Happy Ever After Page 4

  . They say listeners never hear good of themselves, don’t they? But I couldn’t move. I stood in the doorway, unseen, my fists clenched in the pockets of my tabard as they all laughed, trying to outdo one another.

  ‘…what does her Dud think he’s playing at? Dressing up like a teenager?’

  ‘Hanging around with that crowd of kids…’

  ‘He’s certainly lost it this time… we saw him tearing round the estate last night –‘

  ‘On that silly little motorbike? Yeah - I’ve seen him pootling about on the high street – I laughed myself silly.’

  ‘Dud the biker boy!’

  ‘Poor Mandy – I wonder if she knows what he’s up to every night…’

  ‘No way! She’d – er – oh, hello, Mand – didn’t see you there…’

  ‘Er – coffee, Mandy? Chocolate biscuit?’

  ‘Stuff your chocolate biscuits!’ I shouted. ‘You’re supposed to be my friends! Let me tell you – my Dudley is worth a million of you!’

  Blinking back my angry tears, I ignored their embarrassed cries of “ it was only a joke - we didn’t mean it” and ripping off my tabard, ran through Big Sava’s aisles.

  ‘Mandy!’ Skinny Sam yelled. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Home – oh, I’ll be back before my break’s over. I need this job as you well know. You won’t get rid of me that easily – but there’s something I’ve got to do!’

  I flew home like the Wicked Witch of the West on my trusty rusty bicycle.

  ‘Blimey, love,’ Dudley and Mrs Muffin looked up from the telly, ‘what are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to tell you,’ I said hugging him, ‘that I love you and I’m dead proud of you – and I don’t care what anyone says – so there!’

  ‘Thanks, Mandy,’ Dudley chuckled as Mrs Muffin rubbed herself blissfully between us. ‘Oh, dear – let me guess… Your workmates have found out about my job?’

  I nodded. I didn’t need to tell him what they’d said. We’d heard it – and worse – from the neighbours.

  ‘Let ‘em gossip,’ Dudley said happily. ‘They’ll soon get used to it. And it’s made such a difference to us, hasn’t it?’

  I nodded, tickling Mrs Muffin’s snow-white tummy. It had.

  Dudley had a job: we had delicious hot food free every night – and most important, Mrs Muffin was able to eat her body weight in her favourite anchovies.

  My Dudley was the oldest pizza delivery boy in town.

  DAPHNE’S PARTY

  In the fragrant atmosphere of Daphne’s Bakery, Julie placed the waxed box in the fridge: two cream slices, Bob’s regular order, for him to collect at eleven.

  In the six months since Julie had been working at Daphne’s, she’d counted the seconds until Bob came in for his elevenses. And tonight, at Daphne’s party, Bob would see her in all her glory – not in her unflattering orange bakery tabard and silly snood.

  Long-retired, Daphne always threw a birthday party. And tonight, for the first time, Julie would be there – with Bob.

  Love had been a late-comer in Julie’s life. But now, at just gone fifty, love in all its hearts and flowers glory had arrived in the gorgeous form of Bob from the Wine Shop.

  Julie loved being in love. Not that Bob knew about Julie’s passion, of course. But after tonight at Daphne’s party…

  Julie was going to wear her best almost-satin frock. Bob deserved the best. Which was why she always selected the very squishiest cream slices for him. Bob was absolute perfection. Bob was a real gentleman.

  Serving customers with doughnuts and flapjacks, Julie almost danced on the spot with excitement. Half-past ten. Not long to go now. Bob would be in on the dot of eleven and they’d have a little chat.

  Working in the wine shop, Bob usually talked about wine. Julie didn’t know much about wine, but Bob talked and Julie listened. Of course, there were still a lot of things she didn’t know about Bob – but that was half the fun of falling in love, wasn’t it?

  Julie bagged up sausage rolls for the workmen across the road. Of course, Bob wouldn’t touch anything as common as a sausage roll. Mind you, she was a bit of a rough-diamond sausage roll really, she chuckled. She should have fallen in love with another sausage roll person. But she hadn’t. Bob was a perfect cream slice. And normally, never the twain should meet, but somehow, miraculously, they had.

  Thinking of Bob made her feel like a teenager with her first crush. Bob had brought champagne bubbles into her lemonade world. And tonight at Daphne’s party…

  Julie glanced at her watch. Nearly eleven. And yes, right on cue…

  Bob walked in, smiling. Julie’s heart fluttered beneath her tabard. This was what she’d missed all those lonely years. This was why poets eulogised and singers sang and romantic novelists wrote.

  This was Real Love.

  ‘You spoil me,’ he said, smiling and paying for his cream slices.

  And Julie blushed and dreamed of later that evening when, dressed in her almost-satin frock, she’d be dancing in his arms, her hands resting on the shoulders of his tuxedo.

  Bob smiled some more. ‘These look perfect. You are a clever girl…’

  Julie blushed to the roots of her snood-hidden hair. ‘Nothing but the best for you. And,’ she added boldly, ‘I’m really looking forward to the party…’

  ‘Me too. Oh, are you getting a taxi?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve already got one booked. Maybe we could share?’

  Julie nearly clapped her hands with glee.

  ‘See you at seven, then?’ Bob beamed. ‘At your flat?’

  At lunchtime Julie decided to get her hair done. It never went right when she did it herself. And she had to look her best tonight.

  There was no need for an appointment at Maison Beryl – Beryl would rather suffocate in her own hair lacquer than turn away a customer.

  Tonight, Julie was sure she’d stun Bob in the blue almost-satin. Well, hopefully. The almost-satin, which had hung in her wardrobe for over a decade, was a size 14. Julie was a good size 16. However, she’d invested in a pair of magic knickers. If they worked their spell then she’d slither into the blue frock and dance the night away in Bob’s arms.

  They’d be like Scarlet O’Hara and Rhett Butler, she thought frivolously as she headed for the hairdressers, a handsome couple just made for each other.

  Beryl snipped and combed, and looked a bit put out that Julie didn’t want rollers.

  ‘Just a blow dry,’ Julie insisted. ‘I want to look young and carefree.’

  ‘Going somewhere nice?’

  ‘Daphne’s party.’

  Julie thought she’d caught the words “mutton” and “lamb” sotto voce under the scream of the dryer. Beryl was always a touch on the harsh side.

  ‘Oh, yes - I’m going there too. Daphne always invites everyone in the High Street!’ Beryl upped the dryer’s heat. ‘Who are you going with?’

  Luckily, Julie’s answer was lost in a vicious roar from the dryer.

  ‘There,’ Beryl snapped off the hair-dryer. ‘Nice. Makes you look like a fat Cilla Black.’

  Julie left Maison Beryl and glanced at herself in the shop windows on the way back to the bakery. The hair-do had taken years off her. Why, she might even stamp her feet tonight and cry “fiddle-de-dee!”.

  That evening, Julie’s blue almost-satin frock swirled and rustled as she danced round her bedroom. The magic knickers had constricted her nicely into a svelte size 14.

  In less than half an hour she'd be at Daphne’s party, and she and Bob…

  Then the doorbell rang.

  Julie stopped dancing, grabbed her handbag and trotted downstairs. ‘Bob’s early! I hope the taxi driver won’t mind waiting until I’ve finished my mascara and found my sandals and –‘ she pulled the door open.

  It wasn’t Bob or the taxi. It was roly-poly Roland from the Corner Shop.

  ‘Blimey, Jules! You’re a right bobby-dazzler. And you’ve had your hair done. You look
lovely.’

  Julie fluffed her new layers, blushing at the compliment. She never got compliments. ‘Thank you… I’m just off out…’

  ‘I know - I popped in for me sausage rolls at lunchtime and the girls said you were getting yourself spruced up for going to Daphne’s party. I thought we could share a taxi.’

  Roland was wearing a beige jacket, a frilly evening shirt and jeans. He looked a bit like Jeremy Clarkson.

  Julie shook her head. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, but I’m already – ‘

  ‘Sharing my taxi,’ Bob said in his posh voice, choosing that moment to march up to Julie’s door. ‘After all, we all have to watch the pennies don’t we? Oh, aren’t you ready yet?’

  ‘Just my sandals and my mascara to finish,’ Julie said, her heart pounding as she gazed at Bob, devastatingly handsome in a black tuxedo and bow-tie.

  ‘And putting on your party frock?’

  Julie’s heart sank. ‘This is my party frock…’

  ‘In 1985, maybe,’ Bob guffawed.

  ‘Hold up, mate,’ Roland interrupted. ‘She looks like a superstar, does Julie. You apologise.’

  ‘Apologise? Why? I’m only sharing a taxi with the woman, not asking her out.’

  Roland frowned. ‘You’ll apologise for that remark, too. Any man in his right mind would be proud to go out with Julie.’

  ‘But we’re not going out –‘ Bob looked askance at Julie. ‘Good lord – don’t tell me you thought I meant that by sharing a taxi I was asking you out?’

  ‘No, of course not…’ Julie clamped her lips together. How could she have got it all so horribly wrong?

  Roland still glared at Bob. ‘Say sorry.’

  Through her misery, Julie looked at Roland with new eyes.

  Roland took a step closer to Bob.

  ‘Er – ‘ Bob huffed and puffed. ‘Oh… Whatever…I’m sorry, Julie. Your dress is very pretty and – er - I apologise. Now, I’d better go. My wife’s waiting in the taxi…’

  Wife? Bob was married? Julie blinked. Oh! Two cream slices every day… The second cream slice must have been for his wife, mustn’t it?

  She’d been so very, very stupid…

  ‘Apology accepted,’ Julie said stiffly. ‘And of course I knew we were only sharing the cost of a cab tonight. Nothing more.’

  Bob, still looking warily at Roland, slunk away.

  ‘Good riddance,’ Roland sniffed. ‘How dare he insult you, Jules? All hoity-toity about nothing. He can only talk about bottles of Stinky-Stanky 1943 and it all tastes like vinegar to me.’

  Julie watched Bob scramble into the taxi beside his pretty wife in her ravishing designer dress, then she took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Roland. My knight in shining armour…’

  Fortunately Roland didn’t seem to have noticed her distress. She’d been building up dreams like some infatuated girl – dreams that could only burst in teardrops…

  ‘Well, that’s got shot of him,’ Roland continued cheerfully. ‘Oh, and here’s my taxi – ready then, love?’

  ‘I’m not going,’ Julie said miserably. ‘I can’t – not after…’

  ‘Course you are. We’ll share my cab – and I’ll do all the paying.’

  No way! She couldn’t go now!

  ‘I need another coat of mascara and I haven’t got my sandals on and…’

  ‘You don’t need any more make-up. You looks good enough to eat. Come along – choppy-chop! Just find them sandals and we’ll be off, love.’

  Oh, why not, Julie thought, her heart still aching at the loss of her dreams, still horribly embarrassed at her stupidity.

  She could always avoid Bob - and his wife – couldn’t she?

  ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for you,’ Roland confided, holding the taxi door open for her. ‘Always thought you looked like Cilla Black. Older and fatter of course, but just as pretty.’

  Dear, down-to-earth Roland. As far removed from phoney Bob as it was possible to get. A thoroughly decent man.

  ‘Have you?’ Julie asked as the taxi purred away. ‘I’m very flattered…’

  ‘Good-oh,’ Roland beamed at her like an adoring puppy. ‘I thought you’d never noticed me.’

  ‘Of course I have. Especially,’ Julie admitted, suddenly realising that love didn’t have to arrive with fanfares of celestial trumpets and cascades of rainbow fireworks, ‘when you come in to buy your sausage rolls.’

  ‘I love sausage rolls…’

  ‘Me, too,’ Julie giggled.

  ‘Really?’ Roland looked delighted. ‘Oh – I just hoped you would. Most ladies seem to think they’re a bit – well – robust.’

  ‘Not me,’ Julie giggled some more. ‘I’m a sausage roll girl through and through.’

  ‘A match made in bakery heaven then,’ Roland sighed, sliding his arm round her shoulders, and kissing her cheek. ‘We can look forward to a future of spiced meat and flaky pastry.’

  Julie snuggled happily against him, Bob forgotten. A future of Roland, love and sausage rolls – what more could a girl ask for?

  DAYLIGHT ROBBERY

  ‘Stop him! Stop that thief!’

  The loud, angry shout rang out round the shopping precinct. Shoppers stared as a bulky red-faced man, his fists clenched, pushed his way blindly through the crowds.

  Marie felt sick.

  She knew it was Pete!

  ‘Stop that man!’ Pete bellowed. ‘Someone stop him!’

  Everyone suddenly found things to look at in the shop windows. It wasn’t their problem. Nothing to do with them.

  Marie hid in the nearest doorway, catching her breath in terror. ‘Oh, please don’t let him see me…’

  Pete panted to a halt a few feet away. His huge shoulders heaved with exhaustion.

  ‘You all right, mate?’ a passer-by asked.

  ‘That – bloke – in the long black coat…’ Pete gasped. ‘He’s a thief! Did you see which way he went?’

  The man shrugged. ‘Sorry, mate, didn’t see a thing. Don’t know what the world’s coming to.’

  Pete was glowering, glaring round the precinct.

  Frantically, Marie squeezed behind a woman loaded with shopping bags and watched in horror as someone tapped Pete on the shoulder.

  ‘I think he went that way! You might catch him if you’re quick!’

  ‘Right,’ Pete barked. ‘I’ll get the scumbag!’

  Marie sighed in relief as Pete lumbered away, but her heart was thundering against her ribs and her mouth was dry.

  ‘He stole his wallet, you know,’ the woman with the shopping bags said to Marie. ‘It’s not safe to walk the streets these days. Muggers everywhere. I hope that poor man catches that yob and gives him what for.’

  Marie didn’t. She knew what Pete’s “what fors” were like. She ought to. She’d been married to him for five years.

  ‘Bit of excitement out here?’ A shop assistant had come out to have a look. ‘Someone get mugged? Another wallet snatcher, was it?’

  Everyone – except Marie – nodded.

  ‘There’s never a security bloke around when you need one, is there?’ the shop assistant said with gloomy relish.

  Marie quickly headed for one of the coffee shops that had sprouted up recently in the town. She hid under the gaily-striped umbrella that masked the grey sky, and listened to two women at the next table talking about the mugging.

  ‘I saw the thief, you know. Nice looking young bloke – wearing a long black coat…’

  Her friend nodded eagerly. ‘Yes – and the poor victim was much older and much fatter. I doubt he’ll catch him. Shame…’

  Marie left her coffee untouched. She couldn’t listen any more. She still felt frightened. She was always running scared.

  Hurrying to the bus stop, she kept looking over her shoulder in case Pete was behind her. ‘I’m as paranoid as he is,’ she muttered to herself.

  On the bus she still couldn’t wipe Pete’s fury out of her mind. It had been part of her life for far too long…

 
; There was that time at the leisure centre when he’d charged in ranting that he’d been robbed. The staff had made everyone empty their lockers. Marie shivered at the memory. She’d hidden in the showers until it was all over.

  The same thing had happened at the library, and several times in their local pub, and twice at work. Pete needed help. But not from her.

  By the time she got off the bus on the far side of town, Marie felt calmer and almost normal again. At least Pete wouldn’t be here. He’d still be blundering round the shopping precinct, trying to catch the man, telling everyone there was a thief about, looking for sympathy.

  She shook her head. There had never been any sympathy for her, had there? No-one had ever known what she’d had to put up with.

  Marie walked quickly now. A little bit further, then she could lock the door behind her and forget him.

  She fumbled with the key and ran into her sanctuary. It was warm, quiet, peaceful…

  Marie dropped her bag on a chair in the hall, then peeled off her jacket and hung it beside the long black coat hanging on the hooks.

  Taking a deep breath – of happiness this time – she walked into the cosy living room.

  ‘Are you all right, darling?’ Ryan whispered, jumping up and pulling her into his arms. ‘Oh, sweetheart – I hate it when you get that scared. I should have stayed with you. It’s okay, Marie – it’s okay…’

  ‘I’m fine now,’ Marie relaxed in Ryan’s arms. ‘And it was better we split up. I knew he’d never catch you. You’re all right, aren’t you?’

  ‘Course I am. I’m ten years younger than him and a hell of a lot fitter. I just wish you’d let me sort him out for what he’s done to you.’

  ‘No!’ Marie said fiercely. ‘You mustn’t sink to his level. Never. Promise me, Ryan.’

  ‘Okay. Promise,’ Ryan kissed her cheek. ‘And one day, hopefully, he’ll get the help he needs. Don’t worry, sweetheart. He’ll never hurt you again.’

  Marie smiled. ‘You know everyone thought you’d stolen his wallet?’

  ‘I bet they did,’ Ryan said, kissing her gently. ‘But we both know I stole something far more precious, don’t we?’