Chapter 18
ELIZA
Eliza opened her eyes, stretched and immediately groaned. Oh, her hips, and her back. But it had been worth it. How she’d felt alive last night. She glanced at the clock. Ten. She had to be at The Niterie at five so had time to head over to Bramhall to see him.
She showered and sat on the bed, staring at the guitar on the wall that had probably been too clunky for Carrie to take abroad.
She wondered why her friends had sneered, suggesting Carrie might have known Giannis GoGo would be in Paros.
Eliza went to the tallboy chest of drawers and sifted through Carrie’s clothes.
She held a pair of bootcut jeans in the air, then a shirt with a fitted collar and French cuffs.
The more styled outfit Eliza had worn at The Niterie had reminded her that she still had a figure!
She pulled on the jeans that were a bit tight, until she did up the waist and her body relaxed into them.
Then she slipped on the shirt and a lightweight short burgundy jacket out of the wardrobe.
Eliza stood in front of the red floral mirror and ran a hand over the jacket.
She had a waist! And the trousers gave her legs and bottom shape.
She played a favourite track on her phone and, laughing at herself, strutted up and down the bedroom as if on a catwalk.
She sat down on the bed thinking about the recent email exchange with Carrie, Carrie writing about not having a grandma and Eliza mentioning that she hadn’t had a grandchild.
Whilst she was happy for others, she really was, it caused an ache to hear of the intergenerational good times of others.
Last night when Rae had talked about her family, she’d laughed about how her gran would add food colouring to Rae’s cereal milk when she was little, and stick googly eyes on vegetables.
Eliza had missed out on so much. So had Carrie.
Simple things like clothes shopping together, like going out for coffee.
She could hardly bear to think of the deeper things, the emotional bonds that had never formed.
Eliza pursed her lips and took off the jacket, laying it on the duvet as she’d wear it later. No point in dwelling on the what ifs. She headed downstairs to make porridge.
After washing up, she took a mug of coffee out into the backyard, having found a deckchair in the shed and a tiny garden table.
Boo was still wary and stared down from the fence.
She’d given him breakfast and a quick stroke before he’d dodged away.
Shouts came from a few doors along – an argument by the sounds of it.
A car revved. Another hooted in the distance.
A gate slammed. Drilling started. All much noisier than the quiet estate in Bramhall.
Well, quiet apart from him, banging and shouting.
She got up and went over to the pots of roses, trying to work out what colour the blooms would be, but the buds weren’t even there yet.
She’d have to buy a bunch of flowers for inside the lounge, to watch them open a hello in the mornings and turn their faces to the sun.
A bouquet inside a house gave it heart, its scent, its beauty pumping joy throughout.
She took out her phone. Another email from Carrie, sent later on. What? She’d only gone and asked Dimitrios out! Bravo! And… huh? She talked about Eliza and Jez? No way. Eliza was not interested in dating.
Although he was kind of… sexy. She smiled to herself, imagining Ariana and Rae’s faces if she said that in front of them.
When she was a young woman, Eliza didn’t expect to still have those feelings in her seventies, didn’t expect to still care about her appearance.
Eliza had kept herself fit and presentable, but for herself and no one else.
That way she was never disappointed by a reaction – or lack of it.
Over the years she had dreamt of meeting a kind man, and there was something about Jez – a cheesy suaveness that caught the eye when coupled with his natural confidence; an element of self-deprecation that she found especially attractive. But had she left it too late?
Of course for Jez, the age gap might be too great. And talk about jumping forwards! They barely knew each other. What nonsense!
Eliza read the short email again. Carrie had signed off with a kiss.
Oh. How very lovely.
She typed Carrie a quick reply, smiling as she pressed send.
Jez could take a joke as well. Not all men could.
She pursed her lips. Carrie had picked up the gauntlet and taken action with Dimitrios.
It was now time for Eliza to get herself to Bramhall and take charge.
She brushed her teeth and went outside to say goodbye to Boo.
Tentatively, she reached up to where he sat, still on the fence, and…
he cocked his head so that she could scratch the exact right spot.
Socks used to do that. He’d nudge her fingers with his wet nose if she finished performing scratchies around the cheeks too soon.
Boo humoured her for a few seconds before he pulled away and yawned.
Eliza opened the gate to the side of the fence and went to Carrie’s car, the little teddy bear asleep in the hammock.
She got in. There was no satnav screen, the gear stick was stiff, as were the wind-up windows, but this car must have been driven with a lot of love for someone to have kept it so long.
Half an hour later, she was sitting outside the bungalow, having got there five minutes earlier.
She took out her compact and lipstick and applied a slash of red.
Eliza meant business. She should have done this a long time ago.
She climbed out of the car, hips still twinging.
Banging welcomed her as she walked up her drive, going straight around the back towards the noise. Arms folded, she stood, looking up at…
The builder.
Yes. This was the man who’d caused her tranquil life to fall apart in recent months. Oh, it was nothing compared to what she’d put up with for years from another man, her husband, when she was younger. So why had she let this one chase her out of her home? Leaving had been the easy option.
But Eliza Woods didn’t take easy options.
Hadn’t since 2001.
The builder had triggered memories she’d suppressed for years. It had been a shock to have thoughts of her husband brought to the fore once more by the workman’s bullish ways.
Dealing with that troublemaker at The Niterie, on Monday, confronting unacceptable behaviour, had reminded Eliza that she had survived confrontation in the past and could again.
‘I’d like a word, please,’ she said stiffly.
He sighed and climbed down her tiles, balancing on the fence. The ladders were on the other side of it. He landed on the ground huffing and puffing, drew himself up – the sign of a little man inside. Experience had taught a younger Eliza that.
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ she said and waved her hand in the air.
‘Oh, pull the other one, darling,’ he scoffed, his shaved head glistening with sweat.
‘I know you’ve already tried complaining to the owners, but they don’t live here, they work full-time, and they haven’t any interest in the stupid complaints of an over-sensitive neighbour.
You wouldn’t want to piss them off, would you? They’ll be moving in later this year.’
Eliza stepped forwards and glared at him.
‘I’ve given you enough chances to stop the banging from 6 a.m. And to stop damaging my property.
As you know, I had to call the plumber out when my water became dirty after you moved pipes.
Once you’re gone, there will be re-tiling to be done due to you standing on my roof.
I’m going around the house now to take an up-to-date inventory of any further damage, to add to the list I’ve kept since you began being a problem – like the scratches on the windowsills where I let you erect scaffolding. ’
His nose wrinkled. ‘Talk about a fuss over nothing.’
‘Not when I also list my expenses, right down to the lost garden plants from your trampling. There will also be a report from my doctor, as now I don’t sleep properly when I’m here.
All of this will be surmised in a letter from my solicitor that will be sent to you and the owners unless things change immediately.
I shall take them to court. It’s up to them what they do with you. I hope you’ve got liability insurance.’
His eyes bulged. ‘You can’t do that! No one’s going to listen to a doolally old dear.’
‘I’d be careful, if I were you. That’s defamation of character.’
He scowled. ‘You’re crazy. Got all the fancy words, but legal action will cost more than your state pension.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I live in Bramhall – like many a Premier League footballer. I have a bob or two.’
‘Now hold on there, you stuck-up cow…’ He stepped forwards until there was barely air between them, with his bulbous nose, his straggly eyebrows.
‘I knew a bully once,’ she said in a low, measured voice.
‘It took me long enough to hold him to account. Well, I won’t be waiting any longer with you.
You’ve got one week. I’ll be back next Tuesday.
If there is any more damage, if my lovely neighbours tell me you’ve started any noisy work before seven thirty in the morning, then those letters will be in the post, make no mistake about it. ’
She turned and stalked away.
Complete silence.
That was a good sign.
Heart pounding, Eliza got into her car and drove back to Reddish.
She stopped at a garage on the way home and picked up the biggest bouquet of the most colourful flowers possible.
When she got back to Carrie’s she arranged the hydrangea in a vase and set it on the windowsill in the lounge.
They symbolised gratitude. Since her marriage, Eliza had been repeatedly thankful for new beginnings, and here she was again, in Reddish, starting another chapter.