Love-40 (9 page)

Michael gulped. Where was Suzi? ‘Cheers,' he said. Her voice was husky and he'd never heard so much sexual innuendo packed into one sentence before.

‘Would you sing something for me?' she continued.

‘If I know it.' Michael drank his beer too quickly and almost choked. At the bar the landlord gave him a nod and he glanced down at his watch.

‘“Lay lady lay”,' she whispered, close to his ear. ‘That song is such a turn-on.'

‘Right, er, OK.' Michael grabbed his guitar. He knew the chords but usually avoided Dylan songs – he could never resist drawling them out in parody. And did he want to turn on the blonde? Probably not. If she turned on any more he'd never make it back to Suzi's alive.

*   *   *

‘Fresh air!' Estelle declared, throwing open the door of the shop. It was getting very dark outside, but what the heck … fresh, moody night-time air was even better. She sniffed. She was drowning in … not the scent of the past or the salty sea air – but the thick, heady aroma of new paint.

She picked her way back through the pieces of furniture shrouded in dust sheets that she'd pushed into the centre of the shop floor. Climbed over the Chesterfield – in order to reach the paint pot in the corner.

She surveyed the freshly painted walls. ‘New beginnings,' she said, raising her glass in a toast, only to find that it was empty. Now, where was that damned bottle of Australian chardonnay? She found it on top of the bookcase. Also empty.

‘I've had enough,' she told the face of the grandfather clock, peeping from between the creases of its sheet shawl. But the question remained – of what?

*   *   *

Upstairs, her microwaved lasagne sat on the table where Estelle had left it. A candle flickered on the shelf where she'd already arranged her collection of green glassware – as if, she thought ruefully, this flat could so easily become a home …

She thought of Stan's stained smile – the smugness of it, the conviction that he held all the cards, that she and Suzi would fold under the slightest pressure. Not a game for women, indeed. What a bloody, bloody nerve the man had.

Sod him. Estelle pushed the lasagne to one side. She wouldn't give in so easily. Starting up this business had meant more than a new method of earning a living because she was fed up with customer complaints. It had meant independence – a way of shouting from the rooftops, to Liam and anyone else who'd listen … This is mine and it's important. This is my new pathway and I'm going to make it work. It wasn't too late, she thought, to be able to make it alone.

Slowly, Estelle got to her feet, switched on the kettle for coffee. She'd chosen antiques, because she'd always had a hankering for the past. And a fear of it too. Liam used to tease her about it – when they'd visited old churches or National Trust buildings on rare Sunday afternoons out. He'd catch her in a dream and say, ‘Good vibes or bad vibes, Estelle? Who lived here? What did they get up to?'

And she'd laugh and stop wondering, but not for long.

History fascinated her, and it had been no hardship to teach herself enough about antiques and their value, what to look for in ceramics, glass and wood, until she knew enough to get by. She was still learning, of course, and learning that some parts of the business interested her more than others.

Suzi, she was aware, had joined her because Estelle needed a partner and some more money to sink into the venture and Suzi not only had some spare capital she wanted to invest, but had been thinking of leaving her job and doing something else anyway. Working in the library had been great, she'd told Estelle once, when she'd been able to spend half the working day reading voraciously. But times changed, new managers appeared with new concepts and vocabulary like creative time management, customer challenges and target borrowers. And Suzi had decided she too wanted a change.

But the important thing was that they trusted one another and Estelle had needed someone to trust, someone with whom she could share the responsibility of the business.

Liam … she smiled … had splurged his share of his mother's money on everything from poetry books to CG's tennis and youth club, from a state of the art computer to a host of good, or more likely, political causes. But Suzi was more cautious and Secrets In The Attic had benefited from that caution.

Estelle sighed. Whether or not Suzi had benefited was more open to doubt. Suzi …

Estelle sat bolt upright, suddenly sober. Christ. What would Suzi say when she saw what Estelle had done?

*   *   *

By the time Deirdre returned with a tray of bland, milky coffee, the arguments had grown more heated.

Erica and Margaret had staunchly maintained that their private members were and would always be the backbone of the club, that high subscriptions would enable CG's to maintain standards (though whether of facilities or members, Suzi wasn't sure) and that better facilities would, in a roundabout way, bring more young people – and the right young people – into the game. Liam had scoffed that the right young people were those whose parents could afford extortionate fees, that she was perpetuating the archaic idea of tennis as a game for the well-heeled and that kids were hardly likely to flock to CG's just because it boasted an upper-crust restaurant. Erica had reiterated that much depended on the
sort
of young people one wanted as part of the club, and Liam had replied with a set of expletives roughly grounded in his particular form of Socialism. It looked, to Suzi, like stalemate.

‘Bring in
those
type of youths,' Erica said, her large face flushed with emotion, ‘And you get
language.
'

‘Oh, yes. Language,' Deirdre repeated.

‘Language?' drawled Amanda. ‘Is that a disadvantage or a plus point?'

‘Language that offends our neighbours,' Erica elaborated. Her eyes were blue and flinty, bordered by sparse gingery lashes. Suzi wondered if William Raddle ever looked into them and whispered sweet nothings. It wasn't an image she wanted to dwell on. ‘Their gardens back on to the tennis courts, remember,' Erica added. And it was true that the far hard courts were separated only by a fence from three or four of Pridehaven's more desirable properties up on the hill.

‘Language?' Liam jeered. ‘What sort of a bigoted, elitist view is that? Swearing belongs to the real world at least.'

Erica wagged a knobbly index finger. ‘Ah, but do we want to be part of that world?'

‘It's the one we bloody well live in.' Once again, he thrust his hand through his hair, creating a look that was growing more demented by the second, Suzi observed. And on he went. ‘We don't live in some upper-class protected bubble where
one
breathes clean air, takes tea at four in the afternoon, patronises anyone who earns less than
£
50,000 a year and is scared to say the word “shit”.'

Although Liam might have been describing Amanda Lake's own background, Suzi couldn't help noticing the almost imperceptible touch of Amanda's hand on Liam's arm that apparently indicated her support. And Suzi would like to bet that Nick Rossi had noticed it too. Suzi didn't know what was going on between Liam and Amanda, but she did know that Liam was playing with fire – when he should be getting his own life in order.

‘And they damage the nets. Smash their rackets into the tape when they lose a point. In temper. I've seen them.' Erica accepted the coffee Deirdre offered her and took a cautious sip. ‘They're always knocking balls over because they're so…' she shuddered, ‘
wild,
and they even bring their bicycles on to the court when there's really no need.'

‘Yes.' Deirdre nodded with enthusiasm. ‘They bring their
bicycles
on to the
courts,
you know. And there's no need.'

Erica glared at her.

Suzi decided she'd had enough. ‘So shall we vote on raising fees?' she suggested brightly.

Liam scowled.

‘Very well,' said their chairperson, with a brief and resentful baring of teeth. ‘For? Against?'

The show of hands indicated a stalemate as Suzi had forecast. Liam, Suzi, Amanda and Beryl voting against Erica, Deirdre, Margaret, Diana and Nick. After a brief hesitation, Simon (always uncannily aware of the club's best financial interests), voted on Amanda's side.

‘Why not put it to the club members?' Liam suggested. ‘That's democratic.'

Erica did not look overjoyed at the prospect of democracy. ‘At any rate,' she said, addressing Liam. ‘Even you can't object to more tennis activities in the summer to raise money for the club.' She went on rapidly – as if concerned he might. ‘Any ideas from the floor?'

‘We've already got the open competition,' Suzi said, resisting the temptation to look at her watch.

‘And the children's tournament.' Erica's expression softened. ‘Christabel will be entering again this year.'

Erica's granddaughter Christabel, as Suzi recalled, had enhanced neither Erica's voice (too much shouting had meant she'd lost it) nor her reputation for fair play.

Deirdre put her hands together, but not in prayer. ‘I do love the children's tournament,' she said wistfully. ‘Such promise, such hope, such –'

‘And the American tournament.' Erica consulted her notes. ‘Plenty of names down for that one.'

‘We're all interested,' said Nick, watching Amanda covertly, ‘in mixed doubles.'

Well, well, well. The agenda, thought Suzi, was becoming more complex by the second.

Liam leaned forwards. ‘How about an under-15s tournament that the kids from the middle and secondary school can enter,' he said.

Erica frowned. ‘Most of them don't even know how to play properly,' she said. ‘I really don't see why we should subject
our
young people to –'

‘I disagree. They could knock spots off the club under-15s,' Liam said. ‘These kids play on street corners and in the park. They've got a feel for the ball. It's in their blood.'

‘Then they should prove it.' Nick Rossi was leaning back in his chair, regarding Liam cooly from hazel eyes. His gaze flickered to Amanda; Suzi saw her look away and caught the tension twanging between them. And there was Liam, horribly innocent, but somewhere in the middle of it all, she realised.

Liam though, had risen to the challenge. ‘How could they do that?' he asked Nick.

‘A competition of course. Chestnut Grove Tennis Club kids versus school kids.'

‘Oh, I don't think –'

But what Erica thought was destined to remain a mystery, since Liam slammed his hand down hard on the table. Cups and saucers shuddered and Deirdre let out a small gasp. ‘Bloody good idea,' Liam said.

Suzi raised her eyebrows heavenward. She knew all that stuff about playing on street corners was a load of hogwash. It might be true of the Williams sisters, but in Pridehaven, kids played football, pool, talked and texted endlessly on their mobiles and went to the pub. Most of them were unfit and existed on junk food and half of them smoked – cigarettes, gear, whatever. The number of kids at Chestnut Grove Middle and Secondary schools who had ever picked up a tennis racket could probably be counted on the fingers of one hand. Liam knew that too, better than most. But Liam tended to get carried away by his own rhetoric. And Liam, she knew, could never resist a challenge.

‘Vote?' Nick suggested.

It was passed – with Erica, Deirdre and Margaret abstaining.

As if she knew she was in danger of being ignored still further, Erica rose to her feet and waved her gavel. ‘I declare this meeting closed,' she said, bringing it down on the table.

Everyone winced.

Suzi jumped to her feet and made her getaway.

*   *   *

Erica sighed as the clubhouse rapidly emptied. She couldn't help but feel that some of the younger contingent didn't take Chestnut Grove Tennis club and its concerns as seriously as they might. And she feared that the club was in danger of losing its precious exclusivity. To think that she had been planning this meeting for months. ‘When…' she asked Deirdre, ‘does re-election come up? And where was Henry Lake tonight, when we needed him?'

He could have been the deciding vote, because Erica took Amanda's views on the subject with a pinch of the proverbial. She sensed that she herself understood Henry Lake that little bit better than his daughter did.

She should never, she thought, have taken William's advice about not telephoning to remind Henry about the meeting. What did William know? Very little actually. In Erica's view it was quite understandable that a busy man like Henry could overlook Chestnut Grove's meeting. But a word from Erica and who knew – he could have been sitting beside her now inviting her up to the manor house to celebrate their small victory over the likes of Liam Nichols. She should indeed have telephoned. After all, she would never, as William had rather unfairly hinted, have been a nuisance.

‘Re-election?' Deirdre frowned. ‘Well, now…'

But Erica didn't wait to hear Deirdre's reply. Instead, she pushed the clubhouse key towards Deirdre and her tray of dirty cups and went to get her coat. She couldn't be expected to clear up, on top of everything else. It had been a trying day and Erica Raddle was exhausted with the effort of trying to keep it under control.

*   *   *

She would just make it for the start of his second set, Suzi realised, hot-footing it down the hill to North Street. She had never bothered to learn to drive and had got into the habit years ago of walking everywhere in Pridehaven. Liam had offered her a lift to the pub tonight, but she'd felt cross with him, not wanted an argument and so decided to walk it. Ten minutes and she'd be there. She was already late, but she'd make it up to Michael.

She pulled her jacket closer around her, for now that it was dark, the spring evening had grown chilly. He'd be fine. Michael didn't need her – not like Liam did. And he'd understand. Michael might be moody at times, but he was a pretty laid-back sort of person. There would be other gigs – other times when he really needed her support.