Lessons in Love

‘Most certainly it did. I built up the sandwich business, franchised it, sold that on. Met Ray—bought more houses. For the first few years it felt like Monopoly for real. I still get a buzz out of watching when it goes right.’

‘And Andy?’

Jayne sighed. ‘You know, I don’t know. I suppose without meaning to, he got lost in the rush. At first we spoke a few times on the phone. He’s still in Manchester somewhere, an accountant. Happily married, probably, two point four children. God, he might even be a granddad by now. Lots of times I’ve thought about looking him up, contacting him. I mean, how hard would it be? And yet I can’t quite bring myself to do it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ve moved on, years have gone by. In my head he is still tall, blond, tanned and gorgeous. What if he’s bald now—or fat? What if I made a terrible mistake back then? What if he never got over me? Worse still, what if he did?’

Chapter Four (#ufe6c8ad8-940d-5bc4-bcc6-aea37d250520)

Later that evening, 15 days, 4 hours and who gave a stuff exactly how many minutes it was since Lucy had detonated the bombshell under her life, Jane was back at home, sitting at her computer in Creswell Road, flicking through the list of eligible men on Jayne’s personals site with Lizzie from the library for company. It was called Natural-Born_Romantics and Jayne was right, it was just like being let loose in a chocolate factory. It was just such a terrible shame that there were so many misshapes.

‘So, you’re going to be in charge of all this?’ asked Lizzie in amazement, looking at the screen over Jane’s shoulder while helping herself to one of the all-butter biscuits Jane kept on standby for emotional emergencies. ‘Isn’t it a bit like letting the lunatics run the asylum?’

‘Always seemed to work OK in the library,’ Jane said, clicking onto another web page.’ Actually, I think I’m more of a figurehead—being groomed for greatness.’

‘Right…But is it kosher? I’m mean, you will be paid and things?’

‘Oh, yes, it is most definitely a real job with real money, and I really start on Monday morning. Oh my God, will you just look at the state of him?’

‘And you can get on to all the sites?’

‘I’ve got one password that just lets me browse and then I’ve got two others that let me tinker.’

‘I’m impressed. Tinkering is good.’

‘Tinker and order.’

Lizzie grinned. ‘Can we order a selection?’

Lizzie had dropped in on her way home from work, the plan being to commiserate with Jane and get her up to speed on all the latest intrigue at the library. Apparently Jane’s folder-and-fish-tank trick had impressed everyone in Janitorial Services, which meant—even in her absence—she was likely to come top in the employee-of-the-month poll. Lucy Stroud was a paranoid power-crazed two-faced cow who liked to keep a posse of novelty bears on her desk, and thought most of the community weren’t worth outreaching to, her preferred solution being culling, and she’d made Lizzie go out and buy the lunchtime sandwiches two days running. Janitorial Services already had a lavatory seat laurel wreath hanging up in their tea room with Lucy’s name painted on it. On a less personal front, all the staff were terrified that they were going to lose their jobs, despite a meeting meant to allay fears, which had actually made everyone more paranoid. And there were so many rumours going around about who would be next in the firing line that normal work—other than stamping dates in the in-and-out sections downstairs—had all but ceased. There were so many people watching their backs it was a miracle people weren’t falling downstairs, and nobody was taking decisions at all about anything, just in case. So, no change there really.

‘So, from where I’m standing it looks like you’ve actually fallen on your feet,’ said Lizzie, picking a troublesome crumb out of her cleavage.

‘Got to be better than falling on him,’ said Jane, staring at the screen. ‘Golly, it says here that he’s only thirty-five.’

Lizzie peered at the image and winced. ‘Maybe that’s in dog years or maybe in a universe far, far away. You’d think he’d get something done about his teeth.’

‘Possibly get some? Whichever way you look at it, gummy is not a hot look, is it?’

‘How long are you going to spend checking the stock?’ asked Lizzie.

‘Long as it takes. It’s dirty work but someone’s got to do it. Why? Oh, look, he’s not bad.’

‘I’m hungry. I was going to suggest we rang for a takeaway.’ Lizzie picked up a menu from the desk. ‘Oh, have you had a chance to look through the email that Lucy was so worried about?’

Jane nodded. ‘I’ve had a quick flick through the file before you got here, but I can’t see anything she would want, or worry about. Although there were several veiled threats regarding the amount of coloured copier paper we were using.’

Lizzie shrugged. ‘Don’t worry, she is weird. Oh, he’s nice—there, the one in the middle without a squint.’

‘I’m supposed to be going through all this lot so I’m up to speed on the kind of things Jayne is involved in.’ Jane nodded towards a pile of box files and two ring binders on the sofa. ‘I’ve got those to plough through and then the websites. I’m just hoping that there isn’t going to be a test at the end.’

‘So what else have you looked at so far?’

Jane grinned. ‘Younger men, older men. I haven’t got as far as the rugs and curtains, and dinners delivered in dry ice yet.’

‘And are you really going to move into her house then?’

‘Jayne’s? I’m not sure. It makes sense. All the business stuff is over there in her office, but it feels odd moving into a house full of someone else’s things. Like camping out. Mind you, you should see it—it’s like something off Grand Designs-low lighting, good furniture, acres of bare boards and wonderful rugs—the odd sculpture here, original painting there—lots of natural fibres. I don’t think I’d be able to relax in case I spilled something. Or one of the cats threw up on the Berber kelims. Although I have to say cruising around in a soft-top Mercedes has a certain appeal.’

Lizzie considered the idea for a few minutes. ‘You get someone to clean, cook and all that stuff too?’

Jane nodded. ‘Uh-huh. He’s small, oriental, sort of dangerous-looking in an underplayed kung fu way, and called Gary. Did you ever see that film with Peter Sellers—Inspector Clouseau?’

‘I think you should give it a try. I’m sharing a house at the moment and it’s driving me mad. The idea of someone else clearing up behind me and the animals I live with sounds like heaven. And I could always come and live here while you’re away if you wanted. Mind the fort for you.’

Jane looked at her. ‘Really?’

‘Why not? Why risk Boris or Milo hocking up a fur ball on a priceless rug? It would be brilliant. I could feed the cats, water the plants. And I’d pay you rent.’ Lizzie was warming to the idea.

‘And you could always do a little window-shopping on Natural-Born_Romantics if you got bored.’

‘Really?’

‘I don’t see why not. Feel free to take the tour—oh, and you could feed Gladstone.’

Lizzie sniffed. ‘Oh God, do I have to? He was fishing something out of the skip when I got here.’

‘I know—such activities are part of his natural charm. Besides, if you don’t he just grazes through the leftovers in your dustbin, which is far worse, trust me.’

Lizzie pulled a face. ‘That is just so gross. Which reminds me, did I mention Mrs Findlay is planning to get in touch? She said she was hoping that you’d still be coming back and letting Lucy shadow you for a few weeks.’

‘Don’t you mean stalk?’ said Jane, helping herself to a biscuit.

Meanwhile, in her flat in Buckbourne Lucy Stroud was in the bath, in a face pack, shaving her legs, waiting for Steve Burney to pop by for his regular Wednesday evening visit. She’d got a big pot of Greek yoghurt, a punnet of raspberries and a pair of handcuffs on standby. She would have liked to talk to him about Jane Mills but decided she might wait until after the main event.

In Creswell Close Jayne Mills, accompanied by Augustus, had been up in the loft looking for her old rucksack. She knew that she’d seen it somewhere; whenever she moved house it came with her like a touchstone. The night was as black as ink through the dormer windows, the stars like fishscales in a dark ocean. Jayne opened the floor-to-ceiling cupboards, eyes wandering along the rails of clothes, across the shelves, past winter coats, boxes of books, her record collection, lampshades and things stored and saved just in case. In one cupboard was a pile of cartons stuck down with brown tape and carefully labelled ‘Store/Sentimental’. Each label was topped with a big red stick-on heart.

Jayne smiled and lifted the top one down. Inside the box was a photo album covered in battered fawn leatherette, labelled ‘1980-83’. Tucked inside the cover were all sorts of letters and cards and tickets and things she had completely forgotten about. Very carefully Jayne carried everything downstairs to the sitting room, poured herself a large gin and tonic, and settled down on the sofa. Augustus took his cue, curled up in the box lid, and went to sleep, purring softly.

On the first page, sitting on a rucksack almost as big as she was, was a younger, leaner, far skinnier Jayne Mills wearing cut-off jeans, hiking boots, a long-sleeved paisley T-shirt and a toothy grin that stretched from one ear to the other. The caption, written in big bold rounded handwriting, read, ‘Finally—we’re off!!’

Jayne felt a lump in her throat and turned the page. It was going to be a long night.

Bright and early the following Monday morning Jane Mills pressed the call button on the security panel below an elegant brass plaque that read, ‘Waterside House. J. Mills Enterprises’.

‘Hi, it’s Jane Mills here,’ she said into the speaker. Looking up into the single unblinking eye of the CCTV camera Jane smiled brightly to hide a flicker of nerves. She had spent Wednesday, Thursday and Friday reading and taking notes from the websites and box files and Googling up on Jayne Mills’ business style and practice. Intuitive, perceptive, hands-on, and robust with a good management philosophy seemed to be the general consensus. Saturday and Sunday she had pined for Steve Burney, his cooking, his company and his bloody Labrador.