Page 29 of Six Steps to Happiness
“I can’t believe she actually suits it. Or how much she looks like me.”
“Oh, that’s nothing to do with the bald head. You two have always been the image of each other.”
Ronnie rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re both talking about me as if I’m not sitting here.” Still, at least their words told her they liked it, even if their expressions weren’t so sure.
“Oh, you’re here all right,” Bea said.
“Yep. There’s no denying that,” Willow added. “To think, I have a mother with a buzzcut.”
“Not quite. I wet shaved.”
“What made you do it?” Bea asked.
Ronnie didn’t one hundred per cent know; it wasn’t as if she’d planned on getting rid of her hair. If anything, thanks to Pete and his blooming hair salon, she’d accepted the fact that she’d be living like a hermit for the foreseeable future. Then Nick turned up, shouting the odds and mocking her, not that Ronnie could tell Willow and Bea he’d been round, because if she did, she’d have to explain why. She must have snapped and ended up on automatic pilot. At the time, it simply felt like the right thing to do. “You called me Rod Stewart,” Ronnie replied. “After a compliment like that, I didn’t have much choice.”
“Don’t remind me,” Bea said, her face breaking into a smile. “I haven’t stopped giggling since.”
Willow chuckled too. “Sorry, Mum. But you did give us a good laugh.”
“Glad to be of service,” Ronnie replied. She got up from her seat, just pleased they hadn’t accused her of losing the plot. “Anyway, enough about my hair.”
“What hair?” Willow said.
Ronnie raised an eyebrow. “Fancy a cuppa?”
“I don’t know about anyone else,” Bea said, “but I think I need something stronger.”
“Me too,” Willow said. “For the shock.”
Ronnie checked her watch; it was still early afternoon. “I suppose it’s five o’clock somewhere.” She headed for the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine, before grabbing three glasses from the cupboard. She began to pour.
“Cheers!” Bea said, raising her glass.
Ronnie and Willow followed suit. “Cheers!”
“Now we’ve gotten that excitement out of the way,” Bea said. “Maybe you’d like to tell us what that police officer was doing here.”
20
Ronnie glanced around her spotless kitchen. She’d scrubbed it to within an inch of its life. In fact, the whole of number six had had a good going over; the smell of bleach, polish and floor cleaner creating a heady mix that permeated the air. It flowed from room to room in an invisible chemical cloud, pervading Ronnie’s nostrils and sticking to the back of her throat. She looked down at her dry tingling fingers, hoping the house appreciated her efforts. Even if her hands didn’t.
As a rule, baking was Ronnie’s go-to activity when she felt frustrated. On that occasion though, arming herself with a wooden spoon and electric whisk held little appeal. It was as if something inside of her had shifted. She didn’t want the disarray of her cake making activities, she wanted order;tidy house, tidy mindseemingly her new mantra. Telling herself that one out of two wasn’t bad, she looked down the hall to the front door, something she’d found herself doing often of late.
Picturing Jack, Ronnie wondered if she’d imagined the whole attraction thing. As a woman who’d been royally dumped by her husband, who was to say she wasn’t desperate for some male attention and had read more into the situation than was there? It would’ve been easy to confuseyou look incredibleas in ‘gorgeous’, withyou lookincredibleas in ‘Oh my word, what have you done to yourself’. Especially when, as a police officer, Jack was no doubt trained in the art of communication.
Ronnie sighed. As for thinking the man was about to ask her out… Looking back, he could have been about to suggest anything. If she’d considered going to see a psychiatrist, for example, on account of having shaved her head. Recalling their time at the gym, it wouldn’t be the first time that she’d gotten her signals mixed up. All of which would certainly explain why she hadn’t heard from him since.
With no choice but to continue working through her uncertainty, Ronnie wondered what other jobs she could conjure up. Turning her attention to the window and the bottom of the garden beyond, she supposed she could always reorganise her studio, a task that would keep her busy for a couple of days. “Or you could simply go down there and get on with work,” she told herself, neither option sparking joy.
Ronnie picked up the pink sketchpad she’d set to one side, ready to take to her workspace. She smiled as she recalled Jack’s comment about her designs being good, and flicking through its pages, she wondered what it was about them that he liked? With a bit more consideration, maybe they could be reworked?
Butterflies fluttered in her tummy as, unable to help herself, she again dared to think he might like her. She pictured Jack’s soft expression, heard the unsure manner with which he spoke. Both not only endearing, but in stark contrast to the man’s stature and uniform which exuded authority.Kind, yet manly.Ronnie liked that. She let out a wistful sigh as the wordswhat ifran through her mind once more.
Ronnie couldn’t deny the fact that she fancied him, although if he had gotten to the point of suggesting a date, she knew she’d have had to decline. Thanks toOperation Poltergeist, she was an active criminal and she could imagine the stick he’d get back at the station if word ever got out. Comments about his girlfriend also being the enemy would be abound… Ronnie froze. “Oh, no.” Horrified by her use of the wordgirlfriend, she frowned as she glanced around her spotless gleaming kitchen. “You’re turning into Gaye!” Ronnie shuddered at the prospect and, dismissing the idea, returned her thoughts to the delectable Jack.
A vehicle door slamming hard shut sounded from the street and Ronnie stopped, her heart skipping in anticipation of it being a police vehicle. She felt like a giddy teenager as she left the room and headed into the lounge to investigate. Having spent the days since his visit telling herself that he’d be back one minute, only to dismiss the idea in the next, she crossed her fingers in the hope that, finally, the former would be proven right. Positioning herself in the bay window, however, instead of a police car, Ronnie took in an Interfloravan. She scowled. Obviously another grand gesture from Nick to Gaye.
She watched the driver make her way to the vehicle’s rear, before pulling out the most colourful bouquet of flowers Ronnie had ever seen. Ronnie felt a stab of jealousy. In the whole time she’d been married to Nick, she only ever got crappy garage sprays and even then only on her birthday. “Creep!”
