A Summer Fling (7 page)

‘So, you were saying you had some ideas,’ she deflected.

‘Oh, yes. Well, James McAskill,
as you will know
, is really into incentivizing. I thought you might like to show him this. I sourced some great promotional gifts before I gave up the department for Cheese,’ he said, as if he’d had a choice in the matter. He ferreted in his coat pocket and brought out a clear plastic isosceles triangle. Through the middle was the company logo and across the widest part were the words, ‘I spoke and White Rose Stores listened.’

‘Very impressive,’ said Christie turning it around. She was being kind. It was pretty awful and she couldn’t think of anyone who would be inspired to spend their free time trying to improve the business in the hope of getting one of these things in return.

‘It’s a paperweight,’ said Malcolm proudly. He loaded his mouth with potato. ‘Yes, I took it on myself to get the example made. It didn’t cost the company anything, of course.’

‘Very light for a paperweight,’ said Christie. ‘Wouldn’t it have been better in glass?’

‘Health and safety issue,’ said Malcolm. ‘Plus, glass would be way too expensive. These would be made in the Far East at a fraction of the price. Instil a sense of pride though, wouldn’t they – glass or plastic? And you could order in bulk to cut costs even further. It would do nicely for when they roll out the idea of taking suggestions for the other departments because it’s a general statement – not tied to Bakery in any way.’

Christie made a series of facial gestures that Malcolm took to mean that she was speechless with admiration. ‘Well, I’ll bear it in mind, certainly.’

‘I know Mr McAskill would love this idea and I don’t mind if you were to tell him where it came from,’ said Malcolm, with a wink. Christie knew James would view it from all angles and say: ‘What on earth is it?’ before slam-dunking it in his bin.

Malcolm bought two coffees after their meal was finished and more of his mediocre ideas had been imparted, including some very unusual shapes for loaves. Christie watched him holding up the queue at the till as he counted out and handed over a load of change, exact to the last penny.

‘How are you getting on with those women?’ said Malcolm, imbuing the last two words with all the joy of sniffing off-milk.

‘I like them very much.’

‘Funny bunch if you ask me,’ said Malcolm, coming in so close that Christie was overcome by the fumes from his awful aftershave again. ‘That Grace is a snobby piece, thinks she is above everyone. She’s fifty-five and I reckon she thought she’d get the Scheme Manager’s job. Why else would you turn down retirement? Bit late to start getting ambitious really, so watch your back! Anna’s a bit sullen. Never seen her smile yet. And I understand Dawn is getting married, isn’t she?’

‘Is she indeed?’ asked Christie.

‘Word of warning, that sort always make too many personal calls. Plus, I don’t think she’s the sharpest knife in the drawer. Don’t know anything about the other one, the young one, Raychel, except I would have thought she was a bit boring to have in such an energy-driven project. Not exactly Miss Personality, if you know what I mean. I’m surprised Mr McAskill picked that lot, to be honest. I’d have had at least one man in there myself.’

Christie wondered if she should write to the
Guinness Book of Records
and suggest an entry for the most number of character assassinations in one minute. Still, she always liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was trying to help her settle in, albeit in a very clumsy way.

‘Well, I have to say, I find them all extremely amiable and hard-working,’ Christie said brightly.

‘New broom sweeps clean,’ said Malcolm and his hand closed over Christie’s with a squeeze. ‘You do realize they’ve already started taking the mick, coming in at nine and going home as soon as the clock hits five?’

‘But that’s the working day. Why on earth should anyone do more?’

‘Because that’s what we do at White Rose Stores, my dear,’ he said with a very patronizing smile.

That gave Christie the perfect escape clause.

‘I’m totally indebted to you for the insight,’ she nodded. ‘I had better get back and make sure they’re behaving, in that case.’ And with that she purposefully picked up her tray.

‘Quite,’ said Malcolm with a smug grin, pleased that she had taken his comments on board. ‘I think I’m just going to have a small portion of apple pie before I get back to the Cheese grindstone. It’s been lovely talking to you, Christie.’

‘And you, Malcolm. Very useful. Very . . . revealing.’

She really was a very attractive woman, he thought as he watched her wend her way over to where the empty plates were stacked. Her heart-shaped bottom had a natural sashay like Marilyn Monroe. However she had got that job, he would have bet his life savings on it being something to do with that bottom.

‘Good lunch?’ asked Grace. She was alone in their section. The others were all shopping in town. Separately, not together.

‘Pleasant enough,’ said Christie, not sure how convincing she sounded. ‘I’m going to get another coffee. Can I get you one?’

‘Oh, er, yes, thank you,’ said Grace. ‘Milk, no sugar please.’

‘No, I didn’t imagine you would take sugar with a figure like yours,’ said Christie.

‘Oh, erm, thank you,’ said Grace with some surprise. ‘However, if the truth be told, I have a terrible sweet tooth if I gave way to it. Thank God for yoga. That keeps me on the straight and narrow.’

‘I give way to my sweet tooth on a regular basis, as you may have guessed,’ Christie returned, smoothing her hands over the curves in her bright, summer-blue suit. She had the most beautiful clothes, none in shy colours. ‘My brother is a dentist and he keeps my teeth on the straight and narrow, if not my figure. And I think if I even attempted the Lotus position, my spine would snap.’

‘I didn’t start classes until I was in my late twenties,’ returned Grace. ‘Trust me, it’s a very gentle wake-up call to the body.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Christie. ‘I get all the relaxation I need from éclairs, an occasional balloon of brandy and the odd packet of Embassy Regals.’

She waited for Grace to wince at the reference to cigarettes. Somehow she thought she would disapprove. Grace didn’t. Instead she said, ‘Everyone needs to unwind. I think there’s nothing more dangerous to one’s health than the inability to relax.’ And she smiled. Christie suspected that Grace hadn’t truly unwound for a long time, not even through the medium of yoga.

‘I totally agree,’ said Christie. ‘Milk, no sugar, you said? Same as me. I manage, at least, to avoid sugar in my drinks.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Grace. A boss had never volunteered to fetch a drink for her in all her working life. But then, like half the building, she suspected Christie Somers was very far from the norm.

Dawn had bought presents in town in her lunch hour. Gold earrings for her bridesmaids – Denise and Demi, Calum’s sisters – and a tie-pin for the best man – Rod, otherwise known as Killer, Calum’s best friend, although she couldn’t imagine he’d ever use it. Maybe it would come in useful for his appearances in court. He was electronically tagged and on a curfew, so he would be leaving the celebrations early. She’d buy Muriel some flowers. Calum’s dad, Ronnie, was giving her away. She had said that she would walk down the aisle herself because her dad wasn’t there to do the deed and there were no uncles or anyone to ask on her side, but Muriel had said that was stupid and volunteered Ronnie to do it. Ronnie hadn’t objected. The Crooke men tended to do what the Crooke women said. She wondered if Calum would take any notice of what she said once she became a Crooke woman.

She was hiring penguin suits for him and Ronnie and Killer. The amount of money she had spent so far was starting to wake her up in the middle of the night, sweating. She hadn’t a clue where the rest was going to come from.

‘Ta daaahhh,’ said Ben at exactly half past nine on the Tuesday night. ‘Finished one room at least, thank goodness.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Ray, drawing the last brushful of paint across the wall. ‘Only two more rooms to go.’

‘Ah, man, we’ll have it done by the weekend. It’s worth it though, isn’t it? A free month’s rent for a few evenings of this?’

‘Well, I don’t know. These ceilings are high. There’s a lot of wall to paint.’

‘The house looks twice bigger in this colour.’

‘Remind me not to wear magnolia trousers then,’ said Raychel.

‘Give over, you’ve hardly got a bottom,’ said Ben.

‘“Give over?” You’re turning into a Yorkshireman!’

‘Aaarrghh!’ screamed Ben, as if that was a fate worse than death. But in truth he didn’t miss his roots in Newcastle. Sometimes it was as if there was no life before he and Raychel moved to Barnsley and rented this small terraced house in the Old Town district. He felt settled here. He had a good job and Ray seemed to enjoy hers. And if she was happy, he was happy.

‘That four hundred quid we’ve saved will go towards the first mortgage payment.’

They both started to grin at each other.

‘Our first mortgage. Can you believe it?’

‘I can’t believe we’re actually excited about paying out a big wodge of money every month. How sad are we?’

‘Very.’

‘You OK anchoring yourself permanently to a life in Barnsley?’ said Raychel, the smile suddenly sliding from her face.

‘Where you go, I go,’ said Ben, resting his great arms on her shoulders.

‘I like it here. Isn’t that odd?’

‘Why is it odd?’ said Ben, giving her a tiny kiss on her head.

‘Because of all places to come, we end up here. Where my parents came from.’

‘Well, you never knew the place. It’s not as if you have bad memories here, is it?’

‘I suppose not,’ Raychel mused.

‘There’s loads of work around for me, Raychel. I’ve never felt as settled as I do here.’ Ben squeezed his wife. ‘Maybe we’re growing up at last.’ He nudged her playfully but she wasn’t smiling. He knew where her thoughts were. The past was always waiting for their minds to slip back to like a muddy slope with little grip on the sides.

He slapped her bottom lightly to break her out of her reverie. ‘You go and have the first bath. I’ll get on with making something to eat.’

‘No, let’s get a curry delivered,’ said Raychel, pasting on a smile.

‘I won’t argue with that,’ said Ben. ‘Go on, and I’ll have the water after you, so no weeing in it.’

‘How will you know?’ teased Ray on her way out. He pretended to chase her and she squealed.

Ben’s smile dropped when she disappeared up the staircase.

‘Please God, make us happy in our new flat,’ he whispered. He didn’t ask to win the lottery or live forever, he just hoped God would come through for them and give them some peace at last.

‘What do you think for the reception, Cal? Roast beef or chicken?’

‘I don’t know, you pick,’ said Calum. He was watching a nature programme. A pride of lions was ripping up a gazelle. Well, the lion was just sitting on the sidelines letting the lionesses get on with it. The gazelle had long, thin legs like Dawn’s.

‘Are any of your lot vegetarian?’ asked Dawn.

‘Do us a fucking favour,’ said Calum with some amusement.

‘Maybe we should have a vegetarian option just in case.’

‘Aye, give ’em the option to eat the meat or fuck off.’

‘Prawn cocktail or melon, roast beef or chicken, Black Forest or summer pudding?’

‘What’s summer pudding?’ said Calum.

‘It’s like a bread mould with berries in it.’

‘Bread mould?
Bread. Mould?’

‘Not green mould, shape mould, you numpty,’ laughed Dawn.

‘No, you’ve put me off that already.’

‘Black Forest then?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Calum. ‘You decide.’

‘We could have black pudding and poached egg starter, turkey and then sticky toffee pudding.’

‘That sounds all right.’

‘But it’s four pounds extra a head.’

‘Whatever,’ said Calum. ‘Ask my mam. She’d know.’

That night Dawn went to bed and dreamed that a giant sticky toffee pudding ate her savings and ripped holes in her wedding dress.

Mid-week, at eleven o’clock precisely, Christie looked up and saw her ladies all beavering away. She had never worked in a department so banter-free. It unsettled her. Where she had headed other departments in her time that needed pulling into line for their gossip:work ratio, this was unnatural at the other end of the scale and didn’t make for the best working environment, in her opinion. They might have all been sitting surrounded by individual barbed-wire fences. She shook her head. Women working in close proximity to cakes and pastries – they should have been in their element! There was an air of disunity about this department she was determined to tackle.

‘Staff meeting, in the canteen please, ladies, two minutes, so switch your phones to voicemail,’ she called out. She’d begin by plying them with coffee and buns. Always a good start for bonding.

Down in the canteen, a fresh batch of buttered scones had just been put out. Christie piled five onto her tray. Proper elevenses!

‘No dieting allowed at the table,’ she said, sitting down. ‘Help yourselves, girls.’

Anna wasn’t all that hungry. She had hardly eaten anything since the weekend, her appetite had absconded with Tony, but everyone else had taken a scone and she would have felt a bit of a party pooper leaving hers untouched. She could nibble at it, she supposed. She really ought to eat something.

‘Right, I want to know three interesting facts about all of you – it can be anything – but things that are important to you,’ announced Christie, after swallowing a big bite of scone. ‘I’ll go first. I’m a widow, no children, and I live with my brother who is a dentist and though we used to fight a lot when we were little, as adults we get on surprisingly well. Two: I love clothes, especially vintage ones, and double especially shoes and have far more than I’ll ever wear. Three: I love strawberries and I can’t damn well eat them because they bring me out in a rash.’

The ladies laughed gently.