Mouse (6 page)

Mr Caldwell is a married man,’ he said.

‘It speaks!’ Monica said. ‘So fucking what?’

‘So it’s wrong, is all,’ he said.

‘What do you know? Who asked for your opinion, you dozy little twerp? Get back inside your little box where you belong and keep that mouth shut!’

She left him, lighting up a cigarette as she tottered away on her too-high heels. He was tempted to call out that there was to be no smoking in this part of the building but he simply wasn’t that brave.

He spent the remainder of his shift sinking into the doldrums. He felt he should have been able to say something to her, to defend himself, and even to stand up to Mr Caldwell to tell him how wrong it was for a married man to be going off like that. But he couldn’t and that was that. All of which all made him feel real bad about himself.

He was glad to finish for the evening and get on his bike. But instead of going straight home he decided to ride out to
Devereux
Towers
. He’d not been there in ages and he might just catch a glimpse of Laura Leach.

He stopped at the edge of the field. From here he could see the building plain enough, like a child’s discarded building block, incongruous and a little forbidding. He decided to take a closer look, stuffing his bike into the undergrowth and making his way on foot over the barbed-wire fence and along the edge of the field. Up close he could make out Laura’s little blue car parked outside, but no sign of any activity. All was completely still and quiet.

He lingered there for half an hour or so, the sun still strong, slapping his neck with its heat. He was about to call it a day and go home when he saw a car in the distance, going up the track that led to the house. It looked like a white Ford Cortina. It parked some way from
Devereux
Towers
, hidden from its view by a small copse of trees in full leaf. A man got out. He had a pair of binoculars through which he scrutinised
Devereux
Towers
and appeared to make one or two notes on a piece of paper before getting back in the car and driving away.

What was all that about, he thought? Who on earth could that be, hanging around the place like some kind of spy? He felt immediately protective of Laura, concerned for her safety. After all, out here, isolated from everyone and everything,
Devereux
Towers
must attract all manner of strange, snooping people.

*  *  *  *

Laura Leach t
ook her car to the local garage for a repair estimate. The mechanic bent down to survey the damage, rubbed his stubble-peppered chin, strolled around the Hillman, crouched down to the rear of the car again and gave his grave verdict.

‘It’s not going to be cheap,’ he said. ‘It will cost you at least a hundred and fifty pounds. There’s a dent, a minor re-spray, that kind of thing.  That’s just an estimate, of course; in reality it will be more than that.’

She thanked him and booked it in to be repaired. She never once considered ringing the number of Casper Younge, though for some reason she’d hung onto the piece of paper he gave her. In case she should ever need it, she told herself.

Another two weeks passed and another Monday morning shopping trip came around. She was in the process of returning to her car with her fully laden carrier bags when a voice at her shoulder caused her to start.

‘Well, good morning, Ms Leach!’

She immediately recognised it as belonging to
Casper
. She couldn’t understand why her hand now struggled with the key to unlock the boot, or why her heart began to race as if she’d been running. ‘Good morning, Mr Younge,’ she stammered.

‘We bump into each other yet again,’ he said. ‘Here, let me give you a hand with that.’ He lifted the boot for her, grabbed the handles of the bags and stowed the groceries away. ‘Good job you don’t eat much; this little boot couldn’t cope with much more.’ He slammed the lid down. ‘I am most disappointed in you, Ms Leach,’ he continued.

‘You are?’

‘You never rang me to tell me the cost of repairs to your car.’ He bent his head to check out the car’s rear. ‘And I see it looks as good as new. I insist you let me pay for the job. What did it cost you?’

‘Oh no, it doesn’t matter to me,’ she said. ‘It’s all done and dusted now. Best forget all about it.’

‘Absolutely not!’ he said adamantly. ‘You must tell me at once so I can settle up.’

‘No, really…’

‘Then I refuse to leave this spot until you have told me the cost. You will have to run over me with your car to get out of here. You wouldn’t want two accidents in the same car park, surely?’ He smiled broadly, raising a Roger Moore eyebrow.

‘I certainly don’t want to knock you over, Mr Younge, but I have made my mind up and that’s that.’

He sighed. ‘In that case I insist I buy you dinner instead.’

She was taken aback. ‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean,’ she said, somewhat flustered.

‘If you will not let me pay for the damage done to your poor little Hillman then at least let me take you out to dinner. It is a small price to pay and it would be an honour,’ he said.

An honour! The quaintness of it made her smile in spite of her nervousness. His gentle expression had her warming to him. ‘I hardly know you,’ she said.

‘Then perhaps we ought to use the opportunity to get to know one another better.’ His face fell serious. ‘Forgive me, I am being overly presumptuous. I notice from the small amount of shopping that perhaps you are not buying for two. At least, it is my hope that is the case.’

‘Yes, you are correct,’ she said, ‘I am buying for one.’

‘That’s settled then!’ he said.

‘It is?’

‘I can pay for dinner in lieu of your repairs and there is no Mr Leach about to throttle me for making the suggestion!’ He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a pencil and piece of paper.

‘Do you always keep those things handy in case of accidents?’ she said. ‘Or for inviting women to dinner in car parks?’

He laughed. ‘I used to be a police officer,’ he said. ‘Old habits die hard.’ He handed her the paper.

‘I have your number still,’ she admitted.

‘I’m flattered it wasn’t consigned immediately to the waste bin. There is a lovely new restaurant opened up in Langbridge. Apparently they do a mean fish dish.’ He pocketed the pencil. ‘Please say yes, Ms Leach, and help quash this poor man’s horrid sense of guilt.’ He leant against the boot of her car. ‘Otherwise I might have to lie down in front of your tyres till you say yes.’

Bemused, enthralled, frightened, Laura said yes. ‘When?’

‘Tonight?’ he replied.

‘As soon as that?’

‘Why not?’

She frowned. ‘I don’t know…’

He put a hand to his forehead. ‘I’m sorry, there I go again. It’s a habit of mine, being so impetuous and always assuming other people feel the same. I understand if you don’t want to go out to dinner. I mean, as you say, we hardly know each other and yet here I am badgering you as if we’ve known each other years!’ he stood away from the car, held out his hand for her to shake. ‘I’ll let you go now, and if you decide – ‘

‘Yes!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you tonight.’

‘You will? That’s wonderful! I mean, it will be just fantastic to eat in someone else’s company again.’ His attractive face fell dark, then faintly sheepish. ‘There I go, off on one again. My wife died two years ago. Not a great deal of fun eating on your own.’ He pointed to the boot of the car. ‘Sort of takes one to know one,’ he said. ‘But you will still come, won’t you? You won’t refuse me simply because I open my big mouth and make an ass of myself, will you? I promise to be on my best behaviour tonight.’ He wandered over to his white Ford Cortina, pointing out the damage on his own car. ‘Terribly lazy, unlike you. I’ll get it fixed some time or another!’ He paused at the car’s door. ‘Give me a ring and let me know where you live so I can pick you up. Promise?’

She said, ‘Yes, I promise.’

‘Double promise?’

‘Double promise,’ she said.

He waved cheerily, got in his car and drove away giving her a toot on the horn as he pulled out of the car park. She was aware of other shoppers looking across at the noise, then at her. She suddenly felt extremely vulnerable and shut herself away inside her car.

She looked at the scribbled number, her excitement rising. He was so handsome, she thought, whilst she felt so plain, so ugly…

She lifted the piece of paper to her nose. The faint, manly smell of him lingered on its surface. Had she really been invited out to dinner? With a nicely spoken, handsome man? Really? Was all this happening to her?

No, she couldn’t go, she thought. It was madly impetuous, like he said, and she was never impetuous, not since…

She shook the horrible thoughts away. It couldn’t hurt to have one little meal out. Just the once. She hadn’t been out for years and years and years. It was all so nerve jangling, so utterly terrifying. And yet so deliciously beautiful, she thought. Yes, I will go!

No, I can’t! Damn you, Mr Casper Younge…

Even the name was warm and inviting and rolled off her tongue as if it had been there forever.

She gunned the engine and drove home; hardly realizing she’d been driving till she pulled up outside
Devereux
Towers
. She placed the paper bearing his number on the coffee table and made herself a calming drink of tea and sat down with it, staring hard at the paper as if awaiting some kind of response from it. Two hours went by.

She tentatively picked up the telephone receiver, her finger hovering uncertainly over the dial. With a huge inward breath she dialled the number.
Casper
answered. He sounded over the moon to hear her voice.

‘
Seven o’clock
,
Devereux
Towers
,’ she said.

‘The old folly?’ he said. ‘I know where that is. I’ll be there at seven prompt. I’ve already booked us a table. Actually, I booked it as soon as I left you. I’m so glad you didn’t change your mind.’

Laura let the receiver drop down onto the hook a little too heavily and she put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my God,’ she said under her breath, ‘what have I done?’ She thought about calling him back straight away to cancel things, even lifted the receiver with that intention, but then decided it was too difficult a thing to do. She could turn out the lights, lock all the doors and pretend that she was out, but he’d come knocking and knocking, and what could she do about that?

In the end she ran a very hot bath and tried to stem her escalating agitation. Afterwards, still wrapped in her bathrobe, she ran her hand across the few dresses she possessed hanging limply in her wardrobe, and she shook her head in dismay. She didn’t have a thing to wear. Not a single thing. She hadn’t been out in years and here was the evidence of her isolation. She was going to look drab, awful, simply awful whilst he would look so dashing. He was going to be hugely disappointed.

She wept into her palms, sitting on the edge of the bed and rocking back and forth. Her red-eyed, tousled haired reflection stared accusingly at her from her dressing-table mirror. How horrible you are, she thought; how miserable, fat, frumpy, worthless and ordinary,

Thoroughly dejected she settled on the black dress she wore for her father’s funeral, no longer fashionable, in fact it was a little tighter around the midriff than it had been when she’d bought it. She put it on, smoothed it down and pinned on one of her mother’s brooches to brighten it up. Her shoes were plain also, flat and uninteresting. When she looked at herself in the full-length mirror she felt a fresh wave of depression swamp her. She hardly bothered to fix her hair. It defied fixing at the best of times.

Oh well, she thought, he will get what he gets and if he decides to walk away then all good and well. It’s what she deserves after all. That’s what her father had told her: people always get what they deserve in the end, especially bad people.

There was a knock at the front door. She swallowed hard, opened it slowly, disconsolately.

‘Ms Leach!’ said Casper Younge, looking dapper in a smart suit and tie. He handed her a large bunch of flowers. ‘You look positively beautiful!’

*  *  *  *

They sat at a table tucked away into a quiet corner of the restaurant.
The waiter handed out menus. Laura shrank in on herself, holding the menu card like a shield to hide behind, glancing skittishly at other diners.
Casper
hooked an index finger over the top of her menu and teased it down a little.

‘Peek-a-boo!’ he said. ‘Are you trying to hide from me?’ His blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight.

She put the card down. ‘No, of course not.’

‘You look uncomfortable. Are you alright?’