When Jodi reached the guest house, she found the place in virtual darkness. Pushing open the front door, she spotted Mrs Busby carrying a tea tray across the foyer. It was a nightly ritual. Two glasses of hot milk, one for her and the other for Dr Mortimer, accompanied by a packet of Milky Ways.
Jodi ducked behind the front desk, unwilling to be collared and grilled. Neither of her aunty’s long-standing guests knew about her past and she wanted to keep it that way. But it was getting increasingly tricky to keep the truth hidden, especially when the pair couldn’t understand why ‘a nice girl like her’ seemed so inept at finding a job.
While she was hiding, she heard a noise coming from the study. When she was sure Mrs Busby had disappeared, she crept over and peered around the study door.
She loved her uncle’s old study. There was something about the smell: a mixture of worn leather and old books. It was also the room where her aunty spent a good deal of time. It seemed to give her comfort.
Over the years, books on gardening, horticulture and organic produce had been added to the tall bookcases, already crammed with publications about science, religion, cricket and war history. The dark green carpet was covered with a thick woven cream rug and a vase of fresh flowers adorned the window ledge, next to the nautical weather predictor. But other than that, it remained as her uncle had left it – more of a safe haven than a shrine. A place her aunty could retreat to when life got too much.
Her aunty was sitting in the wingchair, her legs tucked up, spinning the chair around, faster and faster, with a glazed look.
Jodi leant against the doorframe. ‘Bad day?’
Her aunty nearly fell off the chair. ‘Goodness, you made me jump.’
‘Sorry.’ Jodi went into the room. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Fine, love. I was lost in thought. I’ve been trying to balance the books.’
Jodi noticed a pile of invoices on the desk. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Other than my lack of enthusiasm? Not really.’
Guilt kicked Jodi in the ribs. Why hadn’t she realised her aunty was struggling? Her cousin had spotted it straight away. ‘Do you have to do this tonight? Can’t it wait until morning?’
‘Possibly, but I’ve been putting it off for over a week.’ She sighed. ‘It’s not my favourite pastime, but the books won’t balance themselves.’ Flicking on the desk lamp, her aunty reached across for her reading glasses. ‘Of course, it might help if the books actually tallied for once. Dealing with the accounts was always Derek’s area of expertise.’ Her expression turned melancholy. ‘Still, it wasn’t like the poor man expected to die so young. It took us both by surprise.’
Jodi dumped her bag on the floor and went over to the desk. ‘You seem dejected, Aunty.’
‘Oh, ignore me, love. My back’s playing up. It always makes me crabby. Anyway, how are you? Busy night at the restaurant?’
‘Hectic.’ She perched on the desk, noticing a discarded travel brochure in the waste paper bin. ‘Have you been to see your GP?’
Her aunty pushed her hands into her lower back, stretching out the muscles. ‘It’s nothing a hot bath and a decent rest won’t solve.’ She stopped. ‘And losing a few pounds.’ She visibly sucked in her tummy.
Jodi smiled. ‘You look fine, but you could do with a holiday.’
‘If only.’ Her aunty rolled her eyes. ‘I think the five-a.m. starts are taking their toll. If I’m not in bed by nine p.m. these days, my body objects.’ She let out a sigh. ‘Mind you, my body seems to object whatever I do, so I’m not sure why I bother.’
Jodi rescued the brochure from the bin and flattened out the pages. The front cover depicted a white boat cutting through deep blue water, advertising a cruise around the Mediterranean. ‘What you need is a change of routine. A wise person once told me, if you carry on doing what you’ve always done, you’ll only ever be what you’ve always been.’
Aunty Ruby laughed. ‘Very profound… Ghandi?’
‘You, actually.’
‘I said that? Goodness.’
‘It was good advice.’ Jodi gestured to the brochure. ‘Yours?’
Aunty Ruby looked away. ‘When would I get the chance for a holiday?’ Her cheeks had coloured, so Jodi knew the brochure was hers.
Her aunty resumed spinning on the chair. ‘But perhaps I do need a change. When I opened up this morning I caught the reflection of a middle-aged woman staring back at me in the glass. It took me a moment to realise the woman was me. I’m sure the last time I looked my hair was still brown. Now look at it?’ She pointed to her wavy bob. ‘I look like Miss Marple.’
Jodi laughed. ‘You do not. But if you don’t like it, why don’t you colour it?’
‘I’d look like mutton dressed as lamb.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. The colours you can buy these days look really natural. And besides, only the other day you were telling me how much you admired Helen Mirren. And I’m sure she dyes her hair.’ Jodi placed the travel brochure on the desk, hoping the enticement of a holiday might prove tempting.
Her aunty looked thoughtful. ‘Helen Mirren, eh?’ And then the chair stopped spinning. It had unwound in height. She peered over the top of the desk, making Jodi laugh with her miffed expression.
Maude interrupted them, sauntering into the room carrying something mangled between her teeth. She dropped the carcass by Jodi’s feet and looked up, radiating an air of arrogance as she turned tail and sauntered out again.
‘That’s right, leave me to clear it up,’ her aunty called after her, struggling to get out of the unwound chair.
Jodi went over to help, steering her aunty towards the door. ‘I’ll deal with this. Pour yourself a glass of wine, have a warm bath and then go to bed. In the morning, I’ll sort out the accounts.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to do that.’
Jodi looked at her. ‘Actually, I do. In fact, I don’t know why I haven’t offered before. What’s the point of studying for a business degree, if you don’t use it to help your family? You’ve helped me enough over the years; it’s time I repaid the favour.’
Jodi might be struggling to persuade an employer she was trustworthy and loyal, or convince a guy she wasn’t trouble waiting to happen, but she could prove to her family that their belief in her was justified. Because without them, she’d be lying in a gutter under a blanket somewhere…like that homeless guy, wondering what the hell had gone wrong with her life.
Saturday 9th September
Becca was suffering with her second hangover in the space of forty-eight hours. She’d met up with a couple of old school friends last night and had ended up at Patterns. Why had she drunk so much? Her head hurt, her eyes hurt, even her hair hurt. But most of all her knee hurt. Too many gin cocktails coupled with dancing in high heels until the early hours had aggravated her injury…again. If she carried on like this she might never make a full recovery. But it was hard to remain focused on her rehabilitation when she knew her dancing career was over.
Still, she didn’t want to walk with a permanent limp, so she needed to dial down the abuse and let her knee heal, which was why she was sitting in the kitchen with an ice pack balancing on her knee. Two paracetamols and two ibuprofens had dulled the pounding in her head, but she still felt battered.
It wasn’t the best preparation for an interview. But then, she wasn’t