Authors: Debbie Viggiano
‘I’m not having much luck,’ Si had said as he’d opened the door.
‘Aren’t you sir?’
Si had stared gormlessly at the baby-faced uniform. The policeman hadn’t looked much older than Tom. And then the penny had dropped.
‘Officer, I can explain everything,’ Si had said.
Two minutes later the policeman had escorted Si to Number 42 so June could confirm Si had permission to break in and riffle through her belongings. Except June hadn’t answered the door. Si hadn’t been able to offer an explanation. But the policeman had come to his own conclusions. Si’s jaw had dropped as his rights had been read. The right to remain silent. The right to an attorney. The right to notify somebody of his arrest. In a state of shock and disbelief, he’d telephoned Steph. And now he was sitting in a ‘holding facility’ apparently waiting to be fingerprinted and photographed. How the hell had this happened?
The door to the holding room opened and a Custody Officer asked Si to accompany him to Reception. Steph and June were waiting for him. Steph looked very wild about the eyes. Something strange was going on with her hair. It was a mass of tin foil that floated out from her head like Medusa’s snakes. June’s eyes looked red-rimmed. She’d obviously been crying.
‘You’re free to go sir,’ said the Custody Officer.
Free? Si wasn’t a person given to emotional outburst, but right at that moment he had an overwhelming desire to find the baby-faced policeman who’d brought him in and punch him on the nose. If the stupid man had just listened to him in the first place! What a waste of police time.
‘There’s a taxi waiting outside,’ said Steph. ‘Heaven only knows what his bill is going to be. You’ll have to drop me back to the salon first. I need to get this muck out of my hair.’
The cabbie gave Si a dirty look. Terrific. He’d been judged and branded a criminal simply by association of this wretched place. Si slid into the back of the cab with June. She looked abject with misery.
‘I’m so sorry Si,’ June whimpered. ‘Ralph and I fell asleep in your armchair. When I woke up there was no sign of you. I went to see what had happened to you and found my keys on the front lawn. I must have dropped them on my way out earlier. So then I rang Steph’s mobile as I was worried about you. And she told me what had happened. I feel perfectly dreadful.’
Si patted June’s hand. ‘We’ll laugh about this one day.’
‘Well I won’t. I’ll be giving Mrs Waite next door a right flea in her ear.’
‘Why?’ asked Si.
‘Mrs Waite is the one who telephoned the police. Not only is she deaf, she’s clearly going blind. How otherwise could she not have seen it was you Si?’
‘She’s a very old lady June. Don’t upset her. Just leave things be. No harm’s been done.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ said Steph crisply. ‘I just hope my hair doesn’t fall out. This dye should have been removed two hours ago.’
The cab pulled up outside a swish looking hair salon. Si wondered how much the impending romantic date had cost him so far, what with the hair and now the cab. His wife’s head swivelled round one hundred and eighty degrees from her position in the front. What with the Medusa hair and her pissed-off expression, she looked like something out of The Exorcist.
‘Try and stay out of trouble until I get home,’ she said to Si.
By the time the cab pulled up in Jessamine Terrace, Si just wanted the day to end.
‘That’ll be sixty quid,’ said the cabbie.
‘How much?’ Si gasped. ‘We’ve only come from Blackfen Nick.’
‘You might have done mate. I’ve been to some poncy hair salon, Blackfen Nick, back to the poncy hair salon and now here. So that’s sixty quid.’
‘You must let me pay it dear,’ said June. ‘This is entirely my fault.’
Si knew perfectly well that June couldn’t stump up that sort of money. ‘No sweetheart.’
‘Then you and Steph must accept some hospitality by way of repayment. I insist on the two of you coming to dinner with me and my friend Harry before the week is out.’
‘That would be lovely June. Thank you.’
Si hugged June good-bye, paid off the cabbie and let himself into Number 42 with a weary sigh.
‘Hi Dad.’ Tom came out of the kitchen. An older woman stepped out behind Tom. ‘I’d like you to meet Rachel.’ What was it with Tom and older women?
‘Hello Rachel,’ Si nodded at the woman. He didn’t want to make small talk. He just wanted to relax in front of his television. Pushing open the door to the lounge, Si was taken aback to see two small people sharing his favourite armchair. They were immersed in a programme featuring a giant talking bear. Si reversed out the living room.
‘Who are these kids?’ Si asked Tom.
‘Tilly and Joshua,’ said Tom.
Si stared at Tom, none the wiser. ‘Who exactly are Tilly and Joshua?’
‘They’re my children,’ said Rachel.
Chapter Twelve
June put the key in the lock and let herself in. Ralph greeted her and she patted his head. What a stupid woman she was. No more mooning around like a love struck teenager. It was time to act like a responsible senior citizen. What the heck was she playing at walking to health shops for quick energy fixes? She should forget all about salsa and romance. Take up jam making. Or knitting. The trouble with being old was that people expected you to
behave
old. And June just wasn’t ready for that. Worryingly, losing house keys and falling asleep in armchairs was exactly the sort of thing old people did. She hoped this wasn’t the shape of things to come.
June walked over to the little table in the hall and put the house keys in the drawer. It was then that she noticed the flashing light on the answering machine. She pressed the play button. As Harry’s exuberant voice filled the hallway, June forgot all about jam making, knitting and being old.
‘Hello darling Juney,’ boomed Harry.
Darling Juney!
June wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging herself in delight. ‘I’ve just had the Beamer professionally valeted and it looks an absolute treat. And I thought to myself, “Harry old boy, what are you doing cruising around in this lovely car without the even lovelier June by your side?” So I’m ringing to ask if you’d like to come out for a spin, have a spot of pub grub and watch the sun set. Give me a call gorgeous. Toodle-oo.’
By the time the message had ended June was feeling almost faint with excitement. She had to sit on the bottom stair and take deep breaths for a full minute. Gathering herself, she stood up, made herself count slowly to ten and then picked up the phone. Harry answered on the second ring.
‘Hello Harry,’ June quavered. ‘I’d love to watch the sun set with you.’ Forget the car ride and the pub grub. What could be more romantic than sitting side by side on a grassy bank, heads together, bodies silhouetted against a sinking ball of flame that flooded the skyline with orange and gold?
‘Splendid! Get yourself ready my darling. I’m on my way.’
June scampered upstairs and ransacked her wardrobe. Her favourite floral dress was perfect for posing in Harry’s BMW, but not so great for sitting on grassy banks. What about her tweed skirt? No, the weather was too warm. Jeans? Should she even possess jeans at seventy? June settled on some loose linen trousers, a floral blouse and some jewelled flip flops that had been reduced to a fiver in Peacocks’ sale. June couldn’t help thinking that if she married Harry, she might be able to buy things in Marks & Spencer’s rather than Peacocks. Not that she was after Harry for his money. Of course not. But a little bit of extra comfort certainly added to the attraction.
June inspected herself in the bedroom’s full length mirror. Not bad. If she screwed up her eyes and stood right back, she could even pass for fifty-something. She stepped closer to the mirror, applied fresh lipstick and then teased her hair with a comb. She’d better let Ralph out for a quick wee. Harry would be here any moment.
While Ralph was out in the garden cocking his leg over the rose bushes, June quickly plumped up the cushions in the lounge and made sure the place looked nice. Just in case Harry came back later. For a nightcap or something. Butterflies took off in her tummy as she thought about
or something
.
June let Ralph back in. She was just retrieving her house keys from the hall table’s drawer when Harry arrived.
‘You look divine Juney,’ said Harry. ‘Your chariot awaits.’
Making sure her house keys were safely inside her handbag this time, June took Harry’s arm and let him lead her down the path to his car. As he opened the door for her and made sure she was comfortable, June felt like a princess. This was nice. Very nice. Although she enjoyed her walks with Ralph, June reckoned she could definitely become accustomed to having a chauffeur.
‘I know a lovely little pub about half an hour from here,’ said Harry. The Beamer cruised along. The radio was on and Tom Jones blared out. Harry sang along. ‘Sex bomb, sex bomb, you’re a sex bomb.’ June thought Harry had quite a good voice. Harry gave June a sideways look and winked. ‘And baby you can turn me on.’ June giggled and blushed.
The BMW turned into the car park of the Nut and Squirrel. June thought it looked very classy. It even had a beer garden! A riot of blooms frothed from huge terracotta urns.
‘Shall we eat outside?’ asked June.
‘Absolutely,’ said Harry. ‘We’ll have a leisurely meal and then watch the sun set.’
A buxom middle-aged woman carrying some menus came over to their table. Harry appeared to momentarily lose the power of speech. June suddenly felt disconcerted. She studied the woman. Too tight skirt, brassy hair, bright blue eye-shadow and cherry lips. She was attractive in a past-the-sell-by-date way. Without doubt her biggest asset, in every sense of the word, was her chest. A badge proclaimed the name
Dawn
. Harry recovered and took both menus from Dawn, then handed one to June. June tried to study the menu but ended up scrutinising Harry to see if he was giving sidelong peeks at Dawn. Eventually Harry cleared his throat.
‘I’ll have the roast salmon, new potatoes and green beans.’
June had spent so much time studying Harry, she hadn’t a clue what was on the menu. She opted to have the same as Harry.
‘Would you like any wine?’ asked Dawn.
‘Yes. Actually make that champagne,’ said Harry importantly. June gasped. She instantly forgave Harry for giving Dawn the once over. A man didn’t order champagne if you weren’t special. ‘You’ll have to drink most of it Juney because I’m driving.’
Dawn retrieved the menus leaving Harry and June alone again. Harry leant across the table and took one of June’s hands. ‘Look. The sun’s starting to go down.’
June glanced up. ‘So it is.’ They weren’t sitting on a grassy bank, their heads weren’t together and they weren’t silhouetted against a sinking ball of flame. Instead a row of roof tops, chimneys and satellite dishes were outlined against burnt orange. But the hand holding was nice. And June liked the way Harry kept entwining his fingers with hers.
And later, much much later, she liked the way Harry walked her up the path to the front door, an arm protectively around her waist, before drawing her close to him. She stared at him helplessly, her heart racing. And then his mouth came down on hers.
Chapter Thirteen
After all the drama and confusion surrounding Si’s arrest and June’s ‘burglary’, Steph returned to Blown Away feeling not so much blown away as totally wrecked.
‘Oh my goodness,’ screeched Dominic as Steph came through the door. ‘Get to the washbasin now please.’
‘Did I leave my laptop here?’ asked Steph as she leant back against the cold porcelain.
‘Yes. It’s quite safe. You left in such a hurry you were still logged on to Facebook. I took the liberty of hijacking your Status. Your friends are now furnished with Blown Away’s address and telephone number and think you rate the salon very highly. They also believe you have a bit of a crush on me.’ Steph opened her mouth to object and was promptly sprayed with hot water and foaming shampoo. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ Dominic put up a hand to halt Steph’s complaint, ‘but it’s good for business. Never miss a business opportunity. That’s what my bank manager told me. Wise man.’ Dominic suddenly went dreamy. ‘He made a lovely pavlova too.’ Steph silently fumed while Dominic washed, rinsed, conditioned and sprayed her face with so much water Steph struggled to catch her breath. She had a fleeting vision of a newspaper headline: Woman Drowns in Hair Salon. ‘Oh, and I sent your message to Barry Hastings.’
Steph gasped. ‘But I hadn’t finished–’
A towel landed on her face. ‘Sit up,’ Dominic instructed. ‘I finished the message for you. It was easy enough to conclude. He’d asked if you wanted to meet up for a one-to-one so I said that you’d love to. Then I signed it off with lots of hugs and kisses and smiley faces.’
Steph inwardly groaned. However, by the time Dominic had finished wielding his scissors and blasting her with a hairdryer the size of an aeroplane engine, Steph could forgive him anything. Her previous sensible bob had been softened with layers framing her heart-shaped face. The butterscotch toffee and blonde highlights flattered her colouring turning her eyes almost aqua.
‘There,’ Dominic held up a mirror for Steph to inspect the back of her hair. ‘You look absolutely gorgeous. If I weren’t gay, I’d fancy you.’
But all good things come at a price. Steph left Blown Away clutching her laptop and an empty purse. She decided to walk home. The late afternoon sun enveloped her in soothing warmth. The weather forecasters were predicting a heat wave. That would be nice. She and Si couldn’t really afford a summer holiday. With a bit of luck they’d be able to sunbathe in the garden. Maybe even have a few barbecues.
As Steph strolled along, her thoughts turned to Si. Poor man! She’d been wrong to snap at her unfortunate husband. After all, he hadn’t asked to be arrested. Steph put herself in Si’s shoes. Visualised opening June’s front door to a stony-faced policeman. Freeze! You’re under arrest! Being bundled into a panda car. Handcuffed even! Then tyres spinning and screeching as the cop hit the accelerator. Blue light flashing. Siren wailing. All the neighbours watching behind their net curtains. She would have been petrified – screamed hysterically. She would have wanted Si to rescue her. He would have been the first person she’d have phoned – just like Steph had been the first person Si had phoned. He’d wanted support. Reassurance. Sympathy. Not a flea in the ear. Ashamed, Steph stopped at the Newsagent on the corner of Jessamine Terrace. She bought a copy of
Goal
football magazine for Si and a family sized bag of Minstrels. That should perk him up a bit.