Rory's Proposal (21 page)

A week later and my little basement flat is
unrecognisable. A combined cleaning and painting party over the weekend had transformed it. Everyone had helped. Even Rosalind came with the baby. Even better, everyone bought a bottle of wine and I’ve tons over. The kitchen cupboards were cleaned and I’ve got one whole shelf devoted to Crunchies. It’s amazing though how little you eat when you know you can. I’d chosen three pretty paintings with Devon’s help from Portobello Market and the old bean bag has been stored in Rick’s garage and been replaced by two cosy chairs which again had been purchased cheaply from the market. Sandy had given me a throw for the settee and Ryan had bought me another from John Lewis. I was extremely touched by his generosity and nearly burst into tears.

‘
Don’t start crying you silly bitch. It was in the sale. I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise, love.’

I
’d hugged him gratefully. Luke had kindly given Mark a box full of crockery and cutlery with a note saying,
You bought them after all.
It’s the only contact I’ve had with him since I broke off the engagement. Mark said he’d seemed okay. Throwing himself into work and spending more time at the gym. I’d not heard from Tom since Dublin. I had stupidly hoped he would
try and contact me at the salon, but there had been nothing. Terence
has a closing down sale and both shops at the side of the salon have signs on them saying, ‘A new Rory’s coming soon’. I must be a real thorn in Thomas Rory’s side. But I can’t give in. It isn’t about Luke respecting me any more, it’s about having respect for myself.

Tonight is our first meeting to discuss our strategy for taking on Rory
’s. When I say we, I mean
Team Robson
. I’ve tried to think of a different name as at the moment we sound like a bloody football team, and I hate football. In fact, I’ve decided I hate all sports and golf in particular. But Team Robson is a good start
and I feel
sure at the meeting
we’ll come up with something better. I’m the chairperson and feel like Tom Cruise heading up my undercover organisation. Not that anyone listens to me of course. I’ve even set up a Facebook and Twitter page to gain more followers, although at present we don’t have any, but it takes time doesn’t it? I’m determined to stay positive about everything, I’m even considering taking up meditation. Well, it seems all you need is a mat and a candle and at least I can sit down. Anything must be better than throwing a kettle around. It’s time to try the new-age approach, I’ve decided. Everything is starting to look up. That’s if you can call breaking up with my boyfriend, losing my business, taking on a huge corporation and moving into a tiny poxy flat as looking up. Not to mention hitting thirty and no wedding in sight. But still, things certainly seem better than they did, at least
until this morning when I was awoken at five by a loud thumping from above. I’d thrown the duvet over my head, and then a pillow, but the
thumping just continued. By six, I could take it no longer and drag myself from the bed. I wrap my robe around me and climb the steps where the thumping music could be clearly heard from the flat above. Oh great, just what I don’t need. Rick had mentioned a neighbour but said he was holidaying in Ibiza.

‘
He goes there a fair bit,’ Rick had said, so I had stupidly got it into my head that he was some old guy, most likely widowed. No such luck. From the rap music blaring from the open window, I don’t somehow think this is a grey-haired widow unless he a very with it grey-haired widow. I tighten the robe and ring the doorbell, several times.
Finally, I hear footsteps on the stairs. The door opens and I come face to face with a fair-haired man who is far from elderly. He’s wearing jeans with holes in the knees and a black sweat top. He gives me the once over and smiles cockily at me. He’s quite good looking but really not my type. A thick gold necklace hangs around his neck. I’m not really into that kind of man.

‘
You awright?’ he asks in a strong East End accent.

‘
Not really,’ I reply. ‘You’ve had me up since five.’

I cringe the minute the words are out.

‘You should be so lucky darlin’,’ he laughs, raising his eyebrows. ‘You’d need to get in the queue.’

Cocky little bugger isn
’t he?

‘
Your music,’ I stutter, avoiding his eyes. ‘It’s been thumping through the ceiling since five this morning. I have to work.’

Shit, now I
’m implying he doesn’t work but just holidays in sunny Ibiza or plays rap music all day. His eyes widen
and
he clicks his fingers.

‘
You’ve moved into the basement flat.’

I nod. He
’s quick, I’ll give him that.

‘
Aw, I’m sorry babe. There hasn’t been anyone in there for yonks. I just got back from Ibiza. I’m still on a bit of a high. I’m off work until tomorrow. That’s my car there,’ he says pointing proudly to a red sports car. ‘Is that your Clio?’

I nod.

‘I wondered whose that was. I know a bit about cars doll. If you ever have a problem just give me a knock. I’m Adam by the way.’

Why am I not surprised?

‘Flora,’ I say, and shiver.

‘
Flora, that’s a bleeding odd name isn’t it? I thought that’s what you put on your toast,’ he laughs.

Very funny. I shiver again and turn to go back downstairs.

‘You wanna come in for a coffee. It’s enough to freeze the bollocks off a brass monkey out ‘ere’

Well, I wouldn
’t say it was that cold. It is April after all.

‘
I should be getting back,’ I say.

‘
Tell you what, take my number. Just in case. If the old Clio plays up, just give me a bell.’

He whips out a
mobile from his jeans pocket and flips open the cover.

‘
No really it’s …’ I begin.

‘
Don’t be one of them feminists; put it in your phone,’ he drawls in what I presume is his sexy voice. Thank God, he isn’t talking to Devon. He’d be walking back upstairs with a broken nose.

‘I don’t actually have my phone on me.’

He grabs a pad from a table by the door and jots down his number.

‘
I’ll add it to my contacts,’ I smile, thinking like hell I will.

‘
You got an Android?’

He makes it sound like a robot. I shake my head.

‘You should get an Android. This is a Galaxy, I only get the best. You should give me your number too. Any problem with the old jalopy, just give me a bell.’

‘
That’s very kind of you but …’

I
’m getting really cold now and have an awful feeling that my nipples might now be erect.

‘
You work down the markets?’ he asks.

‘
I have my own hair salon actually, in Church Lane,’ I say loftily.

His eyes widen in recognition.

‘You put a leaflet through my door. You’ve got a protest or somethin’?’

I nod, backing away.

‘I’m with you on that. I got a little shop down the market. You should drop in. I got a couple of stalls too. You like scarves. I do a lovely little wrap, what’s your favourite colour?’

‘
That’s very kind of you but …’

‘
Come on, you must have a favourite colour?’

It
’s six in the morning. I can barely remember who I am, let alone my favourite colour.

‘
Blue,’ I say.

‘
Great. I’ll pop one in.’

Wonderful.

‘Anything you need with this Rory business just let me know. I know people in the printing trade. You need a megaphone? I can get you one? No charge, my contribution.’

That
’s a point. Ryan said they had one in Screwfix but it was fifty-four quid
, screw that
, he’d said with a laugh.

‘
That would be great,’ I say.

He nods happily.

‘Brill, I’ll drop one down for you,’ he says with a wink.

I feel myself blush and give a little wave before heading back to my flat. A wide-boy above me, that
’s all I need. I open my door and pick up the post and stare mesmerised at a letter with RORY UK printed across the top. I move slowly into the lounge and drop onto the couch before opening it.

Dear Ms Robson,

We are writing to you regarding your property in Church Lane. We apologise for any misunderstandings regarding the proposed sale of your property to Rory’s supermarket. As you know your shop and the adjoining premises have been selected for the site of a new Rory’s supermarket as part of our community development and expansion plan. We are disappointed to hear of the misunderstandings that have developed between you and Rory’s UK. We would like to amend this as soon as possible. If you would be so kind as to advise me of a good time to call on you, we can discuss this and other issues and come to a mutual understanding so both parties can move forward.

Kind Regards

Brent Galway.

Acquisitions Manager

What happened to Grant Richards, great sender of surveyors? I scrunch the letter into a ball and throw it into the kitchen bin. I’m not that easy to soft-soap if that’s what Thomas Rory thinks, and if this Brent Galway comes round here with flowers and chocolates he can join the others and stick them up
his
arse.

‘
I’ve brought wine,’ says Sandy, handing me two bottles of cheap Spanish plonk. Ooh lovely. My wine collection is growing nicely.

‘
Not purchased from Rory’s I hope darling,’ says Ryan, following her in and handing me a packet of chocolate fingers and a bottle of vodka.

‘
Can’t stand the stuff, been in the freezer like forever. I’m glad to get rid of it,’ he smiles. ‘Your mum’s coming, she’s parallel parking, or should I say trying to.’

I rush up the steps to see
Mum clambering from the four by four and die from shame when she calls out,

‘
Is it safe to park here? I don’t want the wheels stolen.’

‘
It’s fine,’ I say.

‘
Here,’ she says, handing me a plant. ‘I thought you could do with a labia to brighten up the windowsill. They make lovely window boxes.’

A labia? Jesus. I need to put her right on this one.

‘It’s called a lobelia,’ I say.

‘
That’s what I said wasn’t it? And I’ve bought two bottles of wine, some cashew nuts and a bag of crisps. Rory’s have got a special offer. It’s called
Rory’s Party Night
, the whole lot was …’

‘
Mum, the whole idea is to
not
buy from Rory’s. Not if you’re going to be part of Team Robson.’

Ryan shakes his head.

‘You’re letting the side down already Mrs R.’

I knew having my mum on the team was a bad idea. The sooner I start my yoga and meditation the better. I exhale and Ryan dives his hand into his rucksack.

‘I got you a little pressie love,’ he says and produces
The Little Book of Calm.

Oh no.

‘It’s got lots of nice little gems, like,
Lead Us Not into Temptation; just tell us where it is and we’ll find it ourselves,’
he smiles. ‘Something like that anyway.’

I kiss him on the cheek.

‘I’m sure it will come in useful,’ I say.

‘
Yeah, it can double up as a door jamb or loo paper when you run short.’

Devon bursts in, followed by Rosalind.

‘Mark’s playing squash with … well Mark’s playing squash,’ Devon says quickly picking up Mum’s plant.

‘
This is pretty,’ she says. ‘It will look nice on your windowsill.’

‘
It’s a labia,’ says Mum. ‘It was on offer in B&Q.’

I
’m losing the will to live.

‘
It’s a what?’ says a shocked Rosalind. ‘Christ, are they naming plants after it now. Whatever next? They’ll be a flowering purple-headed shaft in B&Q before we know it.’

‘
You can say his name you know,’ I say, gratefully accepting a glass of wine from Ryan.

‘
I didn’t mean Luke was a purple-headed shaft,’ says Rosalind. ‘Although he is a dick, you’ve got to admit.’

‘
I was talking to Devon,’ I say raising my voice. ‘You can say Luke’s name. I don’t expect Mark to stop playing squash with him just because we’ve broken up.’

‘
Right,’ says Devon.

‘
And it’s a lobelia not a labia,’ I say to Mum.

‘
Oh right,’ everyone says looking at the plant and lapsing into silence.

Jesus, this is a great start to the meeting isn
’t it? Mum and Rosalind are cosily ensconced on the little couch, while Devon and Sandy sit with their legs curled under them on my new chairs. Ryan and I are sitting cross-legged on the floor. Everyone looks suspiciously at the plant.

‘
Although,’ says Ryan thoughtfully, ‘I once saw a cactus that looked like a penis …’

We all look at him.

‘Although, maybe on reflection it didn’t,’ he finishes lamely.

‘
I’ll pop some nuts in a dish,’ says Mum jumping up.

‘
So who else are we waiting for?’ I say.

‘
This is it isn’t it?’ says Rosalind. ‘Jeremy doesn’t want to get involved in case you make the papers again. Besides he’s working late.’

Devon and I look at her
. She shrugs.

‘
What? He often works late.’

I raise my eyebrows and her eyes widen in horror as the realisation hits her.

‘Shit, I left Sadistic Harry in the car,’ she says leaping up.

‘
She forgot her own baby?’ says Devon.

‘
Should we report her?’ quips Ryan.

‘
Don’t start,’ Rosalind yells from the front door. ‘I just forgot. I’ve not had him long.’

‘
That’s a good excuse I suppose,’ says Ryan.

‘
Jeth says he’ll come
later. He’s got a gig,’ says Sandy. ‘He’s with his homeboys. They’re banging. We should all go sometime and see them at the Zodiac. They really bust it.’

Mum attempts not to look confused and says,

‘Sounds lovely dear, can’t say I’ve heard of
The Homeboys
though.’

‘
What about Dad?’ I ask.

‘
No, he’s not into pop music, he wouldn’t know them.’

‘
It’s rap actually,’ says Sandy. ‘And homeboys means friends, you know it’s like slang.’

I knock back some wine.

‘I meant, is Dad coming to the meeting?’

‘
Your dad thinks it best if he doesn’t get involved, just in case it makes the news,’ says Mum handing round nuts and crisps.

Great, so the sum total of
Team Robson is seven. I can’t very well count Sadistic Harry can I? Seven against … it doesn’t bear thinking about. Rosalind returns with a gurgling Sadistic Harry and we all sigh with relief.

‘
We need more supporters,’ I say.

‘
We need more booze love, to soften the blow,’ says Ryan.

Oh no, what blow
?

‘
So far, the number of people
defo coming to the protest is …’

We all hold our breath as he opens a notebook, glances at some figures and says.

‘Twenty, and if you minus seven, that leaves thirteen.’

‘
And your dad can’t make it. He’s got a game that day,’ says Mum.

‘
Twelve,’ corrects Ryan.

I knock back my wine and Rosalind groans.

‘Shit, is that all? How many Twitter followers do we have?’ asks Sandy.

I down another mouthful
before saying,

‘
Seven.’

‘
Well that’s a start …’

I raise my eyebrows.

‘Oh, I see. The seven is actually us?’ she says with a frown.

‘
Well, no actually, it’s six of us because my mum’s not on Twitter …’

‘
Well, I don’t see the point. You can’t get a good gossip going in 140 words can you?’ says Mum defensively.

‘
I think you could do okay with 140 words love,’ says Ryan grinning.

‘
It’s 140 characters Mum,’ I say tiredly. ‘And the idea is not to gossip anyway.’

‘
But I get your point darling,’ agrees Ryan. ‘They even count the hashtags. Surely they should be separate from the 140 characters.’

Sandy rolls her eyes.

‘Who’s the other one then?’ she asks

‘
I don’t know. But we have one follower at least.’

‘
We need to put on regular updates,’ says Sandy.

‘
But it’s only us. We’ll just be telling each other what we already know,’ says Ryan.

He
’s got a point.

‘
I had a letter from Rory’s,’ I say.

Mum puts down the dish of nuts.

‘Oh dear, are they cross with us?’ she asks.

‘
We haven’t started yet,’ says a determined Sandy. ‘Don’t forget Mrs R, they’re doing people out of their jobs. You mustn’t worry about them getting a little bit cross.’

‘
Yes, of course. You’re quite right,’ says Mum,
picking up the
nuts.

‘
And?’ asks Devon.

I hand around the crumpled letter that I had fished out of the bin. It occurred to me
that as we were having the meeting I really should show it to all of Team Robson. Of course, I had since chucked in several used tea bags and some leftover tuna. So it isn’t looking or smelling that great.

‘
Perhaps you could read it out love,’ says Ryan, wrinkling his nose in disgust. ‘It smells like a gone-off fish finger.’

Everyone is silent as Devon dangles the letter between finger and thumb and tries to decipher the tea
-stained words.

‘What happened to Grant
I’ll-take-you-for-dinner Richards?’ says Sandy.

‘
Ooh yes, what happened to him?’ says Ryan.             

‘
Do we just ignore it?’ asks Devon.

‘
I think you should respond. Just in case they get legal. We need a proper solicitor’s letter in response,’ says Rosalind patting Sadistic Harry’s back until he lets out a huge burp.

‘
Would Dad do that?’ I ask Mum hopefully.

Mum looks horrified at Sadistic Harry.

‘Well sometimes after a beer.’

I sigh. Whatever was I thinking of having my mum as part of Team Robson.

‘Would he write us a legal letter to Rory’s was what she meant?’ asks Rosalind.

‘
Oh I see. I can ask him. As long as he is not on Team Robson I don’t think he will mind.’

‘
Well we need to do something. We need more followers for a start,’ says Sandy, grabbing my laptop and clicking into Twitter.

‘
Right the first thing we need to do is advertise the protest. We have to retweet it every day. It’s only ten days away. We can’t have a protest with only twenty people.’

I groan miserably.

‘It’ll be okay,’ says Rosalind and Sadistic Harry farts in agreement.

‘
The first thing
is to follow loads of people. That’s the only way to get them to follow back,’ says Sandy, ‘and we should set up a web page,’ she continues. ‘Jethro knows this guy, he’s dope.’

‘
Perhaps we should use someone else then dear,’ says Mum while handing round chilli-flavoured crackers. ‘We want someone who knows what they’re doing.’

‘
He does,’ says Sandy.

‘
But you just said he was a dope,’ argues Mum.

I suppose I should be more assertive, like Tom Cruise, and get the mission on the road shouldn
’t I?

‘
Right, I’m officially opening the meeting. Devon, you can take the minutes?’

Rosalind waves
Mum away as she heads towards her with the chilli crackers.

‘
No thanks darling. If I eat those the little sadistic bugger will be breathing fire tomorrow.’

I shove my mum back onto the couch.

‘Right, the meeting is starting,’ I say in my best assertive tone. ‘We can’t let Rory win. Now first on the agenda is the protest. We need more supporters. Sandy, can I delegate the web page to you?’

She nods.

‘Okay, so Sandy is IT consultant and promotions manager,’ I say.

‘
Ooh grand,’ she laughs.

‘
We need a megaphone,’ says Ryan.

‘
Got one, or at least I will have. The wide-boy in the flat above says he can get us one.’

‘
Another supporter there then?’ says Rosalind.

I pull a face.

‘Well, if you’re going to be fussy love,’ says Ryan.

‘
I gave him a leaflet. I think he might come.’

‘
See if he’s on Twitter,’ says Sandy.

‘
Lovely that you’ve met someone,’ enthuses Mum.

‘
Right moving on,’ I say abruptly.

‘
Teamrobson as a Twitter handle is a bit limp. Besides it sounds like a football team,’ says Sandy.

‘
How about
fighting hairdresser
?’ suggests Mum.

I cringe.

‘Fight or dye, you know, spelt as in hair dye,’ says Ryan, nodding proudly.

‘
Crass,’ dismisses Sandy. ‘I’ll do a name generator. If we put in Flora fights back, we must get something.’