Dancing in the Dark (49 page)

In the two weeks since I had left and my mother had taken over, much in the flat had changed. Too much, I thought darkly, but kept my opinion to myself. It was none of my business, but as far as I was concerned Flo’s flat had been perfect. I wouldn’t have altered it one iota.

But now the silk flowers had gone because they gathered dust, as well as the little round tables and the brasses on the beams. Colin had fitted deadlocks on the windows, a heater on the bathroom ceiling and, with Declan’s help, was going to wallpaper the place throughout. “Something fitting,” Mum announced excitedly, “little rosebuds, violets, sprigs of flowers.” She would have liked a new three-piece, but needed to conserve the money and was buying stretch covers instead. “I don’t like that dark velour stuff.

It’s dead miserable.” Next week, British Telecom were coming to install a phone.

I regarded the maroon fitted carpet. “It looks smart.” I far preferred the faded old linoleum. “What’s happened to the rag rug?”

“I chucked it, luv. It was only a homemade thing.”

Trudy came out of the bedroom, struggling with a cardboard box full of clothes. “Hello, Sis. I didn’t know you were here. I’m just sorting out the wardrobe. Phew!”

She plonked the box down and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’ll take this lot to Oxfam tomorrow, Mum. Hey, Mill, what do you think of this? I thought I’d keep it. It’s not at all old-fashioned.” She held up the pink and blue check frock with a Peter Pan collar. “I’m sure it’ll fit.”

“It’s lovely, Trude.” It had fitted me perfectly. George had said it made me look sweet and demure.

“Help yourself to anything that takes your fancy, Millicent,”

Mum said generously.

“There’s nothing I want, Mum.” I felt all choked up. It was horrible to see Flo’s things being thrown away, given to Oxfam. I didn’t even want Trudy to have the check frock. Then I thought of something I did want—wanted desperately. “Actually, Mum, I’d like that lamp, the swirly one.” I looked at the television, but the lamp wasn’t there, and I felt a thrust of pure, cold anger. If it had been chucked away I’d track it down, buy it back from Oxfam . . .

“I’m afraid your gran’s already nabbed it,” Mum said apologetically. “I wish I’d known, luv. You should have said before.”

If I’d known she was going to tear the place apart, I would have. I knew I was being unreasonable, and felt even more unreasonable when I refused a cup of tea. I only came for a minute to say hello. I think I’ll have an early night.”

I’d never felt less like an early night. Outside, I thought about calling on Charmian, but the ground-floor flat was in darkness—Herbie had to get up at the crack of dawn for work. Peter Maxwell’s light was on, but did I know him well enough to call at this hour? He might think I was being presumptuous, a bit pushy.

Fiona, in a short fur coat, thigh-length boots, and no other visible sign of clothing, was staring at me suspiciously, as if I’d set myself up in competition. I got into the car and drove round to Maynard Street. It was weeks since I’d seen Bel, though she’d been to William Square to renew her acquaintance with Mum.

“She’ll probably think me an idiot.” I didn’t even switch the engine off when I parked as near as I could to Bel’s house, but drove off immediately. On my way to Blundellsands, I slipped a tape into the deck and turned up Freddie Mercury’s powerful voice as loud as it would go to drown my brain and stop me from thinking how much I would have liked someone to talk to. It didn’t work, so I turned it down and talked to myself instead, “I must pull myself together, keep telling myself there is Life After Flo. Tomorrow I’ll take a proper lunch break, buy some Christmas presents. I’ll get jewellery for Mum, gold earrings or a chain.” By the time I got home I was still musing on what to get Declan, feeling more cheerful. My flat was slowly beginning to feel my own again, though it still seemed oddly empty when I went in.

Mum’s decorating splurge was catching. I didn’t want to change the colour of my own living-room walls, but a wide frieze would look nice, or stencilled flowers. I decided I’d take a look at patterns at the weekend.

Next day after lunch, I was showing June the gold chain with a K for Kate that I’d bought for Mum, and the red-velvet knee-length dress with short sleeves I’d got as a Christmas present for myself, when George called, “Can I have a word with you, Millie?”

“Sit down,” he said shortly, when I entered his office.

This was always a bad sign, and I wondered what I’d done wrong now. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been having a long talk with . . . with someone about your position in the firm. It was pointed out that you have no qualifications for the job you do. Darren and Elliot both have degrees, and even June has three A levels.” He regarded me sternly, as if all this was new to him and he’d been misled.

“You knew that when you took me on, George. You knew it when you promoted me.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “I’ve always carried out my work satisfactorily.

No one has ever complained.”

George acknowledged this with a cursory nod. “That’s true, Millie, but it was also pointed out that there are a lot of people around, highly qualified people, who might do the work even better. Yet by employing you, I am, in effect, denying one of these people a position with Stock Masterton.” He leaned forward, frowning earnestly.

“Look at that business with the Naughtons, for example.

You must have shown them around a dozen properties, but Diana had only to take them once and a deal was clinched on the spot.”

I clenched my fists, feeling the nails digging painfully into my palms. My heart thumped crazily. “Are you giving me the sack, George?” I’d never find another equivalent job if I was sacked.

He looked slightly uncomfortable. “No, no, of course not. We, that is, I, thought it would be a good idea if you went to Woolton with Oliver and Diana.”

“I don’t understand,” I stammered. “If I’m useless here, I’ll be just as useless in Woolton.”

“No one’s said you’re useless, Millie. Oh dear!” He put his hand to his chest. “I feel a panic attack coming. Lately, ‘

I’ve been having them quite frequently. No, we . . . . think you should be our receptionist. After all, that’s what you were originally taken on as.”

It was so unfair. I’d never asked to be promoted, it had been all his idea. I blinked back hot tears of anger. No way would I let him see me cry. I knew I’d be burning my boats, but didn’t care. I said, “I’m afraid that isn’t acceptable, George. I’d sooner leave. I’ll finish at the end of the month.”

It hadn’t gone quite the way he wanted—the way he knew Diana wanted. He rubbed his chest, frowning.

“Then you’d be breaking your contract. One month’s notice is required, dated the first of the month.” in that case,” I said coolly, though I felt anything but cool, “I’ll leave at the end of January.” I got up and went to the door. “I’ll let you have my resignation in writing this afternoon.”

It was worse, far more shocking, than having discovered all those closely kept family secrets. I’d been dumbfounded to learn that my father wasn’t who I’d thought he was. But I’d rejected Norman Cameron a long time ago, and the news didn’t matter now—in fact, it was welcome. As for Tom O’Mara, I had thought I would never forget, but already it was hard to remember the way we’d felt about each other. There was just relief that it was all over, though I knew I would worry about him, watch for his name and any mention of Minerva’s in the paper, hope that he wouldn’t come to harm in the vicious world he lived in. After all, he was my brother.

But the business with my job—trivial in comparison to the rest—was different, directed against me personally. I felt as if someone had just delivered a mammoth blow, knocking all the stuffing out of me. I realised that my job had given me a sense of identity, a feeling of achievement, and without it I was nothing. I hadn’t, after all, done better than the other girls in my class, the ones who’d seemed so much smarter than me. I was the backward child again, the girl who could hardly read, so hopeless that I hadn’t been entered for a single O level.

Later, when I tried to type a letter of resignation, my ringers no longer seemed capable of accepting messages from my brain. I’d thought George was my friend. I’d tried to help Diana. Why had they turned against me? I felt betrayed.

In the window, through the glass around the boards showing the houses Stock Masterton had for sale, I watched the people passing, their bodies crouched protectively as they fought their way through the gale that howled up Castle Street from the Mersey. I longed to go down to the Pier Head, hold on to the railings, let the wind blow me any way it wanted.

There was a photo of Nancy’s house on one of the boards in the window, between the house in Banks which didn’t have an oriel window, and a manor house with ten acres of grounds priced at half a million, which George dealt with exclusively. I’d asked Oliver if he would please send someone else to Clement Street if a prospective purchaser wanted to view. “I know the chap who’s selling it slightly. I’d sooner not go,” I said. I still felt the same when the keys for the property arrived through the post, which meant that no one would be there. Unlike Flo’s flat, Nancy’s house, the place where she’d lived with Tommy O’Mara, where the father I’d never known had been raised, would go to strangers, who would know nothing about the drama that had taken place. People rarely thought about previous owners when they bought a house, no matter how old it was. As far as they were concerned, its history began when they themselves moved in.

Across the office, Darren and Elliot were having a deskbound lunch, eating sandwiches and giggling over something in Viz. I felt envious of their gloriously trouble-free lives. June was on the telephone, Barry’s carefully combed silver head was bent over a heap of files. Oliver was out with a client. In his office, George, who usually made his presence loudly felt, was strangely quiet. At the next desk, Diana was singing a little tune as she typed into her computer. Was there a note of triumph in her voice? She must know why George had called me in, be aware of my humiliation. Was it worth making a fuss, I wondered, causing a row, telling Diana exactly what I thought in front of everyone? No, it wasn’t, I decided. George seemed slightly ashamed of what he’d done. If I left quietly, at least I’d get a good reference, possibly a glowing one if he felt contrite enough.

Oliver returned, his face flushed by the wind. He hung up the keys. “Whew!” he exclaimed. “That was a proper shambles. Mum and Dad insisted on viewing the loft, so I went up with them, then one of the kids pushed the ladder up and the damn thing got stuck halfway. I thought I’d be there all afternoon. I managed to do a Tarzan and swing myself down.”

Diana said, “I was beginning to wonder why you were taking so long.”

“Were you now! I didn’t realise you kept an eye on my movements.” Oliver took his coat off, then put it on again. “I think a beer and a snack in the Wig and Pen is called for after that misadventure. Come on, Millie, I’ll treat you.”

I looked up, surprised. Oliver had never made such an offer before. “I’ve already been to lunch.”

At the same time, Diana said quickly, “She’s already had lunch, Oliver.”

Oliver poked his head inside George’s office. “I’m off for a quick bevy, George, and taking Millie with me.

Okay?”

George didn’t look up. “Okay,” he mumbled.

“Okay, Diana?” Oliver raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“It’s none of my business, is it?”

“Too right it isn’t.”

“What was all that about?” I asked, when we were outside. The wind gripped me immediately, powerfully, blowing my hair up into a fan around my head. The air was sharp and clean and refreshingly salty. I twisted my face to and fro, trying to breathe in as much as I could, until I felt almost lightheaded.

Oliver’s usually good-natured face twisted into a scowl. “I loathe that bloody woman. I can’t abide the thought of working with her. I want her to know that when we move I’m the one in charge. She thinks I’m a wimp who can’t take decisions, but she doesn’t realise how much George regards Stock Masterton as his baby.

Take a major decision over his head and he goes ballistic.

She’ll find that out for herself soon enough if she starts throwing her weight around.”

When we turned into Dale Street the wind lessened fractionally. Oliver’s scowl disappeared and he said kindly, “Enough of my hang-ups. It’s you I’m worried about. You look as if you’ve been crying, which is why I asked you out.”

I clapped my hands to my cheeks, which felt both hot and cold. “I haven’t been crying, but I’m dead upset. Is it so obvious?”

“Yes. I don’t want to pry. Don’t tell me if it’s something private.”

We arrived at the Wig and Pen, where the midday rush was over and only a few tables were occupied. Oliver brought me a whisky and a chicken sandwich, and I told him what had happened. “I feel gutted,” I finished. I could have said more, much more, but kept myself to a few short words.

Oliver shook his head unbelievingly. “Darren and Elliot may well have degrees, but neither has an ounce of charm. As for Diana, she positively alienates the clients. She’s in completely the wrong profession, which George knows only too well. He’s talked about letting her go more than once.” He shook his head again. “I don’t understand the sudden turnaround. Mind you, the poor man has been an emotional wreck since his wife walked I out with the children. He’s easy prey for any woman who sets her cap at him.”

“But why does Diana hate me so much?” I wailed.

“That’s easy to explain.” Oliver smiled and patted my hand. “George was smitten with you right from the start.

I think I can safely say that your promotion had more to do with your legs than your capabilities, not that you didn’t make a good fist of the job once you had it,” he added hastily, when he saw my dismayed expression. “I wasn’t the only one to notice, Diana did, too. She’s jealous of you, Millie. She wants you out of George’s way.”

“I knew George liked me, that’s all,” I muttered. “You see an awful lot, Oliver.” I felt a bit better. I’d been demoted because of another person’s weakness, not my own, though it didn’t change the fact I was about to give up my job.