Chapter Nineteen
Madam Rosa picked up on the second ring.
‘Hello?’
‘Er, yes, hello,’ said Amber, trying to be business-like but nerves got the better of her. She sounded like she’d swallowed six frogs that were now holding a tea dance in her throat. ‘I’m ringing to make an appointment…ahem…for…ahem… sorry…,’ she moved her mouth away from the mobile and coughed several times in a bid to speak without croaking, ‘I want a reading.’ She switched the phone to loudspeaker so her friends could hear the conversation.
‘Okay. I can’t do anything until Saturday afternoon.’
Amber gave Chrissie and Dee an enquiring look. They nodded their agreement. ‘We’ll take it. There are three of us, by the way.’
‘That’s fine.’
I’ll bet it is, thought Amber sourly. That’s one-hundred-and-thirty-five quid, cash in hand, for spouting goodness knows what.
There was the sound of pages turning. Presumably Madam Rosa was consulting a diary. ‘I can do, let me see, two o’clock onwards. How does that suit?’
Chrissie and Dee nodded again.
‘Perfect.’
‘Let me give you my address.’
Amber took down the details. Madam Rosa lived in Vigo, a pretty village that ran alongside Trosley Country Park. Amber immediately thought of her boss. Steve had told her how he sometimes liked to visit the same park for a hike with “his mate”. What a small world. After an exchange of pleasantries, Amber rang off.
‘Well, that wasn’t so awful.’
Dee blew out her cheeks. ‘I guess not. All we have to do now is get through the rest of the week until Saturday rolls around. Shall we meet at yours, Amber, as you’re the closest to Vigo? Then we can all go together.’
‘Sure,’ Amber replied. ‘Actually, why don’t we make a night of it? Let’s go for a curry afterwards. Matthew isn’t kissing me at the moment, so I might as well go berserk with the garlic. In fact, if the two of you want to bring a sleeping bag, why don’t you take a sofa each and crash out at mine? We can pop the corks on some Prosecco and get horribly drunk.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Dee. ‘Not the drunk bit,’ she added hastily, ‘I meant the bit about crashing at yours. It will give me and Josh some space. I’m terrified he’s going to suggest we split up.’
‘Why?’ asked Chrissie.
‘Because if he doesn’t fancy me anymore, it stands to reason he won’t want to keep sharing my bed – or even my life. I reckon it’s only a matter of time before he demands we sell the flat and go our separate ways.’ Her lip trembled, and for a moment Dee thought she might cry.
‘Don’t upset yourself. Everything will work out,’ said Amber gently, before rolling her eyes. ‘Hark at me dishing out assurances when my own boyfriend is parked in the spare room.’
‘Won’t Matthew mind us being there?’ asked Chrissie.
‘I don’t give a toss if he does,’ said Amber defiantly. ‘It’s my house. I can invite into it who I like.’
‘Count me in,’ said Chrissie. The thought of getting out of Saturday night with Andrew’s mates in the maisonette, and not making chip butties or unblocking loos was giving Chrissie a holiday feeling.
‘Right,’ said Amber, dropping her mobile phone back into her handbag and gathering all her bits together. ‘We’d better head back to the office.’
The girls had barely plonked their bottoms down on their typing chairs when Steve Hood summoned Amber.
‘Can I have a quiet word, please?’
‘You can have several noisy ones if you like,’ she quipped. She picked up her notebook.
‘You won’t need that.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Amber discarded the pad and walked into Steve’s office. ‘What’s up?’
Steve shut the office door and sat down opposite her. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Because this morning you looked like Morticia Addams, and Chrissie and Dee were doing a fair impression of Uncle Fester and Lurch. Meanwhile, I’ve had a chance to go through the lease you worked on earlier. There are quite a few mistakes.’
‘Really?’ said Amber in surprise.
‘Yes. A landlord is usually called a “lessor”. Not a “tosser”.’
‘What?’ Amber could feel herself blushing furiously. She rarely made mistakes, and couldn’t believe her mind had wandered enough to write such a word.
‘And the letter to Mister Whitehead. Well, see for yourself.’ Steve pushed the A4 piece of paper across the desk. She glanced at it, and her pink blush turned sunset red.
‘Dear Mister Dickhead? I didn’t type that,’ she protested.
‘And the address is wrong on this second piece of correspondence. Mister Brown lives at Pennis Close, in Fawkham. Not Penis Close in Fuckem.’
Amber’s mouth dropped open. ‘Someone has doctored my typing,’ she gasped. But even as she said it, she knew it sounded ridiculous.
‘So I’ll ask again. Is everything all right?’
‘Yes. No. Yes. I mean–’ Amber’s mind darted about like a trapped butterfly as she struggled to answer the question. She didn’t want to tell her boss that her personal life had disintegrated into a mess, or that she was planning on checking in with a fortune teller for guidance. Steve Hood would think his secretary had completely lost the plot.
‘Is it personal?’
‘No, of course not,’ Amber protested. ‘I really like you. You’re a great boss.’
Steve gave the smallest of smiles. ‘I meant are you having personal problems at home.’
‘I…I…I,’ Amber hung her head, studying her hands folded in her lap. Perhaps if she sat here all afternoon stuttering one word, Steve Hood would simply get bored and dismiss her with a caution to take more care over her work.
‘So that’s a yes,’ said Steve. ‘Look,’ he said, gently, ‘we’ve all been there, Amber. There’s not one person on this planet that hasn’t, at some point, had their life tipped upside down like a wheelie bin and suffered the contents spilling everywhere.’
Amber nodded miserably. ‘Yeah. Good description.’ Her eyes were suddenly very shiny. ‘It’s kind of you to be sympathetic. I appreciate how hard it must have been for you. At least I don’t have to spring any surprises about a “mate” on my family and friends.’
Steve arched an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure? So, there are no complications in that department?’
Amber’s brow furrowed. That was a strange comment to make. ‘I’m definitely heterosexual.’
Steve’s mouth twitched. ‘That’s…good to know. Now then,’ he pushed the lease, correspondence and files towards her, ‘if you could correct this little lot that would be smashing.’
‘Yes,’ Amber said in a small voice. She stood up. ‘I’m very sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ Steve smiled, ‘but maybe for now don’t go signing anything off in my absence, eh? I don’t want Mr Whitehead ringing me up having an apoplectic fit. He’s not the easiest of clients.’
‘Okay.’ Amber gathered everything into her arms and made for the door.
‘And remember,’ Steve called after her, ‘if you need an ear, I’m here.’
Amber gave her boss a grateful smile, and then used the heel of her shoe to flip the door shut after her. Not for the first time she thought what a shame it was that Steve was gay. He’d make a smashing boyfriend.
***
When Amber arrived home that evening it was once again to a cold, dark house with a distinct absence of nice cooking smells. No sign of Matthew. No doubt he was working late again. She set about getting a dinner for herself out of the freezer. A meal for one. Stuff Matthew. If he couldn’t be bothered to talk to her, why should she go to the trouble of cooking for him?
Matthew turned up as Amber was easing herself into the bath tub. From the open bathroom door, Amber watched him walk towards the spare bedroom. He totally ignored her.
‘Thought you might like to know,’ she called after him, ‘that I’m out again this Saturday.’ She saw Matthew pause as he listened to her, ‘and Chrissie and Dee will be staying the night here.’ Matthew’s back stiffened at this piece of news, but he didn’t deign to respond. Instead he disappeared into the spare room. From her vantage point in the bath tub, Amber watched the door close after him. She shivered, which was nothing to do with the cooling bath water.
***
When Dee arrived home that evening it was to find Josh packing a suitcase. Her heart began to race unpleasantly as she tried not to panic, but adrenalin was already whooshing through her veins like runners responding to a starting pistol.
‘J-Josh!’ she stuttered. ‘Whatever are you doing, darling?’ She hated how she sounded. Meek and placatory. What she really wanted to do was shout, “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU PLAYING AT?” But she didn’t.
Josh continued folding clothes. ‘What does it look like?’ His voice was hard.
Dee stood stock still. This wasn’t happening. If she kept her attitude sunny, he’d stop what he was doing, stride over, fling his arms around her and say, “Sorry, Dee. I was having a moment of madness. It’s passed now. Let me unpack. What’s for tea?”
‘Obviously you’re packing,’ she said, hating the way her voice trembled. ‘What I meant was…why?’
‘Questions, questions,’ Josh sighed. ‘Always questions.’
‘One question, and surely perfectly reasonable?’
Josh tugged on the suitcase’s zipper. ‘I’m going away for a few days. It’s no big deal.’
Dee nodded, as if this was quite normal. A part of her was relieved Josh was going for only a few days and not forever. The other part of her wanted to fire off questions and have immediate answers. She tried to bite her tongue, but she was too late applying the brake to her mouth and her lips were already forming words.
‘Can I ask why you’re going away, and where you’re going, and who you’re going with, and–’
‘There you go again,’ Josh tutted, dragging the suitcase off the bed. It landed with a thud on the floor. ‘I can’t stand it.’
‘Josh, please,’ Dee implored. She could feel her eyes brimming, but it was more from frustration than anything else.
‘Very well,’ said Josh, extending the handle of the suitcase. He looked up. ‘I’m fed up with your behaviour. I think we need some time apart to review this relationship.’
‘Well I know how I feel!’ said Dee indignantly. ‘Are you saying you don’t?’
Josh gave a thin smile. ‘So now you’re not only asking me question after question, but answering them on my behalf too. Don’t you see how wearing it is?’
Dee looked at Josh in bewilderment. ‘I-I don’t understand, Josh. I just don’t understand.’
‘Of course you don’t. You evidently have a brain the size of a pea, and are incapable of comprehending your actions. Bombarding me with questions all the time is beyond tiresome.’
‘B-but I haven’t!’ Dee protested.
‘You’re blissfully unaware of it,’ Josh snapped. ‘The final straw was yesterday morning. You subjected me to the most unattractive striptease I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness. Do you know any man who likes to see a woman covered in bacon grease and egg yolk? Does it ever feature within the pages of those crap romance novels you read? Ah, I can see from your expression it doesn’t. And then you have the audacity to look hurt when I say I don’t fancy you. Perhaps you’re not quite right in the head? Either way, we need some space to think things through. While I’m away, I suggest you make an appointment to see a psychiatrist. We’ll talk when I’m back.’
‘When will that be?’
Josh shook his head almost sorrowfully. ‘Another question,’ he said, his voice pained.
And Dee had no choice but to watch, dumbfounded, as Josh wheeled his suitcase out of the apartment and shut the door firmly behind him.
***
When Chrissie arrived home, it was to find Andrew gathering his keys and wallet together. Evidently, he was on his way out.
‘Hi,’ he gave her a smile. ‘You don’t need to do me any tea. I’ll be with the lads. We’ll grab something at the pub.’
Chrissie’s first reaction was relief that Andrew had smiled at her. Seemingly a thaw had taken place since Sunday’s cross words. Her second reaction was joy at the reprieve of not cooking tonight. She was still full from the massive fry-up she’d had with Amber and Dee earlier. A part of her was already thinking how nice it would be to slob out in front of the telly all by herself, maybe with a plate of warm buttery toast later. But hot on the heels of those initial thoughts was another that chased round and round in her head. Something wasn’t quite right. Andrew was looking squeaky clean. It was as if he’d taken himself and his clothes through Gravesend’s swankiest car wash and paid the extra quid for added sparkle and shine. His hair would have been good enough for a man’s shampoo commercial, and he’d bothered to shave. His skin was sporting the sort of glow usually achieved at a posh spa, and his clothes were – Chrissie ran an eye over the immaculate shirt and smart trousers – new. As he pushed past her, she was treated to the heavenly scent of an aftershave she didn’t recognise. He was certainly pulling all the stops out for the lads.
‘You look nice,’ she said.
‘Thanks,’ he smiled again, and plonked a big fat kiss on her cheek. ‘See you later.’
Chrissie returned the smile. A part of her felt giddy with relief that things might be changing after yesterday’s unkind words. She shut the door after him and felt some tension unkink in her spine. But only a little. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was only when she was halfway through her buttery toast and the commercials were on that it came to her. Since when did a man dolly himself up to keep the company of a bunch of sink estate lads?