Walking home with Bubbles, Charley heard a message ping into her phone. It was from Tara. With admirable honesty she’d put,
Charley’s initial reaction was relief. Then she read the text again. The accounts? She still hadn’t got the books up to date, so now she was going to have to spend the entire weekend doing them. She raised her eyes heavenwards in despair. Bloody, bloody hell. Trudging on, she determined not to let the thought spoil her evening with Angie and Nisha. Making a detour via the mini supermarket, she picked up some Prosecco and crisps since of course Tara wouldn’t be bringing her usual supplies. When the others arrived, Charley made Tara’s excuses for not coming, yet deliberately avoiding going into any detail.
‘Is something wrong with Monnie?’ asked Nisha, as Charley poured the fizz.
‘I don’t think so,’ she replied vaguely. ‘She didn’t say…’
Nisha raised a querying eyebrow, which Charley ignored, but nevertheless she was taken aback when Angie said apologetically, ‘She’s probably pissed off with me for letting you down about the artwork.’
‘Wait, what?’ said Charley, her drink pausing halfway to her mouth.
‘She called me,’ explained Angie.
Charley plonked her glass noisily back down onto the table. Bloody Tara! she thought. Way out of order, again!
‘I am sorry, Charley, really I am. I know I’ve landed you in it, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘Angie, it’s fine…’ Charley tried to reassure her, but her mate ignored her and ploughed on.
‘It’s Will. He keeps promising to get back early enough to look after the kids, but things keep “cropping up” at school and he never does.’
‘It’s really not a problem—’ started Charley.
‘It is to me!’ cried Angie hotly, and Charley was alarmed to see tears welling up in her friend’s eyes.
Nisha shared a concerned look with Charley, who slid over to sit next to Angie.
‘What’s happened, Ange?’ she quizzed gently.
It turned out that Tara’s phone call had triggered an enormous and bitter row between Angie and her husband over Will not prioritising her artwork. In all the years she’d known the couple Charley had never heard of them having any significant disagreements. In her eyes, they were the perfect couple. Demonstrably affectionate towards each other, obviously deeply in love despite the numerous and exhausting demands of their four small children, and seemingly happy and content. So what the hell had Tara said that had set the cat amongst the pigeons?
‘Tara said I had to start treating my artwork more professionally, deliver regularly, set deadlines and stick to them, and I get it, I can see why the shop needs that, I really do, but I literally can’t paint and look after the kids at the same time, and so I tackled Will about it but he got on his high horse and said he’s the breadwinner and he can’t put my “hobby” over his work,’ spat Angie.
Oh, Will! thought Charley irritably, and she heard a slight intake of breath from Nisha.
‘I’m not some sort of amateur crafter, for crying out loud!’ ranted Angie. ‘I have a degree in art! And when I met him I gave up my entire career to raise our kids. All I’m asking is that he gives up one evening, one effing evening a week, so I can pursue my art.’ Then, seeing the distress on both Nisha and Charley’s faces, Angie’s fury subsided and she visibly crumpled, her tears spilling over and down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry! Lily’s still teething and whinges if I put her down for even a second, they’ve all had a disgusting tummy bug with projectile vomiting and diarrhoea so I’ve been up all night changing beds and washing sheets, I can’t keep on top of the housework, the kitchen looks like it’s been struck by a tornado, and I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep for about seven bloody years…’
Charley put her arm around her mate and pulled her into a comforting squeeze. ‘Oh, Angie, what a nightmare. I’ll come round at the weekend and give you a hand.’
‘No, it’s fine. I can cope, you know I can,’ replied Angie, sniffing hard and shaking her head. ‘And anyhow, you’ve got enough on your plate as it is. It’s just I can’t guarantee to hit any deadlines. My life’s just not like that. Not anymore.’
‘Angie, don’t worry about the artwork, I’ll explain all that to Tara,’ said Charley.
‘I already did! She tells me I should stand up to Will, Will tells me to stand up to Tara, and I’m too damn knackered to stand up to anybody!’ Tears of exhaustion trickled down Angie’s face. ‘Ignore me,’ she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, ‘I’m just over-tired, over-emotional and overreacting.’
‘What can I get you, Ange?’ asked Nisha practically, getting to her feet, ‘Mug of tea? Glass of water? More wine?’
‘Yes please,’ nodded Angie.
‘Right then, all three,’ said Nisha after a beat, then headed to the kitchen.
By this time, a slightly frantic Bubbles was trying to clamber onto Angie’s lap, presumably wanting to comfort her. Charley went to push him off, but Angie scooped him up and cuddled him so, reminded of Finn consoling her with his fluffy dinosaur, Charley let the cockerpoo be.
‘I think the best thing is if I give up trying to do it altogether,’ concluded Angie miserably.
‘Is that what you want?’ challenged Charley. ‘You love your painting.’
‘I know, but I can’t meet Tara’s terms,’ she said sadly.
‘Tara’s terms?’ Charley tried to keep her voice and her rising fury under control as Nisha walked back in with a tray bearing a mug of tea, a glass of water and the wine bottle. ‘Sorry, what exactly are Tara’s terms?’
A small frown crossed Angie’s brow, as if she was surprised that Charley didn’t know. ‘Two pictures every week, and not just a pile ad hoc whenever I can.’
I am going to bloody kill that Tara, thought Charley.
Crying had given Angie a headache, so she left early. Nisha offered to slope off too, but Charley pleaded with her to stay. ‘I hardly ever get to see you, you’re so busy all the time.’
Inevitably the conversation drifted round to the shop, and specifically to Tara.
‘I gather you didn’t know about the deadlines she’d given Angie,’ said Nisha dryly.
‘No, I bloody didn’t! She went behind my back and didn’t even mention it. Presumably because she knew I wouldn’t agree to it.’
‘So what are you going to do about that?’
Charley took a deep breath and let it out before saying, ‘Well, I’m going to have to have a little chat with her about it, aren’t I?’
‘That’s putting it mildly.’
You can say that again. Having a little chat with Tara was akin to trying to engage a grizzly bear in polite conversation. The outcome was likely to be the same, with Tara ending up ripping Charley’s head off. It wasn’t an appealing prospect. ‘But I’m not going to let her push Angie around.’
‘Well, that’s a good starting point,’ agreed Nisha, giving Charley the distinct impression that her friend didn’t have much confidence in Charley winning any head-to-head battle with Tara. Which, truth be told, was pretty much what Charley thought too.
With Pam now in Copenhagen, Charley was on her own in the shop on Saturday with just Bubbles for company. She coped with the workload, but in reality it was more being on her own that depressed her, not having anyone to talk to or being able to share and enjoy the little episodes and incidents of the day with anyone. Seeing Ricky with his new girlfriend again didn’t improve her mood either. They were becoming a regular item, she observed gloomily. Watching them walking past the window, presumably on their way to the deli, Charley took a long, hard look at the woman. She was wearing a full-length floral skirt, slit up to the thigh, and a low cut, body-hugging T-shirt with a military-style jacket draped over it. It was a style Charley particularly disliked, carefully calculated to combine a fragile femininity with sexy toughness, and she instantly loathed the woman for adopting it. Just at that moment, Ricky glanced over and caught Charley looking at them. Cheeks burning, she hurriedly looked away, engrossing herself with tidying the till table, trying to pretend she hadn’t been staring, daggers drawn, at his girlfriend. It was a good try, but she knew she hadn’t got away with it, and she spent the next few hours beating herself up about it, so when Ricky dropped into the shop later that afternoon, she braced herself.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t have time to introduce you to Erica earlier,’ he said lightly.
Why on earth would I want to meet your new girlfriend? thought Charley incredulously. Feigning as much disinterest as was humanly possible, she confined herself to querying in a mild tone, ‘Erica?’
‘Yes. I thought you might have noticed her with me… this morning,’ he prompted.
‘Oh, yes, I did see you with someone,’ said Charley vaguely.
‘Apparently she was a little pushed for time today, otherwise I would have brought her in to say hi.’
Seriously? Charley was at least one hundred per cent sure that out of everyone in the entire world, Erica, with her flowery prints, oversized jackets and naff sunglasses was absolutely the last person she’d want to say ‘Hi’ to. She was still pondering the insanity of Ricky’s suggestion when he proceeded to floor her completely.
‘She’s interested in buying the business,’ he said.
For a couple of beats all Charley could do was gape wordlessly at Ricky. ‘Buying the business?’ she repeated flatly.
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘She’s a keen cyclist and she’s been looking for an opportunity in the cycle trade for a while.’
A veritable flood of sweet relief gushed into Charley, and her spirits soared. Erica was interested in the business, not in Ricky. ‘That’s fantastic!’ she enthused eagerly. Improbably eagerly.
Ricky looked mildly taken aback by her wild enthusiasm but ignoring it, replied, ‘Yes, it is. To be honest, I didn’t think I’d find a buyer so soon.’
‘Well, yes, perhaps it is quite quick but in all honesty I can see why. I don’t want to knock the second-hand bike trade, but you’ve got to admit most used-bike shops look decidedly grungy and a bit down-at-heel, and they sell a mixed jumble of any old bikes. But your shop has a real style statement. All that retro sixties chic. Plus you’ve built a reputation for selling high quality, cool and stylish vintage bikes. Blimey, even I’d buy a second-hand bike from you if I hadn’t done so already!’
‘What I sell are good old-fashioned, second-hand, well-made bikes, that are worth investing in,’ he replied, with what Charley thought was typical modesty.
‘Don’t sell yourself short, Ricky. Your shop is the epitome of chic. It was what made me determined to give this place a classy look. I’m not surprised it’s been snapped up.’
They chatted for a little longer until Ricky made his excuses to get back to Carlo, who he’d left on security detail. After he’d gone, Charley felt cheered for the rest of the day, not just in the knowledge that he and Erica were not an item after all, but because for the first time for many weeks she and Ricky had been able to have an enjoyable, easy conversation, much as they had done in the past. Although later that night it belatedly struck her, like a dead weight, that her relief was ill-founded since if Erica was buying his business, that meant Ricky was one step nearer to leaving for Italy. For good. Either way, for Charley, the bitter truth was that the arrival of Erica was a lose-lose situation.
No doubt she would have brooded on the thoroughly dismal thought, had she had the time, but the urgent need to get the accounts up to date for Tara absorbed her totally. She slogged away at them all Saturday evening, and long into the night, and for the whole of Sunday. They were more or less presentable by around nine thirty that evening. Adding a note apologising for sending them so late in the day, she forwarded the Excel sheets to Tara, hoping to God she hadn’t made too many glaring blunders. Then she dropped into bed, exhausted, with columns of figures dancing endlessly in front of her eyes.