Same Time Next Week

Chapter 45

‘I hear on the grapevine,’ said Iris the next morning, leaning across the table as she rolled up a cracker, ‘that Manbag, the miserable one in the Columbo coat, has put in an offer for the factory, but it’s well short of the asking price.’

‘Where did you hear that?’ asked young Venus.

‘Annie told me,’ said Iris.

Venus tutted. ‘I thought you’d been on a secret spy mission.’

‘I don’t need to. They’re going to tell me, aren’t they? I’m their most trusted employee.’

Then she and Venus both exchanged glances as Astrid got up and marched over to Annie’s office, shutting the door behind her.

‘What’s got into her?’ said Iris, in a low voice. ‘She’s been ruminating all morning, I could hear her cogs grinding. Summat serious going on in that German head of hers.’

In the Crackers Yard office, Astrid took a deep breath and began.

‘Please don’t laugh, Annie, Joe, but I want to ask you something.’

They both stared at her, and nodded for her to begin, wondering what on earth she had to say that was causing such an agitated expression on her face.

‘I want to buy the factory,’ Astrid said, waiting for their laughter to begin. Despite the encouragement she’d had from the women at the friendship club about this being a real possibility, the thought of herself in Annie’s seat was still bonkers. But, as with last night, there was no laughter.

‘Can you teach me what to do, how you run it? Can I do this? Am I being stupid?’ Astrid was clearly emotional.

‘No, of course you aren’t being stupid,’ said Annie. ‘And of course you could run this company. Look at everything you cover for us: production, sales, accounts, customer service. If I thought you’d been in the slightest bit interested we’d have had this conversation before, Astrid. We would love to pass it into your hands.’ Annie was getting equally emotional. The ideal scenario was that their beloved factory went to someone who could offer continuity, for their customers and their loyal work force.

‘This is the best news we could hear,’ said Joe. He stood up, opened up his arms and squashed Astrid in his tightest embrace. ‘My dear lady.’ He was almost crying, but then Joe wore his heart on his Italian sleeve and could cry at the bins being collected.

Astrid walked into the productivity room and addressed her workmates.

‘Okay, I have an announcement. I’d like you to meet your new boss,’ she said. ‘Me.’

And they didn’t laugh either.

That evening, Erin settled down to watch a box set and tried not to look at the clock. They’d be starting the grief counselling meeting now. They wouldn’t be waiting for her because she’d emailed Molly to say she wouldn’t be there, she’d made the excuse that it wasn’t for her at this time, but really it was because she couldn’t face Alex. She’d made things irrevocably awkward between them, asking him to lunch, misreading his attentions, her emotional compass clearly far off course, the magnet pointing nowhere near north. She could die of embarrassment just thinking about herself standing outside the housing estate office, trying to stutter and stammer her way back to the footing they’d had before she’d opened her big mouth – and failing.

Would Alex ask where she was? Would he wonder at the reason why she hadn’t turned up? Maybe he wouldn’t turn up himself, because he was on a second or even third date with the colleague he’d had dinner with on Saturday.

The ‘Tuesday club’ at the diner would give her what she needed more than Molly’s group: women who understood women, any barriers of age, background or creed obliterated by friendship, with no added complications of attraction to someone else in the group getting in the way. It was all she needed for now, until her ship steadied and stopped forcing itself towards stormy waters before she had rebuilt, recalibrated; no change in heartbeat, no ensuing disappointment, just acceptance.

Amanda had to reapply her eyeliner three times from scratch because she was making such a cock of it. She was nervous, though she had no real reason to be. Ray was making her dinner because he was grateful to her for spreading the word about his diner, this was not a ‘date’. He wouldn’t try and roger her on the serving counter; at best she’d go home with a take-away box full of whatever she hadn’t cleared from her plate.

She had been on the brink of cancelling, because it didn’t seem right having a meal out when her mum was in hospital. She’d been to see her after work to find her still sleeping peacefully and a slight improvement in her infection levels, so she’d taken that as a sign to have a full night off for herself, with good company and food. So here she was, trying to decide what to wear that said, I’ve made the effort for you but not too much that you think I’ve misread your invitation to mean something it isn’t .

Her phone must have realised that she was going to be in close proximity with a man because twice in the last twenty-four hours she’d had junk emails for tackling vaginal dryness, which could potentially give her something else to worry about. She hadn’t a clue if she was dry down there; it might have closed up like her second earring hole for all she knew. Anyway, she wouldn’t be finding out if she was the female equivalent of the Kalahari tonight so no need to add that stress onto the pile.

She decided on black jeans which made her legs look extra-long and slim, and her favourite boho top that was patterned enough so that if she dropped any food on it, it would be disguised by all the swirls. She twisted her dark-brown hair up into a bun. There were no twinkles of grey showing yet. Her mother hadn’t gone grey until she was seventy so she’d obviously inherited those genes from her; probably the only ones. Bradley got the rest: the blue-eyed gene, the short height gene, the gene that made one think the world revolved around oneself. He still hadn’t come back to her about where their mum was going to live when she came out of hospital but she couldn’t face talking to him at the moment. She needed some distance from him; she knew the more she pushed, the more he’d push back. It would be better that he formulated a plan by himself, then he could crow about what a clever boy he was to her.

She applied a slick of lipstick, a new one that promised not to transfer onto your teeth when you smiled. She had her father’s lips, full and generous, and his brown eyes with an unusual gold ring around the pupil. And she had his heart too, one that loved a woman who didn’t love them back.

‘You’ll do,’ she said to her reflection and then took the wine out of the fridge, picked up the box of salt water taffy she’d bought to give Ray a taste of home, and set off for the diner.

Two more newspapers had run a story about the Pennine Prowler on the anniversary of his arrest, his deathbed ‘statement’ being the focal point. People loved to be amateur detectives; they were the villagers of yore brandishing their torches and journeying en masse to burn the beast in the big castle, except nowadays their weapons were keyboards. Diana Nelson’s piece was the worst of them all, and as if in revenge for Sky’s non-compliance, she had been particularly vicious in her implications that the local known as the Teddy Bear Man turned to alcohol to chase away his demons. Sky knew it was no good threatening to sue the newspaper; one had replied to her in the past that if she could prove the information they’d printed was false, then she should go right ahead.

‘Do not let them get to you,’ said Astrid, tapping the lid of her laptop. ‘Turn it off.’

‘How can they get away in spreading so much made-up crap? How would—’

She cut off her words; this attack had come without warning. She could feel her heart struggling to find its rhythm. Astrid saw the panic in her face.

‘Sky! Sky, what’s up?’

‘I need my spray.’

‘Where is it?’ Astrid looked around. ‘What does it look like?’

‘White… canister. It’s in my bag.’ She bent over, in obvious distress.

Astrid scurried around; she’d seen Sky’s bag somewhere. On the back of a chair, she thought. She rushed into the kitchen and found it where she’d imagined it to be. She unzipped it, took out the canister, popped off the top and handed it to her friend. Sky held it near her mouth, gathered a breath, pressed the dose under her tongue, then let it take effect.

Astrid watched in shocked concern while trying to remain calm, because she thought that was what Sky might need her to be, rather than flapping and fussing.

‘Sky, what is it, darling?’

‘It’s my heart,’ said Sky. Once upon a time, she’d thought it couldn’t get any more damaged than it already was, and she’d been wrong.

The diner was empty when she arrived there but Ray was in a fluster.

‘Come in and please be seated,’ he said, dropping a bow before showing her to a table which had been set for two and with a lit candle in the middle.

‘This looks lovely,’ Amanda said.

‘I had walk-in customers who stayed late, I haven’t had time to change…’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replied.

‘You look great.’

‘Thank you,’ she said after a reticent pause, because it had taken her a few years to learn how to accept a compliment instead of batting them all away. She hadn’t had many growing up, she couldn’t remember her mother ever saying to her, You look nice , only ever Doesn’t he look sweet? Bradley had been about as sweet as diabetes growing up, and he still was.

She sat down, he poured her a glass of wine.

‘How’s your mom doing?’

‘A teeny bit better,’ she said, pinching her finger and thumb together to illustrate how much.

‘That’s good news. You hungry? It’s all ready.’ He disappeared into the kitchen to fetch their starters.

‘Smoked brown sugar and honey ribs,’ he announced, putting them on the table along with another plate. ‘Maybe I didn’t think this through, they’re kinda messy.’

They smelt wonderful.

‘I love mess. And garlic bread.’

‘Excuse me, young lady, this is Texas toast.’

‘Sorry, and what exactly is that then?’

‘Well… it’s… sort of… garlic bread.’ He grinned, she laughed, picked up a rib. When was the last time a man had made her dinner? She couldn’t remember. Had anyone ever? She had a vague recollection of someone serving her up tinned ravioli and Micro Chips with Viennetta to follow.

As if he was reading her thoughts, Ray said, ‘I was thinking earlier, I can’t remember anyone ever cooking a romantic meal for me.’

Is that what this is – romantic ? She tried not to let herself get carried away by that one single word.

‘Weren’t you married?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, but if you blinked you’d have missed it.’

‘I’ll cook you a meal next time,’ Amanda said, leaving out the adjective.

‘You cook?’

‘That’s what I always wanted to do when I was young, be a pastry chef – a patissière . I wanted to work in restaurants all over the world creating magic with meringues.’

‘And why didn’t you?’

‘Ah… long story. I got a “proper job” instead. I can retire next year. I can give up the daily commute. Or I can carry on until I’m sixty-seven and have a fuller pension pot.’

Sixty-seven sounded an awful long way off when she was considering what she should do.

The ribs were delicious, but thank goodness she was wearing a heavily patterned shirt.

‘So, if you did retire, what would you do with your days?’ asked Ray, making an equally messy job of eating, so she had no reason to feel alone.

‘I’ve been thinking that I’d like to open up a tea room with wonderful cakes in it. Sort of like this place used to be. I could be the new Bettina Boot of Barnsley and die on the job at ninety cutting up a blueberry pie.’

Ray’s blue eyes widened in horror. ‘You’d sell blueberry pie? You’d be my rival?’

‘Okay, I’d leave the pie off the menu as a courtesy to you.’

‘Why don’t you come and work for me? I’d love to have cake-to-go. You have that over here, right?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Amanda, tutting. ‘We had it way before you lot.’ She didn’t take his suggestion seriously. As if.

‘Can I just say, you have the most beautiful eyes,’ said Ray. He knew from her reaction that she probably wasn’t used to getting compliments, even though those big brown, gold-flecked eyes of hers should have commanded them every day. He didn’t want to embarrass her. ‘As you were,’ he said and picked up another rib.

Sky told Astrid that few people knew about her heart condition. When anyone had seen her using her spray at work, she’d explained it away as a touch of asthma. She coped adequately; she didn’t want sympathy, there was no reason for anyone else to be party to such information.

‘It’s hereditary, a sort of angina,’ she said. ‘My mum should never have had a child, it was too much strain on her and she became much worse after having me, but she always said it was a risk she wanted to take. I suppose I’m lucky that the risk of my ever getting pregnant was taken away when I had to have a hysterectomy. I really wasn’t designed to be a mum.’

Astrid had had no idea that her friend had been through all this. So much to deal with, so young. And she still had too much to deal with now. She couldn’t bring herself to ask about what the future might hold for her, but Sky addressed it anyway.

‘They’re making medical advances all the time on conditions like mine, at least that’s what they tell me. But if I keep well and calm, watch what I eat and drink, no bungee jumping, I can give myself the best chance of having a “largely normal life”.’ She drew the quotation marks in the air with her fingers.

It was a good job they’d got her out of that house, away from that kotzbrocken , thought Astrid. And what a vile chunk of vomit he was.

‘No more looking at news for a while,’ said Astrid sternly. ‘It’s my house rule. You are not to, or I will terminate our tenancy agreement. Okay?’

‘Then if it’s a rule, I have to abide by it,’ returned Sky with a soft smile.

‘Good. Now I will go and put the kettle on.’

Ray’s main course was chilli, made the Texan way with no beans; the beef was tender, swaddled in a thick sauce that had been spiked with fresh green chillies. Ray served it with rolls of corn tortillas and sour cream to counteract the heat. He’d made rice too, a concession for foreign heathens because that wasn’t the way they did it back home, he informed her.

Amanda coughed with her first mouthful.

‘Gets you at the back of the throat, doesn’t it?’ he said.

‘It’s certainly shocked my tonsils awake,’ said Amanda.

Ray chewed, swallowed, then put down his fork.

‘Thank you for what you did for me, Amanda.’

She flapped her hand, waving his words away. ‘You said that already too many times. I hardly did anything. I can’t take credit that isn’t mine.’

‘I think you did. That article in the Yorkshire Standard brought me a lot of interest. And the interviewer told me that there was a long waiting list to be featured but that any friend of yours was automatically a big friend of hers, and she bumped me up to the top because of you. And whatever you said to make the pensioners flood in, boy – they fill up the place most mornings. Then they buy pies to take home. I was serious, I need a proper “to-go” service. So I’m going to leave that there with you.’

‘I told one of my mum’s neighbours about you, Ray, that’s all I did. She’s exactly what you need if you wanted to spread the word. I’ve always said you should never underestimate the power of the geriatric PR machine.’

‘Whoever it was, she is good. You need to tell her about the to-go service when you set it up here.’ He winked and Amanda felt something deep inside her pop like a balloon full of warm air. She allowed herself for a moment to imagine what it would be like working alongside Ray, here, seeing him on a daily basis. She’d be constantly sighing like a Disney princess in the orbit of her Prince Perfect. Ridiculous notion really. As ridiculous as Mel joining a rock band in her fifties, or Astrid buying a cracker factory in her forties and yet she was ready to encourage them to follow their dreams.

‘Weed whacker,’ said Ray then, looping back to the game of cultural oneupmanship they’d started earlier. ‘That’s a much better name for it than strimmer . It whacks the weeds. I think we win that one.’

‘Slip roads. We slip into the flow of traffic. What on earth does on-grid and off-grid really mean?’

‘We gave you Halloween.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ray. We celebrated that before America was even founded. We used to bob for apples and tell ghost stories before the Romans landed. Admittedly you may have been responsible for bringing trick-or-treating over here. I’ll give you that.’

‘A jumper is someone who jumps, it’s a ridiculous name for a sweater,’ said Ray, not to be outdone.

‘Sweaters are people who sweat,’ Amanda came back at him, wrinkling up her nose.

‘Okay, proms then.’

‘Some schools had leavers’ dances, even if they weren’t called proms.’

‘Did you have one at your school?’

‘No.’

She’d snapped the answer without meaning to.

‘We should have had one but it was cancelled,’ she went on, aware that he was looking at her for clarification because he could sense the shift in atmosphere, the drop in temperature – slight, but unmistakable.

‘Why?’

‘A boy in our year died.’

Ray stopped eating.

‘Did you know him?’

‘We used to catch the same bus to school. His name was Seth Mason and he was sixteen. He was our year’s “It” boy, I thought he was gorgeous but I knew he wouldn’t be interested in me, I was just Miss Skinny Ordinary back then.’

Ray was listening intently. She didn’t want to bring down the mood and shouldn’t have started this story, but he was waiting for her to continue.

‘Then he started to talk to me when we were on the bus. And when the dance was announced, he asked if I’d go with him. I thought he was joking. I mean – me. ’

She’d wanted to float home but also she never believed it would happen. She thought he’d let her down at the last minute. Her mum wouldn’t buy her a dress that she’d wear just the once, so she’d bought it herself from her wages washing up at the local Italian; it was darkest blue velvet. She never wore it; she’d ripped it up and buried it at the bottom of the bin.

Seth was captain of the rugby team and two days before the dance, when he’d led his team out onto the pitch, he’d winked at her and her heart swelled to fifteen times its normal size. She remembered worrying, I hope he doesn’t get a black eye. But then again, it wouldn’t have made any difference.

She knew that other girls were thinking it, did he just wink at Brundell ? She’d never been envied before. She envied herself. She wondered if he’d kiss her at the end of the evening.

‘He was playing rugby. I was watching because it was a big inter-school competition. He went charging up the pitch, he clashed, he fell down… and he never got up again.’

The medic wandered on, no one thought it was serious at first; she could see it now, the memory was as horribly clear as if it had just been repainted, the reverberations of the scene had followed her down the years.

‘That’s why we never had our end of year dance.’

‘Jeez, that’s… bad,’ said Ray.

Those beautiful blue eyes, forever closed. She looked up and saw Ray Morning’s blue eyes and it was as if the past had bobbed forward to say hello.

Until now, she’d never met anyone who made her feel quite like she had in the orbit of Seth Mason: it was as though the sun followed him. But here she was with Ray Morning and it felt like a grown-up version of the same.

As if in slow motion she saw his hand reach across the table to take hers… and then her phone went off in her bag and it was Bradley’s name on the screen when she looked.