The Impulse Purchase, page 9
It wasn’t going to be her.
There had to be a way through this.
She smiled, leaning forwards.
‘We could do it together. You love The Swan. You’d have some great ideas. Teamwork makes the dream work.’
Mike remained unmoved. ‘This is not my dream, Cherry. Far from it. I want to relax. Travel. Have some fun. Enjoy my family. Enjoy you. Which I’m not going to be able to do if you’re pulling pints.’
‘I’m not going to be pulling pints. You’re being very dismissive.’ Cherry felt irritated by his attitude. He hadn’t given her suggestion a moment’s consideration.
‘Look, it’s your money to do exactly what you want with. But I’m not going to condone something I think is rash at best.’
‘You’re questioning my ability.’
‘I have never questioned your ability. I’m just not sure you’re doing this for the right reason.’
‘It’s not revenge, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ Cherry had never been petty, and felt nettled that he might think she was trying to get back at him.
‘No, I think it’s sentimentality. Which is far worse.’
‘What?’
‘I understand you love Rushbrook. I understand Alan’s plight. But I don’t think it’s your responsibility—’
She put up her hand.
‘Stop. Now. You’re being very patronising.’
He looked up at the ceiling and sighed.
‘I don’t mean to be.’
‘Hello!’ A voice swirled in from the hallway. Maggie.
Mike picked up the glass bowl full of translucent prawns.
‘Let’s talk about it later. But just so you know – I’m only trying to protect you.’
Cherry crossed her arms. It would be interesting to see what Maggie thought. She was always a good barometer. Fingers crossed she was on her side.
11
Maggie swept in with Fred and Ginger, looking ready for combat in her camouflage boiler suit and Converse. She threw her bulging backpack down on a chair and the dogs immediately starting beetling around looking for crumbs.
‘Oh my God. I’m so livid, I don’t know where to put myself. The bloody spoilt entitled conniving little brat . . .’ She reached out to take the glass of wine Cherry had automatically filled for her.
‘Who? Not Rose?’ asked Mike. ‘You staying for supper? I’ll do extra rice.’
‘Of course not Rose. Yes, please.’ She took a swig and waved her glass around. Maggie spoke more with her hands than her voice. ‘Zara Stone. I treated that girl like my own daughter. In fact, better. I wouldn’t have let Rose get away with half the stuff she did. And how does she repay me?’
Mike and Cherry both shook their heads. ‘How?’
‘By setting up on her own. Then pinching my best client. And presumably she’ll be after more.’
‘Oh, Maggie.’ Cherry went round to hug her daughter. Maggie wilted in her mum’s arms with a huff, resting her head on her shoulder. Cherry ruffled her long, shaggy hair. There were a few streaks of grey, Maggie had noticed that morning, in amongst the plum and cherry lowlights. She was getting older.
‘Does Aiden know?’ asked Mike.
‘Does Aiden know?’ Maggie sat up with a bark of laughter. ‘I expect he’s bankrolling her. Does she have any idea what hard work it is? Did she learn nothing when she worked for me? It makes me want to give up.’
‘Don’t worry about Zara Stone. She’ll mess up before long.’ Mike poured the jasmine rice into the pot. It made a satisfying whoosh as it hit the water.
‘She’s undercutting me by about fifty per cent. And she talks the talk. And she looks the part. You know how people get taken in. She’ll drive up in that car her father bought her and people will think she’s a success. They’re suckers for a flashy car. They somehow think it means you know what you’re doing.’
Maggie thought of Zara’s top-of-the-range Mini Cooper with the white leather seats and soft top and her initials on the number plate. She had always felt slightly embarrassed when Zara parked it outside the house next to her own clapped-out Mini that only just scraped through its MOT every year. Not that she couldn’t afford to replace it, but Frank had bought it for her, for her thirtieth fifteen years ago. She loved that car.
‘I don’t know that people are that gullible.’ Cherry tried to reassure her daughter.
‘Well, Mario sure is.’ Maggie looked at her meaningfully.
‘Mario!’ Cherry looked pained. ‘Tell me she hasn’t pinched Mario. How could he?’
‘It wasn’t him, to be fair. It was his mum and his sister. Zara knew exactly how to get round them. But I’ve lost the account. My biggest account.’
They all loved Mario and his family. When in Rome always had a big Christmas party to promote their wares: tables groaning with bruschetta and crostini dipped in golden olive oil surrounded by platters of Italian cheeses, prosciutto, braesola, panettone, cantucci . . . There were endless bottles of Franciacorta, which put bubbles in everyone’s veins and a sparkle in their eye, while Pavarotti and Placido Domingo belted out ‘O Holy Night’. Maggie was always in charge behind the scenes, and ran the guest list, and it was the most wonderful start to the festive season. But that would be Zara’s gig now.
‘I bet she’s stolen all my other contacts. All my guest lists. All my pitches. All my budgets.’
‘Can’t you sue?’ asked Mike.
‘Yes,’ said Cherry. ‘Didn’t she sign a—’
Maggie looked at them both with a wry expression. ‘Nope. Because stupid me, I trusted her.’
‘Turn the other cheek, darling.’
‘You can’t eat the other cheek, though, can you?’
Maggie sat back in her chair, dejected. She hated the bad taste in her mouth. The double betrayal. She was scrupulous in her dealings with people. She couldn’t understand why or how you could go behind someone’s back.
‘Well, I’ve got a new client for you,’ said Cherry with a smile.
‘Who?’ Maggie looked expectant. Mike didn’t say anything. Just flashed Cherry a warning glance, which she ignored.
‘Me.’ Cherry held out her arms. ‘You are looking at the new owner of The Swan.’
‘What swan?’
‘In Rushbrook. The pub. I’ve bought The Swan off Alan.’
There was silence while Maggie took in the news. She wrinkled her forehead in consternation, wondering if this was some sort of joke or trap.
‘How long have you been planning this?’
‘I haven’t. It was one of those spur of the moment things. I was in Rushbrook this morning and . . .’
‘What – you bought it just like that?’
‘Pretty much.’ Cherry laughed.
‘Wow.’ Maggie shook her head in disbelief, then started to laugh. ‘Do you know what the weird thing is? I don’t think you’re that crazy. That place has so much potential.’
Mike turned round from stirring the curry, raising his eyebrows. ‘Is this a conspiracy?’
‘Every time we go in there, we talk about what we’d do if it was ours. I mean, it used to be great but you have to admit it’s gone downhill.’
‘It’s not Alan’s fault. It’s because Gillian was ill. And she’s not good again, Maggie.’
Maggie’s face fell. ‘Oh no. Oh God. Oh, it’s not fair.’
‘I know. And that’s part of the reason I bought it. He wants to look after her. She probably hasn’t got long.’
Maggie’s eyes glistened. ‘Oh Mum . . .’
Maggie remembered Alan coming to see her at Wisteria House, just after Frank’s accident, in that awful first few days when they were in a washing machine of numbness, not knowing which way was up. They’d gone straight to Catherine, her and Cherry and Rose, and Alan had knocked on the door the night they arrived, his face wet with tears. He had held Maggie in his arms, made her promise that whatever she needed, she was only to ask. Some of the villagers had been scared of their grief, and had stayed away, but not Alan.
‘I bloody loved Frank,’ he said. ‘He knew more about my beer than I did.’
That was Frank. Expert in beer, music and random facts.
Alan had shown them all such kindness, and now Maggie couldn’t bear to think of what he was going through. But she felt excited by her mother’s revelation. It shouldn’t feel right, buying a pub on impulse, but in this case, it did.
‘So,’ said Cherry. ‘I’m going to need your skills for the relaunch. Can you fit me in?’
‘One hundred per cent,’ said Maggie. ‘This is perfect timing. And at least I don’t have to worry about Zara poaching you. Not that I’ll charge you,’ she added hastily.
‘No, I’ll pay you properly. And I’ll need to pick your brain about lots of other things. Staff, suppliers. I might need you to interview the chef. You know way more than me. Obviously.’
Maggie had trained at Leith’s, and had been running a tapas bar in Mountville when she met Frank, who was working as a sound engineer at the BBC studios nearby. In her mid-twenties, when Rose came along, she had given up her career as a chef – Frank worked away a lot, and the antisocial hours didn’t fit in with a small baby, so she had set up Tine. It had seemed the perfect compromise; her training meant she had excellent inside knowledge of most aspects of the food industry, and she could work from home.
‘Anything you need, Mum. You know that. Wow. I can’t help thinking how thrilled Granny would be. She loved The Swan.’
Cherry avoided Mike’s eye. She had to admit it almost looked as if she had primed Maggie in advance.
‘The beauty of it is we’ve got a blank slate. There’s not a single member of staff left. Poor old Alan’s run everything right down. But he’ll be on hand to advise us. I mean, I know it’s gone downhill but he does know what he’s doing.’
‘When do you take over?’
‘As soon as possible. I’ve got loads of ideas but we need a strategy.’
‘Strategy is my middle name. You need a business plan. A budget. And a timetable.’ Maggie scrabbled in her backpack for a notebook.
In the background, Mike ran his knife through a pile of fresh coriander. The noise made them both look up.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
The two of them stared at him. It was almost as if they had forgotten he was there.
‘What about you, Dad? Are you going to be behind the bar? Mein host?’ Maggie mimed pulling a pint.
‘I doubt it.’ Mike wiped his knife clean and swept the coriander into a bowl.
‘Dad’s not entirely convinced it’s a good idea.’ Cherry made a face.
‘That’s an understatement,’ said Mike.
Maggie frowned. There was a chilliness between her parents she hadn’t detected at first, in all the excitement. It unnerved her. They rarely disagreed on anything, but it really looked as if Mike wasn’t on board with this at all.
‘Oh, come on, Dad. You know how good Mum is at this stuff.’
There was a pause, and Maggie tensed. Something was amiss. The atmosphere was off kilter. She glanced around the kitchen. Everything was in its place. It smelled right – aromatic coconut and the soapy scent of coriander. But there was a tension that hadn’t been there the day before. Her parents were keeping their distance from each other, keeping the island between them. This was odd. Usually there was a touch, an embrace, a kiss – they were very tactile with each other. They might not be married – they came from an era who had turned their back on the institution – but their relationship was stronger than any marriage.
‘Dad?’
Mike sighed. ‘I just don’t think it’s that simple. I know she’ll make it look amazing. I know it will feel like the most wonderful place in the world, somewhere you never want to leave, because that’s what she does. But . . .’
He trailed off, obviously uncomfortable about pouring cold water on their enthusiasm. It wasn’t something he ever had to do.
‘I can help with all the business stuff,’ said Maggie. ‘I’ve worked in enough kitchens, and dealt with enough restaurants. I know what goes on under the bonnet. I know it’s not just about what colour paint you put on the walls. I know about pricing, and employment law, and quality control, and suppliers, and health and safety. And cash flow.’
‘I know, Maggie. It’s not that I don’t trust you or Mum. But I think it’s a massive risk. It’s a lot of money.’
‘Isn’t it my risk, though?’ asked Cherry, looking defiant. ‘My money. My problem?’
Mike shrugged. ‘Sure. You can do whatever you like. But I can’t help worrying. And I’m not going to stand here and watch you walk into something you can’t handle without saying something.’
‘But maybe we can handle it?’
‘I’ve got faith,’ Maggie said. ‘We can totally make it work. And if it fails, Mum can put the pub on the market. What has she got to lose?’
‘Exactly,’ said Cherry. ‘At the end of the day I’ll still have the bricks and mortar.’
Mike didn’t reply but his face said it all. He undid the apron he was wearing and threw it down on the island in a gesture of defeat.
‘Dinner’s in fifteen minutes,’ was all he could find to say in the end, and left the room.
‘It’s not like Dad to be so anti something.’ Maggie pulled open a bag of prawn crackers and began to munch.
‘I think it was a bit of a shock.’
‘But it’s a no-brainer. Can’t he see that?’
‘I guess not,’ said Cherry, knowing there was more going on between her and Mike than she felt comfortable letting on. But she had Maggie on her side. Together they could take over the world. As a team, they were unbeatable.
12
That evening, Rose couldn’t settle once she’d put Gertie down to sleep. She lay on the bed with her, staring at the stars of her night-light projector swirling across the ceiling. They usually calmed her, but Rose couldn’t shake the feeling of unease she’d had ever since leaving the Soul Bowl. She couldn’t get Gaz out of her mind. He was so vulnerable, and she wanted to help him, but she knew the only person who could help Gaz now was Gaz.
Aaron had stopped her as she was leaving. He could see she was troubled. He pointed a warning finger at her.
‘Don’t take it home with you, Rose,’ he said. ‘It’s wasted worry. You can only do what you can do.’
‘Gaz is on the edge,’ she said.
Aaron nodded. ‘He knows this is a safe space. He’s in the pod tonight, so he doesn’t have to worry. He’ll be OK.’
‘I’ve given him some food.’ She didn’t mention the money. The money was what was worrying her. What were the chances of it going on a present? Of Gaz heading to a toy shop instead of the off licence? Why had she given in so easily?
‘We’ve got his back.’ Aaron touched hers, and she felt his warmth and tried to feel reassured. He was exactly the kind of person she needed in her life. Frank would have approved of him; she knew that too. She smiled at the thought of them together: powerful Aaron towering over her wiry, geeky little dad. Chalk and cheese and yet not so very different. Big hearts, big souls.
She missed her dad so much. She would be able to talk to him about what she had done, and he would understand her anxiety. Maggie would just worry if she confessed what she’d done, and Rose didn’t want to stress her. She was trying to detach from her mother a little, conscious that she relied on her a bit too much. Some would say that it was OK, after what had happened, because that was what mums were for, but she knew she should start standing on her own two feet.
On good days, that thought didn’t seem too daunting. But today, after what she had done, she could feel anxiety building inside her, like a swarm of bees. She could almost hear it buzzing.
Idly, she sat at her computer and started looking for Gaz’s girlfriend Shell on Facebook. There couldn’t be many ‘Shells’ around Avonminster. She found her, and started looking through her page for clues about the sort of person she was. She was a bit younger than Gaz, early thirties, Rose estimated, but she looked pretty cool. She had a fifties vibe, with some intricate tattoos, and a whole lot of attitude. There was a little girl with her in some of the photos. They posed together, in their mother/daughter camaraderie, their fingers held up in defiant peace signs. Don’t come between us, they seemed to be saying, and Rose recognised their chemistry.
She felt a niggle of concern for Gaz. Was he too weak for these strong women? She could see how Shell might have been attracted to his bad boy image once upon a time, but perhaps that was wearing off, now they had a child? Maybe his partying was wearing a bit thin now they had responsibilities?
She remembered his remorse at being kicked out yet again. She hoped against hope he had gone to buy the unicorn, and hadn’t reverted to type. She remembered the anguish on his face, and his self-loathing. Would the temptation to blot that out have been greater than the need to buy his daughter a present?
She couldn’t leave it to chance a moment longer.
She phoned the next-door neighbour to ask if she would come and babysit for an hour. It didn’t look as if Maggie was going to be back for a while. Mrs Elkins was always delighted to help out with babysitting, especially as Rose and Maggie had a much bigger telly than she and her husband, so Rose didn’t feel guilty about asking her at short notice. Ten minutes later, Rose ushered Mrs Elkins in and settled her into the depths of their pink velvet sofa. She left a plate of chocolate digestives for her to munch while she watched Eastenders.
Then she jumped on her bicycle and cycled as fast as she could to the industrial estate. Her thighs were burning as she turned into the car park. It was empty now, but she could see the bright blue pod like a little beacon. It was made of wood, with just a strip of window to ensure privacy, and a sturdy padlocked door. Inside was a bed, a chemical toilet and a phone charger. Enough for a comfy night’s kip away from the elements.
She jumped off her bike, leant it against the wall and knocked on the door.
‘Gaz?’ she called. ‘Gaz, it’s Rose. From the Soul Bowl. I just wanted to make sure you’re OK?’
As long as he was all right, she wouldn’t try to find out what he’d done with the money. She’d learned her lesson, though. No more cash. She cursed herself when there was no reply. Maybe he wasn’t in there? Maybe he’d never checked in? Maybe he’d gone to his mate’s? Maybe he’d gone to see Skye? But somehow she felt sure he was inside.
