A Summer Fling (19 page)

‘You scared Mum silly yesterday, Sarah, saying you had pains,’ said Laura, with blue-eyed innocence.

‘I did have them,’ said Sarah. ‘I was very worried, which is why I rang for Dad to pick Sable up. Thank goodness they subsided just before I was going to drive up to hospital.’

‘Yes, that was lucky,’ said Laura with more than a touch of sarcasm, adding to herself, ‘And in plenty of time before the shops shut.’

‘Anyway, you were saying about your job,’ said Sarah, ignoring her sister.

‘Are the people there nice, Nana?’ said Joe.

‘They’re all very nice, thank you, Joe,’ said Grace.

‘Are they all your age?’ asked Sarah, reaching for the gravy boat.

‘No, Raychel is in her twenties, Dawn in her thirties, Anna was forty just last week and my boss is late forties.’

‘So no competition if an early redundancy comes up then?’ said Sarah.

‘Can’t be long,’ said Gordon. ‘I’ve a good mind to ask them myself what’s going on.’

Grace looked at him, horrified. ‘You can’t do that!’

‘What’s the worst they can say?’

‘You could affect any payout I get,’ said Grace, thinking on her feet. ‘If they think I’m desperate to go they won’t pay as much.’
Whew!
Whatever muse had put that in her head, Grace owed them a stiff drink.

‘A very good point,’ said Hugo, shovelling in a huge roast potato and chomping on it sloppily.

Thank goodness, Gordon seemed satisfied by Hugo’s endorsement. That thankfully closed off that avenue of conversation. At least for the afternoon.

‘No pud for me, Mum,’ said Laura. ‘Joe and I are off for a walk. It would only mean more calories to burn off.’

‘We’re taking a dog with us!’ said Joe excitedly.

‘You haven’t eaten all your dinner, so you wouldn’t have got any pudding anyway,’ said Gordon. Even with Joe he was getting snappier, Grace thought, yet she didn’t comment.

‘He’s having a bit of on-and-off toothache. I doubt he’d have wanted a pudding,’ replied Laura stiffly after seeing her boy’s face drop.

‘Well, take him to the dentist then,’ said Gordon with a humph.

‘Mine’s on holiday and I can’t get anyone to look at him before next Friday. I should have lied and said it was an emergency.’

‘I’ll ask around,’ said Grace. ‘I’m sure my boss said her brother was a dentist. He might be able to help.’

‘What’s this about a dog? You haven’t gone and bought one, have you?’ asked Hugo.

‘No, he belongs to my friend Charles,’ said Laura.

‘Oh, starting courting, have you?’ said Sarah. ‘Do we know him?’

‘You won’t know him,’ said Laura.

‘And what does he do?’ pushed Sarah.

‘He’s an architect,’ said Joe, butting in proudly.

‘Oh really,’ said Sarah, impressed by that.

‘As a matter of fact he’ll be here any minute to pick us up. Joe, get your shoes on, love.’

‘Bring him in,’ said Grace.

‘No chance!’ laughed Laura. ‘That’d be too scary for him. Maybe a few weeks down the line.’

Joe had barely got his first shoe on when there was a car horn beeping outside.

‘I think he’s here, love,’ said Grace, giving her daughter a goodbye kiss before she bent to help Joe tie his second shoe.

‘Let’s have a look at him.’ Sarah rushed to the window. ‘Damn, you can’t see much of him! He’s parked the wrong way round.’

‘Oh dear,’ pouted Laura. ‘You’ll have to wait then.’

‘Have a nice time, you two,’ said Grace. She kissed Joe on his cheek. She knew they were in for a lovely afternoon because Laura was loved-up and smiley and Joe was dog mad.

With a flurry of byes and waves they went out down the path towards the waiting car. Gordon moved to the window as Sarah sat down and said, ‘Well, she’s a dark horse, isn’t she?’

Grace wondered what Gordon had seen out of the window to make his back stiffen and his eyes lock like a Rottweiler before an attack.

‘Christie, do you mind me asking?’ said Grace as soon as she laid eyes on her boss. ‘Did you once say that your brother was a dentist? And if so, is he a local one?’

‘Yes, he is and yes, he is. He’s a private dentist and very local,’ said Christie. ‘What’s the problem?’

Grace told her all about Joe. Laura had rung to remind her to ask because Joe had had a fitful night’s sleep.

Christie made a quick phone call and a couple of minutes later she said to Grace, ‘He can see your grandson at twelve, is that OK for you?’

‘Oh, thank you so much,’ said Grace. ‘I’ll try and get in touch with Laura. I didn’t expect you’d get him in so fast. Where’s his surgery?’

‘Prince Street. Opposite where the old St George’s Church used to be.’

‘I know it.’

‘You could take him if she can’t,’ said Christie. ‘Have a long lunch break.’

‘Thank you,’ said Grace. ‘I’ll make up the time.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Grace,’ replied Christie, both amused and affronted by Grace’s offer.

What a kind woman you are, Christie Somers
, thought Grace, after ringing Laura to ask if it was OK to take Joe out of school. She wondered what the story behind her boss was. She was a shining example of what management should be like. Someone considerate and flexible got so much more out of their workforce than little Stalins like Malcolm did.

The plaque on the door read ‘Nikita Koslov and Robin Green’ alongside a string of qualifications that looked incredibly impressive. Grace and Joe rang the bell and then went into a spacious and tidy reception room with a central table full of magazines and comics. Joe picked out a
Dr Who
mag while Grace spoke to the receptionist and filled in a form. Then she went to sit next to Joe opposite a middle-aged man who was tapping his foot almost maniacally.

‘You scared then?’ the man asked, getting eye contact when Joe looked up to see why the floor was vibrating.

‘A bit,’ said Joe shyly.

‘Ah, you’ll be all right with Mr Koslov. Won’t he?’ he said to the receptionist, who nodded. He didn’t say any more because the phone buzzed and the receptionist sent him up. His footfalls were heavy going up the stairs; all went quiet, then there was an almighty scream.

Joe looked at his nana in horror.

‘It’s all right,’ said the receptionist. ‘Mr Koslov gets all the nervous ones. He’s so good with them.’ She lowered her voice a little. ‘The bloke that’s gone up has only come for a check-up and he has to be numbed down to his knees.’

‘It’s awful to be scared of the dentist,’ said Grace, remembering the rough old ogre she’d had as a child. She thought of that awful gas mask descending over her face and the fat old dentist telling her she’d dream of fairies when she was asleep. She didn’t. The gas brought images of wild, swirling people that made her feel sick when she awoke. She had never since managed to feel entirely comfortable at the mercy of a dentist. That’s why she had taken great care to choose a sympathetic one for the children because of her own experiences.

Soon it was their turn to go up the grand old oak staircase, which led to a waiting area on one side and two dentists’ rooms on the other. It smelled of polish and flowery air freshener rather than the scary gas Grace remembered from old.

‘Well, hello there,’ said a booming voice, as rich and deep as an expensive Christmas cake. The owner of it strode forward with a hand outstretched. ‘You must be Joe. Come and take a seat, Joe, while your big sister sits on that chair and waits for you.’

‘Oh Gawd,’ said the pretty young dental assistant, raising her eyes heavenward.

‘And you’re Grace,’ said Niki, seizing Grace’s hand firmly. ‘I mean, of course, “you must be Grace”, not “your Grace”, because of course you look nothing like an Archbishop.’

Grace smiled both at him and the dental assistant doing a fresh roll of her eyes behind him. This man was instantly recognizable as Christie’s brother by his twinkly blue eyes. His hair was established silver-white, as if it had lost its pigment a long time ago, short and spiked up, with no thinness on the crown. He was a completely different body shape to his smaller, rounder sister though, being long-limbed, slim and straight.

‘Now then, young man, relax and go for a nice ride on this chair, totally free of charge. Can you open your mouth for me? Fan-tas-tic! Ah ha – I see the little devil! That’s going to need to come out, I’m afraid. But don’t worry, Joe, because I am the best dentist in the world and you aren’t going to feel a thing.’

He injected Joe’s mouth so gently that the boy never made a murmur. And whilst the numbing was building, Nikita Koslov encouraged Joe to concentrate on the spot-the-difference pictures that were stuck up on his ceiling. The tooth was out in a jiffy and a couple of minutes later, Joe was rinsing out his mouth and picking out a lolly from a container which the dental assistant was holding out for him and a sticker with a lion on it saying, ‘I’ve been super-brave’.

‘Thank you
so
much,’ said Grace. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful we are.’

‘No problemo at all,’ said Niki. ‘Joe has been absolutely brilliant. A star patient. And any friend of Christianya’s is a friend of mine, of course.’

‘I didn’t know that’s what Christie was short for,’ said Grace, thinking,
What a beautiful name.

‘Russian ancestory,’ said Niki. ‘Noblemen who escaped the homeland in the Revolution. Who knows, if we’d stayed, I might have been Czar by now. That’s the King of Russia to you, Joe.’

‘Really?’ said Joe, wide-eyed with fascination.

‘Absolutely,’ said Niki, winking at him. He had a lovely smile, just like Christie’s. Genuine and friendly, spreading right up to his eyes.

He held out his hand to Joe and shook it manfully.

‘Well, Joe, I hope the next time I see you will be in less painful and happier circumstances.’

Joe returned the handshake with a medically lopsided grin.

‘Right, Joe, let’s go and pay our bill,’ said Grace, taking the little boy’s hand.

‘Absolutely not, wouldn’t hear of it!’ said Niki.

‘No, please. I couldn’t let you do this for nothing.’

‘I insist and it’s my surgery so I’m the boss and I win this argument,’ said Niki, holding up a shushing finger. ‘A favour for a friend of my sister.’

‘That’s incredibly kind of you,’ said Grace, thinking that his heart was as generous as his sister’s, it seemed. But she was already planning to ask Christie what his favourite tipple was. It wasn’t in her nature not to pay her way.

‘Pleasure. Goodbye, Your Grace,’ smiled Niki. His fingers closed around Grace’s hand. They were strong and warm. It was the oddest feeling but it was as if something passed between them like a soft, benign electrical current.

Grace was aware of an involuntary increase in her heart-rate as Christie’s brother courteously showed them out.

From the way Ben answered the door, it was obvious that it was to someone he knew. Raychel could hear a pleasant interchange taking place and then Ben was ushering a man into the sitting room. The visitor was invisible under a stack of thick, empty boxes.

‘Here, put them down here,’ said Ben.

‘Right,’ said the man, who was obviously a big, strong bloke to have carried that pile in.

‘Ray, this is John, my boss.’

‘Hello, Mrs Ben,’ said John, straightening up, but when his eyes touched on Raychel’s face, his mouth dropped open like a dead fish’s.

Raychel started to go hot in that familiar way whenever anyone had prolonged eye contact with her.

‘Forgive me for staring,’ said John. ‘You just look so much like . . . Do you mind? Can I ask? Are you from round here? Originally?’

‘Newcastle,’ said Raychel, frozen in his headlight gaze.

‘No family at all down here then?’ said John.

‘No, we’re all from up there,’ said Raychel.

‘Wow, that’s so . . .’ John shook his head. He seemed genuinely winded by the sight of Raychel.

‘Do you want a cuppa, John?’ said Ben.

‘No, lad, don’t worry. I’ll let you get on. Nice to meet you . . . Raychel,’ said John, taking a last lingering look at the young woman and really making an effort not to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she obviously was, but
My God,
it was hard to keep his eyes off her.

Outside, John Silkstone instinctively pressed the home number on his mobile, then clicked off before it connected. The lass had said she had no connections with Barnsley, so was it worth getting the missus upset or excited? But the likeness was uncanny – there simply
had
to be a connection. He needed to think very carefully before venturing anywhere near this giant can of worms with a tin opener.

‘So, are we going out again tomorrow?’ asked Anna. ‘Only I’ve got such a busy schedule I need to pencil it in the diary.’

Dawn laughed. Once upon a time, she’d thought Anna hadn’t any sense of humour, but quite evidently she did. It was subtle though, the dry and deadpan sort. Very unlike her own ‘in your face’ kind.

‘Well, that would be nice,’ said Christie. ‘We can celebrate you being forty and one week old.’

‘No thanks,’ said Anna. ‘That means there’s only fifty-one weeks until I’m forty-one.’

‘Or five hundred and nineteen until you’re fifty,’ added Raychel.

‘Stop, I’m feeling ill!’ said Anna, feigning a headache.

‘It will have to be a quick one for me,’ said Raychel. ‘We’re moving into our new flat this weekend and I’m busy, busy, busy. But it would be nice to have a drink in that pub again.’

‘You can count me in,’ said Dawn. ‘You can tell us all the details about your night with the Darq one as well.’ It had been a very busy week. They hadn’t had any chance to chat.

‘Wasn’t much to tell,’ said Anna. ‘I—’

‘No, save it!’ said Dawn. ‘We don’t want a drive-by account. We want detail.’

*

So the following night saw them chattering and walking around the corner together to the Rising Sun. The small stage in front of the bar wasn’t empty this time. It was full of equipment and men in cowboy shirts and hats faffing around with mikes and instruments. Presumably these were ‘The Rhinestones’.

‘Are we all driving?’ said Christie.