Never Can Say Goodbye (17 page)

Frankie, who throughout the interviewing process had still not been one hundred per cent sure that inviting Cherish to work
in the shop had been such a great idea after all, grabbed the lifeline with grateful hands. ‘That would be lovely, actually.
I haven’t had a break yet, so if you wouldn’t mind holding the fort for half an hour I’ll pop next door to the Greasy Spoon
and grab a sandwich. Can I get you something?’

‘No, thank you, dear.’ Cherish was already heading towards the kitchen with her coat. ‘I had a bowl of muesli and an oatmeal
biscuit earlier. That’ll keep me going nicely until I have my chicken supreme with the news later.’

Frankie, wondering bemusedly if Cherish’s colour palette advice extended to her menu and therefore meant she only ate beige
food, smiled as she grabbed her own vibrant coat and scarves. ‘OK – lovely. I’ll just be next door if you need me.’

‘I’ll be perfectly all right, dear.’ Cherish’s face split into an unexpectedly warm smile. ‘As I said, I worked in Miriam’s
Modes in Winterbrook for years. I’m right at home in a proper dress shop. You go and have your lunch, dear. Your little shop
is in safe hands.’

‘You’ve employed
who
?’ Dexter looked shocked across the top of the shiny red Formica table in the Greasy Spoon about ten minutes later. ‘Isn’t
she the maddest of the lot?’

‘Possibly.’ Frankie played with the fat plastic tomato on the table top. Ketchup threatened to erupt in a volcanic rush at
any moment. ‘Probably, in fact. But who isn’t mad round here? There wasn’t a lot of choice.’

‘True,’ Dexter chuckled, ‘but that was pretty damn quick off the mark.’

‘Oh, I don’t hang around. Sometimes those spur of the moment decisions are better than ones you agonise over, don’t you think?
And I’m sure Cherish will be fine. She knows people in the village, she’s the right age, she says she’s worked in a dress
shop before, and she’s available. What’s not to like there?’ Frankie inhaled the Greasy Spoon’s delightful fragrances of all-day
breakfast and fresh coffee and hoped her stomach wouldn’t rumble. ‘I’ll have to sort out the employment details, of course,
then I’ll just see how she goes. She
seems much nicer without Biddy hanging around – if a bit morose.’

‘As long as she doesn’t have sticky fingers.’

‘I’m sure Cherish is very clean.’ Frankie was shocked. ‘I wouldn’t employ anyone who didn’t wash.’

‘Metaphorical sticky fingers.’ Dexter stirred his coffee. ‘Those that are always in the till. I’ve been caught out by those
before.’

‘Have you?’ Frankie tried hard not to sound too interested. It was, after all, the first time Dexter had volunteered any sort
of information about his past. ‘Really? That sounds nasty.’

‘Yes, it was. Very.’ Dexter smiled up at the waitress who’d just arrived with their bacon rolls. ‘Thanks.’

Frankie opened the bun, liberally squirted ketchup, bit into her bacon roll and tried not to drool. She waited for Dexter
to carry on with the revelations, but he just concentrated on his own bacon roll. She sighed and looked around the Greasy
Spoon. The staff today were all middle-aged. No sign of the nubile Ginny. Ah, no – she only worked on Saturdays, so she’d
be at college today studying Meeja or Beauty Therapy or whatever it was she did, of course. Thank goodness.

Dexter finished his roll and wiped his hands on the bright red paper napkin. ‘That was fabulous. I could eat at least three
more, but I know Marguerite needs to be off on the school run soon.’

‘Marguerite?’ Frankie finished her own roll and reached for her napkin. ‘Who’s she?’

‘The lovely lady out there.’ Dexter indicated the flower stall through the window. ‘She’s kindly standing in for a few moments.’

Frankie squinted through the café’s steamy windows, through the Kingston Dapple shoppers and across the market square. A tall
glamorous woman with tumbling auburn hair and a mock-fur coat was manning the flower stall.

‘I thought you were going to ask Brian?’

‘Oh, I am. Marguerite happened to be passing just after you came over to see if I was free for lunch. She’s one of my home-delivery
customers.’

Frankie shook her head, laughing. ‘And she owes you a favour or twenty?’

‘Something like that.’ Dexter grinned back immodestly. ‘My home-service ladies are very grateful.’

‘And you’re very bad.’

‘Actually, I’ve been told I’m very good.’

Frankie leaned across the table and punched him.

‘Anyway,’ Dexter said, still grinning. ‘Enough about my extra-curricular activities … Did you have a good weekend?’

‘Um, yes, I suppose so.’ Well, if you didn’t count being scared witless by Ernie Yardley’s so-called ghost of course, not
to mention the hair-raising visit to Slo. And until she was absolutely sure that Ernie
was
a ghost, Frankie had no intention of sharing either of those fascinating details with anyone. Not even Dexter. ‘What about
you?’

‘Er, it was different. Hardly saw the inside of the lonely bedsit at all.’

Oh, yippedy-doo-dah.

‘That must have been nice for you.’

‘No it wasn’t, not really. I took Ginny clubbing on Saturday night, which was fun, and then she took me to meet her parents
the next day, which wasn’t. I had a proper Sunday roast. With the entire family.’

‘Blimey. There’ll be an announcement in the court circular soon, then?’

Dexter pulled a face. ‘Hardly. It was all pretty scary, actually. Ginny’s a sweet girl, and very pretty, but far too young
for me. She’s only eighteen and loves rap and hip-hop and singers with names I’ve never heard of.’

‘You poor old soul.’

‘Don’t mock. It was embarrassing.’

‘And you,’ Frankie said sternly as she reached for her coffee, ‘shouldn’t mess around with people’s emotions. If you felt
like that you shouldn’t have accepted her invitation for lunch with her family.’

Dexter shrugged. ‘No, I shouldn’t. But it was just too tempting. And like Oscar Wilde, I can resist everything except temptation.’

Frankie, no literary scholar, was, however, intrigued by the quotation. Was it another clue to Dexter’s past? ‘Did you, er,
study English at Oxford?’

‘No.’ Dexter laughed. ‘I left school after fairly average A levels and went straight to work. I just loved the Stephen Fry
telly series about Oscar Wilde. Sorry to disappoint you.’

‘You haven’t. OK then, if you don’t want to have a proper relationship with Ginny, why on earth go to lunch with her parents?’

‘Because I’ve missed being part of a family and having a proper meal and … ’ He stopped. ‘Whoops – almost too much weepy confessional
stuff there. Very bad for my image, what with me supposed to be a hard-hearted bastard according to you.’

‘I didn’t call you that. And I’m sorry if you miss your family. I miss mine, too. And they only live in Reading.’

‘Mine might as well live on the moon.’

‘Don’t you see them very often?’

‘Never now. You?’

‘Not often enough. I mean, we phone and text and email all the time but it’s not the same is it? We just all seem to be so
busy.’

‘Have you got brothers and sisters then? A big family?’

‘Big enough.’ Frankie smiled, thinking nostalgically about her noisy, happy family. ‘I’ve got two brothers who are married
with two kids each, and a very much younger sister who still lives at home with Mum and Dad. I really miss them. I’m going
home for Christmas though and I can’t wait.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘What about you? Are your parents still married? To each other, I mean? Because so many aren’t, are they? Lilly’s divorced
when she was only five and both remarried and she now has masses and masses of step-brothers and sisters.’

‘My parents are still together. I’ve got one brother. Older. Divorced. No children.’

Frankie looked at him, hoping he’d say more, but again he just sipped his coffee.

She sighed. ‘I just hope you’ll let Ginny down gently then, if you don’t want a long-term relationship. At eighteen she’s
very vulnerable and probably thinks she’s in love. And you, being older, shouldn’t lead her on. It isn’t fair.’

Dexter surveyed her steadily over the rim of his coffee mug. ‘And there speaks the voice of experience?’

‘Maybe.’ Frankie knew she was blushing. ‘Maybe not. Whatever. I just think that you should be careful not to hurt her. You’re
obviously a huge commitment-phobe who knows he’s dead attractive and plays around and doesn’t give a damn
about anyone else. Actually, I reckon that’s why you had to leave Oxford and why Ray bailed you out. What was it? Too many
clinging ladies, or too many jealous partners?’

‘Whoa!’ Dexter looked annoyed. ‘That’s one hell of a character assassination coming from someone who hardly knows me.’

‘I don’t need to know you. I know your type. And I’ve watched you in action.’

Dexter shrugged. ‘And you’ve formed your opinion and condemned me out of hand? Fine. And what about you? What do you think
I’ve sussed out about you?’

‘I have really no idea.’

‘That you’re, what, late twenties and gorgeous? That you’re clearly not dating anyone, not even casually, and that you have
no apparent interest in men? So, you’re either gay and not out of the closet, or someone broke your heart and you’re not over
it. Which one is it?’

‘Neither.’ Frankie flushed crossly, although secretly a little bit pleased with the ‘gorgeous’. ‘And you shouldn’t jump to
conclusions.’

‘That makes two of us. And my guess is it’s the latter.’ Dexter suddenly grinned. ‘One day, we’ll have to tell one another
our life stories then we might understand each other a bit better, but right now we ought to be getting back to work.’

‘Fine.’ Frankie stood up. ‘I’ll go and pay.’

‘Already done.’ Dexter stood up and stretched. Frankie tried not to stare. All the other women in the café didn’t even try.
‘My treat. Have a good afternoon.’

‘You too,’ she said, rewinding her scarves round her neck. ‘And thanks for lunch.’

‘My pleasure.’

Dexter held the door open for her. The icy air hit her like a cold shower after the lovely steamy heat of the Greasy Spoon.

Dexter shuddered. ‘Oh, God, it’s freezing. I wish Ray had sold flowers in some sort of hot house, with umpteen heaters and
wall-to-wall glass.’

Frankie giggled. ‘You won’t think that in the height of summer.’

‘I won’t survive until summer at this rate.’

‘Because of the freezing weather?’ Frankie glanced over at the glamorous Marguerite who had perked up considerably on seeing
Dexter emerge from the Greasy Spoon. ‘Or the wrath of hordes of broken-hearted ladies?’

‘The ladies, of course.’ Dexter laughed. ‘As you obviously know only too well.’

By the end of the afternoon, Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks was finally empty. The last customer had just left, delightedly clutching
a gorgeous 1960s lemon frou-frou dress in her purple and gold carrier bag. Frankie, exhausted but very happy with Monday’s
trading, turned the sign to CLOSED and locked the door.

She’d soon have to start sorting out the piles of frocks upstairs to restock the rails if business carried on like this. She’d
do it tomorrow while Cherish served in the shop.

Cherish, Frankie thought as she cashed up, had been surprisingly brilliant. Away from the dour Biddy, she’d blossomed. She
seemed to thrive in the frock shop environment, saying it took her back to her happiest days, and was hard-working and friendly.
Just like one of those old-fashioned shop assistants you saw in 1950s films. All polite and interested but remaining just
the right side of remote. And, as far as Frankie could tell, she hadn’t mentioned a word about colour palettes. Cherish, Frankie
thought happily, was going to be a huge asset.

OK, now she’d just switch off the lights and go home and put her feet up in front of
Corrie
. She laughed. It meant of course that she’d probably be sharing the sofa with Lilly and Saturday night’s cute boy, until
giggling, they disappeared into Lilly’s neat and minimalist bedroom.

Lilly and Dexter – a right pair of one-night-stand love ’em and leave ’ems.

But, in the Greasy Spoon, Dexter had shown her a glimpse of his previous life, hadn’t he? And Frankie, who’d had far too much
time in the past to ponder on the motives of men who weren’t what you thought they were, had been intrigued. Why didn’t he
see his family? Why didn’t he –?

The tap on the door made her jump. For a second her skin prickled. There had been no sign of Ernie. She’d already checked
every corner, and especially Achsah’s frock which still hung in all its lustrous glory on the 1950s rails. Everything had
been fine. So, surely not? No, of course not. Ghosts didn’t knock on doors, did they?

‘Frankie!’ Dexter’s voice echoed from outside. ‘Open the door, please. I’m freezing out here.’

With a swoosh of relief, Frankie hurried across the shop and pulled open the door. It was a wickedly cold night. Stars already
glittered harshly in the black sky, and Kingston Dapple’s marketplace was silver-rimed with frost.

‘Thanks.’ Dexter stepped inside, rubbing his hands. ‘Hell, it’s cold tonight. I think I preferred the fog. It must be about
minus ten already. I just thought I should come and apologise to you before you left.’

‘Why? It’s very nice of you, but I don’t remember you doing anything remotely worth apologising for.’

‘Earlier. I was pretty rude, really. You’re entitled to your opinion about me, but I did jump down your throat a bit. Sorry.’

‘Apology accepted.’ Frankie smiled. ‘And I’m sorry, too. I know I said some things that I shouldn’t. You just hit a bit of
a raw nerve.’

Dexter nodded. ‘I thought so. Sorry. Again.’

‘Oh, let’s just forget it, shall we?’ Frankie said, picking up her bag from the counter. ‘We probably both said things that
we should have left unsaid.’

‘Story of my life. Er, is Cherish still here?’

‘No, she left hours ago. She was great. Why?’

‘Because I wondered if you weren’t doing any new employee induction stuff, you’d like a quick drink in the Toad before we
go our separate ways?’