Never Can Say Goodbye (2 page)

‘Can and am. I want you to have the shop. It’s all arranged. You’ve been brilliant here, the customers love you, you’re a
great walking advert for the business with all those retro frocks you wear, you did the stonking deal with the dry-cleaners,
you’re ace at selling – and you’re nearly thirty, you’ve got no one permanent in your life and you’re basically rootless.
You need stability.’

Frankie sucked in her breath. OK, if the blush-making litany of entrepreneurial praise was more or less true, the last part
of the statement definitely was. She was nearly thirty, with no significant other – there had been no significant other on
the scene for years, and even the last insignificant other had been months ago – and nothing to show for her years of working
in various retail outlets except a few paltry possessions that would fit into a couple of bin bags.

‘But you can’t just
give
me a shop!’

‘Can and have.’

Frankie, still pretty sure this was just another one of Rita’s jokes, nodded. ‘So, come December, I’ll be running Francesca’s
Fabulous Frocks, and where will you be?’

‘Mykonos.’

‘
Mykonos?
’ Frankie blinked. ‘
Mykonos
?’

‘Mykonos,’ Rita said, beaming. ‘Greek island. Glorious, laid-back, hot, one-time slightly risqué playground of the rich and
famous, now just fabulous. Can’t wait. It’s going to be a million times better than spending yet another miserable cold winter
in Kingston Dapple.’

OK. Frankie nodded. It was beginning to make sense at last. Well, some of it anyway. Rita hadn’t had a proper holiday in all
the time she’d known her. December in Mykonos would be wonderful. She’d misunderstood the rest of it. Rita
was
having a bit of a life-laundry moment and just wanted her to be in charge of the shop while she was away.

‘Are you going on holiday for the whole month?’

‘Nope.’ Rita glowered again at the relentless rain sweeping across the deserted market square outside the shop. ‘I’m going
to live there. For ever and ever.’

‘But you can’t go! I’ll miss you!’

‘And I’ll miss you, too. But once we’re settled you can come and stay with us in our beachside taverna.’

‘What taverna? You never mentioned a taverna … And there’s a lot of “we” and “us” there.’ Frankie frowned. ‘Is this a sort
of daydream to while away the grim grey hours of Kingston Dapple’s November non-shopping? You’re pretending to be Shirley
Valentine, and Brian from the kebab van is going to be your Costas or whatever, and—’

‘I’m not pretending anything, love. I
am
going to Mykonos, and none of this involves Brian from the kebab van … ’ Rita paused and smiled dreamily. ‘Although actually
you’re not a million miles off the mark with the rest of it.’

‘Aren’t I? Am I getting warmer? Goody. Anyway, I know you and Brian were, um, close at one time. And he’s a really nice bloke,
even if he’s slightly childlike and smells a bit funny.’

‘A touch fatty and garlicky, maybe.’ Rita shimmied round the empty shop with an imaginary partner. ‘Always a hazard in his
line of work. And anyway, Brian as a beau is no more. He’s been an ex-paramour for some time now.’

‘Oh, right.’ Frankie nodded. ‘So, as you’ve never been solo for more than five minutes ever since I’ve known you, who –?’

Rita stopped prancing and waddled towards the counter, puffing. ‘All in good time. And actually, although he won’t be going
to Mykonos, Brian does feature in my plans. He’s having my bungalow – poor sod, still living with that bitch of a mother of
his at his age.’

‘No way!’

‘Yes, way!’

Frankie shook her head. ‘This is all getting far too weird. Does Brian know? Come on – please tell me what’s happening. Have
you won the lottery or something?’

‘I never do the lottery, as you well know. I’ve never held with gambling. And no, I haven’t told Brian yet. It’s all sorted
out though, as is the shop. The bungalow’s mortgage was paid off last year, so all he’ll have to find is money for the bills
and what have you.’

‘You’re kidding, aren’t you?’ Frankie shook her head in bewilderment. ‘You going away and Brian having your bungalow and me
having the shop? I mean, I couldn’t afford the lease on the shop or anything – I don’t even have a house to use as collateral
and my overdraft is maxed out and—’

‘No need to worry about any of that,’ Rita said smugly. ‘It’s all taken care of. Change of name and everything. Lease, rent,
business rates, utilities – all of it. Twelve months paid up front – or at least, the funds are lodged with my solicitor to
take care of. You’ll have a year, hassle free, to make this shop your own. After that it’ll be up to you.’

Stunned beyond belief, Frankie simply stared.

‘Say something.’ Rita stood in front of the counter, still puffing slightly. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘Pleased?’ Frankie swallowed. ‘Pleased? How can I be pleased? You’re leaving me!’

‘I’m also leaving you the shop.’

‘Yes, OK – right then – if that bit’s true then I’m absolutely delighted and will never be able to thank you enough. But as
I still don’t believe a word of it.’

‘Start believing, love. I’m off to Mykonos in two weeks’ time. Most of my clothes will come here, everything else unnecessary
is going to Biff and Hedley Pippin’s charity shop in Winterbrook, and I’m bequeathing what remains of my life to those who
I love best and who deserve it. And you, Frankie angel, deserve it more than anyone. Now, you go and put the
kettle on and we’ll have another one of Patsy’s Pantry’s rum babas to celebrate. I’m so going to miss those retro cakes from
Hazy Hassocks when I’m in Mykonos – you’ll have to send some out to me, won’t you?’

In a complete daze, Frankie headed for the kitchen and watched the raindrops trickle in non-stop trails down the windows as
she waited for the kettle to boil. Suppose it
was
all true? How fantastic would that be? The one thing she’d always wanted. Her own business. And not just any business, but
this fabulous retro shop …

But it couldn’t possibly be true, could it? Things like that didn’t happen to people like her, did they?

And, just supposing it
was
true and Rita was heading off for some Greek island paradise, which seemed impossible – she’d miss Rita so much. Rita made
work seem like fun. Rita had given her a chance three years ago when she thought she’d never be able to work again after the
horrors of leaving her fashion retail job in Masons under a bit of a cloud.

And would she, Frankie, ever be able to cope with running an entire shop on her own? Well, maybe, but what did she know about
the business side of this shop anyway? Rita had always taken care of all that. Frankie sighed as she sloshed water into the
mugs – goodness, there were so many things to think about.

And if Rita went, nothing in Kingston Dapple would ever be the same again …

By the time the coffee was made and the rum babas glistened in gooey temptation on two plates and they were sitting in Rent-a-Frock’s
tiny kitchen, Rita, clearly seeing the confusion and disbelief on Frankie’s face, obviously decided it was high time she made
things crystal clear.

‘Right –’ Rita juggled a rum baba, fielding a spiral of syrup away from the scarlet frock ‘– now just listen to me. I went
about that all the wrong way. I shouldn’t have messed around with the bequeathing thing, I should have just told you. In a
nice businesslike fashion. I thought it would be fun to spring it on you, but it was obviously just confusing. But you did
get the gist?’

Frankie, her mouth full of rum baba, nodded. ‘Good.’ Rita beamed. ‘As I say, all the legalese stuff has been dealt with. We
can go through other things before I leave. Mind you, this has taught me something. When I tell Brian about the bungalow I’ll
just tell him straight, no messing about.’

‘Good idea,’ Frankie managed to mumble. ‘Brian’s not the
brightest pixie in the forest. But please, please can you tell me like that, because I still don’t really understand. Why
exactly are you going to Mykonos?’

‘To make my dreams come true.’ Rita managed to remove the rum baba traces from her lip gloss and smiled dreamily. ‘I’ve bought
a beachside taverna. I’m going to live in shorts and flipflops for ever and ever. I’ve used my entire life savings. This shop
has done me nicely over the years. I’ve invested well in the good times. I don’t need the money from the sale of the shop
or the bungalow. I love you, and in a way I love poor Brian, too. I want you both to have what I’ve been lucky enough to have
but no longer need.’

‘Thank you, but—’

‘Don’t tell me you’ve never had a dream,’ Rita interrupted, ‘because I know differently. How many times, since you’ve been
working here, have you said your dream was to own your own clothes shop?’

‘Well, yes, of course that was what I’ve always wanted. But I always imagined it was an impossible dream. I didn’t expect
you to make it come true – never, ever in a million years.’

‘Just call me your fairy godmother, then. Making your dreams come true, just like I’ve done with mine.’ Rita beamed happily
as she poured more coffee. ‘You see, Mykonos was my dream from the day I first saw a picture of it in my children’s encyclopedia
at the age of eight. It was as far removed from where I lived as the moon. I’ve wanted to live there ever since.’

‘But you’ve never been there, have you?’

‘No. Not yet. I never wanted to go there and come home. I just wanted to go there – and stay. And now, when I see it for the
first time – really, really see it – it’ll be because I’m going to live there for the rest of my life.’

‘But what if you hate it?’

‘Hate it?’ Rita spluttered. ‘How could I hate it? I’ll adore it. It’s my destiny.’

‘But you won’t know anyone, and how can you have bought a taverna if you’ve never been there, and who’s the “we” and “us”?’

‘Well –’ Rita’s eyes sparkled ‘– that’s the other exciting part of the story – Oh, damn, was that the door? Yes. Oh, sod it,
I think we’ve got a customer.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to say, “Oh, goody, I think we’ve got a customer, on this very quiet trading day”?’ Frankie grinned.
‘Or have I got it all wrong?’

Rita frowned as they made their way out of the kitchen. ‘No, you’ve got it right, but I did want to talk to you without interruptions
… and the customer is bloody Biddy. You serve her, love. I want to get out of this frock, and Biddy always brings out the
worst in me, I’m afraid.’

Rent-a-Frock’s door was wide open and, in a torrent of horizontal rain, a small woman swathed in a dripping mac and flourishing
an even more dripping umbrella, catapulted in.

‘Black!’ she announced from beneath the peak of her see-through Rain Mate. ‘I need black!’

‘Hello, Biddy. Nice to see you again. Nasty day, isn’t it? Let’s shut the door, shall we? Oh, and please try not to drip on
the floor too much – health and safety, you know.’ Rita paused on her way to the curtained-off changing cubicles. ‘And for
pity’s sake put that umbrella down. You know it’s bad luck to have an umbrella up indoors.’

Biddy, still dripping, complied with bad grace. The umbrella’s shower managed to soak everything within a two-foot radius
in the process.

Frankie, despite her head reeling, slipped automatically into her friendly, chatty shop-assistant default setting.

‘You’re looking for black?’ she enquired. ‘Lovely. Party wear for Christmas?’

‘Hardly.’ Biddy sniffed. ‘Funeral. Tomorrow.’

‘Ah, right … Sorry. I do hope it wasn’t someone close.’

‘No, well, not family. More a sort of friend. Acquaintance, really. Ernie Yardley.’

Frankie looked vague. ‘I don’t think I know him.’

Biddy wiped away more raindrops. ‘You wouldn’t. He lives – lived – alone in Tadpole Bridge. His wife, Achsah died some time
back – real lovely funeral she had.’

‘Achsah?’ Frankie frowned. ‘That’s a very unusual name. I’ve never heard that before. Is it Russian or something?’

‘Goodness me, no. Achsah was Berkshire born and bred. It’s biblical. Her dad was a bit of a fire and brimstone man by all
accounts.’ Biddy looked disapproving. ‘All her brothers and sisters had really obscure Old Testament names. Silly, I call
it. Anyway, Ernie belongs – belonged – to our Seniors Day Group.’

‘Was he a good age?’

‘One of the oldest in the group at eighty-three, but fit as a fiddle as far as I knew.’ Biddy shook herself, drenching a row
of nearly new but slightly shrunken cardigans. ‘Apparently he’d had heart trouble for years, though.’

‘Oh dear.’ Frankie desperately hoped she looked and sounded sympathetic. All she really wanted to do was serve Biddy and get
back to talking to Rita about the shop. ‘Anyway, I don’t suppose you want to discuss it, so—’

‘Shocking, it was.’ Biddy’s pale gooseberry eyes glinted. She obviously had no problems with talking about the demise.
‘We had our usual weekly minibus trip to Poundland in Winterbrook, and Ernie got caught up in the melee round the retro foods.
Went down like a sack of shit.’

Frankie bit her lip and stared hard at the floor.

Snorting with laughter behind her, Rita dived into the fitting rooms.

‘Um … ’ Frankie steadied herself with a deep breath. ‘Oh dear, how awful.’

‘Ah, it was.’ Biddy nodded. ‘He’d got his hands on the last of the Vesta beef curries too, lucky so-and-so. They’re like gold
dust, they are. Just reaching for a butterscotch Angel Delight to round his tea off nicely he was when it happened.’

Knowing there was nothing she could possibly say without disgracing herself, Frankie just nodded.

‘Course we all had to stay put while we waited for the ambulance. I could of told ’em that was a waste of time, Ernie was
as dead as a dodo, and pretty tedious it was too.’

Frankie, just itching to get rid of Biddy as quickly as possible, hoped she was still managing to look contrite. ‘Er, so,
are you looking for a coat for the funeral, or a dress or a suit?’

‘Anything black and cheap to hire for the day.’ Biddy wiped a raindrop from the end of her nose. ‘No point in wasting good
money on buying new just for the one day, is there?’