A Summer Fling (27 page)

She tapped her temple, then realized that she was saying too much. She was so preoccupied with her headache that her tongue was running away with her.

Malcolm’s chirpy appearance chopped that conversation off.

‘Morning, ladies.’ He did a double-take at the sight of Grace’s face. She looked as though she’d been whacked on the nose; her eyes were puffy with dark shadows underneath them.
Ooh, is the graceful Grace a bit of a boozer on the side, then?
‘Day off today for half the department, is it?’

‘No,’ replied Christie, with no attempt at a returning smile. ‘But then it is only early.’

There were ten minutes to go before the official working hours began. It wasn’t their fault Malcolm turned up at a ridiculous hour. Just because he was
at
work eighty-seven hours a day, didn’t mean he
did
any work, except when Mr McAskill was hovering. Then he could have got an Oscar for over-acting the part of a busy Cheese B.U.M.

Malcolm opened his mouth to give a smart retort but was headed off at the pass by Christie upping and breezing past him.

‘You’ll have to excuse me, Malcolm, but I have a meeting with James. See you in a little while, Grace. And remember what I said. You are to go home if that headache gets any worse.’

‘If you have a minute later . . .’ Malcolm called behind Christie, but she appeared not to hear him. He suspected she had chosen not to.

Grace’s head was down now and she too seemed to be ignoring him.

Malcolm bristled. He hated that Christie Somers’s department held him in such obvious disdain. Bitches.

‘How’s things with you then?’ Grace asked Anna later when she was distributing the coffees. Thank goodness the tablets had driven away her headache and she was feeling much brighter.

‘Not bad, not bad at all,’ replied Anna, nodding, surprised actually that it was the truth and not just something she felt she ought to say. Things weren’t that bad. At the moment anyway.

‘Any word from Tony?’

‘Nothing,’ said Anna. ‘Not a dicky bird.’

‘You seem to be coping a lot better with it.’

‘Well, the trouble is, Grace, I never know when a big thought of him is going to hit me. Sometimes I can be at home and thinking about some daft thing that Dawn’s said and then – whoosh – this big tidal wave of Tony hits me and knocks me for six. He’s still paying his half of our bills into the bank, so all isn’t lost, I suppose.’

‘And how are things going with the vampiric designer?’ asked Grace, sipping gratefully on the coffee. Her throat had been horribly parched all day.

‘It’s all quite fun actually, though I’m not sure how I’ll feel when I turn on the TV and see all my widescreen cellulite on display. Can’t wait for that night.’ Anna shivered at the thought of it.

‘You talk about yourself as if you’re an enormous horror, and nothing could be further from the truth,’ Grace chided her gently. ‘And by the way, that colour on your hair is lovely.’

‘Thanks, I did it yesterday. It was well overdue.’

‘You’re a lovely-looking woman. Vladimir Darq must think you have something special, otherwise he wouldn’t have picked you out.’

‘No, he picked me because he thinks I’m a “blank canvas”. You can’t get much blanker than this,’ and Anna gestured towards her body. ‘Still, I’m intrigued to see if he can put me in touch with this sex goddess that’s apparently inside me. Needle and haystack are words that come to mind.’

‘You know, you should wear a bright red lipstick, like Christie does.’ Grace visualized the effect. ‘You could easily carry it off with your colouring.’

‘Hmm . . . I just might go and buy one at the weekend then,’ mused Anna. Jane Cleve-Jones wore a very brave fire-engine red lippy and it looked gorgeous.

‘My daughter wears one by Mac. Makes her lips look lovely and soft. But you’d have to go to Meadowhall for that.’

‘Like I’ve anything else to do?’ said Anna with a grin. ‘The weekend will be long enough as it is with Bank Holiday Monday added to it. I think a little shopping trip to Meadowhall will do me good. Grace, are you OK yourself? You’re very pale today.’

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ said Grace. ‘I had a bit of a headache this morning, but it’s just about gone now.’

‘Here,’ said Anna and delved in her bag, pulling out a little bottle. ‘Lavender oil. Put some on your temples. I don’t want it back, there’s a few drops left in. I’ve got more at home.’

‘Thank you,’ said Grace, warmed by Anna’s kindness. She so enjoyed working here, with these women, and hoped she wouldn’t have to give it up for a long time. Since coming to this department, she was increasingly aware that her life was running the opposite to how other people’s did – work is what she rushed to, home was what she rushed from. No, she wouldn’t be asking for part time, as Gordon suggested. Not in a million years.

That afternoon, en route to a meeting, Malcolm just happened to be passing Reception when he saw one of the ladies at the desk having an increasingly heated conversation with a man in a brown coat and a trilby. He looked like an extra from the black-and-white version of
Brief Encounter
, very British and upright. Kathleen, the receptionist, was shaking her head and whatever she was shaking her head at, the bloke in the hat wasn’t having any of it. Malcolm quite fancied Kathleen. She was a tidy, trim piece and he seized on the opportunity to earn some brownie points.

‘Can I help?’ Malcolm enquired.

‘This “gentleman” wants to speak to the head of HR but, as I’ve explained, she’s on holiday,’ said Kathleen in a polite but spiky voice.

‘Well, I’m not leaving here until I’ve spoken to someone with authority in that department,’ said the man. Kathleen looked both vexed and exasperated and her eyes were pleading with Malcolm to help her.

‘May I ask what it’s regarding?’ said Malcolm smoothly, with a calming, plastic smile.

‘And you are?’ demanded the man rudely.

‘My name is Malcolm Spatchcock. I’m a Business Unit Manager.’

‘You’re not in Personnel though or whatever they call it these days.’

‘We’re all interlinked,’ bluffed Malcolm.

The man mused for a few moments, then obviously decided to trust in the smiling manager in front of him, ‘I’m here about my wife. She works in Bakery. Her name is Grace Beamish.’

This was all getting more confusing by the moment. As Gordon turned his back to the Reception desk, Kathleen was mouthing at Malcolm, ‘Did he want her to call security?’

But Malcolm was too intent on being the hero of the hour.

‘Ah yes, I know Grace. Until recently I was her manager in Bakery. Why don’t you come and sit down over here and tell me what it’s about, and then we can see if I can help you, and your wife.’

‘I don’t want to sit down, I want something sorting,’ said Gordon, stabbing his finger in Malcolm’s direction. ‘I want someone to tell me why my wife has been passed over for early retirement again and again. If you
were
her boss, you can explain that to me, can’t you? Eh?’

Malcolm drew Gordon back away from the Reception desk where Gordon’s raised voice was beginning to attract attention.

‘I’m slightly confused,’ said Malcolm smoothly, rather relishing the fact that he might be about to drop someone in the smelly stuff. ‘We are talking about the same Grace Beamish? The lady who is now the Deputy Manager of Bakery?’

‘We are indeed,’ said Gordon stiffly.

‘But . . .’ Malcolm knew he shouldn’t be saying this. It was confidential. Then again, he could always worm his way out of it by saying he was tricked into releasing the information, if it came to it. ‘. . . Mrs Beamish was offered the chance of early retirement on two occasions that I’m aware of and turned it down.’

Malcolm watched Gordon’s jaw tighten. He wouldn’t have put the graceful Grace with an old, unsmiling man like this. He thought she would have more taste in husbands. He had always imagined her with an ex-army officer type with money, not Mr Mothball 1930. He looked more like her dad than her husband.

‘She turned it down?’ said Gordon, as breathless as if he had been winded. ‘She turned it down?’

‘Hmmm . . . yes. Maybe she’s regretting it though. She was looking very tired this morning when I passed her. I do hope she’s all right.’

‘She turned it down,’ Gordon said again. He seemed to be having trouble absorbing the words.

‘Well . . . I really can’t say any more. I shouldn’t divulge a colleague’s business. Even to their spouse.’

But there was nothing more to say. Gordon had been told everything he needed to know. He silently turned his back on Malcolm without saying another word and marched out of the building.

Malcolm winked over at Kathleen who blew him a grateful kiss. Now should he say anything to Grace or should he wait for the drama to unfold over the next few days? Malcolm decided on the latter form of action. That would teach one of the snotty cows a well overdue lesson.

Malcolm made his apologies for arriving late. He took a seat opposite to Christie across the table and she noted that there was a smile playing on his lips for the full length of the meeting, however much he tried to stifle it. She would have loved to have known what was going on in his brain. He had the look of a child who had kicked a wasps’ nest and was waiting for the reaction.

The Rhinestones playing in the background of the pub added to the mellowed-out feeling that visited the women after work that night. This was only the fourth time they had been out together yet already it felt an essential part of the week’s end. There was that rare sensation that everyone around the table was comfortable with each other, accepting of each other, and liked each other.

It was the first time that Dawn had relaxed since Sunday. It had been hard work feigning being cheerful at work, trying extra hard to push down a whole nasty cocktail of emotions that felt as if it were poisoning her.

Calum hadn’t rushed to bring her guitar home. When it was returned to her on the Tuesday night, she could have wrapped her arms around it and kissed it. In fact, she did. The sense of relief brought tears flooding to her eyes. The euphoria was so extreme she almost forgave Calum everything. What a weird psychological state that was. There had to be one of those documentaries about it: where someone took everything from you but managed to make you feel they were bloody marvellous when they deigned to give you back a crumb. When did she become so easily pleased?

And now Dawn was here again, staring at Al Holly strumming away and thinking about his parting shot to her last weekend about Calum not being the man for her. She was surprised her head hadn’t exploded all over the office walls this week it was in such a mess.

‘Dawn’s been getting friendly with the band,’ said Grace mischievously. Dawn had let it slip that she had stayed behind for a drink with Al Holly last Friday, although she omitted to add that she had met him on Sunday as well.

‘Oh yes?’ said Anna. ‘That one at the back that looks like a cross between Elvis and Chris Isaak is a bit of all right.’

She meant Al of course. He looked all mean and moody playing a complicated riff. Dawn’s body betrayed her engaged status by increasing its heartbeat as she watched him, willing his eyes to find hers. He hadn’t looked at her once so far, though. He was lost in his music and it was a beautiful sight.

‘Do tell us more,’ said Christie.

‘Oh, there’s nothing to tell. I just got chatting to one of them about music and we had a drink,’ shrugged Dawn.

‘And are you staying for another tonight?’ asked Grace.

‘With the Chris Isaaky one?’ asked Anna.

‘Yes and yes,’ said Dawn, as nonchalantly as she could manage.

‘Have you had a go on his amp?’ dirty-laughed Anna.

‘Do you mind, I’m an engaged woman,’ said Dawn.

‘Anyone doing anything exciting this weekend, ladies?’ asked Christie, raising her glass and issuing a smiley ‘Cheers’ to them all. She needed the comfort of a hit of red wine after sitting opposite Malcolm’s smirk for so long.

‘No doubt I’ll be preparing to make more of a fool of myself in front of the whole nation,’ sighed Anna.

‘And I’m looking at brochures for honeymoon ideas,’ said Dawn.

‘Aren’t you leaving it a bit late?’ said Christie.

‘We’ll just go for a cheapy, last-minute thing, I think,’ returned Dawn.

‘Where do you fancy going?’ asked Raychel.

‘Dunno. Where did you go?’

‘We couldn’t afford the big honeymoon thing,’ said Raychel. ‘We were only teenagers. We came home from the registry office and had fish and chips by candlelight. We were just a couple of skint kids.’

‘Aw, how lovely,’ sighed Dawn. ‘What about you, Grace?’

‘I didn’t have a honeymoon at all,’ said Grace. ‘We had the children to look after and Gordon’s mother was poorly at the time.’

‘Didn’t squeeze in a belated one then?’ asked Raychel.

Grace shook her head. A honeymoon would have been too romantic for Gordon. Their marriage had been more of a business alliance than anything. Gordon gained a housekeeper and companion and she got to borrow some children. Anything as romantic as a honeymoon had no place in a relationship as cold as theirs.

‘Where would you have gone, if you’d had the chance, Grace?’ asked Dawn. So far she hadn’t had any clues as to an ideal honeymoon destination.

‘I’ve always wanted to cruise,’ said Grace without any hesitation. ‘Then I could visit a few places. Hot and sunny places – Spain, Italy, Sardinian beaches, that sort of thing.’

It sounded divine, if a dream. Dawn turned to Christie for an alternative destination. Cruising was way out of her budget. Unless it was cruising down the Manchester Ship Canal in a blow-up dinghy. ‘Give me an idea, boss.’

‘We eloped to Gretna Green, then went to Loch Ness.’ Christie smiled. ‘It was wonderful. We didn’t get out of bed for a week.’

That was more like it, thought Dawn. Calum wouldn’t have any problem with staying in bed that long. It was just that he wouldn’t notice she was in there with him. Ho hum.

‘Anyway, what are you doing this weekend, Raychel?’ asked Christie.

‘Shopping for a tumble drier. How’s that for romance?’