Page 8 of A Clean Sweep
‘It’s really no problem. I’d like to do it. I’m not too bad at things like that. Small repairs around the house. Got any shelves you need putting up? Or tiles that need laying?’ Joe got to his feet and stretched, muscles clearly defined in areas Emily tried very hard not to focus on. She wished he hadn’t used the word ‘laying’. Too many ulterior interpretations. Or was that just her filthy mind twisting and distorting the most innocent of remarks?
‘That’s so kind of you. If it’s not too much trouble. And I’d pay you, of course!’ Emily walked with him to the front door. She wished she could slow down time, rewind a little, not come across as a desperate housewife who needed a crumb of interest thrown her way.
‘I’ll ring you tomorrow. I can probably swing by mid-morning, if that works for you. It’d be nice to see you, Emily.’ He raised his hand in a goodbye gesture and closed the door behind him. Emily leant against it, his parting words rendered her both speechless and convinced she’d fallen asleep and was in the midst of an amazing but improbable dream. Involving both Joe and maybe a few sheep or cows too. Hell, if she was going down, she might as well go out in a blaze of glory. Or a fantasy of epic farmyard proportions.
Chapter 6
Along, hot bath. That was what Tabitha craved right now. With a liberal slosh of scented oil drizzled under the running tap. She'd been on her feet all day, dealing with customers in the shop. Most charming and happy to spend several quid on quirky greetings cards or little trinkets for beloved nieces/nephews/grandchildren. And a few not so charming. One old crone – who really should only have been let out at Halloween – had spent almost half an hour slathering the 'try me' samples of organically produced hand creams on her wizened claws. Then complained that the smells were 'quite obnoxious'. As she scuttled off back to her broomstick Tabitha resisted shouting after her that six different fragrances mixed together didn't necessarily make for olfactory heaven. Maybe eye of newt and tongue of bat would have been more up her street. Up yours, Endora.
As she waited for the bath to fill, Tabitha perched on the edge to peel off her undies and – ouch! Something sharp pierced her upper thigh and she leapt up and whirled around to identify the culprit. Oh joy. Tom had obviously beentending to his tootsies again. A neatly arranged montage of toenail clippings lined virtually the full length of the tub. Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, an exasperated Tabitha scooped them up and tossed them in the bin. Tom, not known for being particularly artistic, could rival Tracey Emin when it came to displaying the most unsavoury objects. Even his beard trimmings seemed to form impressionistic patterns in the wash hand basin. Clearly incapable of rinsing them away, he would look at her with wounded innocence when she railed against his revolting habits.
'Lighten up, Tabitha. It's only a bit of chin fluff. At least I put the toilet seat down – well, most of the time.' This was true, but today was miraculous insofar as there was actually a roll of toilet paper to hand. Correctly positioned on the holder. Usually it was lying dejectedly on the floor or conspicuous by its total absence. It reminded Tabitha of the old joke, 'How many men does it take to change a loo roll? No one knows, it's never been done.'
Ah, bliss. Total peace and tranquility. Not much couldn't be put to rights by a proper soak. Showers were all well and good when you were time pressed but you couldn't beat a bath. Just a drop more from the hot tap. Perfect. As she lay back, hair slathered in a deep-moisturising treatment covered with a plastic shower cap pinched from a hotel, she sighed. Her life was good, but was it good enough? Career going according to plan? Not really. Love life on track to happy ever afters? Jury definitely out on that one. And she worried about her mum. Only in her early fifties and already resigned to being alone with nothing but her Kindle and rewriting trashy 'true life' tat for bored housewives to keep her afloat.
Tabitha determinedly fired off her CV on a weekly basis to various companies in the hope of securing somethingmore in keeping with her youthful aspirations. The outright rejections were hard to take, the 'no replies' even more soul-destroying. For now, she'd keep on beaming broadly at Meryl's motley clientele and pray that Endora wasn't part of a larger coven.
She'd been with Tom for almost eighteen months now. Had actually met him in the shop. He'd dropped in to buy something for his sister's birthday.
'What do you buy the girl who has everything? Nothing!' he'd chortled, his hazel eyes twinkling across the counter. Tabitha had taken in his broad shoulders, nicely fitted jeans that emphasised a bottom worthy of serious ogling and been fairly smitten on the spot. She'd sent him off with a beautifully gift-wrapped silk scarf in shades of turquoise and lilac, her phone number attached on a yellow Post-It note. He'd rang that evening.
They'd dated, she laughing uproariously at his filthy jokes, he bolstering her fragile ego and assuring her that one day soon she'd be the darling of events featured in gossip columns. In the bedroom, he was both boisterous and tender, trailing butterfly kisses the length of her body, then wrapping her in his solid arms until she drifted off. He'd moved in with her after six months, his landlord having announced he was putting the flat up for sale. Tom didn't earn a fortune but he contributed to the rent and even did the odd repair job. OK, changing a lightbulb or replacing a washer wasn'tquitein the Grand Designs league but his heart was in the right place. As were his other essential organs.
So, what was missing? What did Tabitha want out of a relationship? It wasn't his unhygienic habits that were a deal breaker. Since her recent health kick, featuring a hearty intake of beans and pulses, she'd developed her own distinctly unattractive side. A propensity to wind measuring high on the Beaufort Scale.
'Duvet hovering again?' quipped Tom the other night after a high-octane meal of Puy lentils and chickpeas in a spicy sauce. He'd sauntered off into the bathroom, singing loudly about magic carpet rides.
What she absolutelydidn'twant was to end up like her parents. She missed her dad but knew her mum didn't. Well, shedid, but more in a practical way. Not in aheartbroken, my life has ended, there'll never be anyone elseway. Since she was old enough to notice, Tabitha had observed how they'd exchanged polite conversation, with very little physical contact. Hugs galore for her from them both. Hugs between them reserved for special occasions, even then minimum body contact. Separate bedrooms. Separate interests. Separate lives. Jim never happier than when signing for a case of carefully selected wines from his vintner club or clearing up leaves in the driveway, blower strapped to his back like a horticultural version of Bill Murray inGhostbusters. But not as witty.
Feeling less relaxed than she’d hoped, Tabitha eased herself out of the bath. Grabbing a towel from the rail and a smaller one to wrap round her head she wandered into the bedroom. A quick, upside down blast of her hair, a liberal coating of body lotion and she was almost ready. Trackie bottoms and a baggy T-shirt would suffice as she wasn’t venturing further than the kitchen or living room this evening. And Tom never complained if she looked less than immaculately groomed. There, a big plus point in his favour. She had a couple of girlfriends with partners who visibly recoiled in horror if they emerged with less than a full face of make-up and salon-perfect locks. As neither were contenders for Adonis of the Year themselves, she reckoned they should have been kicked into touch a long time ago.
Tom was due home in less than an hour, and Tabitha had a treat in store. Well, shehopedit would be a treat. A self-confessed gadget junkie, she had accumulated all manner of gizmos both for self-titivation and culinary improvement. Appliances to rip the hair out of your legs, buff your face like a miniature sand blaster, wobble your midriff into a semblance of a six-pack. While eating pizza and doing the ironing. Her latest purchase was an addition to the kitchen collection. A spiraliser. She'd first read about it on the website ScrumptiouslySophia which featured an unfeasibly gorgeous young woman doing amazing spirally things with all manner of vegetables. Which replaced your need for horribly fat-producing pasta. Her recipes featured such ingredients as chia seeds, organic coconut oil and nutritional yeast. How that differed from ordinary yeast Tabitha didn’t have the foggiest, but courgetti sounded good. Just like pasta but without all those evil carbohydrates. You just shoved the courgettes in the machine, twirled the handle a few times and – voila! Twisty, spirally bits of green vegetable. After sautéing them for a few minutes, she would mix them with a sauce packed with mushrooms, various seeds and lots of spinach. Yum.
Sitting at the table, Tom stirred his courgetti around. Then stirred it around again. He scooped up a little on his fork then put it back down again. 'Tabitha, what on earth is this?' His face bore the pained expression of a man expecting a T-bone steak and being served earthworms coated in dung instead. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t too far off the appearance of tonight’s dinner. Tabitha glowered at him, hoping he hadn’t quite noticed her own lack of enthusiasm at the plateful before her.
'It’s healthy!' she retorted.
'It tastes like crap', replied Buckinghamshire’s answer to A A Gill.
'Fine, don’t eat it then.' She snatched away his plate and scraped its contents into the bin with savage ferocity.
'I’m starving. Didn’t have time to stop for lunch today. Think I’ll head out to The Right Plaice, get a nice cod and chips to take away. Want one?' Picking up his keys he headed for the front door. 'No, thank you, I’m trying to eat more healthily, in case you hadn’t noticed,' sniffed Tabitha. She waited until she’d heard his car drive off before dumping her own plateful. And reaching into the biscuit barrel for a fistful of chocolate digestives.
'So isit me or is he just an ungrateful git?' Tabitha had devoured all the biscuits and rung her friend Fiona. They hadn't seen each other for a little while but – as good friends always do – they picked up the pieces and offered advice when asked for. Sometimes when not asked for. Which was definitely the sign of a solid friendship. Unsolicited counselling could be the undoing of a seemingly strong bond.
'Calm down, girlfriend. He hated your spirally shit. Which, incidentally,soundslike shit. Hardly grounds for changing the locks, is it? Just feed him carb-loaded crap washed down with beer and he'll worship you forever. Simples!'
Tabitha thought the world of Fiona but felt indescribably depressed at the scenario she'd presented. How to keep your man. Fill him with pasta/pizza and gallons of ale and all would be hunky dory? The way to a man's heart was apparently through his stomach but she was aiming a little higher. If she connected with someone on a moreintellectuallevel then they could compromise on the food front. On many fronts. Not that she claimed to be an intellectual herself – flashback to the toilet episode – she just wondered if the spark of attraction that had brought her and Tom together was slowly being doused by the mundanities of life. She wasalmost thirty and visions of the two of them settling down and starting a family seemed increasingly as likely as her winning the National Lottery. Or even landing the job of her dreams.
'You still there, Tabitha?' She realised Fiona had been rabbiting away while her mind had wandered off to darker places. And there was still no sign of Tom and his cod and chips. No doubt he'd bumped into one of his mates and was probably chugging back a pint or two at the local pub. Damn, and she'd be hoping to sneak in a chip or two when he wasn't looking.
'Sorry, Fiona. What were you saying?'
Brought quickly up to speed on the latest goings on in Fiona's life – still totally loved up with her boyfriend, Pete, and in line for a promotion at work – Tabitha agreed a girls' night out was overdue.
'I can do Saturday but not Friday, I'm afraid. I've invited Meryl and her new man over for dinner, plus another couple. Hey, why don't you and Pete come too?' As Tabitha only had six dining chairs she had a momentary panic as to how she'd seat any more people. Luckily, Fiona said she already had plans for Friday but was free Saturday.
'I'll buzz Derwyn too, shall I?' she asked. 'It's been ages since the three of us went out together. It'll be great!'
