Chapter Eight

 

If seeing the guy who means nothing to you photographed arm in arm with another woman, two days after you’ve kissed him, makes you feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach by a heavyweight boxing champ, it probably means that you do quite like him, doesn’t it? Ashleigh was forced to face up to it. Obviously the kiss had meant nothing to Tom, judging by his closeness to the doe-eyed blonde he’d been pictured with the next evening, splashed all over the late editions of the morning papers. But her reaction to seeing those pictures when she picked up a copy of one of the tabloids in the shopthe corner shop was proof enough that, if this was just a crush, then it knocked the one she’d had for Mr Aspen out of the park.

‘Shall we go up and see her then?’ Ashleigh spoke with her mouthful, as she emerged from the shop, already halfway through the packet of Rolos she’d bought as a direct result of seeing Tom’s picture in the gossip section of the paper. She wished her occupation hadn’t brainwashed her into automatically turning to that section of the tabloids first.

‘Of course honey. You know I love Carol, she’s always great for a laugh, but then she’s not my mum.’ Stevie winked. ‘Looks like she’s already driven you to chocolate and it’s only ten o’clock.’ Stevie got up from the bench outside the shop, where he’d been waiting and sneaking a quick cigarette.

‘Always best to line your stomach before taking my mother on. She’ll probably have made one of her organic chickpea concoctions that she’ll want us to try. I swear to God that you could render a house with her homemade houmous.’ She was happy to hide the real reason for her chocolate binge from Stevie.

The walk up to her mum’s house on the cliff top always reminded Ashleigh how unfit she was. Half way up she and Stevie stopped and lent against the flint wall running around the perimeter of one of the neighbouring properties. Admittedly, her high heeled boots and woollen dress wasn’t the most suitable of attire for a hill climb, but it was marginally more appropriate than Stevie’s sequinned T-Shirt, paired with a tuxedo jacket and the obligatory skinny jeans.

‘Nice arse darlin’.’ The comment was shouted from the window of a red transit van and its originator had disappeared by the time they swung round to hear who’d said it.

‘Whoa, do you think that was meant for you or me?’ Stevie lifted his jacket slightly and wiggled his bottom, Beyoncé style.

‘Yep definitely you!’ She grinned. It might be totally against any feminist principle, but sometimes a random comment like that could make your day. Okay, so maybe Tom was right now in the arms of a gorgeous blonde, but the plumber fixing the boiler at number 32 had told her she had a nice arse. Unless of course he had meant Stevie. Although, in truth, they both knew his bum was virtually non-existent.

****

‘Sweethearts, how lovely to see you both.’ Carol enveloped them in an embrace, tangling Ashleigh’s hair up with the rows of plaited bracelets she wore on each wrist. She smelt a bit like flowers and not the freshly picked kind, more like the aroma you get when flowers are ready to be moved from the vase to the compost heap.

‘Mum. What’s that smell?’ Ashleigh managed to detangle herself from the bracelets and took a step back.

‘Do you like it? It’s my new perfume, I made it myself. It’s full of pheromones.’ Carol was obviously quite proud of her endeavour and Ashleigh silently prayed that she wouldn’t be offered a bottle of the scent or, worse still, find one wrapped up for her under the tree come Christmas with the expectation that she should dab it on then and there. If it was full of pheromones, God only knew what was in it. Ashleigh just hoped it wasn’t bodily fluids.

‘So Carol, what’s with the Nativity scene? Bit early isn’t it?’ Stevie took a sip of the disgusting rosehip tea, another homemade delicacy that had immediately been thrust into his hand. Ashleigh, who had tasted it before, artfully left her cup on the window sill.

‘Well my love, I had to start early, it’s a work in progress after all.’ She’d ushered them through to the conservatory, which was really more of a lean-to and ran the length of the back of the house. From their position they could see the nativity scene in all its glory. Carol’s artistic capabilities were probably on a par with her perfume blending skills. The head of the baby Jesus was at least twice the size of his mother Mary’s and, in turn, she had been given thick spidery eyelashes that a drag queen might have written off as OTT. Never mind upsetting people of other faiths, Ashleigh couldn’t help thinking that any Christian happening upon the scene would have far more cause to be offended.

‘What else are you planning to do to it?’ She barely dared ask. It was at least twelve feet high and the paint that her mother had chosen looked so lurid that she wondered whether it glowed in the dark.

‘I’m thinking of putting some lights through holes in parts of the scene, but I need Geoffrey to use that puzzle-saw-thingamajig of his to do it.’ Carol wrinkled her nose. ‘Have I got that right or is it a jigsaw? Anyway, he needs to cut the bits out before I can put the lights in.’

‘Where exactly are you putting these lights?’ The look on Stevie’s face suggested he had no idea what was coming; unlike Ashleigh, who was only too aware that the chances of it simply being the star above the stable would be a given for anyone but her mum.

‘I thought perhaps Mary’s breasts.’ Carol spoke without a hint of irony and Stevie looked like he was about to spit out his mouthful of rosehip tea.

‘Mum you can’t!’ As much as Ashleigh was used to her mother’s eccentricities, this was too much even for her.

‘Why ever not? Breast milk is the giver of life darling and a woman’s breasts should be lit up. Not just for a man’s pleasure, although that can be divine too of course! I breast fed both my children until they were three you know?’ Carol addressed Stevie, who was unable to hold back any longer and burst out laughing, almost choking on the revolting tea in the process.

‘Mum, for God’s sake! And you wonder why I never bring any boyfriends to meet you?’ She pitied her little brother and her step dad, Geoffrey, being with Carol all of the time.

‘So, is that why you never bring any of your boyfriends to meet me? I just thought you weren’t getting any and that’s why you’re so snappy all the time. Sex is a fantastic stress reliever you know darling. You should try it! It’s been over a year since you split up with Liam and I only ever see you with Stevie.’ Carol leant across the table and squeezed his hand. ‘Not that I don’t love seeing you my darling.’

‘There hasn’t been anyone special enough to bring home, Mum. That’s all.’ Or anyone at all for that matter and, if there was anyone special, Ashleigh certainly wouldn’t be racing to introduce him to Carol.

‘Well, there is someone.’ Stevie who had been idly flicking through the papers, in between choking on his tea, had happened across the picture of Tom and the mystery blonde. He clearly wasn’t ready to let his theory about her attraction to their new boss go. ‘This is Tom.’

‘Ooh darling, what a hunk!’ Carol grabbed the proffered paper from Stevie and squinted at the picture. ‘Yes, he’s definitely dishy!’ She was probably the one woman left in the world who’d describe a man as ‘dishy’.

‘Don’t get excited Mother.’ Ashleigh struggled to look nonchalant, vowing to kill Stevie later. ‘He’s just our new boss, but that’s Stevie’s idea of a joke. Anyway it’s obvious from the picture he’s got a girlfriend.’

‘And I thought you were a hip girl about town!’ The time warp that was her mother’s vocabulary never ceased to amaze. ‘Don’t you know who that is?’ Ashleigh shook her head.

‘It’s Selly Medley. They say she’s the new Germaine Greer and what’s more she’s just come out as a lesbian.’ Ashleigh could have hugged her mother and would have done if she could have faced another embrace enveloped in Eau de Compost.

‘Have you gone red, honey?’ Stevie laughed. Although he seemed to have realised that now wasn’t the time to embarrass her further.

‘No, I haven’t!’ She shot him a look she hoped would make it clear that it was definitely time to shut up. ‘Where’s Jamie? Out with his mates?’ Ashleigh had been hoping to see her brother and was grateful of the chance to change the subject.

‘Geoffrey’s taken him to drama practice. He’s going to play the lead in the Christmas show. You must come down for it, Jamie would love to see us out in force.’ Carol had that scary animated look she always got when she was planning something. Ashleigh didn’t know what it was, but she could bet that it was almost guaranteed to embarrass her little brother and probably her as well.

‘I didn’t even know he was in to all that sort of stuff?’ Jamie was almost thirteen. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been waiting for the school bus and mooning over one of the girls, who was about the same age as him but didn’t seem to realise he existed. Oh, she remembered that feeling well. Please don’t say unrequited love was back to haunt her again in the shape of Tom Rushworth.

‘Well I for one would love to come.’ Stevie was genuinely enthusiastic. He’d always been fond of Jamie, who’d been just a toddler when they’d first met.

‘Let us have the date and we’ll be there.’ She risked the Eau de Compost again and kissed her mother on the cheek. ‘We’ve got to get back to London. There’s a big shoot tomorrow with that girl who won that TV talent show last year.’

‘That’s not really my thing darling. Much as I adore the gossip pages, I never waste my time on reality TV stars.’ Carol squeezed her hand. ‘I prefer real singers, like Bob Dylan or Simon and Garfunkel, but I’m sure it’ll be great.’ Ashleigh sometimes wondered how she’d ended up spending most of her working life hanging out with celebrities, when she’d been brought up in a house where lentils and mung beans were more revered than movie stars and she’d been the only person she knew whose family still had a black and white TV.