Same Time Next Week

Chapter 43

Erin and Sky both did a double-take when they saw each other and both had a moment of unease, but it quickly passed. Sky was only glad she hadn’t confessed that she was in love with Bon when she was at the first meeting because it would have been bad enough when Astrid turned up the week after, but if Erin had got to know that would have been excruciating. She wondered if she knew already; women were intuitive about such things.

Erin also thought she recognised the red-haired woman from somewhere, but couldn’t place her.

‘Can I just say that if anyone had any further thoughts about how we might be able to improve things in the workspace for women who are going through life changes, perimenopause, menopause, postmenopause, it would be great to hear them,’ said Amanda, when they were all settled. She did need to complete this report for Linus at some point.

‘And can I just say something before we go there,’ said Sky, because it had been on her mind since that reporter had ambushed her this morning, and she wanted to blow it apart, before it blew her apart. ‘I’m not really called Sky Urban; my real name is Sky Urbaniak, and you might hear my surname mentioned in the press over the next week or so because it’s the twentieth anniversary of the Pennine Prowler being caught and some people thought my dad was his accomplice.’

It was better not to pussyfoot around things, she thought, and to dive straight in. ‘It’s rubbish. I’ll be brief but I would rather you knew.’

She filled them all in on the history, the real history, the story she would have given the reporter today if she could have trusted her. How her dad and Wayne Craven might have been friends once but their lives took different paths as they got older. Her dad wanted nothing more than to settle down with a wife and run a shop, have a family. Wayne was a chancer, a thrill-seeker, chaotic, but her father always felt his deprived, abusive upbringing had had an impact on the man he became. Her father’s compassion, coupled with their close childhood friendship, had provided grist to the rumour mill and fuelled the accusations that had followed. Her father had been na?ve at first, had trusted that the truth would come out, but it didn’t and instead, his business had gone down the pan. Then his wife died and he gave up.

She looked around the room, having told them, and everyone’s eyes were on her. ‘I’m sorry if all that was a bit heavy,’ she said then, immediately regretting her impulse to open up to them. What was she thinking of? That reporter had stirred everything up, made her lose her grip.

Amanda laid her hand over Sky’s and gave it a squeeze.

‘That’s why we have this space, Sky,’ she said. ‘Exactly for this sort of thing.’

‘I didn’t want to take over the meeting,’ said Sky, feeling as if she had because she’d shocked them all into silence, even Astrid. No one knew what to say for the best afterwards. Except Erin, who decided that, possibly, she had something that would transfer the heat away from her.

‘Maybe I should take this moment to introduce myself,’ she said. ‘My name is Erin Flaxton; some of you will know me as Erin van der Meer. My story is that I left my husband for someone else and had the worst two and a half years of my life. She died in horrible circumstances and I joined a grief counselling group and I’ve found myself falling for a man there who I thought was interested in me and he isn’t. I’m a total mess. So that’s me in a nutshell.’

Again that pin-drop silence, then Mel said, ‘Well, you’re going to fit in perfectly with us lot, then.’

Astrid served up coffees and distributed snacks. Ray had laid on his famous blueberry pie today and it was turning out to be a comfort-food pie-eating sort of meeting.

‘I would love to have my own business,’ said Astrid, when Erin had told them about her graphic design firm. ‘I am feeling very…’ – she tried to put it into words that made sense – ‘… very… as if I have energies that I don’t know where to put.’

‘What sort of business?’ asked Erin. ‘In my case I was passionate about art and design and so that was my starting point, but then I really got into the business side of things, which I hadn’t expected.’

‘You’ll laugh if I tell you what ticks my boxes,’ said Astrid, cutting into her pie with a cake fork.

‘We might, but tell us anyway,’ Amanda nudged her playfully.

‘Okay then… crackers,’ said Astrid.

No one laughed, which surprised her.

‘The type you pull,’ she clarified, in case they thought she meant crackers one put cheese on.

‘I work a couple of days a week in a factory that makes them; I have done for some years now,’ she went on. ‘I love it. I love making them, I love working with the people. I sometimes go into the office and do the wages and sometimes I have been out on the road with my boss to meet clients. I love everything about it and I have ideas buzzing around all the time about what else we could do.’ Astrid smiled sadly. ‘But, it has gone up for sale.’

‘Will the new owners keep you on?’ asked Sky, who knew that Astrid had this job but not that she liked it quite as much as she clearly did.

‘Maybe, maybe not. But it won’t be the same.’ They wouldn’t call her off constructing to help with the accounts or liaise with suppliers like the Pandoros did. And if Manbag bought it, he’d be closing it down and setting up in Tring.

‘Why don’t you take it over, then?’ said Erin.

Astrid gave her a look that said she was barmy, verrückt.

‘Could you afford the finances?’ asked Amanda.

All eyes were on Astrid.

‘Er, yes… yes I could, I’m sure. But…’ And she laughed, because it was laughable. ‘… I couldn’t run it.’

‘Sounds to me as if you’re involved in quite a lot of aspects of the business already, though,’ said Erin.

‘Well, yes, I cover all of what is needed to be done…’ Astrid’s voice tailed off as she realised that what she was saying was absolutely the truth. But still… Her in charge? Come on .

‘I think you need to have a word with yourself, Astrid,’ said Sky. ‘What would Kev do if you told him you were thinking about buying the cracker firm? Would he laugh?’

Astrid imagined him standing in front of her, shaking his head.

‘ Are you nuts ?’ he’d say. ‘ Stop fannying about doubting yourself and wasting time. ’

‘What you don’t know, you can learn,’ said Erin. ‘But it appears to me that you’d be starting off at a more advantageous point than many do.’

Astrid nodded. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, her calm, quiet tone giving away nothing of her whirling, giddy thoughts. She just couldn’t imagine such a thing… but also she wanted to – very much.

‘How’s the landlord situation, Sky?’ asked Amanda.

‘Solved,’ she said. At least she had some good news to bring to the table. She got a round of ‘Hurrah!’s for that.

‘I have a new tenant,’ Astrid beamed over at her. ‘And it is working out very well.’

‘What happened? Did you get your money back?’ Amanda thought the situation Sky had previously described sounded pretty hopeless on that front.

‘Plus six pounds,’ said Sky with a smile.

‘I opened me big gob, that’s vhat happened.’ Astrid tutted. ‘I told my boss at the repair shop that Sky was in the power-grip of an evil landlord. He threw boxes in the back of his van and then loaded up Sky and me and we drove over to the house,’ said Astrid with relish. ‘There was no messing with him, he was like a superhero.’

‘Well, he sounds a bit of all right,’ said Mel. ‘Is he married?’

Sky didn’t dare to look over at Erin for fear of giving anything away, but Erin answered anyway.

‘Not any more, but he was – to me. We split up a long time ago but we’ve stayed good friends. And he is every bit a knight in shining armour.’

Although she did think that in this, he had gone somewhat further for Sky than he would have done for anyone else: the way he seemed to have gone storming in was a clue. He wasn’t someone who acted on immediate impulses usually. That was very interesting. And also she thought that, had she herself not been here at the meeting, Sky might have gushed a little more about his rescue mission.

‘I’ve never managed to stay friendly with an ex,’ said Amanda, shuddering inwardly. She wouldn’t have wanted to keep any of them around.

‘Ditto,’ Erin agreed with her, ‘except for him.’

‘Crikey, have you seen the time?’ said Mel, noticing her watch. It was nine o’clock. What had they talked about for three hours? Three hours with barely a thought of Steve. She hadn’t thought it was possible.

Erin pulled up Sky by the door as she was leaving with Astrid, who walked on ahead to give them a moment.

‘Sky, I hope you didn’t feel I was being deceptive whenever we met. It was Bon’s idea not to say anything to anyone about us divorcing, not until it was all done. Not that he thought we would have any change of heart after the decree nisi, but he likes to keep his business private. It felt very odd going into the shop and people addressing me still as Mrs van der Meer, which I suppose I was legally but—’

‘Honestly, it’s fine. I understand,’ Sky said. It was Bon all over really, wanting things to be straight.

‘He put me in a bit of a spot with it to be honest. I was glad when we could tell the truth. Don’t think ill of me – or him, for that matter.’ Erin smiled, hoping to convey her sincerity. ‘He thought it was our business, no one else’s, that we had to acclimatise to it without having to explain it away. It was easier for him, of course, because he wasn’t in another relationship and it caused problems in mine. But then, when things started going wrong, I found a sort of protection in staying married to Bon because… I… we…’ She stammered. It was horribly complicated, she wasn’t even sure she understood the psychology behind it herself. ‘I’m not explaining it well, Sky, but… Bon is the best person I know. I told him about that woman who was in the shop the day I bought the bear. I didn’t like the vibe of her and I wanted Bon to watch your back. I happen to know he’s very fond of you. He wouldn’t have stormed in and sorted out a landlord for just anyone, you know.’

Erin wanted Sky to catch the hint. She couldn’t tell if she had from her expression, though. She was as deep as Bon and that didn’t make for easy matchmaking.

Mel helped Amanda collect the mugs and plates after everyone had gone. There were no cookies left today and Ray had baked extra for them. Plus there was pie, which had been totally devoured.

‘I really do have to get some ideas for my boss about the sodding menopause,’ said Amanda, being reminded of it by the telltale prickling in her scalp of an imminent sweating episode. The HRT patches hadn’t totally cured them but they were more spaced out now, and not as severe when they did occur. And being able to string a sentence together alone made every penny she was paying for them worth it. She did wish someone at the clinic had told her how to take the patch glue off her bum, though, before she’d looked it up on the net after scrubbing herself raw with a body brush. It should have been standard information: baby oil and a cotton wool pad.

‘I’ll ask at work, I promise,’ replied Mel. ‘We have too many stories to share about other things, don’t we? How’s your mum, by the way? You didn’t say much about her and I wondered what you weren’t telling us.’

‘I wasn’t hiding anything, there really isn’t much to tell,’ Amanda answered. ‘She’s just lying there, letting an antiobiotic drip fight various infections in her body. I think they’re playing Whac-A-Mole with them.’ She would be heading up to the hospital after this to see how things were at first hand, but she could spare another five minutes to talk to Mel. She sat down. ‘I needed tonight. I look forward to this Tuesday get-together so much; it’s better than I’d hoped it would be when I thought of setting it up, you know, just sitting in a room of women sharing our lives makes you feel that you aren’t alone wading through shit. Nobody’s comparing what’s happening, no one feels that their rubbish is worth more or less than anyone else’s.’

‘Yep, we’ve got a fair bit going on between us,’ said Mel, sitting down also. ‘Unrequited love, cheating husbands, career crossroads, serial killers… didn’t see that one coming; did you?’

‘Poor Sky, though at least she’s away from that creepy landlord.’

‘Might have to call in to the repair shop and put a face to the name of this Bon bloke. I wonder if he’s any good at mending broken marriages. I suppose they must get things in there they just have to admit defeat with. Or is there hope for even the most battered of things?’

‘Mel, I didn’t want to ask and put you on the spot because I’m sure you’d have told us if you wanted to,’ said Amanda, ‘but do I detect a bit of an upturn with you since last week? Anything you wish to report?’

Mel hadn’t said anything in their meeting other than that she was doing okay, keeping positive. She wasn’t sure how her big news would go down. She hadn’t quite got it square in her own head yet. But also the blood was whooshing in her veins just at the memory of it.

‘I…’ she began and then shut up. Dare she say? Oh bugger it, why not .

‘I shagged the postman.’

That really wasn’t what Amanda had been expecting her to say.

Richard Sutton reached for the bottle to replenish his wine. Bon noticed how he filled up his own glass but didn’t think to offer his wife any. He was very observant of people’s behaviour; their manners helped to build up a picture of them and he had Sutton’s portrait finished in fine oils after that one single self-absorbed action. He stole a glance at his watch to check the hour and wondered when would be a respectable time to leave. He didn’t like any of these people, each full of their own hype and pretensions, worshipping at the altar of cold, hard cash. Gwyn was the best of them, but Bon was under no illusions why he was here and it wasn’t primarily for networking purposes, that had just been the lure to reel him in. He wasn’t interested, and he was careful to show his boundaries were clearly marked.

‘Oh, do leave the car and have a drink.’ Gwyn wrapped herself around his arm, putting her head against his shoulder.

‘Thank you, but I never drink more than one glass of wine on a weeknight, I have too many early starts at work.’

‘Then I should invite you again at a weekend,’ she whispered, her breath tickling his neck.

‘You’re all invited to my father’s birthday party so save the date: thirteenth of September. Everyone who is anyone is coming,’ announced Sutton, his voice on the wrong side of slurred. He lifted the cigar out from the long, slim box he’d put on the table when he first came into the room, bit the head off it and spat it into his hand. A sophisticated man would not have done that: Bon knew as much because he was what Sutton wasn’t.

‘He’s always been so on the ball up here but not these days.’ Sutton tapped his temple. ‘It’s more for my mother than him, really; she wants some happy memories to take forward before the rot totally sets in. What do you buy the man who has everything for his birthday, though? My daughter’s apparently having something made for him at your shop, Bon…’ He stalled as if listening to himself as a third party. ‘What sort of name is that anyway – Bon ? What’s it short for? Bonzo? Bonkers?’ He guffawed at his own wit.

‘I was named after my grandfather Boniface, but only given the shortened version of it,’ Bon answered him.

‘Lucky for you,’ said Mr ‘top of the commodities ladder’ Dunny with a barely disguised snigger, and Bon thought that anyone sharing his name with a kakhuis had no grounds for scoffing.

‘It’s a fabulous name, it suits you,’ said Gwyn, still coiled around him.

‘Anyway, as I was saying,’ Sutton continued, now puffing on his cigar, ‘is there anything else you do up there that would be suitable for a seventy-year-old? Maybe one of your desks. How much are they, anyway?’

‘If you have to ask, you can’t afford one,’ said Gwyn, finally releasing Bon to pour herself a glass of his chenin blanc.

‘I can afford anything he’s got up there, don’t you worry about that,’ said Sutton.

‘Maybe, but I have a waiting list for desks.’

‘How much to jump the queue?’

‘That’s not how I work.’

‘That’s how everyone works, for the right price. Anyway, that’s a shit idea. He can’t write his own name any more, what would he need with a fucking desk? Don’t be overcharging my daughter because you know we’ve got plenty.’ He jabbed his cigar in Bon’s direction.

Bon wasn’t intimidated by the Suttons of this world, who were all flab and bluster. They were the ones intimidated by class, finesse, or honour, because they had no idea how to acquire those things that couldn’t be bought.

Gwyn stood up, stretching like a contented cat.

‘Can I get anyone a cognac? A scotch?’

Bon took his cue. He got up.

‘I will leave you to enjoy your digestifs. It has been a pleasure to meet you all.’ He swung his head from one side of the table to the other. There was a cry from the women for him not to go so early. Jerome was asleep at the end of the table, his face resting onto the pillow of his chin.

‘I’ll be in touch, Boniface,’ Sutton said, drunk and under the impression he had something to get in touch with Bon about. Bon headed out with Gwyn pressing him also to stay, even for just a little longer. He smiled politely and said he was sorry but he couldn’t.

‘It’s very attractive when a man is so resolute in his decisions,’ she said at the huge front door. ‘I absolutely applaud your professionalism. And I’m sorry we are all plastered, Bon. When you get to know us properly you’ll realise we can just be ourselves when we’re together, warts and all. It’s not all hot air that comes out of Richard’s mouth, he was just willy-waving tonight. Do come again and you’ll see that.’

Bon bent to kiss Gwyn’s cheek without committing himself to an answer. He felt her twisting, hoping to find his mouth but he straightened in time to avoid it.

‘Enjoy the rest of your birthday evening, and thank you for your hospitality.’

‘You have future customers in that room,’ said Gwyn, thumbing behind her. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’

He opened the door.

‘Stay tonight,’ she tried again, one last whispered attempt to show him her hand. ‘No strings.’

‘Good night, Gwyn.’

His rebuff was as gallant a one as it was possible to give. Gwyn would roll around on her sheets later replaying his refusal to take advantage of her inebriation. It would only make him more attractive in her eyes.