Same Time Next Week

Chapter 36

Sky grew ever more tense as Bon’s van approached the house, with the three of them sitting together in the front, Sky in the middle. She was cross with herself. She didn’t blame Astrid for trying to help her, it was her own fault for opening her mouth in the Tuesday club and it was now going to cause bother. Bon was driving silently and she could see by his expression that he was gearing up for a confrontation. She didn’t want him to get into trouble; Wilton would have no compunction about ringing the police on him.

Bon pulled up sharply beside the house. It looked decent from the outside, in a row of other decent houses, but that’s because Katy and Jordan and Sky had looked after it, made sure the small front garden was neat, paid for a window cleaner and Katy’s sunny yellow curtains were still hung up. Sky got out of the van with her key ready in her hand. She knew Wilton was in because his own van, a much smaller affair than Bon’s Mercedes Sprinter, was parked on the road. Bon noticed the state of it inside when they passed it, like a skip on wheels.

Sky put the key in the lock and turned it. The smell hit them immediately when the door was open: acrid, cigarette smoke. Breathing the air in these days was the equivalent of smoking oneself. Bon gently pushed Sky out of the way and walked in first.

Wilton waddled out of the lounge, hoisting up his customary tracksuit bottoms that were always halfway down his backside. He looked from Astrid to Bon, then to Sky.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘Astrid, if you could kindly help Sky pack up her things,’ said Bon calmly, sweetly even. ‘There are plenty of boxes in the van. I’ll be with you in a matter of minutes, ladies.’ He then addressed Wilton. ‘Mr Dearne, I believe. I’d like a few words with you.’

He stepped towards Wilton, forcing him back into the lounge and when they were clear of the door, Bon shut it.

Astrid’s mouth formed an excited Ooo.

‘I’ll bring the boxes in, you start to pack,’ she said to Sky.

Sky didn’t bother folding up her clothes, but put them in her case as quickly as she could. Her books, laptop, clean towels, fabrics and sewing machine went in boxes. She would leave the bedding and pillows because however much she washed them, she’d remember that Wilton’s body had been on them.

Astrid pressed an ear to the lounge door as she passed by. She heard Wilton swearing at Bon, but there was no heated response from Bon, whatever he was saying was barely audible. She hoped he was coming out on top because it didn’t sound like it, even if the flabby landlord would be no match for Bon physically. He was strong as an ox because Astrid had seen him pick up and carry things in the shop, even though he wasn’t built anything like her Kevin. He’d needed a huge coffin, Bon and Willy had made it for him together; solid oak, for a solid oak of a man.

Astrid carried the boxes out as Sky filled them. There wasn’t much for a young woman’s life, she thought. No furniture, other than a pretty writing desk and chair.

Finally the lounge door opened and a puce-faced Wilton scuttled down the hallway past Sky’s room to the one that used to be Jordan’s. He slammed the door behind him, making his mood clear, then emerged again with a handful of twenty-pound notes.

‘Here,’ he said, slapping them down onto Bon’s waiting palm. ‘Now get the fuck out of my house.’

‘We’ll stay to count it,’ said Bon, not in the least cowed by the landlord’s tenor. ‘Then you can have your key.’ He handed them to Sky.

‘There should be five months rent there, Sky, and your bond. You check it while we move the rest of your things.’

Sky sat on the bed and counted it. She was six pounds in credit but she wouldn’t refund him. She couldn’t believe Bon had got it for her.

She came out of the room just as Bon was taking the last box to the van. He was just as delicious from the back as from the front: long legs, strong shoulders, tapering to a perfect waist. She took a final long look at the place she’d been so happy in until those recent weeks. She could see Katy in the lounge scoffing a Pot Noodle, telling her she’d met this great bloke called Ozzy but she hadn’t a chance with him. And she could visualise Jordan, cooking his speciality pesto pasta in the kitchen for her after her op. She and Jordan and Katy, their vitality and warmth pressed into the air like a watermark, she’d try and remember this house like that. She couldn’t wait to text Katy and tell her what had just happened.

She placed the key on the table and closed the front door. Wilton Dearne was already consigned to the past.

Mel tried to ring Postman Pat yet again to tell him not to come round but he wasn’t answering. What the hell was she thinking of, ringing him? She left a voicemail to say she was fine now. She hadn’t gone to work, she’d rung in sick and her boss Heather was great about it; she said she’d actually suspected Mel had come back too soon after she’d been struck down with that virus and obviously hadn’t been ready to return. The branch was closed for staff training tomorrow, so she told Mel to rest up and come back Monday. Mel would have felt awful for lying had she had any room for it in her head.

Pat had obviously been home to change out of his uniform because the man who swaggered up the drive at three o’clock with Oasis shoulders was in jeans and a navy peacoat. Mel was overcome with guilt, dragging him up here just because she’d had a major meltdown after Steve had left.

She opened the door before he’d had a chance even to knock.

‘Y’a’right?’ he asked.

‘Er… yeah… yeah. I’ve been trying to ring you all day to say I was okay now.’

‘Had me phone switched off. You don’t look all right.’ He strode past her and took a seat in her lounge, sat down legs apart, hands on his thighs, a manly, confident pose. His eyes zoned in on her mouth. ‘Did he hit you?’

‘Wha… oh no, it’s… I keep catching my lip and it’s swelled up. I’ve had a cold sore.’

‘I know, I saw it,’ he said. It had obviously stuck in his mind then, which was embarrassing. It was a bit of a focal point, to be fair. It felt bigger than her head.

‘Sorry I couldn’t talk earlier. Mad busy. What happened then?’

‘Can I get you a cup of something while we talk?’

‘A coffee’d be great, thanks.’ He followed her into the kitchen. ‘Nice house,’ he said, his eyes doing a quick rove around.

‘Yes,’ she replied. It was supposed to be her forever home. Their forever home. That future didn’t seem so certain any more.

He sat down at the kitchen table. She put the kettle on and reached into the cupboard. She pulled out a box of asparagus Cup a Soups and took one out. Then realised her mistake and put it back in the box.

‘You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?’ said Pat.

‘No,’ she said, her voice wobbling. She’d gone through every emotion there was since first thing that morning. The anger was better but it had dissipated and now she was two nice words away from collapsing into a pathetic soggy, confused mess.

‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I’ll make them.’

They carried the boxes into Astrid’s beautiful home. It was flooded with pale pastels, and light poured in through the large windows, entirely different from the dreary, dark place Sky had left. She hadn’t noticed the drabness so much when her friends had been there, though; they’d brought the sunshine inside with them. And the bonus with Astrid’s house was that it was within walking distance of Spring Hill, too; it was perfect on every level.

‘I need to go back to work,’ said Sky. ‘My car’s there.’

‘I’ll take you,’ said Bon.

‘Und meanwhile I will get your bed ready,’ said Astrid, ‘and just give the place an extra little dust.’

She couldn’t have found any dust in that house with a microscope, thought Sky.

‘I am so chuffed,’ beamed Astrid. And she was. She didn’t have to vet prospective tenants for weirdness, instead she would have the lovely Sky for company.

‘I haven’t even asked you how much rent this place is,’ said Sky.

‘I haven’t even thought how much to ask for it,’ said Astrid with a titter. ‘We will sort it out between us.’

‘I can’t thank you enough, Astrid,’ said Sky, still bewildered by the madness of the day so far.

‘And I can’t thank you enough for my Kevin bear,’ said Astrid. She’d been so touched by that, the favour repaid was a pleasure to give.

Sky got into the van with Bon.

‘Thank you,’ she said, when they set off.

‘You should have told me before,’ said Bon. ‘I’d have helped you. Any of us would.’

‘I didn’t have anywhere to go, it was only recently that I heard about Astrid’s room. Not that I could have afforded it anyway, not unless Wilton had given me a refund and my bond back. What did you say to him?’

Bon allowed himself the smallest of wry smiles. ‘Never you mind.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ Though Sky wished she could have been a fly on the wall, not that her admiration could have superseded what it already was for him. She knew that Wilton was probably a typical bully who could only stand up to weaker people, and Bon was very strong. She thought of how he’d lifted up the box of books that she’d barely been able to drag to the door. He was perfect. And next week the man she was in love with was going to dinner with Gwyn Tankersley who had bought the desk, a woman his own age, polished and glamorous and assured, like Erin van der Meer. He wouldn’t have accepted if he didn’t like her. Like her.

‘When your friend or foe left earlier, she told me to pass a message on to you. She said that a reporter had been sniffing around. Something about it being twenty years. Does that make sense to you?’

Sky nodded, but didn’t say anything. She turned her face to the window. Bon must also know what Angel meant. It would never go away; the rumours, the accusations had followed her father far beyond the grave. It haunted her that he would not lie at rest while they persisted. And there was nothing she could do but let them swirl, because she’d learned that protesting was just talking into the wind and always would be, unless there was proof against them.

‘Have you heard from… your wife?’ asked Mel, as Pat put milk into the coffees. She still couldn’t say her name because it would make her even more real than she was already. She had a freeze-frame moment then of how odd this was: another man standing in her kitchen making her a coffee. It should be Steve standing there doing that, but it was a postman who was taller and ganglier with a Mancunian accent that made John Cooper Clarke sound like he was playing at it.

‘Nope,’ said Pat. ‘I will when she starts to get bored – and the chances of that are high, trust me.’

‘I just can’t believe this is happening,’ said Mel. ‘It’s like when Covid first started up and you know it’s all real but half of you is thinking you’re living in a sci-fi movie.’

‘Maybe I was just more guarded than I thought I was and that’s why I’m managing it,’ said Pat. ‘I don’t mind telling you the first time it happened, I was in a right state. And then she came back and didn’t want to talk about it because she just wanted to forget it and move on, but I needed to unravel it all and get it sorted in my head, and I never got the chance. So when he comes back, then you make sure that you have the conversations you need to have for you to move forward, because he owes you that.’

‘You think he will?’ she asked. ‘Come back, I mean.’

‘I can’t guarantee it, but I’d guess so. And I can’t tell you if that’s because the guilt will gnaw at him too much, or he realises he prefers you to her, or if the shine wears off for her and she dumps him so he’s got nowhere else to go. One of us is going to be plan B, is what I’m saying.’

Mel rubbed her forehead as if it were a genie’s lamp and could give her a wish.

‘But they might decide they want to be together,’ she said.

‘Yeah, they might,’ Pat lifted up his shoulders and dropped them. ‘I doubt it, but they might. How would you be for money if he wanted a divorce?’

She hadn’t wanted to start thinking about that happening, but she supposed she might have to.

‘Okay, probably. I wouldn’t want to fight over the microwave. This house is bought and paid for. We’ve got savings, pensions. I could just about afford to buy him out of the house…’ She wouldn’t want that, though; this was their house. Steve had put his mark on every room: the walls he’d knocked down, the kitchen he’d put in, the wet room he’d built, the fireplace he’d made. She hiccupped a sob and then apologised.

‘You don’t have to be sorry; I’m sorry it’s my wife that’s helped put you in this spot. For the record I think your husband will feel like he’s been hit by a train. She’s quite a force is Chlo, she enjoys having sexual power; he wouldn’t have stood a chance. She’ll make him feel like a million dollars, but if she drops him, it’ll be from a great height.’ He tore off some kitchen roll and handed it to Mel; she pushed her face into it and mopped up the few escapee tears.

‘Would you be okay, financial-wise?’ she asked, pulling herself together.

Pat brought the coffees to the table and sat down. ‘Yeah. We’ve got a couple of properties we rent out. Good pensions. The idea was to retire early and do what we enjoy. In her case it would have been lying out in the sun all day, in mine it would have been to see a load of bands.’

‘Steve hates live gigs. He could never understand why I’d want to be crushed in a mosh pit when I could watch things on the telly,’ said Mel.

‘You’re kidding?’ Pat shook his head incredulously. ‘Has he never heard of atmosphere?’

‘No. And even when I dragged him to see the Happy Mondays he didn’t get it and it was amazing.’

‘Now you’re talking my language. Madchester days. And they were mad an’ all. Glory days of music. An’ I was dressing like this before Oasis hit the scene, just let me make that point before anyone finks I’m some sort of pound-shop Liam Gallagher.’

Whoops, thought Mel. She’d called him that in the friendship group at the diner.

‘I was once nearly in a band,’ she said. ‘But the drummer got pregnant and… life happened. I joined a bank instead, just one letter difference but a world apart. My mum and dad were happy though.’

‘It’s not about what makes them happy though, is it? You can’t live anyone else’s life for ’em, you can only choose your own dreams. My daugh’er wanted to go travelling. I wanted her to stay home and be safe but I had to wave her off and keep me gob shut, let her do her thing and she did and now she’s married and pregnant. I wanted to be a roadie when I was younger, travelling with bands, putting up their equipment, just hanging with them, you know. Me mam said “is there any money in it for you?” and me dad said, “just let him do what he has to do” and I did it and I loved it.’

‘You were a roadie?’

‘Yeah, went all over the world. Then when I’d had enough, I settled down. Still love my bands, though.’ He smiled. He had a great smile, thought Mel.

‘What did you play?’ he asked her.

‘Guitar,’ replied Mel. ‘Still do. I teach it. An old pal of mine got in touch recently, wanted to know if I’d like to resurrect my ambition and be in the band we never actually got around to setting up.’

He laughed. Like everyone else. Like Steve.

‘Well, it’s a no-brainer, innit? You got to do it,’ he said, shocking her. ‘If it’s still in there, you’ve got to let it out to breathe.’

‘I said no. Steve said I was way too old.’

‘Sod that, ring ’em up and tell ’em you’ve changed your mind. Nuts to what anyone else thinks.’

‘I’m fifty-three.’

‘Mick Jagger’s a hundred and five and still touring.’

Mel laughed at that.

‘You’re too old when you’re dead, Mel. Until then everything’s a possibility.’

‘Are you sure you aren’t Confucius reincarnated? You’re very wise.’

‘University of life, I’ve got a load of Ph.Ds from it,’ said Pat to that and brought the cup to his lips.

‘Thank you,’ Mel said. ‘I’m sorry I rang you, I shouldn’t have. I panicked.’

‘No problem, really. I’d have still come if I’d got your message to say don’t come, just to check on yer. Been where you are and it’s shit.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go in a minute. Sorry, it was just a quick call round; I’m taking my daugh’er to look at cars. Her husband hasn’t a clue what questions to ask. We’ll talk again, yeah? We’ll both get frough this, one way or another, all right?’

Mel nodded. Pat took his cup over to the sink, swilled it and put it upside down on the draining board.

She saw him out while wishing he’d stayed for another.