Never Can Say Goodbye (8 page)

Oh, well – again, it was none of her concern, was it?

As Dexter blew her a kiss and started to drive away through the horizontal rain with the car’s engine purring luxuriously
and the windscreen wipers working overtime, Brian waved happily. Maisie didn’t.

Frankie closed the door.

‘Here!’ A sharp jab in her ribs made her jump. ‘What was all that about?’

Frankie glared down at Biddy-the-funeral-goer. ‘Sorry? And that hurt.’

‘All that malarkey with Maisie just now.’ Biddy’s pointy nose quivered. ‘She told you this place was haunted, didn’t she?’

Frankie nodded, rubbing her ribs. ‘Yes, as you obviously well know, and I don’t want to talk about it because it’s all nonsense.’

‘That –’ Biddy fastened the duck-egg blue ensemble more tightly round her ‘– is where you’re wrong. If Maisie says there are
ghosts in here then there are.’

‘And I’m telling you that there aren’t. Now, did you find anything you liked?’

Biddy gave a mighty sniff. ‘Actually, I did. There was a lovely little two-piece in oatmeal – Cherish says oatmeal is perfect
on me, like a dewy sunrise on a spring morning – that would have
done me a treat. But that … that –’ she jerked her ginger head towards Lilly ‘– little madam told me I’d have to pay twenty
pounds for it. Twenty pounds! Daylight robbery! I told her I could get it cheaper in Marks and Sparks!’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Ah, mind you –’ Biddy flourished a second-hand Big Sava bag under Frankie’s nose ‘– I went into my bartering – good at bartering
I am, ever since our seniors group had that day trip to Boulogne – and got it for a tenner!’

‘Goodness.’ Frankie peered into the bag and tried not to chuckle. The extremely ugly oatmeal suit had been languishing unloved
and unhired in Rita’s shop for at least two years. ‘That’ll teach her then, won’t it?’

‘Yes, it will.’ Biddy straightened her shoulders and preened. ‘And you, too. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes. But you
mind what I say – Maisie isn’t as daft as she looks. If she’s raised the dead in this place then you’ll be out of business
before you know it.’

Waiting until the door closed behind Biddy, Frankie pulled a face, and then returned to the seemingly never-ending job of
sorting out years and years of unwanted clothes.

By ten thirty the sorting out was almost done. Everyone had gone. The shop floor was cleared, the majority of unwanted articles
from Rita’s reign had all found new homes, the dresses that still needed checking for flaws were piled beside the changing
cubicles, and the frocks that needed to be delivered to the dry-cleaner’s were stacked beside the counter.

Lilly, disappointed that Dexter had taken Maisie home
and
gone to Winterbrook and therefore wouldn’t be available for a quick drink in the Toad, had left with Sukie, Phoebe, Clemmie
and Amber for the delights of the Weasel and Bucket in Fiddlesticks instead.

Frankie leaned against the counter and ran her hands through her hair. She was so tired. And so grubby. The years of accumulated
second-hand clothes had harboured more dust than she’d imagined possible. Oh, for the bliss of a long, hot soak …

The door opened, allowing the wind and rain to roar inside, with its usual accompaniment of whirling, dancing dead leaves.

‘That’s some storm.’ Dexter shook raindrops from his hair and looked around. ‘And you’ve worked miracles in here.’

Frankie nodded. ‘Everyone was brilliant – we’ve done far more tonight than I thought possible – and I’m so grateful to them.
All that’s left to do before I open next week is to clean the whole place from top to bottom, decorate it, replace the clothes
rails, sort the dresses into decades and sizes and colours, then fill the rails with frocks and make sure they’re all priced,
oh, and start making the entire premises look festive, and do two huge Christmassy window displays, and—’

‘Enough.’ Dexter laughed. ‘Stop right there. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.’

‘Me, too,’ Frankie sighed. ‘I’m just hoping the adrenaline kick will keep me going for the rest of the week, and everyone
has promised to help when they can.’

‘Count me in then.’

Frankie looked at him in surprise. ‘Are you sure? Won’t you be busy with setting up the flower stall?’

‘Not too busy to help you out. After all, I’m only just across the cobbles; I can nip backwards and forwards when I’m needed.
No sweat.’

Frankie paused. Maybe she had got him wrong … Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. ‘OK then, thanks, but you may well live
to regret that offer. And I certainly wasn’t expecting you to come back tonight. Not after the round trip to drop Maisie off
in Hassocks and then on to Winterbrook with the charity shop stuff.’

‘I thought I’d see if you still needed a hand with clearing, and help you lock up.’

‘Thanks, but there’s no need. I’m quite organised now.’

‘So I see, but I thought we were all going to have a celebratory drink in the Toad in the Hole.’

‘Sorry, but everyone decamped to Fiddlesticks about half an hour ago. Country pub. Lax on closing times. I’m too exhausted
to join them, but I can give you directions if you like.’

Dexter shook his head. ‘No, you’re OK. I’ll give it a miss. I’ve had more than enough excitement for one night. That was some
floor show … Maisie’s barking, isn’t she?’

Frankie laughed. ‘In a nice mad way, yes. Although I do think she sincerely believes she has some sort of spiritual gift.
Anyway, thanks so much for taking her home. It was very kind of you. Was she OK?’

Dexter grinned. ‘She was recovering nicely by the time me and Brian got her back to her flat. She seemed to accept that she’d
made a bit of a fool of herself and that her pronouncements weren’t exactly welcome, and certainly didn’t say anything about
making a return visit.’

‘Thank goodness for that. The last thing I need is some nice-but-batty medium telling everyone that my new shop is haunted
before I even get started. Hopefully, any rumours started tonight will just die a death. Right – I’m not going to even think
about it, or the shop, any more tonight. I just need a long hot soak in the bath.’

Dexter’s eyes sparkled. ‘Sounds like a plan to me – as long as you get the tap end.’

‘Alone,’ Frankie chuckled.

‘Spoilsport. But what about the drink in the Toad? Are you too tired for that, too? If we dash across now we should be in
time for last orders. And honestly, I could do with a pint.’

Frankie hesitated. A relaxing, chill-out drink with Dexter, after the evening’s hard work, was a pretty enticing prospect.
And just one drink – because she was driving and so was he – wouldn’t hurt at all, would it? It wasn’t like a date or anything,
was it? And it would be an opportunity to get to know him a bit more, wouldn’t it?

And, all right, she admitted to herself, it would be just fabulous to be out with someone as gorgeous as Dexter, even if it
was just as sort of work colleagues. Although Dexter was clearly
exactly
the sort of man she shouldn’t be going out for a drink with, but …

‘OK.’ She grabbed her coat and the shop keys before she could talk herself out of it. ‘Lovely. Let’s do it.’

After making sure everything was switched off and the shop was securely locked, they hurtled across the cobbles, almost blown
off their feet by the ferocious wind.

Dexter looked around the interior of the Toad with some surprise. ‘This isn’t what I expected. From the outside, I thought
it would be all beams and horse brasses and wall-to-wall rustics.’

‘It should be,’ Frankie agreed, as they picked their way through the minimalist pale bar furniture. ‘Well, except for the
rustics, of course. They’ll never set foot in here again. They all get taxis out to the pubs in Fiddlesticks and Bagley-cum-Russet.’

‘Can’t say I blame them.’ Dexter stared morosely at the Toad’s solitary nod to the festive season – one very minimalist white
and blue artificial Christmas tree. ‘This is a bit of a travesty for a coaching inn.’

‘A lot of a travesty. I’ve no idea how they got planning permission to mess about with it. And how it stays in business is
something of a mystery to everyone in Kingston Dapple.’

‘Yeah, I can see it’s not exactly heaving.’

‘It’s always empty. Rita and Ray campaigned against the changes – loads of the villagers did – but it went ahead anyway. All
anyone wants round here is a proper pub, serving proper pints and pub grub that involves recognisable things with chips.’

‘They do sell beer?’

‘Mmm, I think so. But it’s not in casks or kegs or barrels or anything. It’s in little dinky bottles with funny names.’

Dexter laughed as they approached the blue-lit bar. ‘I’m sure I’ll find something, but what would you like? No, let me guess.
White wine? You look like a girl who knows her way round a nice Chardonnay.’

‘A pint of snakebite, please. And a double Cointreau chaser.’

‘
What
?’

‘Don’t assume anything about me.’ Frankie smiled. ‘Don’t stereotype me, please. Just because I’m a female of a certain age,
it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m congenitally attached to a wine bottle.’

‘Er, no.’ Dexter looked slightly nonplussed as they negotiated the spindly-legged bar stools. ‘OK, so I’ve learned my first
lesson. What was it again, snakebite and … ?’

‘Actually, Chardonnay would be lovely, thanks.’

Dexter laughed. ‘I can see you’re going to be a worthy adversary.’

Several nattily dressed and very bored bar staff stood in a row behind the gleaming chrome and looked hopefully at them. Customers
were, as always, very thin on the ground. As soon as it was clear they were going to order drinks, a sort of Mexican wave
of barmen moved forwards to serve them.

Frankie thought it was sad that the bar staff never greeted any of the customers by name, and the customers had no idea who
the bar staff were. Everything in the Toad was carried out with antiseptic anonymity. She was determined that when Francesca’s
Fabulous Frocks was open she’d make a point of knowing names and using them.

Once Dexter was armed with the wine and a bottle of extremely expensive and unrecognisable beer, he peered round the Toad’s
emptiness. ‘I don’t know if we’ll manage to find a seat – oh, look, there are about thirty over there.’

Frankie laughed, following him to the deserted island of chrome and glass and spiky legs.

‘Here’s to us.’ Dexter raised his bottle once they were perched precariously on high chairs with very tiny, shiny seats. ‘And
the success of our new ventures.’

They clinked drinks.

‘And,’ Frankie said, having taken her first delicious glug of wine, ‘to you settling in to your new home. Welcome to Kingston
Dapple.’

‘Thanks.’ Dexter drained half his beer and examined the bottle. ‘Oh, great, I’m not sure what it is, but I needed that.’

‘So.’ Frankie looked at him over the rim of her glass. It was no hardship. He was very, very beautiful. ‘What really made
you leave Oxford and take over Ray’s flower stall?’

‘Oh, you know … ’ Dexter shrugged. ‘This and that. Time for a change. Things had gone stale. Honestly, it’s part of my life
that’s over and behind me now. I’m just moving on and starting over.’

Frankie sighed. Whatever the Oxford badness had been about, Dexter clearly had no intention of divulging it to her. It
must
have involved a woman, she decided. Oh, well, she had things in her past that she wouldn’t want to make public knowledge
either, didn’t she?

‘What about you?’ Dexter’s tawny eyes asked a million questions. ‘I know you live here in Kingston Dapple with Lilly, and
I know you’ve worked for Rita for some time before you took over the shop, but what else makes you tick?’

‘Oh, this and that,’ Frankie said artlessly, determined that she’d could play Dexter’s game as skilfully as he could. ‘Nothing
much. I’m not very interesting at all, really.’

Dexter grinned. ‘Touché. And as I don’t believe you for one minute, I think I’m going to have a lot of fun finding out the
truth about you.’

‘There!’ Frankie smoothed down her short red wool ra-ra dress, and stood back and admired her handiwork. ‘What do you reckon?’

No one answered. Which was hardly surprising as she was alone in the shop. She’d found, rather disconcertingly, that since
Rita’s departure she’d taken to talking to herself. Or the softly playing radio. Or sometimes even the dresses.

It was late Friday afternoon. Tomorrow she’d open the doors of Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks for the first time.

And, thanks to the valiant efforts of her friends during the week, she may just be ready.

Rita’s shop had been totally transformed. There was now an area for each decade, from the 50s onwards, with suitable pictures,
posters and nick-nacks adorning the walls for each era.

Biff and Hedley had been wonderful in reciprocating the donated clothes by providing some absolute gems.

Now the cream walls were barely visible as Audrey Hepburn graced the 50s with elegance and style and lots of swept-up hair
and nipped-in waists, alongside a floaty, pouty Marilyn Monroe; Twiggy and Jean Shrimpton strutted their slender miniskirted
white-booted stuff for the Swinging Sixties; Toyah and Siouxsie did the same for the punk 70s only with more chains and aggression;
the ladies from Dallas graced the 80s with bright colours, power suits, massive shoulder pads and huge hair; and the Spice
Girls and Princess Diana jointly illustrated the variations of the 90s.

The Noughties had caused some trouble because no one – not even Lilly – had been able to pin down what exactly that era had
provided by way of style. In the end Frankie had decided to go for enlarged culled-from-the-internet pictures of the more
outrageous designer collections – including Alexander McQueen and Stella McCartney – and anything since then currently sat
beneath a huge poster of Cheryl Cole.

Frankie surveyed the shop again. She’d changed the lighting – well, she’d added spotlights in the areas where they were needed
and used pretty pink bulbs to soften the harsher corners – and had old-fashioned hatstands for each section draped with hats,
of course, scarves, bags, suitable jewellery and every other accessory she could find – ostensibly for decoration only. But
if anyone offered her hard cash for them, she knew she’d sell them. She was determined to make a success of this.