but still, he thought it would be very easy to fall in love with the woman with the beautiful hazel eyes who punched holes in pieces of coloured paper in the office during her lunch hour and sold the resulting confetti on eBay for peanuts.
That woman was now walking towards him with a cup of coffee and proffering a plate of fruit shortcakes but he was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t register her until she spoke.
‘You all right?’ she said.
‘Pardon?’
‘You were on another planet then, Lew.’ And Bonnie smiled and he mirrored it, aware that body language experts might say that was a sign of attraction.
‘Sorry, you’re right, I was. I was just wondering what the experts at Christie’s were thinking about the Chinese cup and saucer,’ he fibbed.
‘I’m glad you took the pieces down personally,’ said Bonnie. ‘I wouldn’t have liked to have trusted them to a courier. Plus the extra insurance you’d have had to fork out wouldn’t have been cheap. When did you say they were going up for sale?’
When Lew had delivered the cup and saucer to London, he’d taken Charlotte with him and they’d spent the night in the Hilton Waldorf. They’d had an early dinner in the hotel and he’d surprised her with tickets for a West End show. The full-on day had tired her out, so she hoped he wasn’t expecting sex, she said unromantically as they walked back from the theatre. He hadn’t been. He had however arranged for a bottle of champagne, a dozen red roses and a box of chocolates to be waiting for them on their return, but her words poured a cold bucket of water over the evening and he wished he hadn’t bothered.
Charlotte had felt guilty when she opened the hotel room door and found his gifts. She tried to make things right by suggesting they share a bath and open the champagne. Lew played along but his mood was squashed. The fizz made Charlotte squiffy and, ironically, amorous but Lew would have had more chance at singlehandedly raising the Titanic than he would at making love to his wife. There was something wrong with his marriage and he didn’t know how to fix it.
He pushed that night in London to the back of his mind, aware that Bonnie was waiting for an answer.
‘There’s a specialised auction of oriental ceramics and works of art at the end of this month. With any luck they’ll include our pieces.’
‘And what would you do with the money if they fetched, let’s say, five million?’ asked Bonnie, hazel eyes twinkling.
‘I wish,’ Lew laughed gently. ‘After giving you a very nice bonus, obviously . . .’
‘Obviously,’ echoed Bonnie.
‘. . . I’d . . .’ He thought and couldn’t come up with anything. All the things he wanted, he couldn’t buy: his child, a marriage on firm ground again. He made something up. ‘I’d go on a round the world trip to the best beaches and build a wine cellar under my house. What would you do with your bonus then, Bonnie?’
I’d ring an estate agent, rent the first house on the list however much it cost, go to Greenwood Crescent and grab my suitcase, thought Bonnie, but instead she made something up. ‘I’d buy a new car. Nothing flash though, reliable but one that no one had driven before me. And maybe . . .’
But she never did finish the sentence because the bell above the door tinkled and old Billy Boombox bumbled in as if he were drunk.
Long John, who was Windolening his glass cabinet doors, asked, ‘You all right, lad?’ which was ridiculous seeing as Boombox was twenty-plus years older than him.
‘Am I ’eck,’ replied Boombox. ‘I’ve just heard that Jackpot’s died.’
‘Eh?’ said Long John. ‘He can’t have.’
‘When?’ asked Goldfinger, appearing behind him.
‘This morning. Stantiques rang me. He had a massive stroke apparently. He was dead as soon as he fell.’ Boombox’s voice dissolved in a croak.
‘Oh no, not Jackpot.’ Bonnie’s eyes misted with tears. She’d known the man since she was a girl and he was amongst her favourites. She wondered how Vintage Valerie would have taken the news because they did all the same markets together and were the best of friends; they even bickered like a married couple.
Long John scrubbed a tear away from his cheek with the heel of his hand. ‘I can’t believe it. I did York market with him yesterday and he was right as rain. It’s like he’s been snatched off the earth by a big hand.’
‘I’ll pop on and see if his wife wants anything,’ said Goldfinger, reaching for his weighty leather jacket. ‘My wife and his go to bingo together. Bloody hell.’ He shook his head at the thought of it. ‘You never know what’s round the corner, do you?’
No, thought Bonnie. Unless you live with Stephen Brookland, then you can guarantee exactly what is around the corner and it will be grey and dismal.
A cloud settled on the day. Mart Deco and Stantiques came in just after one o’clock. and were full of the news. Mart said that he was going straight home and booking a holiday for him and the wife on the internet and Stan said that he was throwing all his cigarettes away instead of talking about it. Stickalampinit walked in and burst into tears. It seemed to make everyone in Jack’s orbit sit up and take notice of their mortality.
Just before closing time, Lew walked into the back room to discover Bonnie having a quiet sob. Sensing his presence she pulled herself quickly together, produced a tattered tissue out of the pocket of her pinafore shift and blew her nose. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,’ said Lew gently, blocking the instinct to put his arm around her to comfort her in case she thought it was inappropriate. ‘It’s been a sad day.’
‘It has,’ said Bonnie. ‘It feels like I’ve known Jack forever. They’re all like my uncles and aunts in this trade.’ The tissue had disintegrated and she scrabbled in her bag for another without success. Lew reached in his pocket and handed over a pressed white handkerchief.
‘I am one of the few men left in this world who uses them, I think,’ he said. ‘It’s clean.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bonnie, taking it from him. ‘I’ll wash it and let you have it back.’
‘There’s no need,’ Lew replied. ‘I have hundreds of them. Executive presents. Most of them were either whisky or handkerchiefs. I don’t give my whisky away though.’
Bonnie gave a spurt of involuntary laughter and wiped her nose on the enormous handkerchief.
‘It’s not an indication of nose size, I hope,’ said Lew. ‘I don’t know why it’s as big as a single bedsheet.’
‘Perfect size for me then,’ said Bonnie, giving the end of her nose a pinch.
‘Nothing at all wrong with your nose,’ replied Lew, with a smile. It had a little bump on the bridge, it wasn’t perfect but it was perfect for her lovely face. No one would ever notice the flaw because her eyes were so pretty anyway. Not that he said that, because it would have sounded very flirtatious, and that would be disrespectful to his wife. And to Bonnie’s husband.
‘Look, forget about coming in tomorrow,’ insisted Lew.
Bonnie had agreed to man the shop for him, even though Monday was her day off. It had allowed her to make the point to Stephen and say, ‘Told you there was overtime available’. More importantly it would get her out of the house. Stephen was using some of his holiday entitlement and taking the first four days of the week to do some work in the garden.
‘No, not at all,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine.’ Plus she had some orders for confetti that she wanted to press out in her lunch break.
‘Well, if you change your mind and don’t feel up to it, just ring and let me know,’ said Lew.
‘Thank you, but I can assure you I won’t change my mind.’ Bonnie looked into his warm blue eyes and thought, for the hundredth time at least, how lucky Mrs Harley was.