Fear on Friday (4 page)

“Let’s get out, Mrs. M,” Hazel said. “Walk around a bit. Get a feel of the area. After all, you don’t want a scruffy image for a cleaning business.” She was not at all sure at first sight. The street was narrow and quiet, with long terraces of red-brick Victorian buildings either side. Hazel knew Tresham very well, since at one time she had worked with the police as an expert—from personal experience—on the never-ending war against drugs. This part of town was known for being the haunt of dodgy dealers, but it had been cleaned up and the houses were being bought and restored by young couples with not much money but high ambitions.

The shop to let had sold electrical supplies, but had clearly gone out of business some time ago. Lois and Hazel peered through into an interior littered with lengths of cable and ancient electric fires. “Brought in for repairs, I expect,” said Hazel. Lois, whose Derek would have shuddered at the sight of these dangerous objects, replied that they’d need a skip for that lot.

“Hazel Reading!” A loud voice interrupted their gloomy thoughts, and Hazel turned to see a girl with a pushchair grinning broadly at her. “It is, isn’t it?” the girl continued. “God, I haven’t seen you since school!”

Hazel stared, and then gave an answering smile of recognition. “Maureen! Fancy seeing you! D’you live round here? And is this … ?”

“Robert,” the girl said. “Six months old and a holy terror. Yep, I live next door to the shop. You married?”

Hazel nodded. “Hazel Thornbull now,” she said.

“Blimey!” said the girl. “Very rural!”

After this, Lois walked tactfully away, and let them get on with reminiscing. She was expecting the estate agent to meet her, and glanced about for a sign of him. She looked at her watch. She had deliberately arrived early, but now he should be here. A small, jazzy car approached and pulled up behind Lois’s van.

“Mrs. Meade?” The agent was young and confident. “Very pleased to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand vigorously. Lois nodded, and said she didn’t have too much time, so could they please get on with it.

Hazel heard this, and parted from her friend with promises to keep in touch. “She lives next door,” she muttered to Lois. “Could be useful.”

Lois’s spirits did not rise as they picked their way through the shop to the “excellent facilities”—even the agent had difficulty making this sound convincing—at the rear. A small storeroom and disgusting toilet occupied the rest of the ground floor, and up a narrow stairway they came to a largish front room with a boxroom behind. A window, so dirty that Lois had to rub a patch with old
newspaper in order to see out, looked over a small backyard and behind that a derelict warehouse.

“It’s a dump,” she said flatly to the estate agent. “A real dump. You’re asking far too much rent, and I wouldn’t dream of paying it. You have wasted my time showing me this place, and I’ll be trying another agent in town.” She marched down the stairs and out to the shop. “Come on, Hazel,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Hazel frowned. She was surprised. Her first impression had changed. Surely a good clean-out and new paint throughout would make a world of difference. And it was not a bad position, on the corner of crossroads and visible from all sides. With a good sign up, it could be not half bad. Then she saw Lois looking at her, and knew she was up to something. “Right,” she said. “I reckon we should try that new lot in the Market Square.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” spluttered the young agent. “Let’s just talk about this one. I agree with you—though I shouldn’t—that it looks a dump now. But it could be fixed to look good. This obviously means expenditure for you, but I think I can promise you some accommodation on the rent.”

“You mean I can have it cheaper,” said Lois, coming to the point. “How cheap?”

The agent named a figure, and Lois shook her head sadly at Hazel. “Shall we go?” she said.

This galvanised the agent, and he blurted out, “Well, Mrs. Meade, what would you consider a fair rent?” He knew only too well that this property had been hanging about on the market for quite a while, and he could see a potential customer slipping rapidly out of his grasp. Finally they reached a compromise that Lois would accept. “If,” she added, “if I decide to take it … I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“We’ll hold it for you until then,” the young man said, sighing with relief.

“Queuing up for it, are they?” said Lois lightly, and she and Hazel left him standing on the pavement as they drove off in high spirits.

“Tell me about your friend Maureen.” Lois could see Hazel was bursting with news. “She says the whole place is designated for improvement,” she said. “The new ring road’ll make it one of them desirable areas. That old warehouse at the back will be a new leisure centre, and it’s all goin’ to be landscaped and whatnot.”

Lois said, “We got a bargain, then, d’you reckon?” The agent had told her all this on the phone, and she’d been sceptical. She knew about Council plans, she’d said. Might never happen. But she was not about to spoil Hazel’s enthusiasm. She smiled at her. “Fancy working there, then?” she added.

Hazel nodded. “
And
, what’s more, Maureen said she’d baby-mind for me when Mum’s working and can’t help. So what a piece of luck, hey?”

They walked out into the quiet street. “Not many casual passers-by,” said Hazel.

“Won’t matter to us,” said Lois. “At least they can park outside. Anyway, there’s another shop over there.”

“What, that one with the macs? Looks dodgy to me. You name it, they stock it. What d’you think, Mrs. M?” Laughing, and in celebratory mood, the two of them set off for the supermarket and bought a bottle of champagne—on offer—to share with the team.

T
HE BUSINESS OF THE MEETING DONE
, L
OIS SAID SHE
had an announcement. She looked at them sitting in a semi-circle. Old friends and loyal team members. Sheila Stratford, farm worker’s wife and one of her originals, and solid as a rock. Enid Abrahams, quiet and mouse-like, but with a core of steel that she’d needed not so long ago. Bridie and Hazel, who she’d known for ever. Bill, her stalwart cleaner cum vet’s assistant. And Sharon, blonde and cheerful, with not much sense but a willing learner. With several occasionals, they were her business as well as her closest friends. For once, Lois felt almost sentimental and was annoyed to find her eyes misting over. She prided herself on
a cool, practical approach, and it wouldn’t do to let them see her weaken.

“You know we’re doing pretty well now,” she said firmly. “And I’ve decided we’ll have a proper office in town. It’ll be good for business, somewhere where people can drop in and discuss their requirements. And we’ll feel more professional, all of us. Hazel’s going to work part-time there, and I’ll do the rest. Any questions?”

There was a moment’s silence, and then Enid said quietly, “What a good idea, Mrs. M. And where will our office be?”

Lois told them, admitting that at the moment it was a wreck. “But Derek and his mates’ll see to that in no time,” she added.

“I can see it now,” said Hazel dreamily, “with New Brooms over the door in gold letters, and me sitting at my desk with a big smile for customers comin’ in …”

“What about Lizzie?” said Bridie, looking worried. This was going to take more of Hazel’s time than she’d bargained for. But when she heard about Maureen living next door, and Hazel’s plan to take her up on her baby-minding offer, she relaxed. They were all talking together, and excitement was in the air.

Lois stood up and went to the door. “Gran!” she yelled. “You can bring it in now!”

As they stood and toasted the new office, Josie appeared at the door. “Just popped in to see Gran,” she said, nodding at the assembled group. “Blimey, what’re you lot up to?” she added.

There was a thimbleful left in the bottle, and Josie drained it and smiled. “Makes up for being in the doghouse with old Rupert,” she said. “Better get going now. Post was late and I’m just delivering. He blew his top when he didn’t get his bumper pack first thing.”

“Not surprised,” said Bill quietly. “He wouldn’t want them drifting about, maybe getting lost. Not old Rupert. Not those letters.”

“S
HE
’
S COMING AT FIVE O
’
CLOCK TOMORROW
,
DEAR
. Will you be here?”

Howard and Doreen Jenkinson sat in their pleasant sitting room, drinking coffee in the cool of the evening. The French windows were open to their immaculately groomed garden, and the liquid song of a blackbird floated in on cue.

“Depends,” said Howard. “There’s the tournament tomorrow, and if I do well I might still be at the club. Ken and me did quite well last year, so we’re hoping for great things.”

“I’m sure you’ll win it, dear,” Doreen said comfortably. “Anyway, I’m quite capable of interviewing a cleaner on my own.”

“Not necessarily the cleaner you’ll be getting,” Howard warned. “Mrs. Meade is the boss. She’ll assess your requirements and choose the best cleaner for the job.”

“Crikey!” said Doreen. “Chars are getting a bit uppity, aren’t they? I don’t want a business plan. I need a reliable woman who works hard, doesn’t talk too much, and is
willing to get down on her hands and knees if there’s a call for it.”

Howard stood up and stretched. “Just going up to my den for half an hour or so,” he said. “Oh, and by the way,” he added. “Make sure this woman knows nobody goes in to clean my den. I do it myself as always. Don’t forget, Doreen!”

“You keep it locked anyway, Howard,” Doreen said quietly to his retreating back.

“A
MAN
?”
SAID
D
OREEN NEXT DAY
. S
HE HAD DECIDED
to interview Mrs. Meade in her kitchen. Start as we mean to go on, Doreen had decided. Now she looked at the confident, attractive woman sitting on the other side of the table, and repeated, “A man to come and clean for me? Good gracious, I can’t have that. What would Howard say?”

Lois smiled patiently. “I don’t know, Mrs. Jenkinson. It isn’t all that unusual these days. Bill has worked for me for quite a while, and has always given satisfaction. He’s the son of a farmer in Yorkshire, and as well as working for me, he helps out at the vets. There’s nothing odd about Bill.”

But Doreen frowned. “Is there no woman who could come?” she said.

“Certainly,” Lois said, realising she was up against a person used to having her own way. “But perhaps you’d like to give Bill a try? Then we could send someone else if you weren’t happy with him. Anyway,” she added, getting to her feet, “why don’t you talk to your husband about it, and give me a ring tomorrow? I have some very experienced women on my team, and there’d be no problem in sending one of them.”

“Very experienced?” said Doreen. “In what way? Surely it doesn’t take much experience to do a bit of dusting and hoovering. We don’t make a lot of mess, just the two of us.”

Lois looked at her watch. “We take our cleaning very seriously, Mrs. Jenkinson, and our clients appreciate that. I’m sure you’ll find we do a good job. Our aim is to make you happy. After all, it’s your home and you live in it. No,” she added, “don’t disturb yourself. I’ll see myself out, and look forward to hearing from you tomorrow.”

“Oh, no, I’ll see you to the door,” Doreen said, hastily following her out of the kitchen. “And there was one other point—an important point. My husband does not like anyone going into his den. Even me! He keeps it locked, as he has important papers in there. He cleans it himself, so he knows nothing will be disturbed.”

Does he now, thought Lois, but she nodded and said, “Fine. We’ll remember that. Hear from you tomorrow then,” she smiled, and walked briskly out to her van.

On her way home, she called in to see Bill. He had just returned from his least favourite job at Farnden Hall, and was making strong tea for himself and his long-time partner, Rebecca.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” said Lois, accepting a cup of Bill’s brew. “Just thought I’d let you know that you’ll be cleaning for the Mayor and his lady wife as from next week.”

“Wow!” said Bill. “They don’t come any grander in Tresham. Old Howard Jenkinson? I’ve heard he’s a wheeler-dealer and one to beware of. A real Treshamite of the old school. Tough and unforgiving. Charming on the surface, and ready to crucify you if necessary.”

“Where’d’you hear that?” Rebecca said. She taught in Waltonby village school, and was not well up in town gossip.

“These things get around,” said Bill. “We hear all sorts in the vets’ waiting room. Apparently the Jenkinsons used to breed those poor little squashed-face dogs, and were tight as ticks when our bills were sent. Always quibbled. Wanted discounts. You know the sort, Mrs. M.”

Lois smiled. “We’ll be ready for ‘em, then,” she said. “Mrs. J has to clear it with her husband—she’s not at all
sure about having a male cleaner. You know, the usual thing. But I think it’ll be all right. If not, I’ll send Enid.” She bravely downed the dark orange tea, and drove off. Sounds like we’ve got awkward sods with the Jenkinsons, she thought. Still, it would be worth keeping them sweet. They know everybody in Tresham, and everybody knows them.