The Three Rs (27 page)

Now, I have her full attention too. I can’t put it off any longer. I smile tremulously, and go for it.

“I’m so sorry. Really I am. I never meant for you to get in trouble. It’s all my fault, obviously. I’ll tell Cain that, so he can’t blame you…”

Phyllis shrugs. “No need, love, Cain doesn’t blame me. Come to think of it, I didn’t get the impression he blames you either. It was just one of those things. I’d no idea Mrs Henderson might come in before I had a chance to talk to Cain about which version was right. Who could have expected that?”

Just one of those things?
My mistake might wipe out months of profits. Years even, for all I know. Then I pick up on her remark.

“Which version was right? Was there more than one version?”

“Oh yes, I did two. One using your imperial measurements, and another using the metric ones. I was fairly sure it must be metric, but you seemed so convinced… Anyway, I ran both sets of figures through the system and came up with two prices. If you just look over there, you’ll find the second tender. It was underneath the one you handed to Mrs Henderson. Just bad luck really that I left the wrong one at the top of the pile.”

As she’s talking she gestures to a pile of papers on the corner of her desk, closer to me than to her. I eye the documents malevolently, cursing the dumb bad luck that seems after all to be at the bottom of all this. Well, bad luck and the fact that I didn’t understand the measurements I was writing down.

“Would you mind passing the other tender to me, love? I just need to check I included for planning fees. Cain thinks it might be worth talking to Mrs Henderson, see if we can agree on a compromise. He’s thinking of offering a deal on the labor if she’ll meet the full cost of the materials…” She breaks off to look across at me, her hand outstretched expectantly.

“Er, which one is it?” I pick up the top set of papers from the pile and make to hand it over.

“No, it’s farther down. I’m not sure just where…”

She’s watching me carefully now as I stand and start to slowly pick up each set of papers in turn, peering hopefully at the jumble of letters and numbers closely squashed onto the front of each one. I’ve examined maybe six or seven potential candidates before I lift my gaze to meet hers again.

“Are you sure it’s here? I can’t seem to…”

“Does Cain know?” Her expression is inscrutable, but I can see it in her eyes. That dawning recognition, that light bulb moment where it all clicks into place.

Even so, old habits die hard. It’s so ingrained in me that I make one last ditch effort. “Does he know what?”

“Does Cain know you can’t read?”

“I… I… Who says…? Why would you think that?” Old habits again.

“Well, okay then, read to me what’s on the front of that one in your hand.” She leans back in her chair, watching me closely now. Waiting.

I look at the bundle of papers I’m clutching, the words now dancing merrily all over the white background. I might have some sort of chance if they’d only keep still. Long moments pass before Phyllis stands, comes around her desk and gently peels my fingers away from the sheaf of papers. She puts it back on top of the pile, shuffles through the ones I’d already checked before pulling out the second from the top of the pile.

“It’s this one.” She tosses the Henderson tender onto her own desk then picks up my now empty mug. “We need another drink, dear. I’ll get it.”

Phyllis gets up and heads into the kitchen, leaving me to contemplate the awful implications of this latest catastrophe.

My secret’s out.

Shit. Holy fucking shit.

“So, how did this happen then?”

Phyllis is seated alongside me now, her refreshed cup in her hand as mine sits on my desk.

“What do you mean? How did what happen?”

“I mean, how did a bright, inquisitive, talented young woman like you manage to get this far without ever learning to read and write. Except you can write, can’t you? Cain said you wrote down the measurements so he must have seen you do it. And I could read them, just about. What’s going on, Abbie?”

What indeed? But there’s no point continuing with my façade. The game’s up now.

“I can write. Numbers definitely and some words. Words I know and see a lot. Like my name, address. Well, my old address. Cat, dog. Yes, no. But new words take a lot of sorting out. I can manage a bit, if I have loads of time. And if no one’s watching me…” My voice trails off, I’m so acutely embarrassed at having to confess this, at having to explain myself to a virtual stranger even though Phyllis has not breathed so much as a murmur of judgment over me.

“I knew there was something, just couldn’t put my finger on it. The way you seemed to struggle with the computer when most people your age can work them in their sleep. And that stuff about needing your glasses. That was just to avoid having to read, wasn’t it?

I nod, my eyes now fixed on my cup of coffee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t like lying to you. To Cain.”

“I take it he doesn’t know then?”

I shake my head, tears now threatening. She’ll tell him. Or she’ll insist I do. Either way, he’ll be disgusted. Or worse still, he might be kind, pretend to understand. I couldn’t bear that, couldn’t stand his condescension. Especially now, when I’m on the point of sorting myself out at last.

“I was hoping I’d never need to tell him.”

“Love, he’ll figure it out soon enough. Men can be dim-witted, we all know that. But they usually get there eventually. He knows there’s something amiss, he’s completely baffled about how you made that mistake…”

“Has he said something?”

“No, not to me. He wouldn’t though, would he? It’s between you two. But sooner or later, he’ll work it out.”

I’m oddly comforted at Phyllis’ assurance that Cain wouldn’t talk about me behind my back, but at the same time keen to convince her I can manage to keep this under wraps. If only she’ll help me. I need her to co-operate. I need her to keep my secret a little longer.

“He might not. I’ve arranged to have lessons. Private lessons. Some intensive tuition. Next week in fact.”

Her eyebrows go up, she’s very interested, seem impressed even. “Oh, well that sounds like an excellent plan. Is it through the high school?”

“High school?” I’m long done with school. Nothing would induce me to go back. Except to clean, naturally.

She goes on to explain, “There’s no college in Berwick. Nearest is Newcastle, or Edinburgh. That’s too far for lots of the young people to go every day so the high school does some of that further education stuff.”

I snort derisively. “I’d hardly call learning to read ‘further education’.”

“Well, you know what I mean. So, not the high school then?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m going to spend all next week with my friend, back in Bradford. She’s a primary school teacher, but with an extra qualification in teaching remedial reading. She’s been on at me for years, and I’ve decided to take her up on her offer. She’s getting me some books. Adult books. I don’t want to learn to read on
Noddy and The Tweenies
.”

“I should think not. You should try that Fifty Shades thing—that’s adult. I’ll lend you mine.”

Sally said something similar. I decide this Fifty Shades thing could well be exactly my sort of book, though if I’m understanding everyone correctly, I’m not so sure I’d have thought it was Phyllis’ cup of tea. But who am I to judge? I thank her, pointedly ignoring the tell-tale flush rising up my neck as I recall my own recent excursions into the joys of spanking and bondage. Sadly, there’ll be no more of that. I well and truly burned my boats with Cain last night. Which reminds me…

“Please, don’t tell Cain. About me, I mean. And the reading stuff.”

“Won’t he wonder where you’ve got to? Next week? How will you explain taking off like that? How long will you be gone for, anyway?”

“Sally’s only off work for a week. But we can get a lot done in a week, she says. Then after that it’ll be a matter of practice. And now that you know, maybe you could help me to understand the computer a bit better…?”

“Of course I’ll help you, love. You only ever needed to ask. And I’ll help with the reading as well. You can practice here, in the office. And Cain’ll help too.”

My body bristles to attention. “Oh no, he can’t know. Not ever. That’s why I’m learning now, after all this time. I don’t want him to know. Please, promise me you won’t say anything. Please, Phyllis.”

She shakes her head sadly. “Of course I’m not going to say anything. I’m not one to interfere. It’s your secret, not mine. But, love, he
would
understand. He
would
help.”

“He wouldn’t. He would never understand.”

“You know what I mean. He’d be okay with this.” Phyllis’ tone has firmed up at the mention of Cain. She may not be given to idle gossip and interference, but she has a point to make now and she continues undaunted. “I’ve worked here for over twenty years, I knew Cain when he arrived, a skinny lad with big ideas. He’s bright, he’s determined. He works hard. He turned this business around when his uncle had let it get run down. Everyone who works for him likes him. Respects him. Because he’s kind, and he’s fair. He expects a lot, but he gives a lot back. If he knew you were working to fix this, he’d be behind you. Whether or not he understood.” Her voice softens, “I
do
get the impression he cares about you.”

“He thinks I’m out to steal his business. And now he probably thinks I’m out to wreck it too.”

“None of us understood why old Mr Parrish didn’t leave everything to Cain outright. It’s what we all expected. But he must have had his reasons. And whatever he might have said, Cain does care about you. I’m sure he does.”

“Not now. Not since last night. We argued…”

“Well I worked that out for myself when I had a text from Cain to say you were at the flat. That’s how I knew to get you some breakfast on my way here. Will you be staying up there for a few days then? If so, you’ll need to go shopping…”

I nod. “Yes, I expect so. At least until I come back from Bradford. If I go back to Cain’s, he’s sure to find out. And I don’t want him to. At least, not until after…”

Phyllis’ dubious shrug suggests she doesn’t think much of my logic. Nor perhaps of my chances of convincing Cain I should be living in the flat and not at his house. But she opts to keep those views to herself.

“There’s a supermarket up on the North Road. Do you know it?”

I nod. We’ve passed it on our way home each evening. Except that Cain’s is not my home anymore.

“Right. You can go and get yourself some bits and pieces then. Cain said if you need an advance on your director’s salary I was to sort that out for you. Do you?”

I stare at her, totally perplexed. It never occurred to me I might be able to get money from the business, to tide me over. Cain may well be angry with me, and he has every reason to be, but he’s still thinking about my welfare. The more I reflect on what happened, the more I recognize that. And the more I cringe when I think of the way I spoke to him last night. Correction, screamed at him. Yet still, he hasn’t left me in the lurch. He knew I had no money and made arrangements to deal with that. I really couldn’t feel more ashamed of myself or any smaller than I do right now. And I know I’m going to have to face him soon.

“Where is he? Is he coming in today?”

“Rothbury this morning, then pricing a job in Hexham I think. Hasn’t he texted you?”

He might have. For obvious reasons I tend not to check texts too often. I dig in my bag for my phone, and sure enough, there are three texts waiting for me. I peer at the first.

RU OK? Txt me.

The words are meaningless. Helplessly I hand my phone to Phyllis.

“Are you okay? Text me. Bloody text speak. As if the English language wasn’t mangled enough.” She passes it back and I scroll to the next one. This is easier, now that Phyllis has translated.

Abbie? RU OK?

I scroll to the third one.

Back about 6. I’ll come to ur flat

Again I hand my phone to Phyllis.

“He’s coming round to the flat when he gets back. About six o’clock.” She glances up at me and smiles. “Best buy some chocolate biscuits when you go to the supermarket. He likes those.”

Chapter Seventeen

Cain arrives soon after six. I hear his van outside then the sound of the door downstairs being unlocked, the alarm system disarmed. By the time he arrives at the foot of the internal staircase, I’m at the top, waiting for him.

“Can I come up?” His tone is calm, as ever, low and even.

My stomach lurches as I realize how much I’ve missed him, just in those few hours since I stormed from his house. I nod and step back inside my flat, closely followed by Cain. As soon as the door closes behind him, I’m desperate to start my apology. I need to get it out, before my courage deserts me. I’ve been giving some considerable thought to how I might make amends, earn his forgiveness for both my huge and costly mistake, and for the appalling way I carried on last night. I have an idea, but he may not go for it.

I launch straight in, before he gets so much as a sniff of a chocolate hobnob, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me…”
Not entirely true, but still…