Page 29 of A Clean Sweep
'I'll try to do it this afternoon when Tabitha comes in to work, tomorrow at the latest. I just hope it's enough,' she said, kissing him goodbye at the door.
'It is more than I could have dreamed of, just as you are, my beautiful Meryl,' he replied huskily.
If she'd been exaggeratingher headache earlier, Tabitha could feel the beginnings of a full-blown one now as she entered the shop. Meryl was tending to a customer and radiating joie de vivre in that way only a woman in love can. Damn, bugger and blast. She was totally dreading this. It would be like slamming the cage door on an abandoned puppy who'd been convinced adoption was on the cards. Right now, she could cheerfully throttle Miroslaw/Martin and take the murder charge on the chin.
'Hi Tabbie! Are you feeling better? You still look a bit pale, are yousureyou should be here?' Meryl eyed her with sympathy, Tabitha deliberately looking down in case she blurted out her bad tidings on the spot. She needed to psyche herself up, choose a moment. Not that there would ever be agoodmoment to say what she had to say.
'I'm fine, honestly. Had another snooze and popped somepills, so fit and ready for action. What would you like me to do first?'
As Tabitha got stuck into more box unpacking and shelf rearranging, she decided that her news about Tom could wait. Her misery at discovering Meryl's newfound love was a treacherous cad – she loved that old-fashioned word, but hated that she had to use it – far outweighed her feelings about her ex-boyfriend. Besides, who knew what his game was? She'd read plenty of stories about women being physically assaulted or fleeced by men they'd believed were the loves of their lives.
'Sweetie, can you hold the fort for a little while? I just need to pop upstairs and deal with something on the computer. Won't be long.'
Tabitha nodded as Meryl bounded up the stairs to her flat. The spring in her step reminded Tabitha of a graceful gazelle in a David Attenborough documentary. Completely unaware that a salivating lion was about to tear her world apart.
There were no customers. Tabitha shifted some old stock to the side and began placing tree-shaped ring holders into an empty glass cabinet. A cold trickle of unease ran down her spine. She didn't know why, but she sensed something was terribly wrong. Swiftly turning the shop sign to "closed", she belted up the stairs, taking them two by two. Reaching the flat she burst in, a surprised Meryl looking up from her desktop.
'What's up, Tabbie? Are you feeling poorly again? I'll be there in a minute, I just have to …’ Meryl hesitated, fingers poised over the keyboard. She took a deep breath, then gestured for Tabitha to take a seat.
'The thing is – oh, I was going to tell you all this later – last nightwaslovely but I discovered something.'
Tabitha held her own breath. Perhaps she alreadyknewand was contacting the police or something? Although being a cheating, lying scumbag wasn't yet a criminal offence, sadly.
Meryl continued, 'Poor, poor Miroslaw has been having financial problems. He was inbitslast night when he told me. He could lose his business and everything! Anyway, I decided I was going to loan him some money, just to tide him over. I'm just transferring it right now and—’
'Stop right there!' shrieked Tabitha in true banshee fashion. A startled Meryl slid backwards in her wheeled chair, eyes agog like a petrified possum. 'Donottouch the computer! Step away from the keyboard,now!'
Chapter 19
The letter, when it dropped on the doormat, felt like an incendiary device. Celeste picked it up gingerly, as if afraid it might combust before she had the chance to read it. She’d seen theTea Breaklogo on the envelope, felt her heart start to gallop as she realised the day of reckoning had arrived. Much sooner than expected – it had only been a little over two weeks since she sent off her story. Which might well mean it was a kindly worded rejection. Although she wasn’t sure they would write toeveryonewho’d taken part in the competition.
Taking a deep inward breath, she ripped it open and removed the contents. Slipping her reading glasses into place she scanned the words.
‘Dear Celeste. We are delighted to inform you that you are the runner-up in our romantic fiction competition. We received hundreds of submissions and were very impressed with your work. So much so, we intend to publish your story in instalments later this year as we are sure it will delight our readership. A cheque for £3,000 will be with you shortly and we will be in touch to arrange a short interviewand photo session, as per the competition guidelines. Congratulations!’
Second place. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. Disappointed to have been pipped at the post. Curious as to whose story had impressed the judging panel more, and why. Then she chided herself for being negative. She should beproud. If it were the Olympics she’d be destined for a silver medal, standing tearfully on the podium as they played the National Anthem. No, she had done remarkably well andachievedsomething in a life that had been comfortable but lacking in the personal achievement stakes. Wait until she told Michael! She could imagine his face now, stunned but delighted for her. Her well-kept secret could be brought out into the open … Celeste clamped her hand over her mouth, a wave of nausea sweeping over her. Revealingherlittle secret was one thing, but uncovering Michael’s was something else entirely. And tomorrow could well be the day she found out the truth about his mysterious walks that involved very littleactualwalking.
In the past couple of weeks, she’d donned her new fitness gear and headed out with Michael on a few occasions. If he wasn’t happy about it, he’d disguised it well.
‘Absolutely, darling! Fabulous weather for it. Shall we head for the park or would you prefer something more challenging?’
As Celeste still regarded exercise with trepidation and loathed having to wear trainers –sounattractive – she always opted for the park. At least it was flat there and she didn’t have to contend with disgustingly healthy individuals bounding past her while she wheezed red-faced up a slight incline. She’d also walked a couple of times with Emily and Susan. Luckily, they were more into a relaxed pace with the promise of a coffee and a natter at the end.
She should have been ready for it – seen it coming – butwhen Michael announced this morning he was going walking by himself the next day, Celeste had been taken aback. She’d tried to convince herself that her fears were irrational, that she’d got things all wrong, but all her paranoia and doubts had come flooding back.
‘Butwhycan’t I come with you?’ she’d wheedled, tightening her bathrobe around her as Michael flicked through the rest of the post. She’d grabbed it when he was in the shower and hidden herTea Breakletter.
‘Sweetheart, there are times I just need to be alone.’ Greta bloody Garbo, seethed Celeste inwardly. ‘I love walking with you, truly I do, but you know I walk faster than you. And further than you.’ He’d looked sheepish at his remarks which were valid but did nothing to quell her inner unease.
She’d wanted,sowanted to share her success but felt the words snag in her throat every time they made a bid for freedom. Dinner had been subdued, Michael full of forced bonhomie, Celeste incapable of joining in. All she could think of was the task ahead. Following the man she loved to find out if he was stepping out with someone else.
The next morninghe’d gone, small backpack stocked with water and sustaining stacks. Celeste had waved goodbye, heart heavy as a stone. Within minutes she’d laced up her trainers, pulled on her lightweight jacket and headed out in pursuit.
He’d taken his car, claiming that the start point of his walk was too far to cover on foot. Celeste climbed into her TT, revved the engine and took a left, confident she would have him in her sights soon. She was right, his distinctive Audi A4 was a short distance ahead, stopped at traffic lights. There were a couple of cars between them. Hopefullyenough to conceal her bright red vehicle which didn’t exactly lend itself to undercover missions. Before long they were heading out of town, Michael keeping well within the speed limits as was his nature. At a crossroads junction he went straight ahead, finding a gap in the traffic. Celeste wasn’t so lucky and had to wait an excruciating minute or so before she could safely follow. Fingernails tapping frantically on the wheel, she prayed she hadn’t lost him already. No, he was still within her sights – just – as he rounded a bend. Where was he heading? They were now leaving the outskirts of town and heading into the countryside, the streets becoming sparser as rows of houses gave way to leafy lanes. As the buildings dwindled Celeste felt a wave of panic descend on her. She was now only a few cars behind and the one directly in front of her was signalling to turn right. She was quite sure she would be easily spotted then the game would be up. And no doubt Michael would have a perfectly plausible explanation – a new route he’d discovered – whereas she would have to explain why she was tailing him like an undercover cop.
Keeping her head down low – as ifthatmade a difference – Celeste gripped the wheel even tighter and prayed that Michael was so focused on what lay ahead that he wouldn’t notice her. Or just assume it was another red TT. They weren’tthatuncommon, after all. Emily had laughingly told her several months ago how she’d waved manically at one, only to realise belatedly that it wasn’t Celeste and some other woman who’d stared at her as if she were a lunatic. Who was the madwoman now, she thought to herself? This had to rate as one of her dumbest ideas ever, and she’d had quite a few over the years. She should have looked Michael in the eye and demanded an explanation, although that would have meant confessing to snooping on his phone. How had she gone from being a contented – smug, even – wife to ademented stalker? Was this retribution for all the times she’d gleefully told Emily of yet another marital breakdown, a husband who’d strayed or a wife who’d run off with her fitness instructor? That wouldneverhappen to her and Michael. They were a team, forging their way through life side by side. She thought they were the epitome of coupledom but perhaps one team member was playing away from home. A sob caught in her throat, tears blurring her vision. She blinked them away. Now wasnotthe time to plough into a hedge and have to be pulled out by a friendly farmer and his tractor, Michael looking on in bewilderment.
Lost in dark thoughts, Celeste barely registered that Michael’s car had disappeared from view. Bugger! She slowed right down, prompting the one car behind her to toot its horn impatiently. Giving them a one-fingered salute – not something she’d normally do but today it feltgood– she scanned left and right and spotted a sign that said Barnswick Green Garden Centre. Unsure if that was where he’d turned off, she indicated and followed the gravelled driveway at a snail’s pace. It continued some distance, twisting and turning until a large barn came into view. Decorated with colourful hanging baskets and overflowing urns surrounding its perimeter, it looked like nirvana for the green-fingered. Except neither she nor Michael were remotely green-fingered. They had a gardener who came on a regular basis to mow the lawn, plant things and generally make their outdoor space look appealing. Well-meaning friends had given them cuttings and potted specimens as gifts in the past, all of which had shrivelled up and died almost immediately. Celeste just had tolookat a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and they committed suicide, even when she remembered to add the little sachet of stuff that was meant to prolong their freshness. Surely Michael hadn’t suddenly discovered a passion for forticulture? Was that the right word? Celestecouldn’t give a damn. His car was parked just ahead, only a few vacant spaces around it. She pulled in, shaking with nerves, as far from him as possible. As she climbed out, she noticed a blackboard announcing today’s specials.Pumpkin soup. Home-made scones with Cornish clotted cream & jam. Goats’ cheese salad & frittata with feta and olives.Not just a garden centre then, but an oasis of delicious food too. Celeste felt her tummy rumble. Not a good time to be salivating over a menu when she might be about to have her heart ripped out and trampled to pieces.
