Chapter 6
‘Good morning, Watkin and Wright, Astrid speaking, how can I help?’ The woman sounded friendly, but Jack’s heart was in his mouth. He so didn’t want to do this.
‘I… erm… want to put my house on the market. How do I go about it?’
‘Can I take some particulars?’ She asked several questions and after Jack had given her his answers, she said, ‘One of our agents will come out to view the property and suggest an asking price, then they’ll take some notes and photos. You’ll need to sign a contract agreeing to our terms and conditions, and that’s it.’
It seemed far too easy a process for all the heartache that parting with the house was causing him.
‘When would it be convenient for someone to call?’ the woman asked.
‘Um, Monday? After four?’
‘Let me check the diary.’ He heard clicking, then she came back on the line. ‘That’s fine. I’ll have to juggle a few things around, so I can’t give you the name of the agent right now, but they will have ID with them.’
‘That’s OK. Thanks for your help.’
‘You’re welcome.’
The phrase reminded him of the woman who’d bought the park keeper’s cottage. Her reply of “You’re welcome” after he had thanked her in the DIY store earlier today, had sounded just as professional.
He pushed the thought of her away: he should be concentrating on work, not on his personal life. But even as he checked his emails, his mind was still on her, and it didn’t help when he saw that reception had informed him that he’d had another one of those anonymous calls complaining yet again about the amount of litter in the park and demanding to know what was going to be done about it.
As he read it, he had to agree that the situation wasn’t the best. He had been running through the park on a regular basis for a number of years, and he’d noticed the steady increase in littering, and he was also very aware of how unkempt and unloved the park was looking. Which brought him neatly back to the woman who had bought the park keeper’s cottage. The cottage itself would be lovely once it was done up, and no doubt she would do something nice with the surrounding gardens. But as for living within the park itself, he wasn’t sure that was such a good idea.
His tummy gave a loud rumble and he realised it was time for brunch. He had been up and out quite early this morning, and he was more than ready for something to eat.
Securing his computer, he picked up his jacket, checked to make sure he had his wallet, and made his way to the council’s cafeteria. It was grandly called The Meadow, with the word “restaurant” underneath, but nobody was fooled. It was more canteen than restaurant, and the acoustics were appalling: at peak times, such as between one and two in the afternoon, you could hardly hear yourself think. He much preferred the peace of eleven-thirty: too late for the breakfast and the mid-morning crowd, and too early for the lunch people, the cafeteria was usually quiet at that time, and he wasn’t disappointed today.
‘Alright, Jack?’ Sue grinned at him. Her round face was pink from the heat of the ovens, and her cap was askew. ‘What can I get you, my lovely? A full English?’
‘Maybe not today,’ Jack said. If he wasn’t careful, he would end up eating a full English breakfast every single morning, which wouldn’t be good for either his arteries or his waistline. ‘What else have you got?’ What he meant was, what else was ready to serve, as lunch didn’t technically begin until noon.
‘The cannelloni is ready, so how about that with a nice bit of salad and some garlic bread?’ she suggested
‘It sounds delicious. A portion of that, please, and could I have an orange juice to go with it?’
‘No coffee today?’
‘Maybe I’ll have one later, if I’ve got time.’ He paid and waited with his tray, but as usual Sue waved him away.
‘Get off with you! You know I always bring it over,’ she said, and he beamed at her. She reminded him of his mum, and he vowed to ring her this evening in between painting. Last night he had spent four hours sorting out the spare room and giving it a good clean. So when he got home this evening, he would have a quick bite to eat and put a coat of paint on the walls, then take a break and call his mum, before sorting out Della’s old room.
To be fair, there wasn’t a great deal left in there because his sister had taken most of it with her or dumped anything she didn’t want in the spare room. It shouldn’t take long to wash down the walls and the woodwork, and by the time he’d done that maybe he would be able to put a second coat on the spare room walls if they needed it. He was praying they didn’t.
He glanced up as a shadow fell across his table, a ready smile on his lips, and was about to thank Sue when he realised it wasn’t the cook-in-charge who was standing next to him – it was Chantelle.
His heart sank.
‘Someone is pleased to see me,’ Chantelle said, her lips curving into a seductive smile.
‘Er, I thought it was Sue,’ Jack said.
Chantelle’s expression darkened. ‘Sue who?’ she demanded.
‘Sue, who works in the cafeteria.’
‘Her? She’s old enough to be your mother.’
Jack was horrified. ‘You don’t think…?’ he spluttered. ‘I can’t believe you’d think such a thing! Sue is married.’
‘And if she wasn’t?’ Chantelle snapped.
‘It wouldn’t make any difference – she’s just a nice lady. Anyway, she isn’t that old.’
‘So why is she bringing your food over to you? Do you always get special treatment?’
‘Not always, no.’ Jack was on the defensive.
‘I think she fancies you. She certainly doesn’t bring my lunch over to me.’
Jack didn’t blame her. If he were Sue, he wouldn’t have wanted to bring Chantelle’s food over to her, either.
‘Excuse me.’ Sue’s voice came from behind him, and he leant to the side as she pushed between him and Chantelle to put his plate down on the table along with his orange juice. ‘Be careful, the plate’s hot,’ she said, totally ignoring Chantelle. ‘And if you eat all that, I might have a nice bowl of sticky toffee pudding and custard for you.’
‘I shouldn’t,’ Jack said, but he was grateful, nevertheless.
‘Hmm.’ Chantelle’s mouth was in a straight line and her eyes had narrowed as she watched the cook walk away, before turning her attention to Jack once more. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while. Where have you been hiding?’
‘I haven’t been hiding anywhere.’ His appetite had suddenly vanished.
‘You certainly haven’t been coming here for lunch,’ Chantelle retorted.
‘I have. I come here every day,’ Jack said, then wished he hadn’t.
‘Changed your hours, have you?’
‘Kind of.’ Now he was getting all defensive. Surely it was up to him what time he had his lunch? He didn’t have to answer to her, even if she did work in HR.
‘Wait there, I’ll grab a coffee and I’ll join you,’ she said, and Jack wondered if he could change his mind about eating his cannelloni here and ask if he could have it to go instead.
But, darn it, he wasn’t going to let his ex-girlfriend drive him away. He had already changed his habits once to avoid her, and he refused to change them again. He would just have to make it abundantly clear to her that they were over. He’d hoped she had got the message after he’d asked her to move out, but clearly she hadn’t.
In a way he couldn’t blame her, because he had always been a bit of a pushover where Chantelle was concerned. He’d never stood up for himself and had tended to let her walk all over him. Looking back, he couldn’t understand why he had put up with her for as long as he had, but he had genuinely cared for her and at one point he’d even managed to persuade himself it was love. But her controlling ways and her insistence that he didn’t have a life of his own and had to spend every non-working minute with her, had finally got to him.
The last straw had been when she had wanted to join him on his runs. He didn’t want company when he ran, he wanted solitude, and peace and quiet so he could clear his head and concentrate on putting one foot in front of another. When he’d told her that, she had accused him of not loving her.
Unfortunately, in a moment of clarity, he had agreed with her, and the next few hours hadn’t been pretty. He’d had a devil of a job trying to convince Chantelle he’d meant it when he’d said they were over. He had felt a total heel asking her to leave but this was his house, he’d bought it with Della, so there was no way he was going to move out. Chantelle had been the one to move in with him, not the other way around.
And for another thing, he wasn’t entirely certain how it had happened. One minute she had been sharing a flat with a friend, the next she had moved her large collection of scarves and makeup into his bedroom, and was giving out her new address to all and sundry. He couldn’t remember asking her whether she would like to move in. It had sort of happened. And suddenly discovering that he had a live-in girlfriend had been quite a shock. That was what he meant by allowing Chantelle to walk all over him.
He realised she was doing it again, as she sat down next to him, far too close, and placed a cup of black coffee in front of her.
‘I miss you,’ she told him, and Jack stared balefully at his lunch. When he didn’t say anything, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I know I was being silly about Sue, but I get so jealous when I see you talking to other women.’
‘You were being silly,’ Jack agreed, grateful that at least she had recognised how ridiculously she was behaving and was apologising for it. Sue didn’t deserve Chantelle’s animosity.
But his jaw clenched when Chantelle added, ‘I should have realised there’s no way you’d go for an old bat like her.’
Jack shook his head in disgust.
Unfortunately, Chantelle thought he was agreeing with her, and continued, ‘Still, I suppose it comes in handy if you get free sticky toffee pudding.’ She raised her eyebrows and gave him a smirk.
‘It’s not free,’ Jack protested. ‘I pay for the food I eat.’
‘But I bet she gives you extra portions,’ Chantelle persisted, the smirk lingering.
‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me.’ He got to his feet and pushed his chair back. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’
‘Don’t be like that, Jack,’ she pouted. ‘I was only teasing.’
That was the problem with Chantelle, Jack thought: he could never be sure whether she was being nasty or whether she was teasing, and he didn’t intend to linger to find out. Those days were long gone.
He picked up his plate, gulped his orange juice down and went to walk away, but stopped when he felt Chantelle’s hand on his arm. Pointedly he looked down at it, then he looked at her face, and was dismayed to see her eyes brimming with tears.
‘I miss you,’ she said in a small voice. ‘We had some good times, didn’t we?’
Jack shrugged. ‘Yes, we did,’ he agreed, but there had been far more bad times than good, especially towards the end.
‘Do you fancy going out for a drink for old time’s sake?’ she asked, and when he hesitated, he watched in horror as the tears spilled over and trickled slowly down her cheeks.
Oh blast, he hated it when women cried. He never knew what to do. Should he put his arm around her? No, best not, she might get the wrong idea. But he couldn’t walk away and leave her in tears, could he?
Resigned, he sat back down, and she smiled sadly at him. ‘Can I take that as a yes?’
I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ he began, but before he could say anything further, she jumped in with, ‘It’s just a drink, Jack, nothing more.’
He had an awful feeling it would be more, much more, and definitely more than he could handle.
‘How about this evening, unless you’re busy?’ She raised her eyebrows again and gave him a questioning look. Tears still glistened on her cheeks but no longer fell, he saw with relief.
‘I am busy, as a matter of fact,’ he said. ‘I’m in the middle of decorating.’
‘Oh? Do you need some help? I’m a dab hand with a paintbrush. I could also help you pick some colours if you like – I thought some of the shades in your house were a bit grotty, to be honest.’
‘Thank you, but there’s no need. I’m painting it all white.’
‘How boring. What you need is a nice feature wall in a bright colour to draw the eye, instead of that nasty drab shade. But it’s got to be a colour that complements the room and one you can live with,’ she carried on.
‘I have no intention of living with it. The house is going on the market. I’m selling up.’
Chantelle blinked. ‘Why? I thought you liked living there.’
‘I do, but Della and Scott want to buy the guest house they’re working in, as it’s come up for sale, so she needs her share of the equity.’
‘Where are you going to live?’
‘I’ve no idea at the moment,’ he admitted, ‘but I haven’t started looking yet, and I’m sure something will turn up.’
‘You know I’ve moved back in with Mel?’ Chantelle said, and Jack could feel his shoulders sag. He knew exactly where this was heading. Mel was her old flatmate and Chantelle had never been happy living with her.
He glanced at the big clock above the door and got to his feet. ‘Is that the time? Gosh, I’ve been here longer than I thought. I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes. Must dash. Sorry!’ And with that he picked up his plate again and made a run for it.
To his dismay, he could hear Chantelle’s heels clacking behind him, and he had almost made it to the door after depositing his plate in one of the clear-up areas, when she caught up with him.
‘Let me know if you find anything of mine. I’m bound to have left something.’ She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘I can easily call round for it.’
‘Will do,’ he called and barrelled out of the cafeteria, almost running down the corridor as he headed towards his office.
When he got there, he closed the door behind him and leant against it, panting. Dear God, the woman terrified him. Why, oh why, had he let slip that he was looking for somewhere else to live? Because he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the next time he saw her she would be armed with lots of details from estate agents, and would be hinting heavily that it might be a good idea if they moved in together.
Over his dead body! Chantelle was in his past, even if she didn’t want to believe it, and that was where she was going to stay.