Rory's Proposal (28 page)

‘
Not again,’ I say.

Tony stands on my doorstep and opens his mouth to speak.

‘I know, you only deliver but
I haven’t ordered, and even if I had I wouldn’t book a delivery for six in the morning.’

I yawn and pull
my wrap tighter.

‘
Can you hang on? I don’t have my contacts in.’

‘
I’ll make a start,’ he says.

Make a start? What the hell does that mean? I fish my contacts out of the glass and wander sleepily back to the front door. How dare Thomas Rory presume I
’m behind the pranks in his shop? Okay, I know I am but it’s a bit of a
presumption on his part isn’t it? He can’t possibly know it’s me for sure. I’ll make an official complaint. I’ll ask Tony how to do it. He trudges down the steps carrying two boxes.

‘
Right, that’s your cos lettuce. Three crates as ordered. Having a party are you?’

I stare at the lettuces. There must be about thirty.

‘I hate lettuce,’ I say.

‘
I can tell,’ he says and shakes his head as he pants up the steps.

‘
Excuse me, I didn’t order these,’ I call up to him.

‘
I only deliver. I don’t make the rules,’ he calls back.

I kick the boxes to one side and
am about to close the door when Tony returns with two more crates.

‘
Tinned fish, and there’s a note with these. I’ve stuck it on the top …’

Sodding Tom Rory, it has to be him. Who else would send me fish?

‘You can take it all back and tell …’

‘
I can’t do that I’m afraid,’ says Tony firmly.

‘
What? But you always say if I don’t want them you’ll take them back.’

He nods confirmation.

‘Ah, now you’re right there. But in this case I can’t, this is an exception. I’ve a note saying non-returnable goods. That’s the way with special deals and bulk buying. No returns. I’ll get the rest.’

‘
The rest?’ I mumble, feeling my head spin.

I yank open the crate to find an assortment of tinned fish. I fumble in my bag for my phone when Tony returns, this time carrying a bouquet of flowers so huge that they dwarf him.

‘A hundred and twenty red roses,’ says Tony nonchalantly, like he delivers a hundred and twenty red roses every day.

‘
Mind the thorns,’ he warns, handing them over.

I could scream. I throw them onto the floor and begin to punch in Devon
’s number when Tony returns carrying a freezer bag.

‘
Now what?’ I say exasperated.

‘These are your freezer items.
Twenty-four packs of prawns. Go nice with that cos lettuce,’ he quips.

Twenty
-four packs? I’ll never get all this in my little fridge.

I rip open the envelope on top of the tinned fish and pull the card out with trembling hands.

‘The best fish come in tins don’t you think? Less chance of them going off.’

There is no signature. Tony returns with a white box, two carrier bag
s and two envelopes.

‘
Final one,’ he says handing me the carrier bags and box.

‘
Chocolate cheesecake with a pastry base,’ he says checking over his list.

I close my eyes and sigh.

‘I hate cheesecake with pastry base,’ I mumble.

‘
And twenty bags of marshmallows. Pink only.’

I don
’t believe this.

‘
That’s your lot,’ he says. ‘No substitutions and …’

He fiddles with the little machine and I peek into the carrier bag and see a prettily wrapped parcel inside.

‘You’ve 700 loyalty points,’ he says giving an impressed nod. ‘You’re a real loyal customer aren’t you?’

I sure am.

‘I want to complain about these goods. How do …?’

‘
Complain,’ says Tony in a bemused tone. ‘Complain about what? I delivered on time …’

‘
Not about you. About all this stuff you’ve delivered. I didn’t order it. I haven’t paid for it. Someone else paid for it …’

‘
You want to complain that someone else paid for your goods …’

‘
No, I want to complain that Thomas Rory is sending me things I don’t want and …’

He looks at the roses and the cheesecake and I see everything through his eyes. Of course I can
’t complain, and Tom Rory knows that. Who complains about getting free food and a hundred and twenty red roses, not to mention a free gift? I peek into the carrier bag again and pull out the wrapped parcel. I dread to think what this is.

‘
You’re absolutely right. No one would complain would they?’ I say wearily.

‘
I only deliver,’ says Tony and I find myself wondering if he says that in his sleep.

I close the door, drop
onto the floor and open the second envelope.

‘
On behalf of Rory’s Supermarkets, please enjoy your prawns and cos lettuce. For just £1.99 our seafood sauce will make your prawn cocktail perfect.’

I throw the card across the room. Sod their seafood sauce.

I rip open the third envelope

‘
Enjoy the roses. Oh, and mind those thorns. Then again, what’s a little prick between friends? Careful with those prawns. Gone-off fish can be awfully smelly, but I don’t have to tell you that do I?’ Kind Regards Tom.

I feel myself shaking with rage and can barely open the carrier bag to pull out the wrapped gift. I tear at it like a w
oman demented and stare at the
Womanity
gift set. I pull the small card from the top.

‘
I could smell you a mile off. Let me know when you want to surrender.’

Surrender? Surrender my arse. I chuck my phone onto the couch and throw myself beside it. What am I thinking? I
’m no match for Thomas Rory. He has pots of money where I have … well frankly I don’t have much at all now Luke and I have split. The rent on the flat alone is killing me and although I want to shop at the local shops the truth is they are just more expensive than the supermarkets. By the time I’ve bought food and put money to one side for the utility bills, frankly there isn’t anything left. I couldn’t have a night out if I wanted one. I look at the boxes on the floor. What the hell am I going to do with all that lettuce? I can’t eat
the other food on principle, although I suppose I could keep a few tins of pilchards and a couple of bags of prawns. My phone trills
and I pick it up tiredly.

‘
It’s me,’ says Sandy. ‘Yesterday’s little prank closed the stores for a bit and it looks like we’re going to get a bit of publicity. The local rag emailed the webpage and asked if we’d like to do an interview ahead of the protest. What do you think?’

I pick up Tom
’s note and re-read it. How could I have fallen for him? I’m thirty years old. You’d think I’d have more sense.

‘
Flo, did you hear me?’

‘
Yes,’ I say absently. ‘That sounds great. By the way, how many vases do we have at the salon?’

‘
You what?’

‘
Thomas Rory sent me a hundred and twenty roses, oh and tons of lettuce as well as prawns and a cheesecake. I hope you and Ryan are hungry because I can’t send it back. If we continue with these pranks I’m going to drown in an abundance of thank you gifts,’ I groan.

‘
You’re kidding, best not to mention that to the local paper. I’ll see you later. Oh, and bring me a dozen roses will you. I’ll love you forever.’

I hang up before letting out a
sneeze.

‘
Jesus Christ, did we change the salon into a florist and someone forgot to tell me,’ says a startled Ryan.

‘
Courtesy of Thomas Rory,’ I say sneezing.

‘
Blimey, what did you do to deserve this?’

‘
Walked through his store with a stinky fish,’ answers Sandy from behind a vase.

I sniff noisily.

‘Makes sense,’ he says. ‘I hate to think what you’d get if you’re nice to him.’

‘
There’s even more in the sink. We’ve run out of vases. Jethro is bringing some over. We’re going to feature in the local paper. Isn’t that fab?’

‘
Fab,’ I say, noisily blowing my nose. ‘I hope they don’t want photos.’

‘
You’ll be fine, take an antihistamine and we’re giving a red rose to every client today, but don’t say it’s courtesy of Tom Rory,’ orders Sandy.

‘
Yes Führer,’ says Ryan, clicking his heels.

‘
And there are four tins of pilchards and three tins of anchovies for you,’ she continues, ‘as well as three lettuces.’

‘
And some prawns,’ I add.

‘
Courtesy of Rory’s,’ smiles Sandy.

‘
All this and it’s not even fish Friday. When’s the next prank? I’m running out of loo roll.’

I shoot him a dirty look and dive for another tissue before firing off a round of sneezes. I check the diary to see I have three clients before one o
’clock.

‘
Oh no,’ I groan.

‘
I’ll pop to the chemist and get you something,’ says Sandy sympathetically as my first client walks through the door.

‘
Well, who’s got an admirer then?’ says Mrs Peterson.

‘
Me, kind of,’ I say, sneezing so loudly that the slide holding my hair in place flies out. ‘Allergic,’ I mumble blowing furiously into a tissue, ‘to roses.’

‘
You should maybe tell him.’

I have an uncanny feeling that he already knows. Although I can
’t work out how he knew it was me in the store. One thing I do know for sure is that he always seems to have the upper hand and it is seriously starting to piss me off. I lead Mrs Peterson to the basin fighting back a sneeze as I go.

‘
Mr Peterson and I thought we’d come to the protest on Friday. It’s going to be a lovely day by all accounts. Mr Peterson checked the weather forecast.’

‘
Lovely,’ I say. ‘The more the merrier.’

‘
Well, we’ll see. If it’s really nice we may go to the coast.’

I sigh. Nice to know my clients are
loyal to me. I finish washing her hair and take her to a seat.

‘
Sandy will be with you in a tic. She’s just popped to the chemist.’

I sneeze again and dab at my eyes. It
’s no good; this allergy is playing havoc with my contacts. I sniffle my way out the back and remove them. I’ve just popped on my glasses when Ryan flies into the kitchenette.

‘
Grant Richard’s surveyor is here. He’s an Arnold Schwarzenegger lookalike without the Hitler accent.’

I wipe my nose and follow Ryan into the salon where Mr Schwarzenegger is tapping walls. Ryan and I watch him silently until the dryer under Marsha Smith bleeps.

‘Right Marsha darling, let’s make you look glam for tonight,’ says Ryan stepping around Mr Schwarzenegger and guiding Marsha to the basin. Sandy flies through the door, throwing antihistamines as she goes.

‘
I could only get the drowsy ones,’ she says, stopping in front of the surveyor.

I push her to one side and point to Mrs Peterson while Mr Schwarzenegger continues tapping the wall and sucking in air as if each tap is causing him pain. He taps again and waits.

‘Waiting for a reply are you?’ quips Ryan. ‘We think it’s subsidence, not a poltergeist.’

‘
Subsidence?’ squeals Mrs Peterson. ‘The walls aren’t going to collapse are they?’

‘
This is Notting Hill, love, not Pompeii,’ says Ryan.

‘
It most certainly is. In fact, I can say, without doubt that you have subsidence,’ says the surveyor in a deep cockney accent.

‘
I told you he didn’t have a
Hitler accent,’ whispers Ryan.

‘
Can you tell by just tapping?’ Sandy asks. ‘Don’t you need special equipment?’

‘
Trust you to encourage him,’ smiles Ryan. ‘Right Marsha sweetie, are you up or under today.’

‘
Brian likes it on top for special functions.’

Ryan
’s eyes widen.

‘
Does he indeed?’

‘
Not for cases such as these,’ says the surveyor. ‘I can tell from a few taps.’

‘
It is substance then?’ says Sandy.

‘
Subsidence,’ corrects Ryan. ‘I seriously give up.’

‘
It is indeed.’

‘
And you can tell that just from tapping walls,’ she says again.

I pop an antihistamine into my mouth and wait while he fills in a report. Sandy begins blow drying Mrs Peterson
’s hair, watching the surveyor suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. I take the report from him and he zips up his briefcase.

‘
I’d sell if you have the chance. This place will be hard to shift otherwise.’

Ryan gives me a sad look.

‘Never mind love, best to know.’

I nod miserably and see the surveyor out. I watch him walk to his car and then see Jethro approach him. They chat for a few minutes and slap each other on the back like old mates before Jethro enters the salon.

‘Yo cats, what’s poppin?’

He stops and stares at the roses.

‘Wow,’ he says, placing two vases on the reception desk.

‘
How do you know the surveyor?’ I ask.

‘
I don’t know no surveyor dude,’ he says looking confused.

‘
Him,’ I say pointing to Schwarzenegger as he drives off.

‘
Alan? He ain’t no surveyor,’ Jethro laughs. ‘He’s a painter. He did the club for us. Looks dope now.’

‘
Talking of dopes,’ says Ryan nodding at me. ‘Seems like you’ve been taken for one.’

I sneeze in response. Four hours later and a few less roses we stuff our faces with doughnuts in celebration of the salon being subsidence free.

‘Although we won’t know for sure,’ I say. ‘Not until Adam’s brother has been.’

‘
But it seems likely that Grant Richards was trying it on,’ says Sandy, ‘which means he is still working for Thomas Rory.’

‘
Undercover no doubt,’ adds Ryan through sugar-dusted lips.

‘
You really should stop watching those crime programmes,’ I say, while silently agreeing with him.

It seems Tom Rory will do anything to get my salon. I suppose I have to accept he is nothing but a ruthless business man. Well, I
’m not selling.

‘
I’m not selling,’ I say in a weary resigned tone

‘
Of course not,’ agrees Sandy.

‘
We’ll have more support after the protest, love,’ says Ryan.

That
’s true, unless everyone decides to go to the coast because the weather is nice. That’s just about my luck isn’t it? At five I close up and stand outside looking at the poster for the protest. I feel like crap. My nose is red and sore from being wiped too much and my throat feels scratchy. I pop another antihistamine and wipe my watery eyes. The two shops at the side of me are boarded up and the salon somehow looks dreary stuck in the middle, even with the carnival designed poster. I remember the day I bought the salon. I was so excited. I’d seen a whole future ahead and hoped to expand as time went on. Maybe even buy one of the shops next door. After all, Terence was always talking of selling. Sandy and I had made all kinds of plans. Giggling at what fun it would be to have an adjoining door to Sandy’s clinic.

‘
I’ll send you clients and vice versa,’ she’d laughed. ‘We’ll be run off our feet.’

The thing is, I have no idea what I
’ll do without the salon. The thought of working for someone else is unbearable. Luke will know I failed. Worse of all, I’ll know I failed.

‘
Fancy a hot chocolate,’ says a voice behind me.

I
’m rooted to the spot. I can’t even turn around. Why is it whenever I see him I always look like Kerry Katona without a make-up team? My face turns hot and I tremble. I will myself to turn and face him and have to fight back a gasp when I do. He’s wearing a short-sleeved blue-striped shirt, tucked into jeans. His hair looks freshly washed. His eyes are sparkling and he’s smiling but he’s looking at me uncertainly.

‘
Just one drink?’ he asks, wrinkling his forehead as he studies me.

His voice is soft but clear. I meet his eyes and sneeze.

‘Bless you,’ he says with a smile.

I have to force myself to believe that this man will do anything and go to any lengths to get my salon. I
’ll be left with nothing if he does. He must know that. He’s putting Sandy and Ryan out of jobs and he doesn’t give a damn. I feel
anger rise up in me and I clench my teeth and say,

‘
I wouldn’t have a hot chocolate with you if you were the last man on earth.’

I
’m annoyed to hear my voice shake. He nods.

‘
Fair enough, but I want you to know that I don’t want the salon. It’s much too high a price …’

He breaks off
and looks into my eyes.
I lower mine.

‘
Call off the protest Flo; you don’t need to have it.’

‘
How dare you presume to tell me what I ought to do,’ I say shaking with rage. I barge past him towards my car, remembering right at that moment that my petrol gauge is on the red. Bugger it. I knew there was something I meant to do on the way to the salon. It will be just the end if I break down in front of him, well my car that is.
I’ve
no intention of breaking down in front of Tom Rory, ever.

‘
I’m pleased you didn’t get engaged to that up his own arse Luke Wright,’ he says softly, stopping me as I reach the kerb. ‘You deserve better.’

I turn sharply.

‘Too right I do. I deserve the best.’

He nods.

‘You do.’

I turn again towards my Clio and stop.

‘What you’ve done to me is unforgivable, and you still don’t give up do you?’ I say with my back to him.

‘
I’ve come to make peace Flo …’

‘
Don’t call me Flo,’ I say reeling round to face him again.

A middle
-aged couple pass us reluctantly. A lover’s tiff, they are no doubt thinking and just the thought of Tom as a lover turns my legs to jelly. I open the door of the Clio and am about to get in when he strides across the road and lays his hand on my arm, the touch sending a multitude of emotions exploding inside me.

‘
Just one drink,’ he asks.

I brush his hand off my arm.

‘I’d rather poke hot needles in my eyes,’ I say and before he has time to reply I am in the Clio and starting the engine. He makes no effort to open the car door or stop me. I pull away from the kerb and look in my mirror to see him standing on the pavement. I turn the corner and he is gone. It is only then I realise I am crying.