Could It Be I'm Falling in Love? (30 page)

‘So you really think “It’s Raining Men” will get Terence his job back?’ Woody asked as they came to the end of lap three, their feet – as before – pounding the pavement in perfect time.

‘Yes!’ Roxy insisted, her cheeks as red from the mission as the running.

‘And that Simon should present cookery programmes and Cressida be a talent-show judge?’

‘Yes, yes! You see, I’m making plans – writing strategies.
Fame Again
, I’m calling it. I’m even working on a strategy for Holly.’

Woody frowned as they turned at the postbox.

‘And have you asked Holly if she wants a strategy? Or, for that matter,
Fame Again?’

‘Well, no, not yet. But she’ll definitely want it. I just need her to stop being so modest.’

‘So you don’t think there’s a reason why she’s
not
famous again already?’

Roxy rolled her eyes. ‘Just because her parents didn’t want her going to parties—’

‘Something other than that?’

‘Well, I know she thinks her inspiration’s run out – but I’ve got a few ideas for that too.’

‘But maybe Holly doesn’t
want
to be famous. Maybe she’s got different priorities.’

‘Priorities? Come off it.’ Roxy laughed. ‘Holly’s diary’s as empty as space.’

‘What about looking after her mum?’

‘Her mum?’

‘She’s old and ill, and Holly’s the only family she’s got.’

Roxy ran a few steps before Woody’s words sank in.
‘But…
But what about Holly’s dad?’

‘Died – years ago. Didn’t you wonder why we never have meetings at Holly’s house?’

‘I …’ she didn’t want to admit she hadn’t noticed.

‘Holly lives with her mother. She’s her carer.’

‘Oh!’

For once Roxy was silenced.

‘Look, Rox, it’s great that you’re so passionate about helping everyone. But have you checked that what
you
want for them is actually what they want too?’

Roxy frowned as she ran. Poor Holly; imagine having to give up your life to look after your mum. What patience she must have – what kindness. Roxy couldn’t begin to imagine the sacrifices she must have made – they certainly went beyond jacking in Kit Kats. She suddenly felt guilty for every bad thing she’d ever thought about Holly’s twinsets. It was no wonder
she always wore them – she probably hadn’t had the time to go shopping in years.

‘One more lap, then back to mine for a sausage sandwich?’ Woody asked, upping the pace.

Roxy nodded, her head too full of Holly for a meat-based double entendre.

It had chucked it down ever since he’d got back from the jog. Rain might be manna for gardeners, but for window cleaners it was torture by water. Wet ladders were slippy and dangerous, and for men who liked to be outdoors, there was nothing worse than twiddling your thumbs. But the rain had eventually cleared and Woody had spent the afternoon on fast-forward, trying to catch up with his round. By three thirty he’d managed six customers, but already the daylight was dying.

He’d just finished Mrs Dewsbury-Fox’s windows and was about to head down his ladder when he caught sight of two boys skulking in lilac school blazers. They’d hidden themselves in the hydrangea bushes that ran along Lime Tree Walk and, puffing out of the bushes, was a thin cloud of smoke. And,
if Woody’s nostrils weren’t mistaken …
As one of the boys inhaled, he lifted his face. It was one of the twins – Simon’s son. In a flash, Woody hurtled down his ladder, bolted up Mrs Dewsbury-Fox’s drive and rounded the corner.

‘Euan!’ he boomed as he burst through the bushes. Frightened,
the mate quickly legged it, but Euan’s reactions weren’t as fast. Realising he was busted, he flicked his home-made cigarette further into the bush and did his best not to look scared.

‘What are you doing?’ Woody asked sternly.

‘Nuffin’.’ Euan gave a half-hearted suck of his teeth. His fear had already been replaced by surly teenage indifference. Woody dug deep and did his best to look strict. He wasn’t a dad – he didn’t know how to do this kind of stuff. The last time he’d got angry was in 1997.

He settled on raising an eyebrow. ‘It doesn’t smell like nothing.’

Euan shrugged and studied the fence. ‘I’m just doin’ my own t’ing.’

Woody tried not to smirk at Euan’s gangsta. He saw a clear plastic bag peeking from the pocket of his school blazer. Quick as a flash he whipped it out. It was a large bag of weed.

‘What’s this, mate?’

‘Cooking herbs?’

Woody laughed. ‘Do you think I’m as daft as I look? What I mean is, what are you doing wasting your time on this?’

Euan sucked his teeth again.

Woody paused. It was difficult to come down hard on the kid; he was only doing what all teenagers got up to and, Christ knew,
he
was in no position to judge. He’d wasted years on his sofa with ‘cooking herbs’. But still, Simon was a mate – he had obligations.

‘Look, I know this seems like a cool thing to do when you’re fourteen …’

‘Fifteen!’

‘… but, trust me, it’s not.’

Euan continued to stare at the fence. Woody tried another tack.

‘Do your parents know you smoke weed?’

Euan shrugged again.

‘Thought not.’ Woody held up the bag. ‘I’m just wondering who I should tell first – your parents, your school, or the police?’

Now he had Euan’s attention. ‘You don’t
need
to tell no one!’ he barked nervously, looking him in the eye at last. ‘And besides, it’s nuttin’ to do wit’ you!’

‘I’m a friend of your dad!’

For a moment they held eye contact. But then Euan’s gaze moved back to the fence.

Woody sighed.

‘Euan, mate, this really isn’t the way to go. You need to be concentrating on other stuff – like school, and music, and sport.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Euan scoffed. ‘And what makes you the oracle? You’re a poxy window cleaner.’

‘There’s nothing poxy about being a window cleaner. It’s a good, honest job.’

‘For retards.’

‘Christ, Euan! Since when did you get so obnoxious? Do you know what? I reckon I’ll hold on to this for a while …’ He gave the bag of weed a little shake. ‘See if we can’t sort this out, man to man. I think a bit of good, honest work is in order.’

Euan stiffened. ‘I ain’t goin’ up no ladder.’

‘Yeah, ladders – scary, aren’t they,’ Woody replied. Two could play at being sarcastic.

‘I ain’t scared, I just ain’t going up one. Ladders are for ponces.’

‘Ponces?’ Woody laughed. ‘How about buckets – are they heterosexual enough for you?’

Euan stubbed at the earth with his foot. Woody watched him for a moment.

‘I don’t know what your fancy school’s teaching you, Euan,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s obviously nothing that makes any sense. But never mind; I’ve got just the teacher for you.’

‘Teacher?’ Euan sounded alarmed.

‘Think of it as an information exchange. You’ll teach, and you’ll also be taught.’

‘No way! I ain’t doing any teaching wit’ you.’

‘Not with me. With a lady.’

‘A lady?’ Euan couldn’t hide the gleam in his eye. Woody tried not to grin. He suddenly remembered what it felt like to be fifteen.

‘Yes – she’ll be right up your street. She’s fifty and eats gobshites for breakfast.’

The gleam disappeared.

‘No way!’ Euan dug his heels into the mud. ‘I ain’t doing it.’

‘Fine. I’ll just give your dad a quick ring …’ Woody waved the bag of weed with one hand and reached for his phone with the other. He switched the phone to speaker and dialled.

Euan did his best to not look bothered. He sucked his teeth with a squeak.

‘…
And
your mum,’ Woody finished with emphasis.

Suddenly Euan looked worried. As the phone began to ring, he shuffled. And as someone picked up, he lunged.

‘What’s this lady going to teach me?’ he blurted.

‘Manners,’ Woody replied dryly. ‘She’s going to teach you manners.’ His eyes locked on Euan’s, he slowly hung up the phone. ‘And if you do the right thing and are really, really lucky, she might just kick your sorry arse on to a career path.’

Euan looked dubious but no longer rebellious. ‘You said “information exchange”. What am I supposed to be teaching her?’ He tried to keep his voice hard, as though he was in a position to bargain. But the middle-class accent was back.

‘Nothing you can’t handle,’ Woody replied airily. ‘What this lady needs most is a gimp.’

‘A gimp?’ Euan squeaked. ‘No way! I won’t do anything kinky!’

Woody dangled the weed yet again.

‘Like I said …’ he warned. ‘For breakfast!’

And he stepped out from the bushes and back to his ladder, doing his best to stifle his laugh.

To:
Roxy; Cressida; Sue; Holly; Simon; Terence; Chelle

From:
Woody

Guys – It’s almost Thursday, and our next meeting. Given his performance last week, do you still want Austin to come? I’m happy to tell him to sling his hook …?

Come over tonight if you want to discuss. (I’ve got a fridge full of wine and beer.)

W

As usual, Roxy was the last to arrive. She could have kicked herself. Her strategies were finally finished and she was dying to show them to Woody. But Simon’s got stuck in the printer and she’d spent so long yanking the jam she was late. By the time Cressida answered Woody’s front door, the whole gang was already in there, hotly debating Austin. Woody was sitting between Simon and Chelle, so there was no chance to pass him the Barbie-pink A4 envelope. Instead, Roxy sat down and placed the envelope on her knees, ready to grab him as soon as a private moment came up. She tried not to peek over at the picture of the laughing woman with the dark glossy hair. She forced herself to pay attention to Terence instead.

‘He was bloody rude!’ he was insisting, jabbing the air in disgust.

‘Like you were head boy at charm school,’ Simon muttered.

‘He had zero respect for Sue. He called her …
that name
. He implied that she … that she’d …
Christ;
he practically harassed her in her own kitchen.’

‘He was showing off.’ Cressida shrugged.

‘He didn’t even flush the bloody toilet.’

‘He wasn’t
so
rude.’ Sue gently defended Austin in his absence. ‘He’s right that I’ve put on some weight. He didn’t say anything that was technically untrue.’

‘He said he’d shagged Roxy in a toilet!’

‘Which he
didn’t,’
Roxy added quickly. She tried to catch Woody’s eye but he was looking elsewhere. She rocked the envelope with her knees in a bid to get his attention.

Chelle turned to Roxy and frowned. ‘But why didn’tcha? I mean, he’s Austin Jones – right?’

‘He can’t possibly come to the next meeting,’ Terence interrupted.

‘Why not?’ Simon piped up.

‘Because … Because… Because of all of the reasons outlined above.’

‘Can he come if he promises to flush?’ Roxy smirked.

Holly laughed.

‘What do you think, Hol?’ Woody asked. ‘Austin: in or out?’

Holly froze, suddenly awkward. ‘I know he was a bit antisocial,’ she ventured timidly. ‘But maybe it was a cry for help.’

Terence snorted.

‘So is that an “in” or an “out”?’ Woody pressed.

‘Ummm …’ she trailed off.

‘Chelle?’

‘What?’ Chelle blinked.

‘Should we let Austin stay?’ Woody asked.

‘’Course! He’s Austin cockin’ Jones!’

‘Si?’

Simon looked uncomfortable. ‘He’s not one of us …’ he said hesitantly.

‘So that’s an “out”,’ Terence jumped in.

‘I didn’t say that
exactly.’

Terence rolled his eyes. ‘You never say anything exactly.’

‘What do you mean?’ Simon demanded, affronted.

‘I mean, why don’t you shuffle along that fence ‘til you hit a post? It might just give you a backbone. You hate Austin – admit it.’

‘I don’t
hate him
hate him.’

‘Just dislike him intensely.’

‘I …’

Terence rolled his eyes again. ‘For Christ’s sake, Woody;
he’s not welcome!’

‘Says who?’ Roxy piped up.

‘Says me!’ Terence exploded. ‘Says anyone with a molecule of sense. He treated Sue abominably. He said rude things about her breasts.’