Same Time Next Week

Chapter 53

‘This is pretty amazing, Amanda,’ said Linus, thumbing through the many-page report she’d brought to his desk last Friday for him to read over the weekend. It exceeded his expectations, for not only was there lots of feedback on what women went through in the workplace during the menopausal time of their lives, written sensitively and without womansplaining, but there were some incredibly practical and infinitely doable suggestions that could be implemented almost immediately, and probably should have been a long time ago.

Amanda had left in some of the more frivolous ideas to amuse him and also to illustrate the frustration that had triggered them.

‘Permission to knee anyone who makes inappropriate comments about it to me in the balls,’ read Linus trying, unsuccessfully, not to chuckle.

Amanda had wanted to do exactly that to Philip this morning when she’d told him where and why she was going. He’d made some throwaway remark, meant to be overheard, to Chris his bum-licky junior about discussing women’s bladders being more important than the month-end figures. She could have made a retort, but Mother Nature would pay him back for her one day when she targeted his prostate.

Linus was still leafing through the sheets, so much to go at.

‘How can I thank you for all this?’ He could already see the trade mags queueing up to interview him about the initiatives he would introduce to Mon Enfant, and the ripple effect that would result.

‘Trust me, Linus, the whole process of getting this info together has been a joy.’ Her Tuesday club had come from it, and the friendships formed there that were keeping her presently afloat. She didn’t know what state she’d be in if it weren’t for those women. She’d probably be in prison for fratricide.

She was sitting in front of him mopping her brow because she was having a hot flash, as if her body had decided to showcase some of the embarrassing crap many women had to put up with at this point in their lives. Maybe if it hadn’t, though, he might not have just gone the extra mile after his next words.

‘There must be something I can do for you to say a proper thanks. This is going to be big, you know. Everyone is going to want to jump on.’

She wouldn’t have asked, she shouldn’t have asked, but oh, sod it.

‘There’s a whisper around the company that there might be some redundancies…’

Linus pressed his fingers together, bopped his lips with them, gave his head a little cock to one side.

‘Possibly,’ he said, not committing himself.

Here goes. ‘If there are, I’d like to volunteer myself.’

‘No. I want to keep you around,’ said Linus, because he did. He wanted more Amandas and fewer Philips.

‘I’d like a change, Linus. I’d like to live out some of my own unfulfilled ambitions. I can access my pension pot at fifty-five, but some extra money would come in handy before then.’

He didn’t give her a repeat no, but his eye activity said he was thinking about it.

‘Okay then, if I were to… influence that, could I count on your support before you went, to put a structure in place, be an… in-house menopause consultant, and help me to help the colleagues here and more women in the future?’

‘Does it come with a company Bentley?’ asked Amanda, eyes twinkling.

‘Don’t push it,’ he replied, twinkling back. Then he held out his hand.

‘I can’t possibly guarantee it, of course,’ he said, as they shook. But they both knew that it was as good as in the bag.

Angel Sutton walked into the repair shop too late for Sky to get out of the way. She was with the same woman she’d turned up with the first time, when Erin van der Meer had managed to shoo them off.

‘Have you been okay, Sky?’ asked Angel, making a beeline for her, her friend Helen trailing behind. ‘I’ve thought about you so many times recently, with all the newspaper coverage and the awful comments online about your father. I hope you didn’t read any, you would have been so upset. So don’t go looking for them.’

‘I don’t take any notice of scurrilous gossip,’ replied Sky, aware of the friend looking her up and down as she was rearranging a shelf of bears after selling another ten to the woman in Harrogate.

‘Anyway, I thought I’d say hello while we—’

Bon bobbed out of his office.

‘Sky, there’s a phone call for you.’

‘Excuse me,’ said Sky, grateful that whoever was ringing had timed it perfectly.

Bon closed the door behind Sky as she went over to the office phone but it was still on the cradle.

‘I lied,’ he said. ‘I saw friend or foe and improvised.’

Sky smiled. Could she love him any more than she already did? He cared for her, she knew, but after Erin had said that he wouldn’t have gone rushing in to rescue just anyone when he’d driven over to where she’d been living, she wondered if that meant he felt something deeper. She would love to have known what Bon had said that had done the trick and made Wilton Dearne give her the rent back. Her imagination had run wild on it: Bon telling Wilton that he would do anything, anything for his future wife was her favourite mini-fantasy.

She’d almost publicised her feelings the previous week when Gwyn Tankersley came in to see Bon on the pretext of picking up some of the repair shop business cards to hand out to her friends. Sky had eavesdropped on the conversation that had taken place between them: Ms Tankersley had said that she wished he hadn’t gone so early when he came to hers for dinner and next time he must be the last to leave and not the first. Bon had been polite but that was all, he clearly wasn’t interested in Ms Tankersley. Sky hadn’t realised she was leaking her relief until Mildred broke into her thoughts and said, ‘What are you grinning at?’

And Sky had drummed up something that was a bad attempt at a lie because she’d been put on the spot to explain herself.

The office phone really did ring then and Bon picked it up and took a message for Woodentop.

‘He’s in trouble,’ said Bon to Sky, when the short call ended. ‘He must have his phone on silent. Let me just go and tell him.’

He brushed her arm with his sleeve as he passed her and her skin exploded into tingles. If only he knew what she felt about him and then maybe it would bring out what he felt about her. But what if it was nothing? Was it better to keep the hope alive or take the risk of dashing it?

As Bon approached Jock’s unit, he could hear the not-quite-pleasant exchange between Jock and Sutton’s daughter.

‘As I said, they’re no’ here.’

‘But as I said, I need them back.’

‘Can I help?’ Bon butted in because Jock might have been great at his craft, but his customer service skills could have done with some serious repair.

‘The tools I brought in to be cleaned and mounted, I want to cancel the job. I don’t mind paying for any work done, I know you’re inconvenienced but I’ve to take them back,’ Angel replied to him.

‘And as I’m trying tae tell her, I have nae got them. I was too busy, so I subcontracted the job.’

‘To whom?’ asked Angel, getting even more annoyed.

‘A subcontractor.’ Jock matched her snotty tone.

‘Can you please get hold of them and ask them to bring the tools to you immediately?’

‘I can try,’ replied Jock.

‘We don’t want them restored. Apparently, it was a silly idea.’ Angel was obviously put out by whoever had told her that.

‘He’s on holiday this week, though,’ said Jock.

‘Oh for god’s sake,’ Angel huffed, rolled her eyes: ‘Well, just… just ring me when they’re here and I’ll pick them up. If he’s already cleaned them, then he’s already cleaned them and there’s nothing I can do about it. Okay? You still have my number?’

‘Aye,’ said Jock.

‘I am so fucking cross,’ Bon heard Angel say to her friend as they turned to go. ‘Granny blew a fuse with me. She says she wants them dumped because they remind her of when he wasn’t as he is now, which you think would actually be a reason to keep them. So what do I get him instead? I haven’t a fucking clue. I might not even fucking bother getting anything.’

‘Where’s Willy?’ Bon asked Jock.

‘He’s behind yer,’ said Jock, as they saw Willy with a sandwich bag coming in through the door that Angel Sutton had just left by.

‘Your son’s been on the line, he’s been trying to ring you,’ Bon shouted across to him.

‘Has he? Oh, chuff.’ Willy threw his sandwich down on his desk and took his phone out of his jeans’ back pocket. ‘Eight missed calls,’ he said aloud, looking first to Bon, then Jock. His son had news he was trying desperately to deliver, then.

Willy rang him; Bon and Jock waited nearby.

‘Sorry, Mick,’ Willy began and then listened, his face giving nothing away. ‘Okay, well… You’re sure…? You are.’ He sighed, a long outward breath. ‘Bye then. Thanks for letting me know.’

Willy disconnected the call, the small shake of his head giving them a clue as to what was coming.

‘We always knew it was a long shot. Too long, as it happens. It’s just rust, boys,’ he said to them both. ‘Just sodding rust.’