It's Now or Never (7 page)

‘Obviously I've got Harvey to think about.'

‘Oh, of course, how could we forget about you, Harvey.' I scooped up the little dog for a sneaky cuddle, fondling his ears. Already I was feeling so excited about this new turn of affairs. ‘I don't suppose he'll like the kennels, but…'

‘Oh, I couldn't put him in the kennels, love. That's the thing. I wouldn't be able to enjoy myself thinking of Harvey pining in a strange place. That's why I was wondering if you wouldn't mind looking after him while I'm away. He's no trouble, as you know, and he knows and loves you.'

‘Me?' My voice came out as a squeak. Images of crystal clear lakes, half-timbered chocolate box houses and black forest gateaux whizzed through my brain like the fast train. It clearly had no intention of stopping at my station.

‘I think Marcia and I have decided on this one,' he said, holding up the page to me, the one I was now fully acquainted with, having been eagerly scanning it for the last few minutes. ‘We can get a good last-minute deal on it.'

‘You and Marcia?'

‘Yes. Why? Oh, you didn't think…? Sorry love.' He fell silent for a moment, concern scratching his features. ‘Well, I'm sure you could come along with us if you really wanted to. I could have a word with Marcia.'

‘No! Oh god no! You wouldn't want me tagging along, cramping your style. Besides, you don't think I'd really want to go away with a couple of old fogeys like you, do you?'

My tone was light, but my mood was as dark as the deepest recesses of all those Bavarian castles I wouldn't get to see now.

‘Those sort of holidays sound like my idea of hell. Loads of people get food poisoning on those cruises, you know.'

I stood up and paced the length of the living room. Marcia and Gramps had moved onto the holidaying together stage already. Wasn't it a bit too soon for that? Did that mean they'd be sharing a bedroom, getting naked? Eugh. I blinked furiously, trying to rid myself of the scary images.

‘Really, I couldn't think of anything worse.'

‘Do you mean that?'

I sighed, tipping my head to the ceiling.

‘No, I don't,' I said, slumping down onto the sofa. With my legs stretched out in front of me, my bum slid down the edge of the sofa and I just stopped myself before landing in a disgruntled heap on the floor. Gramps looked at me from across the top of his glasses. He could always read me like a book.

‘I would have loved to go to Germany with you Gramps, but Marcia, well, you know we would probably end up killing each other after a day or two.' I gave an evil chuckle.

‘Oh, Jen. I do wish you'd give her a chance. She's not nearly as bad as you make out.'

I rolled my eyes, feeling about fifteen again. For the last few years it had just been me and Gramps and that suited me fine. Now Marcia was moving in on Gramps and it was as though he barely gave me a second thought these days.

‘Well it doesn't matter what I feel about Marcia. As long as you're happy that's the main thing.' I stood up and picked up Harvey and wandered over to look out the window, burying my head in the dog's coat. ‘Did you get rid of all Nan's things then?'

‘Jen, don't be like that. I took some magazines to the tip and a few of her clothes to the charity shop, that's all. It has been four years, love.'

I shrugged, feeling an overwhelming and, what I suspected was a totally irrational, sense of betrayal. Things were changing all round me and I wasn't entirely sure I liked it.

‘The thing is, Jen, I like Marcia a lot. We're good friends. We get on well and have a laugh together, but she's never going to replace your nan. You do know that, don't you?' He eased himself up out of the chair to come towards me, but I turned away.

‘Well it's nothing to do with me. If it's what you want then that's fine,' I said. I put Harvey back down in his basket. ‘Of course, I'll look after the dog while you away.' I picked up my handbag from the floor and grabbed my coat. ‘I need to get off Gramps or I'll be late for work. I'll see you later in the week.'

***

I guessed Polly Powers must be the work experience girl as, in all her natural adolescent beauty, she looked about fourteen. It wasn't until she sat down at the desk opposite me and straightened her pile of papers briskly on the desk, fixing me with a determined gaze, that I caught sight of the name badge on her lapel.
Polly Powers. Senior Recruitment Consultant.

‘Jennifer?'

‘Yes. Hello.'

I looked across at her and smiled. With a name like that I half expected her to whip on her cape, twirl around on her seat and be transformed into a recruitment superhero with the means to find me the most perfect job in the world.

‘Thank you for coming and filling out our application forms. I've had a quick scan through your paperwork, there's just a couple of things I wanted to go through with you, if that's okay?'

‘Fine. Fire away.'

‘I see you've been working for Browns… the garden centre, for nine years.' Her little nose crinkled when she mentioned the garden centre as though she wasn't entirely sure what one was. Or if she might get her perfectly manicured nails dirty merely by association. ‘Can you tell me what sort of things you've been doing?'

‘Well, a bit of everything really. I've worked on the tills, served in the restaurant, helped out in the nurseries tending to the plants, and worked in the office doing the accounts and admin. My most recent role has been sourcing stock for the gift and homeware sections. I like to think of myself as a bit of an all-rounder really.'

I'm not one to blow my own trumpet but when I said it like that it made me realise just how wide my range of experience actually was.

‘So have you worked anywhere else then?'

‘No.'

‘I see. Do you have any spreadsheet, database, publishing experience?'

‘Well, um, I like to dabble on the computer. I wouldn't call myself an expert but I can get by. I'm pretty fast on a keyboard.'

She raised her eyebrows and dug out a piece of paper from the bottom of her pile.

‘The thing is, Jennifer, you didn't actually do very well in the typing test. I think you managed twenty-two wpm. For us to put you forward for typing or data entry work you would need a speed of at least forty-five wpm with an accuracy of ninety-seven per cent. Your accuracy was somewhat beneath the level.'

‘Oh well, I only use two fingers to type, but once I get going usually there's no stopping me. It's just I'm not used to being tested and I was a bit nervous. I went wrong and then my fingers turned to jelly. Normally I'm much better than that. Should I have another go at the test?'

‘We only allow three attempts and this was your best one.'

‘Oh dear, was it? It was actually only temporary work I was looking for.'

‘Yes, I appreciate that. The thing is companies nowadays can take their pick of well-qualified applicants. Even for temporary work.' She looked again at my form. ‘What about your accounts experience. Are you AAT qualified?'

‘Am I AA…what?'

She sighed. I heard her. A small but very definite exasperated sigh escaped her lips.

‘What about your waitressing skills? Silver service?'

I grimaced.

‘I'm not entirely sure what that is, but it doesn't sound too difficult. Does it mean wearing a uniform and taking it very seriously? Not giggling? Not dropping anything? I'm sure I could pick it up pretty quickly.'

She paused and gave a big but not very convincing smile.

‘Right. Well I think that's everything.'

She tapped her papers on the desk again, signifying that this unsatisfactory meeting was coming to an end. The enthusiasm and positivity I'd felt only half an hour earlier when I'd walked into the employment agency had made an early exit without me. I wondered if Polly Powers' superpowers might be at a particularly low ebb today too.

‘Thanks for coming along Jennifer. If anything suitable comes along we'll be in touch.'

Chapter Eight

A memorial service for the late Arthur Cavendish

Headmaster of Hayward Upper School (between 1974-2004)

will be held in The Priory, Dartington Road, Casterton

on Monday 22nd July at 11.00 am.

All who wish to celebrate his life are welcome to attend.

Feeling guilty about the way I'd behaved towards Gramps earlier in the week, I decided the best approach was to pretend we'd never even had the conversation about Marcia. Least said, soonest mended. I secretly hoped Gramps might tire of Marcia's busybody ways and their budding romance would fizzle out over a Bavarian beer and a bratwurst. After all, there'd be no greater test of their relationship than ten days spent in a small ship's cabin.

I dropped in on Gramps one day after work later that week and was just flicking through the pages of the local newspaper when I spotted the obituary.

‘Oh, have you seen, Gramps? Mr Cavendish has died. My old headmaster.' I sighed, overwhelmed with sadness as I looked at the pictures of Arthur Cavendish, standing tall and proud, a wide beaming smile on his face, just as I remembered him.

‘What a shame. He was definitely one of the old school.' Gramps laughed at his own joke. ‘A true gentleman, if I remember correctly.'

‘He was lovely. Used to half scare the life out of me when he waltzed into the hall for assembly and his deep booming voice would ring around the room. Or he'd call me from along the corridor, “Jenn-i-fer Fara-day! Just. One. Moment. Please.” Honestly, my heart would stop in my chest, wondering what I'd done, but most of the time he just wanted to chat. Think he must have kept an eye out for me because he knew Mum so well. She was forever on the phone to him.'

Gramps laughed at the memory.

‘Well your mum was always fighting your corner, Jen.'

‘Yeah,' I sighed, suddenly transported back to my teenage years. My mum had been my best friend and staunchest ally back then. We'd had a really close bond, probably because it had only ever been the two of us ever since my dad left home when I was about five. At first he came to visit regularly but soon his visits dwindled away to nothing and mum did everything she could to ensure she filled the gap created by his absence. It couldn't have been easy for her and I knew she worried when I went through the usual teenage traumas. I don't know how much she'd told to Mr Cavendish, but he knew exactly who I was and always took a close interest in my progress in school and outside.

My gaze scanned the pictures of that bygone time.

If Mum was still here, she would want to pay her respects to Mr Cavendish. More and more these days, ever since I'd re-read her letter, I felt her presence around me, giving me a gentle prod in the side, telling me what to do. And this was one of those occasions. I would take the day off work and attend on her behalf.

The sun shone high in the sky that Monday morning over the grounds of the priory as people filed in to celebrate the memory of a man who lived his life dedicated to serving others. Not only was he a well-respected and much admired headmaster, he was also a member of many local groups including the choir, the bowls club and many voluntary organisations too. I knew there would be a big turnout, but I hadn't realised just how many until I found a seat and my gaze swept around the room and took in all the people, young and old, who had filled the rows of the chapel. There were literally hundreds of them. Emotion caught at the back of my throat as a shiver travelled along my limbs.

‘How did you know, Arthur?' asked a lady in a purple hat who'd sat down beside me. I turned to her, smiling, grateful for the distraction.

‘I was a pupil at Hayward's School. I have very fond memories of Mr Cavendish. He was an inspirational man.'

‘Oh yes, and a very kind and caring man too. I live in the same road as him and after my husband died, Arthur took on the job of mowing my lawns, front and back. I couldn't do it myself so I was always grateful to him for helping me out. I was just one of many people he helped out. You can tell that by all these people here. He'll be sorely missed.'

The service was a joyous celebration of his life. Both his son and daughter stood up to read heartfelt eulogies to their father and his twelve-year-old grandson, with a shock of blond hair, played a sonata on his flute which brought tears to my eyes and sent goosebumps down my arms.

When we stood up to sing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful' which seemed particularly apt with the sun's rays filtering through the stained glass windows of the chapel, I felt comforted and energised by the love and affection in the room for Mr Cavendish. I was reminded of my mum and nan too, and had to bite back the tears on more than one occasion, but overall it was a warm and life-affirming service and I was so pleased that I'd been able to play a small part in it.

Outside, I was just saying goodbye to the lady in the purple hat when I heard my name called, a sound that sent a shiver of anticipation down the length of my body. Even before I had the chance to turn I knew exactly who it was. I'd recognise that warm, deep, seductive voice anywhere.

‘Alex!' I said, turning to greet him with what I hoped was a confident smile. Inside, my heart was beating nineteen to the dozen.

‘Jen, how lovely to see you.' He leant in and kissed me on the cheek and I caught a whiff of his scent, the same gorgeous smell that had so intoxicated me on the day of the wedding. Oranges, sun, sex. ‘You look terrific. Did you go to Hayward's school then? I didn't realise.'

‘Yes. You too?'

‘No, but my father did. He kept in touch with Arthur when he left school and they became firm friends. They shared a passion for cricket and beer, and spent many a long lazy Sunday afternoon together putting the world to rights. My parents are abroad at the moment so I wanted to come along and pay my respects on Dad's behalf.'