Chapter Twenty-Seven
Amber’s Sunday
Amber awoke on Sunday morning feeling tired but strangely elated. She stayed snuggled under the duvet for a few moments, and reflected on the events of Saturday afternoon. She’d started to gulp down a glass of wine when the locksmith had been in the house, but then poured it all down the plughole. No man was driving her to drink! She’d then spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening scrubbing her house from top to bottom to eradicate the ghost of the mystery woman. All towels and bedding to both bedrooms had been boil-washed. Afterwards, she’d cooked the fillet steaks she’d bought for Matthew and shared them with Mr Tomkin.
‘From now on,’ she’d told the delighted cat, ‘you are going to be the only man in my life.’
Amber had munched her way through the tender meat, buttery mash and fresh vegetables resigning herself to a different existence from this point onwards. She’d be a spinster. Rather than settling down and having children one day, she’d get another cat. Maybe two. Or six. Twelve even. She’d be the Mad Cat Lady of New Ash Green. Everyone would talk about her, including Mr Jefferies, who would lament about his Springer Spaniel always trying to chasing Amber’s moggies.
A burgeoning bladder eventually forced her out of bed. Matthew still hadn’t put in an appearance. His clothes remained festooned around the front garden. Winter shrubs had seemingly bloomed early, sporting strange flowers which, on closer inspection, were men’s underpants. Amber’s lawn was open-plan to the numerous footpaths that wound in and around the village. Somebody’s dog had run across Matthew’s scattered suits and shirts. Muddy paw prints were splodged across sleeves and lapels, and a fox had left its calling card on a pair of jeans.
Amber was trying to get enthusiastic over a piece of burnt toast, when the doorbell buzzed. Her heart began to clatter about. It must be Matthew, ready to read the Riot Act. She tiptoed to the hallway on wobbly legs, and peered through the front door’s spy glass. But instead of a furious ex-boyfriend, it was Edith, Amber’s immediate neighbour to the left. Edith was a retired headmistress. She had some interesting facial hair, and bore a remarkable resemblance to Del Boy’s Uncle Albert. Amber had no doubt that Edith had once put the fear of God into her school pupils. From her glimpse through the spy glass, Amber could see Edith scowling at the clothes littering the lawn and flowerbeds. A pursed mouth indicated her neighbour was not happy. Amber took a deep breath and opened the door.
‘Morning, Edith. How are you?’
‘Hello, Amber. I’ll come straight to the point.’
‘I thought you might.’
‘Your clothes–’
‘–Matthew’s clothes.’
‘That you chucked all over the place, according to Mr Jefferies.’
Amber folded her arms across her chest. ‘Ah, the New Ash Green grapevine has been busy.’
‘Well it’s not on, is it?’
‘But they’re not on,’ Amber retorted. ‘They’re off.’
‘That’s my point.’
‘No, it’s an observation.’
‘Amber, you’ve evidently had a domestic–’
‘No, I’ve had a clear out.’
‘This isn’t normal.’
‘What isn’t normal?’
‘Making this mess. The residents here have pride, you know.’
‘I have pride, Edith.’
‘Good, in which case you’ll clear this lot up.’
‘Matthew will remove it in due course. Ah, talk of the devil.’ Amber’s eyes hardened as Matthew appeared at the far end of the footpath that led out from a communal block of garages. He had a spring in his step and appeared to be whistling.
‘He’s going to go mental when he sees what you’ve done.’
‘He is indeed,’ Amber purred. ‘Now if you don’t mind, Edith, I need to shut my front door. You’re welcome to station yourself outside if you want to watch the floor show, but if I were you I’d go indoors and stick to twitching your curtains. Good-bye.’
‘Well really, there’s no need to be–’
But Edith was left talking to herself.
On the other side of the door, Amber drew the bolts, turned the key, and put the safety chain on for good measure. She then scampered through to the kitchen and made sure the back door was secure, before taking the stairs two at a time. Dashing into the spare room, she flung open the window just in time to see Matthew’s jaunty gait change to stalling steps. His cheerful whistling petered out, and his eyes were doing a fair impression of cartoon-like stalks.
‘What the–?’
‘Yoo hoo, Matthew,’ Amber called from above. ‘I’ve changed all the locks, so don’t bother giving me back your house keys.’
Matthew’s astonished face looked upwards. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’
‘Not at all. I’ve had an epiphany. Isn’t it wonderful!’ Amber beamed.
‘Do you mind telling me what the hell’s going on?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? You and I are finished.’
‘Finished? Well if we weren’t before this, we definitely are now. You’re absolutely barking. Off your rocker. Think I want a nutty girlfriend? And look at my stuff – it’s ruined.’ He held up his arms, then let them drop to his sides again. His expression one of dismay. Then his eyes snagged on something, and his face turned magenta. ‘My shoes!’ he shouted. ‘Those are Jeffrey West. They cost me three hundred chuffing quid.’ He bent down and picked them up, only to drop them again as if hot coals. ‘There’s fox crap in them,’ he yelled. ‘You cow! I’m going to sue you.’
‘Take your compensation from the money you didn’t pay me when living under my roof.’
‘This is my house too, Amber,’ said Matthew ominously.
‘Oh no it’s not,’ Amber spat. ‘I bought this place long before you came along. It’s my name on the deeds.’
‘And I’ve helped pay the mortgage.’
‘Ha!’ Amber sneered. ‘Your very infrequent contributions were for food and alcohol which didn’t begin to cover what you’ve cost me over the last few years, so don’t you dare try and play that number on me.’
‘I KNOW MY RIGHTS,’ Matthew bellowed, ‘and I’m entitled – ENTITLED, do you hear? – to half your house.’ His face was rapidly changing from magenta to aubergine.
‘You’re entitled to ZILCH,’ Amber roared. ‘You never put a ring on it,’ she thrust her left hand through the open window, waggling her bare fingers at Matthew, ‘and thank God you didn’t. Now clear off. And take your stuff with you. Go to HER,’ Amber screamed, ‘and let her wash and iron your clothes, and pick up after you.’
Matthew put his hands on his hips and decided to bluff it out. ‘What are you on about now? Are you accusing me of having an affair? Ha, as if! There is nobody but you, Amber.’ His tone switched to one of wheedling. ‘Aw, come on, babe. Let me in. It’s you I love.’
‘Don’t lie to me, you prat. Here’s your tart’s earring which she left in MY bed. Catch!’ Amber lobbed the diamond stud. It landed with a plop in one of the shoes. ‘Oh dear. Was that the one full of Mister Fox’s poop?’
‘You…you…you…,’ Matthew tried and failed to think of an adequate name to hurl at Amber just as Mr Jefferies creaked past with his spaniel.
‘Hello, lad,’ he nodded at Matthew. ‘Back are you? Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. I think you’ve upset your lady.’
‘That’s no lady,’ Matthew hissed.
‘Now then, young man,’ Mr Jefferies warned. ‘Don’t go insulting Amber. You’ve done her wrong, and she’s retaliated.’
‘Mind your own business, you interfering old–’
‘Careful, lad. I might be nearly eighty, but I can still pack a punch.’
At that moment Edith reappeared in her slippers, brandishing a rolling pin. ‘And I might be seventy, but I won’t hesitate to defend Mr Jefferies. You’re guilty, Matthew. Guilty of infidelity. And you know it.’
‘What is this?’ Matthew snapped. ‘New Ash Green’s kangaroo court?’ Nonetheless he took a step away from Edith’s rolling pin and Mr Jefferies raised walking stick.
‘Good on both of you,’ said Amber in delight, to the two pensioners, ‘and thank you very much for standing by me. Sorry, Edith, for cheeking you earlier.’
Edith shrugged. ‘You had cause.’
‘Here you are, Matthew,’ said Amber, lobbing a roll of black sacks at her ex-boyfriend. ‘Just to prove I do have a heart, you can have these on me.’
‘It’s a pity you didn’t have the decency to bag up my stuff in the first place,’ he growled.
‘Rest assured, Matthew, decency doesn’t come into it. Good-bye.’
And with that she slammed the window shut, and drew the curtains for good measure.