Stuff (The Bristol Collection) (32 page)

Did they still have working telephone boxes these days?

And more to the point, did Perry even have Mas’s number written down?

At eight o’clock, he stood outside the door to Cherise’s house, wondering whether she’d be busy entertaining a client. He could hear the television on loud downstairs somewhere, but maybe she had to work in the evenings sometimes?

Just then the door burst open, and a large, dark-skinned man with a shaved head pushed his way out. “See you tomorrow?” he asked someone behind him, and to his surprise Perry heard Cherise giggle like a teenager.

“Come on round after work,” she cooed, and Perry shrank back behind the bins as she gave the bald chap a lavish kiss right on the doorstep.

Big man headed off down the road, hands in his pockets and whistling, and Perry was about to creep away when Cherise called out, “I can see you, sunshine. What you doin’ hidin’ in my garden anyways?”

“Sorry, I just… I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Don’t give me none of that bullshit, boy! You musta wanted something, or you wouldn’t be skulkin’ round here. I’m not workin’ no more, you know that? Not ever. That whole chapter of my life is done and dusted.”

“You’re not? Um, congratulations?”

Cherise stared at him for a long moment, then broke out in a wide grin. “Come inside, sunshine. I’ll make you a cup of tea. The kids are all playing upstairs, so we might actually get a chance to chat. You never know.”

When he was ensconced on Cherise’s ridiculously puffy sofa, tea in hand, Perry flailed around for polite conversation. “So, you’re not a prostitute anymore?” Oh, very smooth. He deserved a slap on the cheek for that one. Fortunately, Cherise simply gave him a Mona Lisa smile.

“Well, since I took on that bit of work for your fancy man, it got me to thinkin’. I can’t be whoring myself around too much longer, and it turns out there’s work for a skilled seamstress. It don’t pay all that well, but I can do it at home, and I don’t have to worry about getting beat up or catching something nasty, do I?”

Perry shook his head solemnly. “And you can make enough to live on?”

“It’s not a fortune, but so long as I put in the hours, I can make enough. Speakin’ of which…” Cherise picked up a pile of white fabric, part of which was held in some kind of wooden hoop, and threaded a needle with yellow thread. “Gotta get this one finished by the weekend. Some kind of heirloom embroidered tablecloth, and the rich folks want it repaired in time for their fancy dinner party. Don’t know why they can’t just buy a new one instead. More money than sense if you ask me, but hey, I’m not complainin’ if they wants to chuck a bunch of cash my way.”

Perry carefully lifted the section of tablecloth closest to him and examined the border of twining embroidered flowers. “My mother has one very similar to this.”

“Yeah? You never told me nothing about her. She got more money than sense too?”

“Pretty much.” The talk of money brought back the real reason for his visit, and guilt prickled inside him. “I think I might have more money than sense too. Not that I have any money really, but I should have known better than to let Mas cash up on his own.”

“Uh-oh. You want to tell me all about it?”

Surprisingly enough, he did, and so he poured out the rest of the story, concluding with, “And now I just feel sick with worry. Where is he? Is he going to do something stupid? He’s so flighty and unpredictable. I never have any idea what he’s going to do next.”

“That lad’s a smart cookie. Don’t you go underestimatin’ him. He’ll survive.”

“I don’t want him to just survive. I want him to thrive! I want him to have the very best life has to offer, but I know I can’t give him that. Not without going crawling back to my family and giving in to their demands. The first of which will probably be to get rid of him and settle down with some vapid young woman of good breeding. I just don’t know what to do for the best. And I don’t understand this whole relationship business. It’s so complicated. God alone knows what Mas actually sees in me.”

Cherise peered closer at her embroidery and raised an eyebrow. “You gone and told Mas any of this?”

“Of course not.”

She clucked at him. “Why not? If you don’t communicate, you can’t expect things to run smoothly.”

“But he’s hardly going to respect me if I admit to being a clueless imbecile who doesn’t know the first thing about relationships.”

“I think he’ll respect you for havin’ the courage to admit that. And I think he’ll love you even more if you’re honest.”

“You think he loves me?”

“It’s written all over his face whenever he claps his eyes on you. You seriously tellin’ me you can’t see that young man’s besotted?”

Perry sank his head into his hands. “Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?”

“What for?”

“For telling him he was no use, and that he had to sleep in the shop tonight?”

For some reason, Cherise started laughing. “Oh my, you’re every bit as bad as he is in your own sweet way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Both gettin’ yourselves worked up into a tizzy over nothing at all. Of course he’ll forgive you. You just gotta do some crawlin’, that’s all. Treat him nice. Tell him you love him, and better yet, show him you love him.”

“But…do I love him?”

Cherise finally stopped squinting at her embroidery and treated him to her gimlet gaze instead. “You seriously doubting that? Coz you’ve gotta be sure before you tell him. Don’t go raisin’ his hopes if you can’t deliver. That young lad’s had enough of that to last him a lifetime.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me something about it. All those men he’s fallen for, and they’ve treated him like crap. Him and me’s got a lot in common that way, but just like him, I’ve found me a good man now.” Cherise smiled, and although she hadn’t answered the question Perry had really intended, he knew politeness demanded he ask about her new man.

“Was that the gentleman I saw leaving earlier?”

“That’s right. Spencer, his name is, and you’re right about him bein’ a gentleman. He knows how to treat a lady properly.”

“How did you meet him?”
Please don’t say he was another client.

Cherise beamed even more broadly. “He works for the housing association as a handyman. Good steady employment, that is. Came round to fix my leaking roof and ended up helping me fix a whole lot of other stuff around the house too. Like I said, a proper gentleman.”

“And does he know what you do—erm, sorry, used to do—for a living?”

“He knows enough, and he don’t want to know no more. Says as long as I’ve given it up and I’m not hooked on nothin’ to drag me back into it, as far as he’s concerned Jesus would forgive me, and so he don’t have no business holding my past against me.”

“A churchgoer.” Surprising, but then again, Mas had been a churchgoer for more than half his life.

“Don’t you go lookin’ down your nose at him for that. They’s good folks at his church. We went there today, and they welcomed me and the kids like we was long-lost family. Touched my heart it did. And the music was beautiful, even if most of them can’t sing for toffee. My Spencer has a beautiful voice, though.”

“And you believe in God?”

“They say He works in mysterious ways. Maybe this is His way of working for me.” Cherise didn’t sound too certain, but if her belief gave her comfort, who was he to judge?

“I’m glad you’re happy. Perhaps you’d like to invite him to the launch party? Mas has his heart set on making it a success. I’d hate for it to be a flop and no one turn up.”

“You askin’ us just to make up the numbers, now?”

“Oh gosh, no, of course not. I really didn’t mean that to come across that way. I’m such an idiot sometimes.”

“Nah, I’m just teasin’ you. Of course we’ll come. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good. Thank you so much.”

Perry left feeling lighter about the whole situation, but he still had a couple of worries Cherise hadn’t been able to put to rest. Firstly, where was Mas and how would he track him down, and secondly, how exactly did he figure out whether this strange, seasick feeling was love?

Cherise had seemed certain about loving Spencer, but Perry had never been more confused. The only thing he was certain of was that he needed to see Mas again, as soon as was humanly possible. He had an idea where he might be, but no idea where Jasper actually lived. Perhaps if he could locate a working phone box, directory enquiries might be able to help him narrow it down. Perry strode off with new purpose.

Eventually Perry found a box on Stokes Croft, and the operator helped him find a J. Richardson living in Southville. He dialled the number with trepidation, braced for a wrong number after all, but he recognised the voice that answered.

“Jasper, is Mas there? I really need to speak to him.”

Jasper huffed. “Hang on a moment. This is Perry, isn’t it?”

Perry confirmed that and listened to that strange sound of a hand being held over the receiver while Jasper called out. There was a muffled conversation, but eventually he heard Mas’s voice clearly on the other end of the line.

“Hello? This had better be good.”

“Can you come back? I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, you should be.” Mas sniffed, but without being able to see him, Perry had no idea if he was affronted, about to cry or simply coming down with a cold.

“Please could you come back? I’m lonely without you.”

“I think I need to be with my friends right now, but I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Oh, of course.” Perry would be being incredibly selfish if he demanded Mas back right away, so he smothered the plea that wanted to break out. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Mas gave a hollow-sounding chuckle. “Tomorrow. Right. Night, then.” The line went dead.

“Good night,” Perry whispered.

Chapter Thirty-Five

After hours of unsuccessful attempts to sleep, Mas finally gave up and headed on down to the kitchen. Jasper was there fixing his breakfast, and he looked up, startled, as Mas came into the room.

“Oh, it’s you.” Jasper’s shoulders relaxed, and he added another spoonful of sugar onto what looked like an already well-dusted bowl of cornflakes. “Don’t tell Lewis.”

“What, that you’re a normal person who likes their cereal to have some flavour?”

“He thinks I eat too much sugar. He’s worried I’ll end up diabetic.”

“He should mind his own bloody business. It’s your body, and you can do what you like with it.”

Jasper shrugged. “It’s just because he cares. Ever since his dad went downhill, he’s been paranoid about people’s health. You should hear him with Carroll. Don’t think he’s going to convince her to give up smoking anytime soon, though.”

“Funny way to show you care,” Mas grumbled, but his heart wasn’t in it. After all, at least Lewis was trying to look after people. “Don’t think Perry would even notice if I started troughing doughnuts and put on the pounds. The only pounds he cares about are the ones in his till. That’s what they say about the rich, though, isn’t it? They get that way by being total bloody Scrooges.”

“Perry’s got money?”

“His family have, so same difference. You know he inherited that whole bloody shop off of his aunt? No mortgage to pay or anything. That’s the only way he’s been able to keep the shop going, coz it certainly wasn’t bringing in enough to pay rent. Thing is, I reckon when he’s finished slumming it with the likes of me, he’ll be back hanging out with the toffs. You can’t change who you are deep down, can you?”

Jasper frowned. “I think you’re underestimating how much he cares about you. What about that phone call last night?”

“It was just a call.”

“The poor bloke had to track down my home number using directory enquiries, and all in a public phone box.”

Okay, it was a teensy bit impressive that Perry had gone to those lengths, but still… “That was just guilt. And him making sure I’d be back to work today. You know he’ll lose the shop if he doesn’t make a success out of it?”

“But it’s closed on a Monday. And you just told me he inherited it.”

Mas waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, he did, but it’s one of those crazy wills like rich folk always make in TV dramas. You know, with all kinds of stupid clauses to control his life. Besides, his family are a bunch of controlling bastards. He’s best off without them, but I think they fucked him up good and proper. He’s clever and educated, but the poor bugger doesn’t know how to live his life. Totally bloody clueless.”

“Sounds like he needs someone with street smarts to look out for him.”

“Bloody right he does.”

“Know anyone like that? Who might have an interest in keeping him out of trouble?”

Oh, the man was crafty, but Mas refused to fall into any conversational traps. “Why would they want to do that? Hypothetically speaking?”

Jasper smiled smugly. “Because they’re head over heels in love with him?”

“Shut up and hand over the cornflakes.”

“I’ll give you a lift in on my way to work.”

“Cheers.” Mas helped himself to a handful of dry cereal. If he kept his mouth full, perhaps he could avoid any more of Jasper’s questions. The man was getting as bad as Lewis.