A Summer Fling (8 page)

‘That’s cruel, isn’t it?’ said Grace. ‘It’s like loving animals but being allergic to their fur.’

‘Your turn, Grace.’

Grace racked her brains. Three
interesting
things. She couldn’t think of one.

‘They don’t have to be extreme,’ coaxed Christie. ‘Just three things about yourself that we don’t know. For instance, you were telling me that you picked up a hobby in your late twenties, weren’t you?’

‘Ah yes,’ said Grace, grateful for the prompt. ‘Well, number one, I’ve been doing yoga for nearly thirty years. I start off every morning with quarter of an hour and finish off every evening with the same. I think I’d get twitchy if I didn’t; it’s become very much my routine.’

‘Wish I were that disciplined,’ said Dawn. ‘I haven’t done any exercise for a long time.’

‘You’ve a lovely figure anyway though,’ said Grace.

‘I’m all legs, which is a pain when I’m buying trousers because they’re never long enough!’

‘Lucky you. I always need to have mine taken up. Anyway, go on, fact number two, Grace,’ urged Christie.

‘Right, erm . . . well, I have three children: Laura is twenty-nine, Paul is twenty-eight and Sarah is twenty-five, and two grandchildren: Joe – who is Laura’s little boy, he’s five years old and Sarah’s little girl, Sable, who is four and there’s another brother or sister on the way for her.’

‘You married, Grace?’ asked Raychel, not hearing any mention of a husband in the family run down.

‘Oh yes, I’ve been married to Gordon for twenty-three years. He was a plastic injection moulding engineer but he took early retirement.’

Interesting, thought Christie. Her husband took early retirement yet she was fighting against it. And from the ages of her children, they were all born out of wedlock. She’d had Grace pigeon-holed as someone traditional too!

‘And your third fact?’

Grace thought hard, then she grinned.

‘I’ve had a coffee with Phillip Schofield.’

‘You haven’t!’ gasped Raychel. ‘I love Phillip Schofield!’

‘Where was that?’ asked Dawn.

‘Starbucks in Leeds train station about four years ago,’ said Grace quite proudly. ‘All the tables were taken and he asked if he could sit at mine because I was by myself. I thought he looked like Phillip Schofield, but it never crossed my mind he was the real thing. Then someone asked for his autograph and I could have fainted. He’s very dishy.’

‘Did you get his autograph as well?’ Christie asked, chewing on the other half of her scone.

‘He signed my serviette,’ replied Grace. ‘He was absolutely charming.’

‘He gets better with age as well,’ said Dawn. ‘Was he filming up here?’

‘Yes,’ said Grace, ‘but I can’t remember what he said it was. I was a bit star-struck.’

‘Starstruck in Starbucks. Say that after you’ve had a few!’ laughed Dawn.

‘And on that note, your turn, Dawn?’ said Christie.

‘OK, well, I’m getting married in two months. Last Saturday in June. To Calum.’

A tinkle of congratulatory noises was the result of that revelation.

‘Big white wedding?’ asked Christie.

‘Small to medium. I don’t have any family. I’m having the big frock and the church and the cake, but not hundreds of guests. Can’t really afford to.’

‘What will your married name be?’ said Raychel, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

‘Crooke. Not the most romantic name. Not like yours –
Love
!’ said Dawn with a smile. Not that she minded. Being Mrs Crooke was good enough in her book and made her insides warm at the thought of it. ‘Second: I’ve played the guitar since I was a kid and my most prized possession is the guitar that my parents gave me on my seventeeth birthday. They were both killed in a car accident a few weeks later.’

‘Oh my God, that’s terrible,’ said Grace with heartfelt sympathy.

‘I know,’ nodded Dawn. ‘I miss them so much, especially with the wedding coming up.’

‘You must,’ agreed Christie. ‘And do you still play the guitar?’

‘Not as often these days,’ said Dawn.

‘You must be good though if you’ve been playing it all this time. Didn’t you ever join a band or anything?’ asked Grace.

‘No, I’m no way near good enough to join a band,’ said Dawn with a smile. A rather sad little smile, thought Christie.

‘And thirdly, oh crikey, can’t think of anything. Oh yes I can: up until two years ago I was a hairdresser.’

That seemed to surprise them all, judging by the sharp raise in eyebrows.

‘What made you change career then?’ asked Christie.

‘I always wanted to work in an office. I never thought I’d be any good though. I was getting bored with hairdressing and went on a computer course and I really, really enjoyed it. So when I found a vacancy for this place in the newspaper, I applied and got it. Couldn’t believe it. Didn’t think I had a chance.’

The girl doesn’t have a lot of self-confidence
, deduced Christie. Funny how it was always the pretty, capable ones who didn’t.

All eyes turned to Raychel, who had very pink cheeks as a result. Her co-workers smiled encouragingly.

‘Three things quickly, Raychel, then you can escape the spotlight,’ said Christie, patting her hand.

‘I must be the most boring person on the planet,’ said Raychel, taking a deep breath. ‘OK, here goes. I’m married to Ben who is a builder.’

‘Is he a Barnsley lad?’ asked Dawn.

‘No, he’s a Geordie.’

‘Oh, I wondered if you’d moved here to be with him? You’re from Newcastle as well, presumably, with that accent, aren’t you?’ Dawn popped the last bit of scone in her mouth and chewed.

‘He moved here for work. We used to live in London and he met a bloke down there that was looking for workers up here,’ Raychel explained.

‘Funny. Most people are moving down south for work and there’s you moving the other way!’ Dawn commented. ‘Been married long?’

‘Ten years.’

‘Blimey!’ said Anna, her first contribution of the morning.

‘How many children do you have then?’ asked Dawn, who drew the conclusion that anyone who got married so young had to be pregnant. But Raychel surprised her.

‘No children and no plans for them. Right, number two.’ She tapped with her fingertips on the table as she thought. ‘I like to paint pictures. I’ve always been into art. I’d have liked to have been an artist.’

‘Are you any good?’ asked Dawn.

‘I don’t know,’ said Raychel. ‘I just enjoy doing it. It relaxes me. Bit like your yoga does for you, Grace. And thirdly, I’m moving into a new flat next month and I can’t wait. We’ve been renting but we’ve got one of the new apartments in Milk Street, where the old dairy used to be. Right at the top.’

‘A penthouse then,’ winked Christie.

‘It’s lovely,’ said Raychel with a contented sigh. ‘I’m going to measure up for curtains at the weekend and I can’t wait, how sad is that?’

‘I think it’s lovely,’ said Dawn, who wished she and Calum could move into a new place. She shuddered when she thought of the state of his windows. A team of Laurence Llewellyn-Bowens couldn’t have made those tatty monstrosities pretty.

‘Anna?’ Christie tilted her head at the quiet woman with the sad eyes.

‘Happily engaged to and living with Tony who’s a barber, owner of the moodiest cat in the world and aficionado of Hammer Horror films. That’s me in a nutshell!’ said Anna, nodding her head as if that constituted a full stop.

Christie wasn’t going to let her get away with that brief résumé though.

‘What sort of cat?’

‘Chocolate point Siamese. Male, obviously. You’d think he was Prince Edward the way he looks down his nose at everyone.’

‘And free haircuts for you presumably?’

Anna thought of Tony’s fingers in her hair and gulped. ‘Oh yes,’ she said over-brightly.

‘I used to love the old Hammer Horrors,’ said Grace. ‘I had a bit of a thing for Christopher Lee.’

‘Once, the nuns at school asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up,’ said Anna, sliding back into a memory. ‘They said I should let my imagination run riot, so I told them I wanted to be a vampire. I got a right thrashing for it as well!’ She remembered Sister Martin and her smiley face that she would whip off like a detachable mask at the first sign of any insolence. The old bitch had thrashed Anna till she wet herself. Hard-line, frustrated old nuns like her were one of the main reasons why Anna would never send her children to a Catholic school, not that she’d ever have any. Not unless a miracle was somehow bestowed upon her. She’d keep her eye out for a star appearing over her house and a bunch of shepherds knocking on the front door wanting admittance, just in case though.

‘You have the look of a gothic maid.’ Christie weighed Anna up. Full-bosomed, small-waisted and pouty-lipped, the woman would have been transformed with the right neckline and a bit of red lipstick. She had the look of a woman sadly neglected. By herself more than anyone.

‘Werewolf or vampire though. Which would you go for most?’ asked Raychel, who had just finished reading
Twilight
and rather fancied the former. The werewolf protagonist reminded her of Ben, all massive and warm.

‘No question,’ sniffed Anna. ‘Vampire every time. Couldn’t do with all that werewolf-moulting. It’d block up my Dyson.’

Everyone laughed. Anna had a dry sense of humour, that seemed evident. Christie drained her cup and then noticed that everyone with anything left in their cups followed suit.

‘Right, best get back to work then. Thank you for that, ladies. I feel I know you all a little better now.’

Christie led the way out. She was aware that behind her, Grace was twittering to Dawn and Raychel was asking Anna something. She smiled to herself. The thaw had commenced.

Paul rang Grace on her mobile at work that afternoon.

‘Mum, you are aware it’s the Grand National on Saturday?’ he asked.

‘My goodness, it’s never been a year since the last one!’

‘Time sure does fly when you’re having fun,’ said her beloved boy. Grace could have wept for him. Life hadn’t exactly been a bundle of laughs for him since his father banished him from the family home. She knew he wasn’t over the hurt, however much he pretended to be.

‘I’ll get a newspaper at lunchtime. All the horse names will be in,’ volunteered Grace.

‘I’ve looked already. There’s one running called The Sun Rose. I’ll have to go for it, for my Nana.’

‘Oh well, let’s do that then. It’s as good an omen as any.’

‘Same arrangement as usual?’

‘Same arrangement. On the nose.’

‘You can pick up your winnings when I see you next week. We’ll have lots of cake, the full shebang cream tea. I’ll pay.’

Grace laughed. He was the most generous soul she knew.

‘Oh Paul, I wish you could meet someone who’d love you for the wonderful person you are!’ she said.

I wish you could as well, Mum
, said Paul to himself.

Gordon hated gambling and so every year, for as long as she could remember, Grace and Paul had had a secret bet. They didn’t study form and distance or anything complicated like that, they just picked a horse with a name that meant something to both of them, whatever the odds. They had won for two years running now, firstly with Amazing Grace, then last year on the rank outsider, Laura’s Boy. Grace put the winnings in the secret bank account she had opened two years ago and which Gordon knew nothing about. Grace had started squirreling away some of her money to leave to Paul if anything happened to her. Gordon had cut his son out of his will. It annoyed him no end that she hadn’t done the same.

‘The Sun Rose?’ said Christie, looking over Grace’s shoulder at the name she had just written down on her pad. ‘Are you betting on horses, Mrs Beamish?’

‘Just once a year,’ said Grace. ‘My boy and I always have a bet on the Grand National.’

‘Of course! It’s the Grand National on Saturday, isn’t it?’ said Christie. ‘Shall we all have a go?’

‘What, together or separate?’ asked Dawn.

‘Together,’ said Christie. ‘One up, all up.’

‘Anyone got a paper?’ asked Anna. ‘Let’s have a look at some names.’ Maybe there would be an appropriate
Tosser of a Fiancé,
or a
Big Fat-Titted Scrubber
that drew her eye.

‘I have,’ said Dawn and got out her
Sun
newspaper. She turned to the back pages and looked at the preview of the race.

‘Any good names?’ asked Raychel.

‘Augustus, Elvis Smith, Chocolate Soldier, Mayfly, Hell for Leather, Royal Jelly, Leapfrog, Silver Lady, Milky Bar, The Sun Rose. Wow, I’m reading the
Sun
!’ said Dawn with a little gasp. ‘That has to be a sign.’

‘Have you been sniffing strong glue?’ said Anna.

‘Well, it’s not much of a sign, I grant you,’ said Dawn. ‘But it sounds like a winner to me.’

Anna half-tutted, half-smiled. ‘No, it’s not that. I would have thought with your name being
Dawn
that it would strike more of a chord. Dawn . . . sun rising?’

Dawn gasped, open mouthed. ‘Crikey, I never thought of that!’

No, Dawn wasn’t the brightest button on the planet commonsense-wise, it crossed one or two minds then. But there was something quite ethereal and unworldly about her – as if she were a simpler, more uncomplicated being, and someone who was meant to have a bit of air between her ears. Her work, however, was immaculate.

‘What are the odds on it?’ asked Christie.

‘Fifty to one,’ said Grace. ‘That’s the horse my son and I have picked.’

‘He’s a grey. Can’t remember the last time a grey won the National. Hmmm . . .’ Christie read on. The horse didn’t have a lot of form so he was either going to be a total loser or a surprise in the unveiling.

‘I love grey horses,’ said Dawn. She slid into her own memories then. Her mum and dad always wanted a ranch and horses. They were born in the wrong era and the wrong country, they used to joke to each other. They belonged to the Wild West with all its heroes and cattle and prairies. Her dad had taught her to ride when she was small. They used to borrow a horse from the riding stables up the road for her, a gentle grey called Smoke.

‘I’m happy if everyone else is,’ said Anna, who knew nothing about horses and wasn’t really bothered who won, if the truth be told. Still, she could leave the winnings to charity if she died before Saturday.