When Julie leaves the house for work on Tuesday morning, she sees something she’s never seen in Windy Close before: cats. One, a greyish tabby, is dancing around a tree outside number 14 trying to catch a bird. The other, small, lean and black, wanders in front of her before casually sitting down outside Luke’s house and washing itself slowly. The sky is clear and blue, which is nice, since it rained all night.
‘What on earth is going on out here?’
It’s Luke’s mother, still in her dressing gown. She’s obviously seen the cat.
Julie can tell that Jean’s pissed off. She would be, after all. Luke’s allergic to animal fur. But even if there were no cats and Jean was pissed off about something else, Julie would still be able to tell. Jean doesn’t show emotion easily but Julie can read the smallest twitch in her grey eyes; the small shake of her hands she gets when she’s worried or angry.
There’s no one else who can handle Jean really, apart from Julie. Dawn goes to bingo with her but doesn’t actually handle her very well. She drives at the speed Jean dictates and parks where Jean suggests. Jean chooses where they sit and Dawn just goes along with it. Jean’s main objective is never to sit near anyone she knows. Julie used to think that Jean was a snob who hated other people. Now Julie realises that she’s just terrified of being judged.
When Julie thinks of Jean she can’t help thinking of her in terms of the word ‘handle’. It’s not that Jean’s actually delicate, though. When Julie thinks of the way she is with Jean it’s like an animal handler: a lion-tamer or someone who works with difficult horses.
Even Charlotte could never handle Jean. Charlotte’s never been scared of anything but when she used to come and visit Luke she’d edge past his mother like she was walking on a high window-ledge in a suicide scene in a film. Jean would always look her up and down and sort of frown. ‘Old cow,’ Charlotte always used to whisper as she and Julie walked up the stairs together to Luke’s room.
But Julie can handle Jean. Julie knows how to talk to her about her favourite subjects – celebrities, illnesses, the paranormal and romance novels – and occasionally Jean will pass Julie a thick book with a wink and say: ‘Nice and steamy, this one.’ Julie never reads steamy novels but she always takes the book anyway. She likes Jean, even though no one else does.
‘What on earth . . .’ Jean says again, staring at the cat.
‘Good morning, Jean,’ Julie says.
‘Where did this cat come from? Is it a stray?’
‘I don’t know,’ Julie says.
Jean tries to shoo it away but the cat just sits there looking at her. When she stops trying to shoo it, it resumes washing itself, its back leg stuck in the air like a mast.
‘It’s got a collar on,’ Julie points out.
‘Can you read it, love? I don’t want to bend down.’
Julie bends down to read the cat’s collar. As soon as she touches it, the cat rolls on its back and starts purring. ‘There’s a phone number,’ she says. ‘It’s a Basildon code.’
‘Basildon? Leanne Straw’s cousin is coming here from Basildon, isn’t she?’
‘Oh yeah. Of course. They must be her cats.’
‘Didn’t someone tell her not to bring cats into the street? For goodness’ sake. Well you’ll have to have a thorough wash before you come round tonight. We can’t risk getting cat hairs near Luke. I don’t believe this. I’m going to phone the council.’
‘What can the council do?’ Julie says.
‘Hopefully condemn these lowlifes before they even move in.’
A man dressed in a turquoise suit walks past. ‘Good morning,’ he says.
Jean ignores him and walks back towards her house.
The Edge is flooded. When Julie gets there, David is putting sandbags against the doors, but it seems to be too late.
‘Floor tiles are fucked,’ he says cheerfully. ‘Glue dissolved.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Julie says.
‘Heather’s on the phone to Head Office. We might have to close.’
Julie looks at the sandbags. ‘Do you want a hand?’
David grabs another sandbag and drops it by the door.
‘Nah,’ he says. ‘Done now. All we need now’s a fucking ark.’
‘It isn’t even raining any more, though.’
‘Fucking pissed down last night, though, didn’t it? More coming tonight.’
‘God.’
Heather comes out. ‘Hi Julie,’ she says. ‘OK, Head Office say we can close but only while we get cleaned up. So we’re hoping to open again by tonight, or failing that, tomorrow morning. Right, um . . . Can you both help clean up inside? We need to take up all the floor tiles and sponge up the water underneath, then the tile people are coming to re-lay them this afternoon. We also need to work out what’s been ruined in the store cupboard and the walk-in, throw out the wet stuff and make a note of everything that’s been ruined so Head Office can claim it back off the insurance. And I want to know who stored all the sweets for the ice-cream machine on the floor, because you’ve been told so many times not to do that . . .’
‘Wasn’t me,’ says David, looking at Julie.
‘Or me,’ Julie says, looking at David.
‘Probably night staff,’ says David.
‘Yeah, probably.’ Heather sighs. ‘Right. Let’s get on with it. You two start with the floor tiles and I’ll start doing the stock. When you’ve finished doing the tiles, you can come and help me. Oh, also – could one of you put up a sign saying we’re opening again soon? Cheers.’
Inside, there’s a funny smell, and the floor feels sort of spongy.
‘Can’t the floor-tile people pull up the floor tiles as well as putting them down?’ Julie says. ‘This is going to take ages. I bet they’ve got special machines or something.’
‘They’re probably more expensive than us,’ David points out.
Eventually they settle down with tea towels (to go under their knees), knives (to pull up the tiles) and cappuccinos from the machine.
‘This really is going to take forever,’ David says, scraping away with the knife. ‘They’re not going to come up that easily.’
‘Is this even in our contracts?’ Julie says.
‘Probably not, but we’d better get on with it.’
‘Did you lot stay long at The Rising Sun after I left last night?’
David shrugs. ‘Until last orders or something. Chantel came after you and Charlotte left.’
‘Why was Leanne there? I thought she hated The Rising Sun.’
‘She does but Chantel wanted to get some puff, and Leanne asked me if I’d get it for her so we all met up in there.’
‘What’s Chantel like?’
‘Really nice. And very hot. Everyone fancied her.’
Julie laughs. ‘Bet Leanne was thrilled about that.’
‘Yeah. Fucking hell, this tile won’t come up.’
‘Here, let me have a go.’
They both chisel away at it with a knife, but it doesn’t come up.
David puts down the knife. ‘Fuck this. Have you got any fags?’
‘We can’t go out the back now.’
‘Fuck going out the back.’
‘We can’t smoke in here, though.’
‘We’re not open, so it doesn’t matter. Fuck it.’
‘But the restaurant’s non-smoking now . . .’
‘Who cares? Come on. Even Heather smokes out here when we’re shut.’
Julie frowns. ‘Really?’
‘Oh yeah. She has one in here before we open in the mornings, while she’s doing the floats. She says the table in the office is too cluttered or something.’ David comes in earlier than Julie because he has to warm the oven and prepare pizza toppings.
‘Oh, OK then,’ Julie says, putting the knife down.
David finds a pack of Rothmans in one of his pockets and gives one to her.
‘I really should give up soon,’ he says.
Julie doesn’t know what to say for a moment. Agreeing with someone who has cancer that, yes, they should give up smoking seems a bit weird.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asks in the end.
‘OK. Still waiting to find out about my lymph nodes.’
‘Oh.’
There’s an awkward silence which is broken by Leanne coming in.
‘It stinks in here,’ she says. ‘Hello Julie, David.’
‘All right?’ says David. ‘Hungover?’
‘What, me? No. Drank loads of water, didn’t I?’
‘Did you go back with that bloke?’
‘Who? Oh, Martin. Yeah, for a bit.’
‘Have you spoken to Luke yet?’ Julie asks her.
‘No, not yet.’
‘Don’t you think you should tell him, you know . . .’
‘That it’s over? Yeah. I’m not sure it is yet, though.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I might give him another chance. Dunno yet.’
David gives Leanne a cigarette and she leans against the meet-and-greet station. All the tables and chairs are stacked outside.
‘Anyway, just wanted to make sure you’re both on for this party tonight. At Chantel’s. Her house-warming thingy.’
David sort of shrugs. ‘Didn’t know I was invited,’ he says.
‘Well you are, so you’d better come. Julie?’
‘Yeah, of course. Oh, does Chantel have cats?’
‘I don’t know,’ Leanne says. ‘Probably. Why?’
‘They were in the street this morning. Jean was going mad.’
‘Oh. Stupid cow. They’re not going to kill him, are they?’
‘Well, maybe. He is allergic to most things like that.’
‘Oh well, we’ll soon find out, won’t we?’
‘Leanne!’
‘What’s going on?’ David asks.
‘They reckon Luke’s allergic to cats,’ Leanne explains.
‘Don’t you think he is?’ Julie asks Leanne.
‘Look, all that other stuff he’s supposedly allergic to – perfume, cigarettes, dust – he just isn’t, is he? You smoke there, don’t you?’
‘Not really,’ Julie says. ‘Not any more.’
‘I do,’ she says. ‘And I wear perfume and all sorts.’
‘I’ve never worn perfume round there,’ Julie says.
‘Yeah, well, I reckon his mum’s a bit paranoid, don’t you?’
‘I’d be paranoid if my kid was allergic to the sun,’ David says.
‘It is better to be careful,’ Julie agrees. ‘He is allergic to some pretty weird stuff. I’ve seen him have a reaction. It’s really horrible.’
‘Yes, well,’ says Leanne. ‘Seven at Chantel’s. And don’t tell Charlotte.’
‘What’s all this about Charlotte?’ David says, once Leanne’s gone.
‘Leanne thinks she’ll tell Chantel about the stuff that happened at number 14.’
‘Oh yeah. I forgot we weren’t supposed to say anything.’
‘I told Leanne – everyone’ll forget, and someone’s bound to tell Chantel eventually. I mean, I don’t think anyone’s going to come out and say it at the party or anything but once Chantel’s been living around here for a while she’ll just pick it up, won’t she? It’s local folklore now. I don’t see why it should make that much difference anyway. Every house has had someone die in it at some point.’
‘Suicide’s different, though, isn’t it?’
‘Is it? I haven’t really thought about it.’
‘Would you want to live in a house someone had topped themselves in?’
Julie shrugs. ‘I suppose not.’ Not because of superstition. It’s just good science to avoid unlucky or ‘cursed’ places. Often, places with a reputation for being unlucky really are unlucky because they’re downwind from a toxic-chemical plant, built on a site where something poisonous was buried or under a huge electricity pylon.
Heather comes out. ‘Bloody hell, you haven’t done much,’ she says.
Between them, Julie and David have uprooted about three tiles.
‘It’s really difficult,’ David says. ‘They’re stuck down.’
‘I thought the glue had dissolved,’ says Heather.
‘Yeah, around the edges, but not in the middle. See?’ David pulls one of the tiles and the edge rips, leaving the rest stuck to the floor by a patch in the centre. ‘It’s well fucked.’
‘Oh God,’ Heather says. ‘I can’t ring Head Office again.’
‘What do you want us to do?’ David asks.
‘Just keep going. Can you use lighter fluid or something?’
‘Could do. Be a bit of a fire hazard, wouldn’t it?’
‘Suppose so. Oh, I don’t know.’ She looks like she might cry.
‘You should ring Owen or someone,’ David says. ‘You shouldn’t have to deal with all this on your own. Get him to come down here and sort it out.’
‘I’ve tried him, he’s not in.’
‘Oh. Well . . .’
‘Just keep going with the knife. Whatever’s left the tile company will have to do. Julie, can I have a word in my office?’
‘Oh, OK.’ Julie gets up. ‘Is something wrong?’
She’s worried about smoking in the restaurant. She shouldn’t have let David convince her it was OK. After all, the health and safety regulations say that no one should ever smoke in a designated No Smoking area.
‘No,’ says Heather. ‘Just a word, if you don’t mind.’
Julie follows Heather past the take-away counter and out into the back area.
‘So . . .’ Heather says, once they’re in the office. She seems less stressed now she’s out of the main restaurant area. ‘How do you think you did on that test the other day?’
‘Um, I don’t know.’ Julie shrugs. ‘OK, I suppose.’
‘Well . . . I was going to pretend you didn’t do very well – that’s what Owen said I should do, for a laugh – but I’m not very good at that sort of thing.’ Heather smiles. ‘OK. Well, you got a hundred per cent. Every question right. Not only were you the only person here to get all the questions correct – no one’s ever done it before apart from managers.’
Julie smiles. ‘Oh. That’s good.’
‘So how do you feel about going into management training?’
‘Huh?’
‘That’s what the tests were for, to see who’s in the right jobs, who needs extra training and, like in your case, who goes forward for management.’
‘So I’d be a manager?’
‘Yep.’
‘Like you?’
‘No, I’m just a supervisor. No, a manager like Owen, of a whole restaurant.’
‘God.’
‘Are you pleased?’
‘I don’t know. I think so.’
‘It’s good, isn’t it, because you’re not a student or anything, and you wouldn’t have to give anything up to do it.’
‘No. I suppose not. I’d never really thought about . . .’
Heather carries on. ‘So anyway, Owen’s going to have a chat with you himself tomorrow or something, and give you the forms to apply for the management training. Most trainees have degrees but you’ve got loads of experience and the test result so it’s pretty straightforward. You’ll definitely get it, basically.’
‘God,’ Julie says again.
‘Right. Well, I thought you’d be pleased. Maybe it’ll make those floor tiles come up a bit quicker, eh?’
Back in the restaurant, David’s still struggling with the same tile he was trying to get up when Julie and Heather left.
‘What was all that about?’ he asks.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Julie says. ‘How are you getting on?’
‘Fucking shit,’ says David.