Summer With My Sister Page 23

  ‘Then I came home to Elderchurch and hooked up with all my old mates. Went back to the brewery and actually tried to make a go of it, for the first time in years. Believe it or not, I got sucked into that corporate thing for a while myself.’

  Polly snorted. Jay in a suit and tie? She couldn’t even picture him shaving that stubble off for a business meeting, let alone donning cufflinks and shiny shoes. Right now he was wearing tatty jeans, a moss-green T-shirt and knackered Converse on his feet. Not exactly your traditional managerial ensemble.

  ‘I know – unbelievable, right? And it took me a few years to realize that I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. My dad had always worked hard at the brewery, and this was me trying to best him. Then I was promoted to area manager – higher than he’d ever got – and almost overnight I went off the whole thing, just like that. I was putting in really long hours, driving miles every day, tons of paperwork … it wasn’t fun.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Well, it just hit me one day. What was the point of busting a gut when I never had time to see my mates, or take the dog for a long walk, or even sit and play my guitar? Those were the things that made me happy, and I was working so hard I never got the chance to do any of them. So I quit.’

  ‘You quit? So you’re not area manager any more?’

  ‘I tried to quit, but they wouldn’t have it,’ he said. ‘So basically we came to an agreement. I could go down to four days a week and keep my job. Suits me. Four days a week I’m a corporate slave, and the rest of the time I’m my own man.’

  ‘Right.’ Polly wasn’t sure why he was telling her all this. Rubbing her nose in it? ‘And today you’re … a corporate slave?’ she said, eyeing his appearance doubtfully.

  He laughed. ‘Can’t you tell?’ he teased. ‘No big meetings, though, just supervising the lads on the delivery run, and catching up with a few of the landlords. No point dressing up for that.’

  ‘Well, good for you,’ she said, getting to her feet with a certain briskness. ‘But now I should get on with the hoovering.’

  ‘Look, I didn’t tell you all that to score points,’ he said, getting up with her. ‘And I won’t tell anyone your secret, Polly, all right?’

  ‘Mmm,’ she said, picking up the Hoover. Whatevs, as Leila would drawl.

  Jay put his hands in his pockets and stood there for a moment. ‘I’ve just got to get this delivery signed off and go through the accounts with Stu,’ he said, ‘but after that … What are you doing later?’

  She narrowed her eyes. Why did he want to know that? ‘I’m helping Clare out with some work she’s got on,’ she replied. ‘And applying for proper jobs.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Er, nothing,’ she replied warily.

  ‘Fancy having a drink? Catching up properly?’

  Her eyes boggled. Was this some kind of wind-up? She was there, after all, in skanky old clothes, no make-up and a baseball cap covering her crap hair, and she’d just confessed to having lost everything. And he was asking her out for a drink? She searched his face for a smirk, but his brown eyes were expectant and – yes – sincere.

  She hadn’t had a night out in weeks. It would actually be great to get out of the house for an evening, even if it was with him. ‘Okay then,’ she said, shrugging. ‘Not here, though, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll pick you up at eight. We’ll take a spin down Memory Lane.’

  Memory Lane? Polly was not fond of Memory Lane at the best of times, let alone with him. She was about to blurt out that actually she’d just remembered she was busy this evening after all, and wouldn’t be able to make it, but he’d already walked out whistling to himself.

  God. What had she just gone and got herself into now?

  On the way home to Clare’s her phone rang. Vince. ‘Good morning,’ he boomed. ‘I’ve got some very good news for you today, Polly. Another offer!’

  She stopped dead in the lane. ‘Yeah?’ she asked. It was so long since she’d had any good news that she felt wary of his declaration. Please let this one be a decent offer, she prayed. Please, Vince, give me a break.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Ten grand below the asking price. And get this: cash buyers, too!’

  ‘Wow,’ she said. This was a vast improvement on the last offer at least. And a cash buyer would speed everything up. She tried not to think of the fabulous view from her flat, the one she’d never see again. ‘Okay,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You’re accepting the offer?’ She could just imagine him preening himself as he spoke, chest puffed out with satisfaction.

  ‘Yep,’ she said. ‘I’m accepting the offer.’

  ‘Cool! I’ll get straight back to them with the news. You have a good day now.’

  ‘Cheers,’ she said, ending the call. So that was that. Now they would start the property search and instruct their lawyers to draw up contracts. The wheels were turning at last. No going back, Polly.

  She sighed, and went on walking.

  Once back at Clare’s, Polly looked up the number of the cleaning agency she’d used and called it. Time to make amends. ‘I was ringing to see if you’ve still got a cleaner on your books called Magda,’ she said, perching on the kitchen table. ‘A Polish woman?’

  ‘Can I ask if you’re one of our clients, please?’ the snooty-voiced receptionist wanted to know.

  ‘Er, not any more,’ Polly replied. ‘I used to be for years but … Anyway. That’s not the point really. I just wanted to know if Magda’s still there, as I’d like to send her something. She might have been … um … sacked a while ago, though, so I wanted to check first.’

  There was a delicate pause. ‘I’m afraid I can’t give that sort of information out over the phone, if you’re not a client,’ came the smooth reply. Hoity-toity. ‘We have a lot of ladies working for us and we have to respect their privacy.’

  ‘I only want to send her a letter thanking her for her hard work,’ Polly said, swinging her legs under the table in frustration.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you,’ said the jobsworth, not sounding sorry in the least.

  ‘Oh well, up yours, then,’ Polly said and jabbed the red button on her phone to end the call. Honestly! She was just trying to do something nice. Why did people have to be such idiots?

  The back door opened and Clare walked in. ‘There, kids dropped off for the day, so … What’s up?’ she asked, seeing Polly’s thunderous face.

  ‘Just the world conspiring against me,’ Polly replied, chucking her phone down onto the table in disgust. ‘I was trying to say sorry to somebody I hadn’t appreciated in the past, but got fobbed off by a snotty, jumped-up little …’

  ‘Don’t hold back.’

  ‘… madam who was completely unhelpful instead.’

  ‘What, she hung up on you? How rude. I always say I’ve got something in the oven if I’m trying to get rid of someone,’ Clare confessed. ‘Much more polite.’

  Polly laughed. ‘That’s what you said to me that time,’ she realized aloud. ‘When I rang you about moving in. You said you had to go, you had something in the oven.’

  Clare clapped a hand to her mouth guiltily. ‘Oops, did I? Sorry. No offence.’

  It might have irritated Polly a few weeks ago, finding out that her sister had made excuses not to speak to her, but things had changed since then. Now she found it quite funny. ‘None taken,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Anyway, I hung up on her, the snotty cow. Which felt good, but now I’ve probably blown my chances of getting to speak to this … person.’ Polly slid off the table and pulled her pay packet out of her jeans pocket. ‘Here, have this, by the way.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Money from the pub. I know it’s not much, but … have it. I’ve just accepted an offer on the flat too, so fingers crossed I’ll be properly solvent again soon.’

  ‘Oh, wow – you’ve sold your flat? That’s good news … isn’t it?’

  Polly shrugged. ‘I s
uppose. Yes,’ she amended, trying to sound positive. ‘At least it means the mortgage company will be off my back. But it feels weird, too. Another bridge burned.’

  Clare nodded. ‘I can see that. Bitter-sweet.’ She gave Polly’s arm a squeeze. ‘It doesn’t mean you can’t ever go back to London, though,’ she added. ‘There’ll be other flats.’

  Polly gave a half-smile, grateful for the comforting words. ‘Yeah.’

  Clare opened the envelope, pulled out the notes and handed half of them back to Polly. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘But let’s split it. You can’t give me all of this if you’re skint too. Go and treat yourself to … I dunno. That expensive shampoo you like, or something. Go crazy in the hair aisle.’

  Polly hadn’t been expecting that. She’d been looking forward to making a contribution to Clare’s funds at last; she’d felt so guilty that she hadn’t been able to before now. Clare refusing to take it all came completely out of the blue, and she was just about to protest when she remembered her conversation with Jay. Ah, yes. She didn’t want to go out with him and not have any money on her. How would that look? ‘Actually, you’re right,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ll need some of this later.’

  ‘Later?’

  ‘I’m …’ Polly felt uncharacteristically shy about telling her sister. ‘I’m going out.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? Who with?’

  ‘With Jay, actually.’ She wasn’t sure why she’d added the ‘actually’. All it did was make her sound coy and defensive. ‘Don’t look like that,’ she cried as Clare raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s just a drink and a chat, that’s all. He saw me in the pub this morning and I ended up telling him about my torrid situation of homelessness and joblessness. He must have felt sorry for me, because he suggested a drink. And I must be a total mug and a half, because I said yes.’

  ‘Ooooh!’ Clare was beaming, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

  ‘Don’t start Ooh-ing me,’ Polly warned, but she felt giggly too all of a sudden. ‘It’s only a drink. We’ll probably argue the whole time. I bet it’s just one massive wind-up so that he can take the piss out of me.’

  Clare was shaking her head. ‘Nah,’ she said. ‘He’s always carried a bit of a torch for you, I reckon.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Yeah, definitely. He’s often asked about you over the years. Certainly never forgot you.’

  Polly squirmed. ‘I don’t know about that,’ she scoffed, turning away and fiddling with her laptop. ‘Probably just didn’t like being chucked. I bet he’s been dying to get back at me ever since.’ Mind you, if that was the case, he’d already done it, by seeing her at her lowest: cleaning the King’s Arms. God, he must have loved discovering what a disaster zone her life had become.

  She clicked on the browser, not wanting to think about that any more, and brought up a list of recruitment agencies. ‘Oh, by the way, I’m planning a day up in London soon,’ she said, changing the subject. Talk of Jay and carrying torches was making her feel flustered. ‘I’m trying to arrange some face-to-face meetings with recruitment consultants again, see if that will gee them into action.’ She bit her lip. ‘Look, I know it’s putting you and the kids out, me being here. They must be getting fed up sharing Leila’s room, and I know I’m in the way, so …’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Clare said. ‘Really. Especially as you’ve helped out so much with the business.’ She put on her apron and heaved out the bag of soap flakes. ‘You’re welcome to stay the whole summer. I mean it. So don’t feel you have to dash off on my account.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Polly replied. ‘I’ll just ring a few agencies now and book some appointments, but then I’m all yours.’

  ‘Polly,’ Clare said, a strange expression flitting across her face. ‘That person you wanted to say sorry to – who was it?’

  Polly’s mouth turned up in a small, tight smile. ‘Just … Nobody,’ she said. ‘I’ll figure it out.’

  That evening, as Polly started to get ready for going out, she found herself wishing they’d agreed on a more specific venue. A spin down Memory Lane, Jay had said, which sounded more and more ominous. She hoped that didn’t mean revisiting all the dreadful old boozers they’d frequented as underage teenagers: The Green Man, The Dog and Duck, The Chequers. They’d spent many evenings snogging in those particular beer gardens with their half-pints of lager, and fake ID cards in their pockets, just in case.

  What should she wear? Most of her clothes were still boxed up in her parents’ garage, but she’d brought a few nice things with her to Clare’s, on the off-chance she’d get to wear them again. Her red sparkly Karen Millen dress, maybe? No. It was too over-the-top for anywhere round here. She’d last worn that at the office Christmas party last year, when she’d got completely hammered on tequilas.

  How about the vintage-style peacock-blue dress with a full Fifties skirt? She had some great heels that went perfectly with it, but again, it was perhaps too much. What if Jay appeared looking as scruffy as he had done both times she’d seen him so far? She’d feel completely overdressed.

  Rummage, rummage … what else did she have? It was like sorting through someone else’s collection of clothes, it had been so long since she’d worn anything pretty. There was the dusky pink Jigsaw maxi-dress that she’d worn to the Summer Ball last year … No. It was too long for her and she didn’t want to go stumbling arse-over-tit tonight, thank you.

  ‘Wow, are these all yours, Aunty Polly?’ came Leila’s voice just then. She was standing in the doorway, eyes wide at the sight of her aunt surrounded by so many colourful clothes.

  ‘Yes, I’m trying to decide what to wear tonight,’ Polly replied. ‘Come and help me.’

  Leila picked her way across the floor. Alex’s bedroom looked unrecognizable now, with designer outfits draped all over his alien duvet and across the threadbare carpet, like an Aladdin’s cave of eveningwear. ‘Whoa, I like this colour,’ she said, picking up a deep-purple silk blouse with a long, looping bow at the neck. ‘Dunno about that ribbony bit, though. Too girly. Nah.’ She began sorting through a pile of dresses. ‘Don’t you have any trousers?’ she asked. ‘Or shorts?’

  ‘Ye-e-e-s,’ Polly replied. ‘But I was thinking a dress or skirt might be smarter.’ She cocked her head to look at her niece, who looked distinctly unimpressed at this answer. ‘You’re not a fan of dressing up, are you? I can tell.’

  ‘Ugh,’ Leila said. ‘I hate dresses and skirts. You can’t do gymnastics properly in a skirt, everyone can see your knickers.’ Then she looked pained, as if a thought had just struck her. ‘I mean, well … like, sometimes people have sent me really nice dresses for my birthday and that …’

  Aha. ‘Leila,’ Polly said. ‘Remind me: did I send you a dress for your last birthday?’

  Leila nodded, eyes down as if she was worried she’d just put her foot right in it.

  ‘Was it really really horrible?’ Polly asked. ‘It’s okay, you can tell me.’

  Leila caught her aunt’s amused eye and nodded again. ‘It was frilly,’ she said with a shudder. No other words were needed.

  Polly felt a pang of guilt that she’d never bothered to find out if her niece would actually like a horrible, frilly dress, before blithely telling Jake, her former assistant, to order her one. How rubbish was that? She hadn’t had a clue, just as she’d known nothing about Alex, Clare, her parents even. She’d shunned them all, when they’d turned out to be the nicest people you could want to know. The years she’d spent cut adrift seemed a horrible waste of time all of a sudden. ‘I promise I’ll never buy you another stupid frilly dress ever again, okay?’ she said, with a catch in her voice. ‘Not unless you ask for one.’

  ‘Well, that is never going to happen,’ Leila said confidently. Then she grinned. ‘I’d really like a hamster, though …’

  Polly laughed and gave her a hug. ‘Would you now,’ she said. She sat back on her heels, surveying the mass of clothes once more, then pulled out a crumpled mint-green shift dress from the bottom of one of t
he cases, which still had the price tag in the back. Two hundred quid it had cost in Selfridges – and that was the sale price. When she thought how hard she’d worked to earn a measly sixty pounds from the pub that week, it made her want to throttle her former spendaholic self.

  ‘Hmmm, I like the colour,’ Leila said generously. ‘But you couldn’t wear it with jeans, could you?’

  ‘No, you couldn’t wear it with jeans,’ Polly agreed sagely. ‘But do you know what?’ she went on, ‘I’ve worn nothing but jeans lately. I’m really sick of jeans. So I think this will do the trick for tonight.’ Bubbles of excitement began popping inside her as she got to her feet. ‘To the ironing board, and don’t spare the horses!’

  At eight o’clock there was a knock on the door and Polly felt besieged with nerves. She’d showered and shaved her legs. She’d ironed the dress and zipped herself into it. She’d dug out a simple silver necklace and a pair of high-heeled sandals and had pivoted uncertainly in front of the mirror in the full outfit, with both Leila and Clare assuring her that the ensemble worked, even without jeans. Then she’d blow-dried her hair, made up her face and spritzed herself with some of Clare’s perfume. She felt great.

  ‘Hi,’ she said answering the door to Jay. ‘I’ll just grab my bag.’

  He’d scrubbed up pretty well too, it had to be said. Gone was the stubble, gone were the tatty clothes and Converse. Instead he was wearing dark jeans and a short-sleeved red shirt. Something about his tanned, muscular arms covered in dark hair gave her goose-bumps. Memory Lane was becoming a more appealing destination by the minute.

  ‘Oh,’ came Leila’s disgruntled voice from behind her just then. ‘Aunty Polly, you’re not going out with him, are you?’

  ‘He’s in Mum’s bad books,’ Alex said with relish. He and Leila were both perched on the stairs in their pyjamas, looking thoroughly delighted by the prospect of a soap opera unfolding before their eyes. ‘She said …’

  ‘Yes, all right, you two,’ Clare said, hearing their voices and bustling through the hallway. ‘That’s ancient history now. Jay and I sorted the whole thing out ages ago.’