Page 104 of Loving Netta Wilde

He opened the door again and took out a box of chocolate éclairs. Without a word, he rammed first one, then two in his mouth. The others were staring at him, but it was too late tostop. The anger inside him was a burning fire and the only way to put it out was by dousing it with a ton of cream-filled choux pastries. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t enjoying it. It was his small act of defiance. Like Ursula scuffing up her husband’s prized car. He picked out another one and was about to stick it in his already full mouth when he saw Geraldine on her way to him. He shoved it in quick before she confiscated it.

Geraldine took the box from him and slowly removed an éclair. Then, she pushed the whole of it straight into her mouth. Her cheeks were like a hamster with its pouches full. She looked ridiculous, as ridiculous as he probably did. They both started to giggle. Bits of chocolate covered pastry and cream were all over the place, which made it even more disgustingly funny. Soon everyone was laughing their heads off with them. Someone even applauded. It might have been Frank.

‘How did that make you feel?’ Geraldine said when the last bits of éclair had left their mouths, one way or another.

He wiped himself down with kitchen towel. ‘Awful. I feel sick.’

‘Me too. Let’s have that tea.’

‘You have the tea, Geraldine. I’ve got some clearing out to do.’ Colin opened a cupboard and emptied it of anything that was health food related. ‘Lying, evil cow. I never want to see bulgur fucking wheat in this house again.’

He was three cupboards in when Neil joined him with some shopping bags he’d found. ‘Don’t throw them out. I’ll take them to the foodbank.’

Colin stopped sorting. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry. Selfish of me.’

Neil put his hand on Colin’s shoulder. ‘No it isn’t. Don’t worry about it.’ He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a big bag of yellow lentils, Arianne’s torture weapon of choice. ‘What about these?’

Coin shuddered. ‘Take them away. You would not believe how much yellow-lentil slop I’ve been forced to endure in the last year.’

They kept going until they’d been through every cupboard. Colin surveyed the array of food laid out on the worktops. He was convinced they’d been untouched since the day Arianne had locked him out. She must have cracked out the good stuff as soon as Netta drove him away. He found a roll of black bags under the sink and tore some off for Neil. ‘You may need more bags. And could you check the fridge? If there’s any tofu in there, take it. Liza, Merrie, come with me. We have wardrobes and drawers to empty. The rest of you, search the house for dreamcatchers, banal slogans and any other hippy shit that woman’s soiled my house with. And someone please take down those purple net curtains.’

59

FRANK’S SHIFTING PERSPECTIVE

Well that had been a day! Frank could not believe the madness of it. Operation Reclaim had taken a few unexpected turns but they’d secured the house. More importantly, crazy Arianne was out of harm’s way. And yes, Frank was aware that he wasn’t being very politically correct there, but the woman had been as crazed as a rabid dog. Frank had seen the whites of her eyes when she went for Netta. His response had been instinctive. He’d been aware that Doogie was also racing to save her, but Colin had beaten them to it. That was kind of appropriate really, and he didn’t care who got there first, as long as someone had.

Talking of crazed, Colin was doing a pretty good impression of a madman himself at the moment. The fella had been shaky as hell, even after the police had left, but something had changed in him when he opened up the fridge to get the milk. An odd kickstart to a frenzy but there you go. Sometimes the strangest things can tip a person over the edge. That business with the éclairs had to be one of the maddest things Frank had seen in a long time. Geraldine was great the way she handled it. It was ridiculous and incredibly moving. Frank thought he was going to cry. Instead, he’d applauded. It seemed the right thing to do.All the same, the image of Geraldine’s face bursting with cake and cream would stay with him for a long time. Without a doubt, she was the most amazing woman. As was her daughter who seemed to be taking her near-death experience in her stride. Not Frank though. The incident had shaken him to the core, and the prospect of losing Netta had shifted everything into perspective. He never wanted to have that feeling again.

Colin muttered something derogatory about purple curtains and pulled a laminated card from the wall as he marched out of the kitchen with Liza and Merrie following in his wake.

‘He’s lost it again, hasn’t he?’ said Doogie.

Geraldine picked up a black bag. ‘At least he’s not crying this time. Let’s indulge him. Arthur, love, will you check the garden? I can see at least two wind chimes out there. I suspect they might fall into the hippy shit category. Also, they can be very grating after a while.’

Netta took another bag. ‘I’ll do the lounge and get rid of the nets. Doogie, can you do the dining room? Frank, would you do the studio?’

Frank opened the door to Colin’s studio. He wasn’t expecting to find anything offensive in here but it was a good excuse to look into another artist’s workplace. He’d been in here once before in 2018, the year Netta became his neighbour. He’d come with her to meet an estate agent. She’d been threatening to sell the house if Colin didn’t buy her out. Colin had been a different man then. Nasty. Not dangerous like Arianne but unpleasant, nonetheless. Frank had come along as Netta’s wing man in case she needed back-up. She didn’t, of course. Netta Wilde didn’t need anyone really. But lucky for him and the others, she allowed them to swim in her slipstream. He still couldn’t believe he’d almost lost her.

A film of dust had settled on Colin’s paint and tools. It looked like no one had been in here for a while, possibly longer than the time Colin had been away. The beginnings of a painting sat on an easel. It was another of the street scenes that Colin did so well. Netta had admitted that they weren’t to her taste, but Frank could appreciate the work that went into them. Colin was a good artist. Not in Liza’s league, but then neither was he. Liza would be a great painter one day, he was certain of it.

He wandered over to a stack of finished paintings resting against a wall. More street scenes and a few portraits. All accomplished works. The stack to the side of it was covered with cloth. Frank lifted it and found a painting of Birmingham on a rainy night. He flicked idly through two more, then stopped, his mouth parting at the shock of this new painting, the portrait of a frail and broken old man. He recovered and moved on to the next one. The same man but younger. Next, another of him cowering in a corner. Then another, and another. Six self-portraits of Colin in various states of distress. They were Colin’s private thoughts and Frank knew he shouldn’t have looked at them. It had been wrong of him to carry on after he’d found the first one. He covered them back up and left them in their hiding place.

He took a wider look around the room and saw that even here in what was probably once Colin’s sanctuary, the offensive hippy shit was evident. There were several laminated cards dotted about. Just like the one Colin had torn down in the kitchen, they espoused the importance of this or that. It was quite bizarre. Like being caught up in one of those weird cults. He removed them all. One final sweep of the room yielded one tatty, cobwebby dreamcatcher in the window. They were supposed to protect you from evil, weren’t they? Frank tossed it into the black bag.

Netta had taken Merrie and Liza home. Arthur and Geraldine had left too. Liza would be back tomorrow but tonight, Frank and Doogie were staying with Colin. Frank had the feeling it would be some time before Colin would be truly independent again. Neil and Chris had stayed behind too. They didn’t live far away. Neil had cooked dinner using the food that Arianne and Byron had left behind. Now, they were sitting around in Colin’s not particularly comfortable living room, drinking beers.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot to give you your new keys.’ Chris threw them over to Colin.

Colin caught them and kissed them. ‘These mean so much to me. Thank you.’

‘That’s okay, bro. It really wasn’t hard.’

‘You said your dad’s a builder. Mine was too. Retired now,’ said Doogie. ‘He built houses from scratch. Small plots of two, three or six. He was a self-made man.’

‘He did well to come up the ranks like that. My dad’s always saying how hard it was in those days,’ said Chris. ‘Was he a bling man?’

Doogie laughed. ‘Fucking hell, yes. Rings and chains.’

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