Chapter 12
ELIZA
The two young women stood in silence as Eliza locked Carrie’s front door behind her.
‘You’re Eliza? We were expecting someone our own age,’ Rae blurted out.
Eliza gave a sheepish smile. ‘I must have forgotten to mention my age to Carrie. But then I didn’t think it would matter.’
‘Of course it doesn’t,’ said Ariana brightly, after glancing at her friend. ‘But… how about we stay in? You must be tired after such a big day. Please don’t feel obliged.’
‘Good idea,’ said Rae. ‘I know where Carrie keeps her stash of biscuits. You must be exhausted.’
‘Oh, don’t you both fancy going out?’
‘We’re thinking of you,’ said Rae. ‘Ariana?’
Eliza caught Rae giving her friend an unenthusiastic look. Oh. They didn’t want to go to a cocktail night with an oldie, as they no doubt saw her.
Eliza was very grateful to have reached her mid-seventies. So many people didn’t. Her father had had a heart attack and had died at sixty. Mum had had a bad case of pneumonia ten years later. Then there was that woman at the factory who’d been knocked down the night before her fortieth.
One drink would be a compromise. Plus, The Plough and Bell was within walking distance apparently – she’d see more of Reddish and get to know Carrie’s friends.
‘How about a quick one together?’ said Eliza, and she beamed.
‘If you’re sure,’ said Rae. ‘They might do a small sherry for you, I suppose, if the cocktails are too much.’
‘We’ll come home early, too,’ said Ariana, and she offered Eliza her elbow. ‘It’s not a long walk, but lean on me if you want.’
Thoughtfully, Eliza looked at them in turn. ‘Bless you, young ladies,’ she said eventually. ‘Yes, my old bones are creaking. And a sherry sounds quite lovely. I have one a day to help digest my meal. At five in the evening. Goodness, if I eat after that I’m up all night.’
At a slow pace they headed down the road and passed the petrol station, railway stop, and the big Morrisons.
Eliza told them about the fly cemeteries.
Ariana gave a polite laugh. Rae was scrolling on her phone, something about football results.
Not far from the train station, they came to Houldsworth Square, in the centre of Reddish, a pedestrianised area.
In the middle was a Grade II listed clock.
There weren’t many branded shops in the town and they passed a tattoo shop, one selling balloons, a Catholic church, a knitting shop and a tiny European food outlet.
All a bit random. Carbon stains covered the buildings but wonderful fried smells drifted out of a café.
Reddish couldn’t have been more unlike stylish, bougie Bramhall, and Eliza relished the differences.
Broadstone Mill Shopping Outlet wasn’t far, Ariana explained as they went into The Plough and Bell.
Seeing Reddish made Eliza realise she’d been living in something of a bubble back in Bramhall, forgetting what real life was like for many people. She didn’t like bubbles. They became suffocating. Like the bubble of her marriage. New experiences and challenges were what kept the brain firing.
They entered the red-brick pub that had a crooked chimney stack and a large brass bell above the doorway.
Over the noise of punters, of the jukebox and a birthday crowd cheering, the others each ordered two of the two-for-one cocktails – Ariana, two classic cosmopolitans which suited the top she was wearing featuring the New York skyline, and Rae, two caffeine-filled espresso martinis.
They bought Eliza a tiny sherry, and the barman spent a while searching for the bottle.
‘Tell me about yourselves, and how you know Carrie,’ said Eliza as a busy waitress passed with empty plates. Reddish was lively on a Sunday night. Eliza liked busy places; they made her less lonely, a loneliness she suffered not on the surface, but underneath, where it mattered; where it hurt.
‘I met Carrie when we worked in the same pub,’ said Rae. ‘I’m an assistant manager in a Stockport bar now.’
‘I work at a travel agency,’ said Ariana. ‘I moved from London to Manchester when I was fourteen and started at Carrie’s school. She was the only person who welcomed me into their friendship group. No one else bothered with the new girl.’
Eliza sipped her sherry. ‘You’re both going to miss her, aren’t you?’
Rae’s cheeks flushed red.
‘It’s complicated,’ said Ariana in a sad voice.
Eliza’s eyebrows raised. Had there been a fallout? Was that the reason Carrie had abandoned her English life so dramatically?
‘How about you?’ asked Rae swiftly. ‘Why did you want to buy someone else’s life? If you don’t mind me saying, it’s pretty drastic.’
‘Your accent is from the Northwest, so you haven’t come far, right?’ said Ariana as she put down her cocktail.
Eliza hesitated. ‘I lived in South Manchester. Had to get away.’ She gave a sigh. ‘Because of a man.’ That was the truth, or some of it at least.
Rae’s face softened for a second. ‘I get men problems. My last boyfriend secretly supported Sunderland.’
‘Wasn’t he the one who’d only flush the toilet once a day to save water?’ asked Ariana, and she pulled a face.
Eliza smiled at them both and was rewarded with a flicker of one from both young women. In fact, Rae disappeared and came back with a pack of cards from the pub’s selection of board games on a table by the front window.
‘My gran loves gin rummy. How about a couple of rounds, Eliza, and then we’ll see you back to Carrie’s safely.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Eliza. ‘I need a good night’s sleep and will book a taxi back.
I want to be fresh for this reception job of Carrie’s.
I’m ringing the manager first thing to see what time he wants me in, so I’ll be up early.
’ She beamed. ‘I’ve worked in a factory and retail.
A swanky-sounding restaurant will be different. ’
Rae spluttered and spat her drink down her top.
‘You’re not retired? You’re actually going to do Carrie’s job and you don’t know exactly what it is?’ asked Ariana.
‘Yes and no. Carrie emailed me the details – a job in hospitality, reception work. And the place is called The Biterie. It’s all happened a bit quickly, to be honest.’
Rae burst out laughing. ‘Oh. My. God.’ Quickly, she recovered herself. ‘Sorry, Eliza, it’s not actually funny. What a mess-up. Totally Carrie’s fault.’ Her voice turned into a mutter. ‘No surprises there. She’s good at hiding things.’
‘You’re working at The Niterie – not Biterie – in Stockport,’ cut in Ariana gently. ‘Must have been a typo.’
‘So, not a restaurant?’ asked Eliza. ‘But still reception work?’
‘Yes,’ said Rae. ‘But Carrie’s shift is usually six in the evening until two in the morning. You’ll be the second line of defence after the door security. The Niterie is a nightclub!’