Flings and Arrows Page 4

  Half an hour later he swung into the pub’s car park. Si scanned the parking bays. Terry’s van was right at the end. Slotting his own van into a space alongside, Si killed the engine and levered himself out. Terry had said the extension was at the rear. Si headed off down the side of the pub, walking through the beer garden. Turning a corner, the new wing faced him. Before he could reach for the door handle, it swung open.

  ‘Morning pet,’ Dawn smiled at him.

  Chapter Nine

  June forced herself to get out of bed. She felt unusually tired. She cleaned her teeth and then splashed copious amounts of cold water over her face in an effort to wake up. Generally her energy levels were good. June was vaguely aware that since meeting Harry those energy levels had dipped. Bopping all over the living room with Harry the other evening probably hadn’t helped. A thought occurred to June. What if Harry married her and wanted to salsa every night? June seriously doubted she could maintain the pace. She patted her face dry. Walking back to her bedroom, she flung open the window. Perhaps fresh air in the house might perk up her.

  June drank three cups of strong coffee whilst breakfasting. But all the caffeine did was make her run backwards and forwards to the loo. Realising that it was her eyes that needed perking up, not her bladder, June decided on another plan of action. Putting on a floaty cardigan, she whistled Ralph to heel.

  ‘Walkies,’ June informed Ralph. The little terrier barked in acknowledgement and trotted off to the front door. June clipped on Ralph’s lead and, picking up her handbag, together they set off to the High Street. She headed towards Holland & Barrett. As she walked, June cogitated. She’d buy a whopping great bottle of multi-vitamins. That should do the trick. As she strode along, her thoughts again turned to Harry. Did he take multi-vitamins? He certainly seemed to continually fizz and pop all over the place.

  June tied Ralph up to the pavement railings and went inside the health shop.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the woman behind the counter stepped onto the shop floor.

  ‘Yes please. I’ve been feeling very tired lately. What do you suggest?’

  ‘Are you eating a balanced diet?’

  June thought about her stew and dumplings. ‘I think so.’

  ‘And are you sleeping well?’

  ‘Like a log,’ June lied. Ever since she’d been pressed up against Harry and felt something hard, she’d spent much of the night fantasising about what that could have been.

  ‘And you’re not feeling unwell – no unusual symptoms?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Okay, follow me please.’ The woman led June down the left aisle. It was stuffed with pots of varying sizes. ‘The B complex family are excellent for reducing stress and increasing energy.’ She handed June a pot. ‘Now for some Vitamin C. If your adrenal glands are depleted, this vitamin will help with the production of anti-stress hormones. This will increase energy.’

  ‘I’ll take both. Do you have anything else?’

  The woman cocked her head. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Something to give an instant energy boost – just to get me started.’ June furrowed her brow. She’d heard Tom on his mobile phone in the garden the other day. He’d been berating somebody who hadn’t slept for two days and nights. Now what was it he’d told the person to stop taking? Ah yes. ‘I’d like some amphetamines please.’

  The woman’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t think–’

  ‘Oh and my friend needs something to slow him down. Instantly.’ Tom had also told his friend to stop messing with valium. What had he said? That’s right, it was coming back to her. ‘What about some downers?’

  ‘I...er...we don’t sell quite that sort of thing,’ said the woman faintly. ‘However, I can recommend fresh bananas for an immediate energy fix. Regarding your hyperactive friend, calcium is considered to be a natural sleeping aid. Have your friend drink a mug of milky cocoa before bedtime.’

  June paid for the vitamins and walked out into blazing sunshine. Ralph was panting slightly.

  ‘Come on fella. Let’s get you home for a drink of water.’

  As June and Ralph turned into Jessamine Terrace, June automatically patted her cardigan pocket for her house keys. They weren’t there. She could have sworn she’d put them in her pocket. She stopped and rootled through her handbag. No keys. She looked at Ralph in horror.

  ‘Oh no! We’re locked out!’ Ralph looked back at June, panting hard. His pink tongue was almost touching the pavement.

  June hastened up the path to Number 42. Hopefully Steph would be in. But despite repeatedly ringing the bell, Steph didn’t answer. June was just about to burst into tears when Si pulled up in his van. He jumped out and slammed the door hard. He looked as agitated as she felt. The moment Si saw June, his expression softened.

  ‘Hello sweetheart. You don’t look very happy. Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘Oh Si, thank goodness you’re here. I’m locked out and Ralph is terribly hot and thirsty.’

  ‘Here,’ Si handed June his front door keys. ‘Take Ralph in, give him some water and make us both a cup of tea. You’ve left your bedroom window open. I’ll get my ladder out of the van, go in through the window and grab your keys. Okay?’ he smiled at June reassuringly.

  ‘You’re such a nice man Si,’ June sniffed gratefully. ‘Come on Ralph. Let’s go and get you some drinkies.’

  ‘See you in two minutes,’ said Si.

  June let herself into Number 42. The house was exactly the same layout as hers. She went straight down the hallway to the kitchen. Peering in Steph’s china cupboard, she removed a soup bowl and filled it with water for Ralph. The little dog lapped greedily. June stroked his coat fondly. Next she set about filling the kettle and finding cups and saucers. While the kettle was coming to the boil, June occupied herself reading the directions on the newly purchased vitamin bottles. The walk back from the High Street in the hot sun had added to her fatigue. She might as well start taking this jollop now. June shook the tablets into the palm of her hand before washing them down with some water. The kettle finally boiled and she left the tea to brew. Si was taking his time. June yawned widely. She’d go and sit in one of Steph’s squashy armchairs. Just until Si was back.

  Leaning back, June’s eyelids drooped. Ralph jumped on to her lap.

  ‘Don’t get comfortable,’ she warned him.

  But the chair was indeed very comfortable. June closed her eyes. It would only be for a minute or two. She’d open them again as soon as Si returned.

  She didn’t hear the doorbell ring twice. Nor did Ralph. Almost immediately, both of them had walked down the corridors of sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Steph was sitting under a huge heated contraption with a mass of tin foil in her hair. So far Dominic, her stylist, had been lovely company. She now knew an awful lot about his private life. Like the fact that his mother had financed the salon. And how they’d nearly fallen out over his wish to name the place Blow Job. She also knew all about Dominic’s tangled love life, how he’d run the country if he was prime minister and what he’d like to do to Simon Cowell.

  Steph let out a sigh of pleasure. She was feeling exceptionally cheerful. It wasn’t because Si had given her money for a hair-do and dress. It wasn’t because he’d kissed her – although that had been nice. It was because Si had noticed her as Steph Garvey, wife. Not Steph Garvey mother and housekeeper. Today was her day off. She’d determined to use the free time wisely. Ignoring a pile of ironing, she’d instantly turned her attention to Si’s suggestion of a date. Steph wiggled happily in the salon chair. A date! How romantic! And as romance had been sorely lacking in recent months, the first thing she’d set her heart on was a swanky restaurant. The perfect place for some hand-holding and hushed conversation was Chapter One. And how very apt the restaurant name was too. It signified new beginnings. Moments later a reservation had been made for eight o’clock the following evening.

  Next, the hair. Steph had been dickering with a
ttempting ‘something different’ for far too long. Being Mrs Average had a tendency to make you look like Mrs Average. The latter wasn’t something Steph was quite so happy about. She wanted change, but nothing peroxide or pink. She was, after all, forty-five years old. She had picked up the phone again.

  A camp voice had answered. ‘Blown Away. How can I help you?’

  ‘Hello!’ Steph had quavered into the handset. ‘I’d like to book an appointment please for,’ she’d nearly gagged, ‘a make-over.’

  ‘It just so happens I’ve had a cancellation. Are you able to be here in an hour? Failing that I have no availability until the middle of next week.’

  Steph had gripped the handset. ‘I’m on my way.’

  Knowing that she’d be several hours at the hair salon, Steph had hesitated before leaving the house. She’d spotted her laptop in its case, by the kitchen table. The batteries had charged overnight. Taking the laptop to the salon was a nuisance. But she’d quickly realised that by doing so, she could network on Facebook without later compromising her time with Si. She’d hurried down the hallway, grabbed the laptop and set off for the bus stop.

  And now here she was. In the middle of her make-over! Steph had a horrible feeling that there wasn’t going to be any change from the cash Si had given her. Forget the new frock. She’d buy some cheap costume jewellery from Tesco’s and jazz up something from her wardrobe. Dominic had wiggled off to his next customer leaving Steph’s highlights to take. She leant forward and picked up the laptop. Logging on to Facebook, she re-opened the message from Barry Hastings. His profile picture smiled at her from the corner of the screen.

  Steph’s fingers moved over the keys. Hello Barry! Good to hear from you and thanks for the lovely compliments. You’re looking pretty hot yourself! That sounded too forward. She hit the backspace key. You look very well. That sounded boring. She hit the backspace key again. You look – damn, how hard was this? She hovered the cursor over well and clicked on Synonyms. She could choose from: healthy; glowing; able-bodied; fit. Her eyes darted to the profile picture. Barry Hastings looked tanned and toned – he probably worked out in a gym. You look fit, she typed. Yes, the years have been reasonably kind. Still have all my own teeth, ha ha! That sounded inane. She didn’t work out in a gym but she considered herself to be in pretty good shape. She backspaced furiously. I am very fit too. Been married to Simon Garvey for twenty-four years. We have one son, Tom, who is eighteen and about to start university. He has a good brain. Steph pursed her lips. Tom’s brain seemed to be wedged in his underpants at the moment, but no need to discuss that with Barry. She ploughed on. Still living in Blackfen. It’s changed very little since we were kids. Lucky you living in the bright lights of London. How sophisticated. Steph knew she wasn’t remotely sophisticated. And she wasn’t going to try and pretend otherwise either. Barry Hastings was educated, clever and highly successful. Steph was Mrs Average. I left school at 16. Have spent all my life working for Tesco. Love it. Well she did love it most of the time. Every now and again a rude customer would upset either her or Sheila and the girls, but that didn’t happen too often. She re-read the last bit of his message and began tapping again. Amazed you’ve never married. Would hazard a guess your job is your wife?

  Steph ignored Barry’s comment about never being able to find anybody who matched up to her. She also ignored his question about meeting up. Much as she would have loved to do just that, Steph didn’t think Mrs Average would be riveting company for Barry Hastings. He lived in London. His employment history said Deutsche Bank. Barry Hastings lived and breathed a world totally alien to Steph. She was having trouble constructing this message, never mind putting a conversation together with somebody as cultured as Barry Hastings. But more importantly, Steph recognised another factor for not meeting up. Loyalty. Loyalty to her husband. Twenty-four hours ago she had been very tempted to respond to Barry’s message with an ecstatic, Yes please! Would absolutely adore meeting up with you. Your place? You can show me what you mean by ‘one to one’. Well, okay, Steph knew the written word would not have been quite like that. Far primmer. And proper. Like her. But she couldn’t deny mad impulsive thoughts had momentarily flashed through her mind.

  But everything had changed this morning. This morning Si had taken her in his arms and kissed her. And that kiss had held a promise of better things to come. They’d been married for twenty-four years. Not twenty-four months. Of course things were predictable after such a long time together. They knew each other inside out. Si was like Steph’s favourite Little Black Dress. And you didn’t cast aside your favourite Little Black Dress just because a glamorous red one turned up. Some people might say that trying on the red dress could do no harm – it wasn’t a purchase. But, like its hot colour, the red dress implied playing with fire. Getting your fingers burnt. That was something that would never happen to her and Si. Steph was glad Si was her husband. He was a good man. He worked hard. Was loyal – that word again. He’d never been unfaithful. How many women out there could say that of their husbands? Indeed, how many women of her age were still on their first marriage? Si was predictable and that suited her just fine. At that moment her mobile burst into life. The number calling was Si. Talk of the devil!

  ‘Hello darling!’ Steph trilled. ‘I’m at the hairdressers! I can’t wait to see–’

  ‘Steph!’ Si interrupted urgently. ‘I’ve been arrested.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Si couldn’t believe the day he was having. He cast about for somebody to blame. It had to be Dawn’s fault. Terry thought Dawn was ‘a right tasty bird.’ Si privately thought the only bird Dawn reminded him of was an albatross. Unlucky. Yesterday the woman had upset his equilibrium. Today she’d clearly affected some sort of harmony in Si’s universe. How else could things have gone so wrong?

  The minute Dawn had opened the door at the Nut and Squirrel Si had felt a sense of dread. She’d greeted him perfectly politely. He’d greeted her too – in a curt and businesslike manner. Si had heard Terry whistling and singing along to the portable radio that always went everywhere with him. Lady Gaga had been playing. Terry had changed the lyrics to get his message across:

  ‘Just wanna kiss, just wanna touch,

  The look of you turns me to mush

  Just call my name, call my name, Terry Bonk-oh.’

  Si had wondered why on earth Terry carried on in this way. He had a nice little wife. A bit plain. But she adored Terry, didn’t nag and cooked a mean pasty. Some men were never happy.

  ‘Del Boy and his team are waiting for you,’ Dawn had said archly.

  Si had wanted to press on with the site meeting – make acquaintance with the other plumber, meet the electricians, go over Health and Safety, revise the drawings and then get the hell out of there. Dawn had seemed to constantly find a reason to be around him. Coffee? More coffee? A biscuit? Another biscuit? Her hands and body had repeatedly brushed him as she’d set down cups or walked too closely by. Shockwaves had crashed through his spine. Si had been relieved to finally leg it to his van and roar out the car park.

  But his joy of driving into Jessamine Terrace had been short-lived. June had greeted him, thoroughly distressed at being locked out. Si was fond of June and had been anxious to be a Good Samaritan. And look where that had landed him! The moment his ladder had been propped up against his neighbour’s wall, Si had vaguely registered a twitching net curtain. He’d climbed through the open window and into the bedroom without mishap. A quick search upstairs hadn’t revealed June’s house keys.

  Si had gone downstairs but couldn’t locate the keys there either. So he’d systematically started searching for them, opening drawers in June’s sideboard, then the cupboards in her dresser. He’d failed to see a face momentarily pressed up against the front room window. Ten minutes later there’d been a knock at the door. Si had thought it would be June.

  ‘I’m not having much luck,’ Si had said as he’d opened the door.

  ‘Aren’t you sir?’

>   Si had stared gormlessly at the baby-faced uniform. The policeman hadn’t looked much older than Tom. And then the penny had dropped.

  ‘Officer, I can explain everything,’ Si had said.

  Two minutes later the policeman had escorted Si to Number 42 so June could confirm Si had permission to break in and riffle through her belongings. Except June hadn’t answered the door. Si hadn’t been able to offer an explanation. But the policeman had come to his own conclusions. Si’s jaw had dropped as his rights had been read. The right to remain silent. The right to an attorney. The right to notify somebody of his arrest. In a state of shock and disbelief, he’d telephoned Steph. And now he was sitting in a ‘holding facility’ apparently waiting to be fingerprinted and photographed. How the hell had this happened?

  The door to the holding room opened and a Custody Officer asked Si to accompany him to Reception. Steph and June were waiting for him. Steph looked very wild about the eyes. Something strange was going on with her hair. It was a mass of tin foil that floated out from her head like Medusa’s snakes. June’s eyes looked red-rimmed. She’d obviously been crying.

  ‘You’re free to go sir,’ said the Custody Officer.

  Free? Si wasn’t a person given to emotional outburst, but right at that moment he had an overwhelming desire to find the baby-faced policeman who’d brought him in and punch him on the nose. If the stupid man had just listened to him in the first place! What a waste of police time.

  ‘There’s a taxi waiting outside,’ said Steph. ‘Heaven only knows what his bill is going to be. You’ll have to drop me back to the salon first. I need to get this muck out of my hair.’

  The cabbie gave Si a dirty look. Terrific. He’d been judged and branded a criminal simply by association of this wretched place. Si slid into the back of the cab with June. She looked abject with misery.