Never Can Say Goodbye Read online

  Cherish, who had been wondering how on earth she’d mange to fill those awful lonely days when the whole world seemed to stop and everyone appeared to indulge in frantic family festivities, had said the three days would suit her perfectly.

  She could cope with three days alone in the bungalow. Just her and the radio and the television.

  She had no presents to buy – well, she’d bought for Biddy for ages, as Biddy had for her, mainly bath cubes or hankies, but they’d knocked that on the head some years earlier when they realised neither of them actually wanted the presents – and was expecting none. Her Christmas cards, such as they were, had been written and posted two weeks previously. And her Christmas dinner – a selection of chicken portions – was already in the fridge-top freezer, with a Big Sava Christmas pudding for one safely in the store cupboard. She’d have a glass of sherry from the bottle that had been in the sideboard since Millennium Eve to go with it, and maybe she’d treat herself to a small box of chocolate biscuits to dunk while she watched her favourite soap opera omnibuses.

  The chicken pieces would do nicely cold with some bread and butter on Boxing Day, and the third day would possibly mean whatever was left with a tin of baked beans.

  Cherish nodded happily to herself. Christmas was all organised.

  There was still no sign of the bus and people were stamping their feet and grizzling loudly now. Cherish huddled deeper into her coat and looked up at the sky. Steely grey, it really did look as though there would be snow before too long.

  Cherish hoped not. She actually loved the snow because it changed the boring vista from the bungalow’s windows, and there was still a childlike magic about watching the snowflakes tumble and dance. But if it snowed heavily, the roads might be blocked, and the buses wouldn’t run and then she might not be able to get to work …

  Get to work …

  She played the words over again in her head. How lovely they sounded.

  ‘Oi!’ Someone shouted from the road.

  Cherish ignored them. No one ever shouted cheerfully to her. It must be for one of the others in the ever-growing bus queue.

  ‘Oi! Wanna lift?’

  Cherish looked expectantly at the rest of the queue, wondering which of the lucky shivering travellers was going to be whisked away from the icy blast. None of them moved.

  ‘Cherish, gel!’ the voice continued. ‘Gorn all hoity-toity, have you?’

  Cherish turned her head and blinked at the kebab van.

  ‘Gotcha!’ Brian opened the passenger door and beamed across from the driver’s seat. ‘You were miles away, weren’t you? Come on, gel. Jump aboard. I’m off to Hazy Hassocks. Going right past your door.’

  For a moment Cherish hesitated. The kebab van – lovingly if inexpertly liveried by Brian – wouldn’t normally have been her mode of transport of choice. The red and green capsicum peppers painted on the sides looked like misshapen irradiated slugs, and the pitta breads resembled a pile of dead beheaded fish. And as for that pinkish grey length of meat – well … Cherish averted her eyes.

  She was proud to say she’d never had a kebab in her life.

  ‘Come along, gel.’ Brian held the passenger door open wider for her. ‘You’ll be waiting there for ages. Bus broke down coming out of Fiddlesticks so I’ve heard. You’ll freeze your assets off in this cold.’

  The queue groaned and looked mutinous. Cherish didn’t hesitate. She clambered inelegantly up into the van.

  ‘Lovely, gel.’ Brian beamed happily at her as he leaned across and pulled the passenger door tightly shut. ‘We’ll have you home in no time.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Cherish said faintly. ‘It’s very kind of you.’

  Brian nodded along to some indecipherable tune on the radio and pulled away from the bus stop. His hair, Cherish noticed, was even wilder than usual, and his duffle coat had some sort of earth clinging to the sleeves. And he smelled faintly of herbs and onions. But the van was lovely and warm, with a little heater playing nicely round her booteed toes.

  ‘Just finished at the shop, have you?’ Brian asked chattily, as he confidently negotiated the traffic. ‘Frankie said you was working there. Enjoying it?’

  ‘Very much so, thank you,’ Cherish said primly, drawing the hem of her raincoat away from any threatened contact with Brian’s disreputable jeans and boots. ‘And isn’t it a bit early for you to be out selling kebabs? I thought that was an evening thing?’

  ‘Ah, ’tis. I’m doing what you’re doing. We’re two of a kind, you and me, Cherish, gel.’

  Was Brian working in a frock shop? Cherish looked askance. Surely not?

  ‘You’re helping out Frankie, and I’m helping out young Dexter,’ Brian informed her as they left Kingston Dapple behind and headed out through the grey and frozen countryside towards Hazy Hassocks. ‘Nice lad, Dexter. I always helped out his uncle Ray on the flower stall round Christmas time, so I was pleased when he asked me. I’ve got a load of holly and a couple of Christmas trees for customers out Hassocks way in the back of the van.’

  Cherish could only hope that some sort of hygienic sanitary arrangements had been made in the back of the van to prevent Brian’s two businesses, well, mingling. At least it explained the earth on his duffle coat.

  ‘Got yours yet, gel?’

  Cherish shook her head. ‘I don’t bother with any decorations or a tree. It’s only me. There doesn’t seem to be any point.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’

  Brian whizzed them round a corner and Cherish brushed against him. She righted herself quickly.

  ‘No, seriously –’ Brian looked at her through his unkempt hair ‘– that’s sad. You should put some decs and things up. Just for yourself. I’ve got mine up. You know I was dead lucky because Rita left me her bungalow? Well, this is my first year away from my nasty old ma, and I’m going to have the time of my life.’

  ‘Are you?’ Cherish looked at him in surprise. ‘What? With other family members?’

  ‘Lord bless you, no, gel. On my own. I can’t wait. I’m going to have the best Christmas ever.’

  ‘Really? Didn’t you have nice Christmases when you were little, then?’

  ‘Miseries they were.’ Brian pursed his lips. ‘Right miseries. Never a happy word spoken in our house over Christmas. Not enough food, no presents to speak of, always cold because we couldn’t afford any coal, and damn all festive cheer.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. My childhood Christmases were lovely. I think that’s why I don’t bother now. I can’t compete with the memories.’

  ‘Nor do you want to, gel. You can look back on your happy times gone by, and you know you’ll never recapture them, but you can make these Christmases special too. Have a little tree and some garlands and some carols playing on the radio. Nuts and sweets by the fire. Buy yourself a few treats to unwrap Christmas morning and cook yourself up a proper feast with all the trimmings for your Christmas dinner. That’s what I’m going to be doing.’

  ‘Buying your own presents?’ Cherish was shocked. ‘And spending money on lots of rich food? Just for you? Isn’t that very wasteful?’

  ‘It’s fun, gel.’ Brian looked at her sadly. ‘My life’s been mighty short on fun – apart from the time I spent with Rita, and that came to nowt – and if I’m not speaking out of turn, I’d say yours hasn’t been a bed of roses lately, neither. No, I’m right looking forward to Christmas. I’m even getting a Christmas stocking to put at the foot of my bed.’

  ‘Oh, yes! I always loved my Christmas stocking when I was a girl!’ Cherish clasped her mittens together in remembered happiness. ‘Waking up to see if “he’d” been, and then, when “he” had, just feeling all those exciting lumps and bumps and hearing the crackle and rustle of the wrapping paper and trying to guess what “he’d” brought me, and then snuggling into bed with my parents while I opened everything and showed them. Ah yes, they were blissful times. You must remember those?’

  Brian shook his head, slowing the van down as they entered t
he queue of traffic heading for Hazy Hassocks. ‘I never had a Christmas stocking when I was a kid, gel. Not one. This’ll be me first.’

  Cherish looked across the van in horror. ‘Oh, Brian, I had no idea. I mean, of course, I know, from what people have said, that your mother wasn’t … isn’t the, um, gentlest or most generous soul in the world, but even so –’

  ‘My ma was, and still is, a cruel bitch and my dad was a drunk and a bully.’ Brian shrugged cheerfully. ‘Can’t put a gloss on that, gel. Them’s the facts.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Cherish stared down into her lap and tidied the folds of her raincoat just for something to do.

  ‘Don’t you go all soft on me, gel,’ Brian said kindly. ‘I didn’t mean to tell you all that stuff. You’re just very easy to talk to.’

  ‘Am I?’ Cherish was surprised. Nobody ever really bothered to talk to her at all. Well, Frankie had over the last few days, which had been lovely, but before that, there really hadn’t been any great soul-sharing moments with anyone. Not even her parents. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s been my pleasure, gel. But you heed what I says. Don’t you go scrimping and scraping unnecessarily because you think Christmas is a waste of time. You splash out a bit and enjoy yourself. Give yourself some treats.’

  ‘Do you know,’ Cherish said slowly, smiling to herself, ‘I might just do that. I mean it doesn’t have to cost a fortune, does it? But it would be nice to have a few days of luxury.’

  ‘Exactly, gel.’ Brian grinned cheerfully through his wild hair that had now fallen across his face. ‘You and me both. Having a happy Christmas. Treating ourselves in the comfort of our own homes. There’s plenty who won’t be able to do that, you know.’

  ‘Oh, I know.’ Cherish nodded. ‘I suppose we should be very grateful.’

  ‘Ah.’ Brian nodded, turning the corner into Cherish’s street. ‘That’s a fact. Here we are then, gel. Delivered to the door. Safe and sound.’

  ‘Thank you very much. I’m very grateful.’ Cherish opened the door, and shuddered again as the icy air rushed in. She slid her feet carefully to the pavement. ‘Take care, Brian. And thank you again.’

  Brian grinned, waved and drove away.

  Cherish, still shivering and feeling in her handbag for her door key, watched him until the van had turned the corner and disappeared.

  How very odd, she thought, as she quickly unlocked her front door. She’d just had the longest and most interesting conversation she could ever remember having for years, with mad Brian from the kebab van.

  How very, very odd.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Getting Lilly to give up her Saturday night out – the latest cute boy seemed to have lost his appeal, as they all did sooner rather than later – had been far easier than persuading Cherish not to hang around on the night of the planned seance.

  Frankie quickly realised that telling Cherish she needed to have a good Saturday night sort out of stock and drag down any hidden festive frocks that may be lurking upstairs to fill the rails in the last frantic shopping days before Christmas had been a big mistake.

  Cherish, who’d loved sifting through the newly donated taffetas and silks and voiles and laces throughout the week, thought it sounded like a great way to spend her Saturday night.

  ‘I’d love to help you. I can miss Casualty for once, dear.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Frankie had said in desperation. ‘In fact, I think it might break your employment contract. Overtime and all that.’

  ‘But I’d do it for free, dear.’

  ‘Well, that’s very kind of you, but it’s more the hours, you see,’ Frankie had improvised wildly. ‘The new EU directive. You’re not covered by the insurance for working out of hours.’

  Eventually, Cherish, who luckily had no more knowledge of EU directives on working practices than Frankie, gave in with a huge air of disappointment.

  Lilly, bless her, had listened wide-eyed to the story of Maisie holding a cleansing seance in the shop and agreed happily to be there.

  ‘But you haven’t really got ghosts, have you?’ she’d asked while attaching huge featherlike false eyelashes in emerald green. ‘It’s only like a game?’

  ‘Sort of,’ Frankie had said, reluctant to actually tell any more lies. ‘It’s just in case, really. Maisie was convinced there were ghosts in the shop, and I want to make sure there aren’t. It’ll be like having a good clean even when you know there’s nothing nasty lurking. For peace of mind.’

  ‘Sounds like fun.’ Lilly had concentrated on her eyelashes. ‘And it makes sense. Jennifer Blessing has the pest control people in twice a year to make sure we’ve got no creepy-crawlies in the salon even though we keep it immaculate. It must be the same sort of thing, mustn’t it?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Frankie had said.

  Slo had phoned to ask how things were going, and Frankie had told a lot of half-truths – she’d already promised herself that she’d only tell Slo that Ernie had gone when he really had – and Slo had wheezed cheerfully and said so long as no one ever got to hear about that car journey he was happy. And Frankie, delighted to be able to tell the truth at last, had assured him she would take that particular piece of information to her grave.

  And Ernie, when he’d next appeared just as she was shutting up on the Wednesday night, had been equally as enthusiastic about Maisie’s forthcoming visit.

  ‘Can’t wait, duck, and that’s a fact. Only a few more days and me and my Achsah will be together again. Let’s just hope Maisie Fairbrother’s up to the job, eh?’

  And Frankie had fervently agreed.

  So, here she was, at a quarter to midnight, two Saturdays before Christmas, with Lilly all dressed in spectral black for the occasion, waiting for Dexter to arrive with Maisie.

  The ice-cold weather continued across Berkshire, but the clear skies had given way to sullen low clouds and a biting north-easterly wind. Everyone was forecasting a white Christmas.

  ‘Oooh, it’s quite shuddery, just thinking about it, isn’t it?’ Lilly prowled round the rails. ‘What if there is a ghost, and it comes out all howling and dripping blood from its fangs?’

  ‘That’s vampires,’ Frankie said, also pacing up and down. ‘And it won’t be scary, Lilly, I promise you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not scared, just curious. I watched Paranormal Experience all on my own. Twice. I wouldn’t mind meeting a ghost, actually. Do you think I’d look OK in this lime-green shifty thing?’

  ‘No.’ Frankie shook her head. ‘You’d look like a runner bean. Put it back, Lill. It’ll get all creased. Ah, here they are.’

  The door opened and Dexter, incongruously pulling a tartan shopping trolley, stood back to allow Maisie to step inside.

  Frankie pressed her lips together tightly to prevent any laughter escaping. Lilly didn’t.

  Maisie was wearing a marquee-sized kaftan in a multi-coloured geometric print, skyscraper heels in green and lilac and adorned with tinsel bows, and a bright blue woolly bonnet over the curls.

  ‘Hello, sweethearts – oh, my goodness!’ She did the head-hitting-with-the-back-of-the-hand thing again. The bonnet fell off. Maisie slumped backwards against the door. Dexter, manoeuvring the shopping trolley, skipped niftily out of the way. ‘I may need a chair. Oh, I can feel them immediately. Everywhere … They’re draining my energy. You have a very serious problem here.’

  Lilly grabbed a chair and Maisie overflowed onto it with a sigh.

  ‘If you just tell us what we have to do,’ Frankie said, now pretty sure, given Maisie’s repeat Oscar-winning performance, that this was going to be a complete waste of time, ‘we’ll get you anything you need.’

  ‘Lovely. Thank you.’ Maisie spoke faintly. ‘This is amazing. I can actually hear them calling to me already. Dexter has my bag of tricks – and that’s just a figure of speech, not an indication that this is a magic act –’ she looked sternly at Lilly ‘– so if I could have a little table just beside me, here.’

  The tab
le was fetched, a jug of water and a glass set on it, and the tartan shopping trolley placed beside the chair.

  Delving into it, Maisie brought out two small bowls of what looked like potpourri but smelled like Bombay mix, a small brass filigreed lantern, two bunches of dried herbs and a greying lump of something that defied description, and arranged them on the table.

  ‘For cleansing the negative auras,’ Maisie said shakily. ‘I still feel a lot of negativity.’

  ‘Can’t imagine why,’ Dexter chuckled.

  ‘We don’t need the lights,’ Maisie whispered. ‘Just my cleansing candles for illumination. In my bag, sweetheart. I’ll have the big orange calendula one on the table here, and the little jasmine ones along the counter over there … and then the patchouli and ylang-ylang ones in a circle round my feet, evenly spaced, it’s vital there should be no gaps in the geometry, er, symmetry.’

  Making sure there was no danger of igniting any of the precious frocks, Frankie and Lilly eventually managed to place the candles to Maisie’s satisfaction and light them. Dozens of little flames danced and guttered.

  ‘Aren’t they pretty. So many of them! And don’t they smell lovely?’ Lilly inhaled.

  Frankie nodded. ‘Great, as long as they don’t burn the shop down. I’ll get the fire extinguisher out of the kitchen, just in case.’

  ‘And turn the lights off.’ Maisie’s voice was still very faint. ‘We don’t need any artificial lighting. The spirits don’t like it.’

  ‘Bugger the spirits,’ Dexter said, following Frankie into the kitchen, ‘I need to see where I’m going at the moment. Quite an actress, isn’t she?’

  ‘And bossy with it.’ Frankie nodded. ‘Well, at least Lilly’s impressed anyway. Oh God, what are we doing?’