Never Can Say Goodbye Read online

  ‘You need help.’ Dexter laughed as the woman trundled across to the appropriate frocks.

  ‘In a medical way?’

  ‘In an assistant sort of way. So do I. I don’t know how Ray managed on his own at busy times.’

  ‘He always used to co-opt Brian in to help him during December and other hectic periods.’ Frankie looked longingly at her rapidly cooling coffee as she reached for a midnight-blue satin shift dress and a Visa card. ‘Maybe you could ask him?’

  Dexter nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ll do that. He’s a nice bloke. Thanks. But what about you?’

  Frankie shrugged. ‘No idea. I think I’m going to have to advertise for a part-timer. I hadn’t even thought about it, but I do need someone else in here. There was always me and Rita, and we weren’t always busy, so it hadn’t occurred to me that I might need help.’

  ‘Plenty of students looking for Christmas jobs,’ Dexter said over his shoulder as he squeezed out through the throng. ‘I could ask Ginny if any of her friends are interested if you like.’

  Frankie sniffed. She somehow didn’t want one of Ginny’s college chums giving her chapter and verse about Dexter’s prowess and, although it made her feel very, very old to even think it, neither did she want to spend hours and hours with someone saying ‘like’ and ‘random’ and ‘awesome’ every third word and ending their sentences in an Antipodean upward lilt.

  Yep, no doubt about it. She was now officially Methuselah. ‘I think someone older would be better in here, actually. A lot of the customers are middle-aged – I think they might prefer it. I’ll give it some thought later.’

  ‘OK. Your call. From what I’ve seen, there are certainly enough, er, more mature ladies around here to pick from. You should find someone pretty easily. And if it quietens down a bit, why don’t you close up for half an hour and we could grab a sandwich next door?’

  Close up? Shut the shop when there might still be paying customers lurking? Frankie shook her head. Rita would have a fit. Rita had never, ever shut the shop. But then, there had been two of them, hadn’t there? Always one of them there to hold the fort.

  ‘We’ll see. Nice idea – can’t see it happening somehow. Thanks again for the coffee, though.’

  She watched as Dexter left the shop. So did everyone else. Andy Williams wasn’t the only one sighing a sort of soft collective sigh as Dexter closed the door.

  In a brief lull just after midday, Frankie flew to the loo and annoyed herself by eyeing the 1950s rails dubiously on her way back. Ernie Yardley, or whoever he was, was nowhere to be seen. She grinned to herself as she walked behind the counter. She wouldn’t be seeing him again – Oh, damn it …

  Frankie stared down at the floor. Trying to avoid the stack of purple and gold carrier bags, she’d kicked over the overflowing wastepaper bin. Another job she’d overlooked from manic Saturday. There was so much to do, so little time to do it in and no help at all.

  Making sure that her current handful of customers were still happily browsing and didn’t want serving, she bent down and scooped up the detritus to the accompaniment of Andy Williams now proclaiming, rather ungrammatically she felt, that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

  Among the ripped tissue paper and torn price tickets, a handful of battered business cards were strewn across the floor-boards.

  Cherish’s business cards.

  Frankie picked one up and stuffed the rest into the bin to be emptied later. She studied it carefully and thought. And, forgetting all Lilly’s rules on hygiene in the workplace, tapped the card against her teeth and thought again.

  Then she picked up her mobile.

  Cherish stared at the black Bakelite phone sitting on the lace-trimmed telephone table in the bungalow’s hall. Who on earth would be ringing her at this time on a Monday morning? Cherish had very few phone calls and made even less.

  She hoped it wouldn’t be one of those eager young people trying to sell her double glazing or a new kitchen or a mobile phone. She always let them talk to her because she felt sorry for them and it was sometimes nice to hear another voice, and never understood it when they seemed so abrupt and impolite at the end when she said it had been lovely chatting but she was well suited, thank you.

  Warily, she picked up the receiver. ‘Hello … Who? Oh, hello, dear. Yes, of course I remember you. How nice to hear from you. Would you? Really? Oh, yes, that would be lovely. No, I can get the bus easily enough, thank you. There’s one due in a few minutes and we’ve got a stop at the corner of the road. Sorry? Oh, right … yes, I’ll be happy to discuss things with you face to face, dear. Of course I will. What? As soon as possible, of course, dear. Lovely, thank you.’

  Cherish replaced the receiver and clapped her hands together. It was like a dream come true. Frankie wanted to see her. Frankie must have changed her mind about the colourpalette-advising in Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks. How absolutely wonderful.

  Explaining why she was leaving so abruptly and where she was going to the nice young man on the radio before apologising for switching him off mid-programme, Cherish reached for her best coat and scarf, picked up her handbag, checked that she had enough change for the bus fare, and practically skipped out of the bungalow.

  Frankie, not sure if she’d just made another of many possible entrepreneurial mistakes by even making the phone call, didn’t have long to wait. Cherish, again in an unflattering taupe coat with matching headscarf, arrived, pink-nosed and damp-eyed from the cold, half an hour later. Mercifully, alone. Frankie knew she’d never have been able to cope with Biddy in tow.

  ‘Hello, dear. Oh, do excuse me for blowing my nose – it’s freezing out there.’ Cherish sniffled. ‘Oh, you’re still in paint-box colours, I see. I’d hoped you’d have gone for a nice charcoal by now.’

  ‘Charcoal isn’t me, honestly. Nor is pewter or gunmetal or any of the other grey colours you mentioned. I just don’t like them. Sorry.’

  ‘Shame, it would make such a difference to your life, a nice touch of grey. You’ll never know what it might unleash.’ Cherish looked suddenly enthusiastic. ‘I’m assuming here, dear, that you rang me because you’d changed your mind? About using my talents for your customers, even if you won’t take my advice yourself? I’m free, dear, if you have. Dorothy Perkins in Winterbrook showed us the door, sharpish. Mind you –’ she looked woebegone again ‘– it didn’t help with Biddy telling ’em they weren’t the shop she’d known in her youth when you used to be able to get a nice two-piece or a twinset for next to nothing. Then she had a few harsh words to say about new fangled boutiques. They didn’t like it. They didn’t like it at all.’

  ‘No,’ Frankie said diplomatically, ‘I can imagine they didn’t. And actually, no, I didn’t want to ask you about your colour-advisory service. It was about something else altogether … ’

  As job interviews went, it was pretty odd, Frankie thought afterwards. She had to ask questions and explain things like how the till and the credit card machine worked while serving customers, and Cherish said nothing, but kept nodding and blowing her nose.

  Eventually Cherish spoke. ‘It all sounds lovely, dear. Thank you. I’ve done shop work before. I’ve got references too. I’d be ever so happy to help out. I’m fifty-five, you know, and I haven’t worked for some time, apart from the colour palette advisory service – and that’s a bit slow sometimes, dear. Well, to be honest, it’s more or less ground to a halt. And working from home can be very lonely. You tell me what hours you’d like and I’ll be here. And maybe I could advise people on their soul colours and—’

  ‘No,’ Frankie said firmly. ‘No colour advising at all. You can carry that on at home, of course, but not on my premises.’

  ‘Maybe I could just pop one of my cards into the bags?’ Frankie thought guiltily of the wodge of cards in the bin and shook her head. ‘No, sorry. Conflict of interests, you see?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cherish, who patently didn’t. ‘Whatever you say, dear. You’re the boss.’

  Yes, F
rankie thought with a momentary fizz of pride. I am. And it’s lovely.

  She looked hopefully at Cherish. ‘So, if you’re agreeable, I’ll get all the P45 stuff and salary and employment paperwork sorted out with Rita’s accountant and solicitor, and we can work out some suitable hours and—’

  ‘I’m happy to work whenever you need me.’ Cherish eyed the customers milling round the rails. ‘You look as if you’re going to be quite busy all the time. I’m very pleased for you that it’s going so well, but don’t let Biddy know I said so.’

  Frankie had no intention of letting Biddy know anything. Someone as mean-spirited as Biddy could put the mockers on Cherish’s embryo employment before it even got started.

  ‘I thought you and Biddy were friends?’

  ‘We are, but she always sees the dark side of everything. She’s very complex, you know. You see, I’ve told her she’s a natural spring person, which means really she should be forward-thinking and happy in her outlook.’

  ‘Mmm, she did tell me that you’d suggested she wears spring colours.’

  ‘Exactly –’ Cherish blew her nose again ‘– but so far they don’t seem to have worked as well as I’d hoped. They don’t seem to have touched the inner blackness at all.’

  Frankie thought that it was definitely better to say nothing more about Cherish’s well intentioned but clearly erroneous colour advice. She smiled. ‘Right, so shall we say you work from ten until two from now and through December, just to see how it goes? If it slackens off in the new year we can discuss altering your hours to suit.’

  ‘That sounds lovely, dear. Thank you.’

  ‘Good, that’s wonderful. I’m so glad you’re happy. I hope we’ll be able to work well together.’

  ‘I’m sure we will, dear. You’re a sweet girl and you’ve made everything quite clear. Now, where shall I hang my coat?’

  ‘In the kitchen – through there – but do you mean now? You mean you want to start straight away? I haven’t got anything sorted out yet … legally, I mean. It’s all new to me – I’ll have to talk to someone.’

  ‘Course you will, dear.’ Cherish started unbuttoning her unflattering coat to reveal an equally unflattering beige frock underneath. ‘But let’s say this is a just a trial period, shall we? I’d like to get a feel for the place.’

  Frankie, who throughout the interviewing process had still not been one hundred per cent sure that inviting Cherish to work in the shop had been such a great idea after all, grabbed the lifeline with grateful hands. ‘That would be lovely, actually. I haven’t had a break yet, so if you wouldn’t mind holding the fort for half an hour I’ll pop next door to the Greasy Spoon and grab a sandwich. Can I get you something?’

  ‘No, thank you, dear.’ Cherish was already heading towards the kitchen with her coat. ‘I had a bowl of muesli and an oatmeal biscuit earlier. That’ll keep me going nicely until I have my chicken supreme with the news later.’

  Frankie, wondering bemusedly if Cherish’s colour palette advice extended to her menu and therefore meant she only ate beige food, smiled as she grabbed her own vibrant coat and scarves. ‘OK – lovely. I’ll just be next door if you need me.’

  ‘I’ll be perfectly all right, dear.’ Cherish’s face split into an unexpectedly warm smile. ‘As I said, I worked in Miriam’s Modes in Winterbrook for years. I’m right at home in a proper dress shop. You go and have your lunch, dear. Your little shop is in safe hands.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘You’ve employed who?’ Dexter looked shocked across the top of the shiny red Formica table in the Greasy Spoon about ten minutes later. ‘Isn’t she the maddest of the lot?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Frankie played with the fat plastic tomato on the table top. Ketchup threatened to erupt in a volcanic rush at any moment. ‘Probably, in fact. But who isn’t mad round here? There wasn’t a lot of choice.’

  ‘True,’ Dexter chuckled, ‘but that was pretty damn quick off the mark.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t hang around. Sometimes those spur of the moment decisions are better than ones you agonise over, don’t you think? And I’m sure Cherish will be fine. She knows people in the village, she’s the right age, she says she’s worked in a dress shop before, and she’s available. What’s not to like there?’ Frankie inhaled the Greasy Spoon’s delightful fragrances of all-day breakfast and fresh coffee and hoped her stomach wouldn’t rumble. ‘I’ll have to sort out the employment details, of course, then I’ll just see how she goes. She seems much nicer without Biddy hanging around – if a bit morose.’

  ‘As long as she doesn’t have sticky fingers.’

  ‘I’m sure Cherish is very clean.’ Frankie was shocked. ‘I wouldn’t employ anyone who didn’t wash.’

  ‘Metaphorical sticky fingers.’ Dexter stirred his coffee. ‘Those that are always in the till. I’ve been caught out by those before.’

  ‘Have you?’ Frankie tried hard not to sound too interested. It was, after all, the first time Dexter had volunteered any sort of information about his past. ‘Really? That sounds nasty.’

  ‘Yes, it was. Very.’ Dexter smiled up at the waitress who’d just arrived with their bacon rolls. ‘Thanks.’

  Frankie opened the bun, liberally squirted ketchup, bit into her bacon roll and tried not to drool. She waited for Dexter to carry on with the revelations, but he just concentrated on his own bacon roll. She sighed and looked around the Greasy Spoon. The staff today were all middle-aged. No sign of the nubile Ginny. Ah, no – she only worked on Saturdays, so she’d be at college today studying Meeja or Beauty Therapy or whatever it was she did, of course. Thank goodness.

  Dexter finished his roll and wiped his hands on the bright red paper napkin. ‘That was fabulous. I could eat at least three more, but I know Marguerite needs to be off on the school run soon.’

  ‘Marguerite?’ Frankie finished her own roll and reached for her napkin. ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘The lovely lady out there.’ Dexter indicated the flower stall through the window. ‘She’s kindly standing in for a few moments.’

  Frankie squinted through the café’s steamy windows, through the Kingston Dapple shoppers and across the market square. A tall glamorous woman with tumbling auburn hair and a mock-fur coat was manning the flower stall.

  ‘I thought you were going to ask Brian?’

  ‘Oh, I am. Marguerite happened to be passing just after you came over to see if I was free for lunch. She’s one of my home-delivery customers.’

  Frankie shook her head, laughing. ‘And she owes you a favour or twenty?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Dexter grinned back immodestly. ‘My home-service ladies are very grateful.’

  ‘And you’re very bad.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve been told I’m very good.’

  Frankie leaned across the table and punched him.

  ‘Anyway,’ Dexter said, still grinning. ‘Enough about my extra-curricular activities … Did you have a good weekend?’

  ‘Um, yes, I suppose so.’ Well, if you didn’t count being scared witless by Ernie Yardley’s so-called ghost of course, not to mention the hair-raising visit to Slo. And until she was absolutely sure that Ernie was a ghost, Frankie had no intention of sharing either of those fascinating details with anyone. Not even Dexter. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Er, it was different. Hardly saw the inside of the lonely bedsit at all.’

  Oh, yippedy-doo-dah.

  ‘That must have been nice for you.’

  ‘No it wasn’t, not really. I took Ginny clubbing on Saturday night, which was fun, and then she took me to meet her parents the next day, which wasn’t. I had a proper Sunday roast. With the entire family.’

  ‘Blimey. There’ll be an announcement in the court circular soon, then?’

  Dexter pulled a face. ‘Hardly. It was all pretty scary, actually. Ginny’s a sweet girl, and very pretty, but far too young for me. She’s only eighteen and loves rap and hip-hop and singers with names I’ve never heard of.’
r />   ‘You poor old soul.’

  ‘Don’t mock. It was embarrassing.’

  ‘And you,’ Frankie said sternly as she reached for her coffee, ‘shouldn’t mess around with people’s emotions. If you felt like that you shouldn’t have accepted her invitation for lunch with her family.’

  Dexter shrugged. ‘No, I shouldn’t. But it was just too tempting. And like Oscar Wilde, I can resist everything except temptation.’

  Frankie, no literary scholar, was, however, intrigued by the quotation. Was it another clue to Dexter’s past? ‘Did you, er, study English at Oxford?’

  ‘No.’ Dexter laughed. ‘I left school after fairly average A levels and went straight to work. I just loved the Stephen Fry telly series about Oscar Wilde. Sorry to disappoint you.’

  ‘You haven’t. OK then, if you don’t want to have a proper relationship with Ginny, why on earth go to lunch with her parents?’

  ‘Because I’ve missed being part of a family and having a proper meal and … ’ He stopped. ‘Whoops – almost too much weepy confessional stuff there. Very bad for my image, what with me supposed to be a hard-hearted bastard according to you.’

  ‘I didn’t call you that. And I’m sorry if you miss your family. I miss mine, too. And they only live in Reading.’

  ‘Mine might as well live on the moon.’

  ‘Don’t you see them very often?’

  ‘Never now. You?’

  ‘Not often enough. I mean, we phone and text and email all the time but it’s not the same is it? We just all seem to be so busy.’

  ‘Have you got brothers and sisters then? A big family?’

  ‘Big enough.’ Frankie smiled, thinking nostalgically about her noisy, happy family. ‘I’ve got two brothers who are married with two kids each, and a very much younger sister who still lives at home with Mum and Dad. I really miss them. I’m going home for Christmas though and I can’t wait.’