Nothing but Trouble

Noble

Nothing but Trouble

Elise Noble

Published by Undercover Publishing Limited

Copyright © 2016 Elise Noble

v10

ISBN: 978-1-910954-19-5

This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

Edited by Amanda Ann Larson

Cover art by Elise Noble

www.undercover-publishing.com

www.elise-noble.com

For every girl who ever wanted to sit at home on the sofa.

CHAPTER 1

AS I SCURRIED back to my desk, my boss blocked the way, tapping his watch.

Seven minutes, Ellen. You’ve taken seven minutes. The rule for a bathroom break is five minutes. What have you got to say about that?

Six months, I’d worked there, and Barry still couldn’t get my name right.

I avoided his eyes, and focused instead on the glob of jam clinging to the second of his two chins, a remnant from his eleven o’clock donut. He ate one every morning with a cup of coffee, which was perhaps why he bore more than a passing resemblance to one of the doughy balls. Minus the sugar, of course. There was nothing sweet about Barry whatsoever.

I’m sorry, sir, I mumbled. It won’t happen again.

It had better not. With you swanning off tomorrow morning, we’re already going to be behind on our targets this week.

I seethed as I crossed the stained grey carpet to my seat. Swanning off? I was going to a funeral. It wasn’t as if I’d be enjoying myself.

I slumped into my chair and adjusted my headset, gulping back the tears that threatened to fall. Sue leaned over from the next desk and pressed a tissue into my hand.

Here you go, love. Keep your chin up.

I was trying, I really was, but when the closest person I’d had to family had just died, it wasn’t easy. Still, I didn’t have time to grieve, not when the switchboard was already flashing with another call for me.

Payright Insurance, how may I help you?

The voice on the other end launched into a monologue about how he’d driven out of his driveway on his way to work yesterday morning, straight into the path of an oncoming bus. As he was in a Peugeot 106, it didn’t take much imagination to work out who’d won that tussle.

So how long does it take to claim compensation? he asked.

Sir, I’m afraid if the accident’s your fault, you can’t claim compensation.

But it wasn’t my fault.

I thought you said the bus was on the main road? And you pulled out in front of it?

Yes, but it was five minutes early. His tone left me under no illusion who he believed was the stupid one in our conversation.

In the end, I just typed everything he said onto the form and sent it off to the claims department. He’d undoubtedly call back when they tossed the claim out, but at least I’d bought myself a couple of weeks.

The calls came endlessly, and by lunchtime, my throat burned and my voice kept cracking. I scooted off to the break room and unwrapped my sandwiches, grateful to have a few minutes away from Barry’s withering gaze.

Sue popped in a few minutes later and flumped down next to me.

Was it a full moon last night? she asked. It’s like the entire population of England decided to go out and drive into something.

Sure seems that way.

Profits’ll be down. Barry said if we had another bad month, we’d have to start bringing in our own tea bags.

Great, something else to look forward to.

On the table, my phone vibrated towards my cheese and pickle on wholemeal, and a kitten wearing a feather boa popped up on the screen. Jasveer was calling—my best friend and another of Barry’s reluctant army of call-centre minions. She’d had a family emergency today and begged for a few hours off, which had sent Barry stomping off along the warpath yet again. If there was a prize for the least understanding boss ever, he’d be the undisputed champion.

How’s Stevie? I asked.

Stevie was Jaz’s two-year-old. On the rare occasions I felt broody, thirty seconds in a room with Stevie was enough to send my uterus running for cover. His hobbies included eating the TV remote, feeding Lego to the cat, and attempting to paint his own version of the Mona Lisa on the living room wall. This morning, he’d got hold of a pair of Jaz’s earrings, and she’d had to take him to A&E to have a cubic zirconia removed from his ear canal.

He’ll live. I heard the unspoken unfortunately at the end of the sentence. The doctor gave him a sheet of stickers for being such a brave little soldier, and now they’re stuck to the headrest. Do you know what gets glue off leather?

It wasn’t a problem I’d ever had with my bicycle. Sorry, I’ve got no idea.

I can’t get hold of the childminder, and Amir’s working, so I’ve got to stay home. I hate to ask, but could you tell Barry? If I phone him, he’ll get in one of his moods, and I might be tempted to tell him what I really think of him.

If she ever did that, you’d have to bleep most of the words out. I’d heard her let fly after a glass or two of wine, and she covered every four-letter word in the urban dictionary as well as making up a few of her own.

Sure, I’ll do it.

Why not? It wasn’t as if this week could get any worse.

Thanks, doll. I’ll be back in tomorrow for definite. Jaz’s voice softened. You take care of yourself in the morning, okay? Take as much time as you need. I’ll keep Barry off your back.

I really appreciate it.

With us still being a person down, the afternoon was just as busy as the morning, but when the clock finally ticked around to five thirty, I wasn’t sure whether to be ecstatic or sad. Usually, I’d have beaten Usain Bolt out the door, but today, the reality of going home to an empty house hit me, and I dithered around as I turned off my computer and tidied my desk.

How are you holding up? Sue asked.

I’m f… I started to say I was fine—my standard response—but Sue had known me too long to fall for the fib. "Honestly? I can’t believe she’s gone. I keep expecting to get home and find her making a batch of chocolate chip cookies or watching Top Gear, and when she isn’t, I can’t stop the tears. Is that normal?"

Grief’s totally normal, love. Only time can heal. I’m sure Edith wouldn’t have wanted you to mope around, though. She’s probably up there planning a carnival.

Sue pointed skywards. Well, ceiling-wards. The dusty strip light above us glowed yellow, complete with a cluster of desiccated moths destined to spend eternity in its plastic cover.

Could Sue be right? For sure, Edith would have convinced the big man upstairs to install a disco ball so she could keep busy teaching the angels how to do the Macarena—she never did grow old gracefully—but would time heal? I had to hope.

I’ve never had anybody close to me die before. It was a bit of a shock.

I bet. If there’s anything I can do, you just let me know.

Thank you, I will.

I said that, but I wouldn’t. I never asked for anything, not after being let down so many times. If the care system had taught me one thing, it was not to hope, because hoping only resulted in disappointment.

I set off home, dreading the stillness of number seventeen Horsefield Road. When Edith was alive, it had felt like a home. She’d filled it with warmth, laughter, and quite often the dulcet tones of the smoke alarm as she got distracted by online bingo and burned dinner. Now it had all the atmosphere of a morgue, but without the company.

I didn’t know what was worse—the fact I was living there on my own, or that I wouldn’t be able to stay for much longer. The house had been Edith’s, you see, and I only rented a room. Now she’d gone, I was effectively homeless.

It was only a matter of time before I’d have to venture out into the big wide world, and that thought terrified me.

Edith had been like a grandma to me since she first found me at age ten, crying on the pavement outside her house. My foster sister’s bike lay next to me, and I wasn’t just bawling because I’d scraped my knee. I was panicking because she’d be furious I’d taken her bike without asking.

Edith had helped me into her kitchen and cleaned up my cuts, then walked me home. She even stayed while I fessed up to my foster mother, a woman with all the personality of a dead fish, who didn’t care what any of the kids did as long as she got her cheque from the council each month.

Over the years, I spent more time at Edith’s house than my own. She always had a plate of cookies waiting, and I could sit and read a book in peace without one of my foster siblings pulling my hair or poking me. When I turned eighteen and my foster family absolved themselves of all responsibility, it was Edith who’d taken me in and made sure I carried on with my education.

Although when I recalled the day I’d just spent at the call centre, I did wonder how much benefit I really got from my three year English degree. I’d have been better off taking a course in how to speak idiot.

I sighed as I opened Edith’s front door. Was I destined to spend the rest of my life as a representative of Payright? I shuddered at the thought, but the unknown scared me. I already needed to move to a new home. A new job was a leap too far for the moment. I needed to take things one step at a time.

In the kitchen, I set some spaghetti on to boil then ran through my final checklist for the funeral tomorrow. Helping to organise that had left me in tears countless times over the past week. Edith’s friends had rallied round, but I’d done most of the work myself, from choosing the casket to arranging the flowers. I felt I owed her a good send off.

Yes, everything was done. The service would be at the church Edith had attended on Sundays, and she’d be buried in the churchyard afterwards. She’d chosen the plot herself many years ago, right next to her late husband. He’d died in a car crash long before I met her, and she’d never found anyone to take his place.

There’s one true soul mate out there for everyone. I was lucky I found John young and had twenty good years with him, she said.

What if I never find the one that’s meant for me? I asked.

If it’s meant to be, he’ll find you.

Well, he hadn’t so far. All I’d managed to do was waste two years of my life with a man who did the dirty on me. And not just with anyone. No, when Terry decided he needed a little excitement in his life, he’d found it with a stripper called Miss Demeanor.

No wonder he’d always been broke, what with most of his money going on lap dances and hotel rooms.

Stupid, stupid me hadn’t suspected a thing. It wasn’t until Amir went on a stag do and spotted him licking whipped cream off the girl that his indiscretions came to light.

When I confronted him, he’d tried his best to convince me it was nothing.

I was doing research for my next novel, he told me.

Last week you said you were writing a modern-day version of Pirates of the Caribbean?

Er, yeah, I did, but that was until I thought of this one. It’s gonna be a hit, I know it.

But why did you have to get a lap dance?

I’m taking the method acting approach, except with writing. I want to experience everything my characters do.

He could be very convincing, and I might even have believed him if it wasn’t for Edith. When I told her what had happened, she poured me a glass of sherry then pulled on her winter coat and got her car keys down from the hook.

Where are you going? I asked.

The Pink Panda.

You can’t just walk into a gentleman’s club!

Of course I can, dear. I’m almost eighty. Someone will help me up the steps.

And that was exactly what she did. She got back three hours later, covered in glitter and wearing a feather boa.

That place is something else. Some of those young ladies are ever so bendy. I had a go on one of their poles, and let me tell you, it’s not as easy as it looks.

I stifled a groan. Sometimes I thought we’d ended up in the wrong bodies. At twenty-two, I preferred to spend my evenings curled up with a book while Edith partied the night away, taking full advantage of her senior citizens’ discount.

You didn’t hurt yourself, did you? Edith had two hip replacements, and she wasn’t quite as sprightly as she liked to think.

Oh no, one of those hunky young men who opens the door for you helped to hold me up. Anyway, I found the girl that Terry’s been playing away with. Demi’s really quite sweet. She even did my eyelashes. Edith fluttered her new additions, which were royal blue with silver tips.

Very nice, I said hollowly.

Terry told her he was single, and not only that, he claimed to be a best-selling novelist. When he took you to the cinema last week, he said he was meeting his agent about a movie deal for his latest book.

I sat down with a bump. How could I have been so stupid? It had never occurred to me that Terry might be unfaithful. I’d always thought we were so well matched, ever since we met in my second year at university. We’d both wanted to check out the same book from the library—Lord of the Flies—and as a compromise, we read it together over a pizza and a bottle of wine at his place.

He was the first man to ask me on a date, and after we’d been out two or three times, we were smitten with each other. At least, I thought so. With hindsight, Terry was perhaps more attracted to the money I earned from my part-time job and my willingness to help edit his dystopian fantasies.

A tear ran down my cheek, and Edith passed me one of her frilly hankies. Keep your chin up, dearie. You were too good for him, anyway. We’ll find you a better one.

She’d tried, bless her. Before I could blink, she’d signed me up on Plenty of Fish, and men were sending me photos of parts of their anatomy I really didn’t want to see.

Ooh, look, another one, Edith said, as the third such message popped up on my inbox. She leaned forward and squinted. I’ll need to get my glasses this time.

With her encouragement and a bit of a push from Jaz, I’d been on two dates. The first ended in embarrassment as a waiter swept past and accidentally knocked the man’s toupee into his soup. The second guy produced a box of condoms after desert and invited me to pick my favourite flavour.

I put my foot down when Edith tried to set me up a third time.

I’m not wasting another night out with a weirdo.

But I worry about you spending so much time in the house. You’re only young once. You should be out on the town, not stopping in with an old lady like me.

You’re good company, Edith. I couldn’t ask for a better dinner partner.

Those words were the truth. I didn’t know what to do with myself now she was gone. She and Jaz were the only people I could truly talk to, and Jaz was so busy dealing with the tornado that followed Stevie around, I only saw her outside of work once a week.

So that night, after a quiet dinner alone, I curled up in an armchair. I only had my book boyfriends for company now.

CHAPTER 2

A RAINBOW OF colour filled the church at Edith’s funeral. Red hats, blue skirts, yellow jumpers—I’d requested nobody wore black, and everyone enthusiastically heeded the brief. Edith wouldn’t have wanted it to be a sombre affair. The coffin I’d chosen may have been slightly unorthodox, but hot pink had been her favourite colour, and she’d have appreciated the floral tour of the world decorating the lid.

We started off with her favourite hymn, All Things Bright and Beautiful, then moved onto the readings. Tears ran down my cheeks as I spoke, and by the time I got to the final line of my eulogy, half the church was sniffing. We finished up by singing Get the Party Started by Pink, which was the song Edith lived by.

I couldn’t believe that this would be the last knees-up she’d ever attend.

The wake started off a bit quiet, but once the band struck up, people began to smile a little. The four-piece came from the old folks’ home down the road. Not one of them was under seventy, but they put groups half their age to shame.

I tried to get into the party spirit, but I couldn’t manage it. In the end, I hid away in the kitchen of the church hall to block out the celebration of Edith’s life coming from the other side of the wall. Things were starting to wind down when one of Edith’s bridge buddies, Albert, found me sitting there, staring into a cup of tea as if it held all the answers to life.

Not coming out to join in the party? he asked. Albert reminded me of a Bassett hound—he had the same droopy face and always managed to look doleful.

I shook my head. I don’t understand how people can celebrate. I know it’s what Edith would have wanted, but I’m not in the mood for fun.

He dragged a chair up beside me and propped an arm on his walking stick as he lowered his behind to the seat. At our age, we need to take advantage of these opportunities while we can. Nobody’s quite sure which one of us will be next.

I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.

He stared into space for a few seconds while he sucked on his dentures. I’ve been meaning to come and find you. Do you have time to pop round later for a chat?

What about?

I didn’t know Albert very well. We’d bumped into each other over the years, usually when Edith had drunk one too many glasses of sherry and I’d had to give her a hand to get home, but we’d never had more than a casual conversation. I couldn’t imagine what he might want to talk to me about.

It's something Edith asked me to do, if she left this earth before she planned to.

Curiosity nibbled at me, but I could also picture Barry tapping his foot as he watched the second hand sweep around the clock above his desk.

Okay, but it’ll have to be this evening. My boss isn’t very understanding about people having a personal life.

Not planning to go anywhere. He wheezed a little and covered his mouth as he coughed. I tend to be in bed by nine, though.

I’ll be there before six.

Barry gave me a dirty look when I walked in just after one. I could tell from his glare he was itching to say something, but as he got halfway out of his chair his mother came in with his lunch, and she’d clip him round the ear if she heard him being so insensitive. Thank goodness for small mercies.

Jaz gave me a tight smile as she tried and failed to get a word in edgeways with her caller, and slid a cupcake over as I sat down. She had a habit of turning to food for comfort so it was her way of trying to cheer me up. She knew how much burying Edith would have upset me.

Thanks, I mouthed, even if I didn’t feel like eating.

Hollow inside, I drifted through the afternoon on autopilot. If someone asked me to recall a single conversation I’d had, I would have failed miserably, and I doubted the notes I jotted in the comment boxes on the screen made much sense either.

Tick, tick, tick—as five thirty approached, I was clock-watching more obsessively than Barry. The instant I finished my final call, I was out of the door before he could mention the word overtime. Jaz hurried along beside me with her heels clicking on the pavement. She hated flats and proudly boasted that even her trainers had platform soles.

When you’re five feet tall, you need all the help you can get, she’d once said.

My wardrobe contained a single pair of stilettos. I’d worn them precisely once. On that occasion, I’d nearly broken my ankle trying to climb a set of stairs, and as I’d flung out my arms in a desperate attempt to save myself, I’d accidentally groped the crotch of a man on his way down. Mortified didn’t begin to cover it. Now Satan’s favourite footwear languished at the back of my closet, never to see the light of day. I was more of a ballet pump type of girl.

Are you going to be okay on your own this evening? Jaz asked.

Yes. No. I’ll manage.

She laid a hand on my arm. I can stay with you if you want. Amir can deal with Stevie for a night.

I’m going to visit a friend of Edith’s, then I just want to crawl into bed.

Have you got wine?

I nodded. Edith had always kept an emergency supply in the cupboard under the stairs, and I’d say this qualified as an emergency.

I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll be Barry’s evening to get hit by a bus.

She said that every night, and I lived in hope.

Albert lived in a big, old detached house two streets away. It was far too big for one person, but according to Edith, he couldn’t bear to part with the place where he’d brought up his family. He simply shut off half the rooms so it was cheaper to heat and enjoyed the home he’d lived in for more than half a century.

I rang the bell, an old-fashioned one hanging from a long chain, and waited for him to answer. And waited. And waited. Eventually, I heard the shuffle shuffle tap, shuffle shuffle tap of him coming along the hallway. The door creaked as it swung open, and Albert ushered me into the dimly lit vestibule.

Cup of tea, or something stronger?

Do I need something stronger? I still couldn’t fathom what he wanted to talk to me about.

Rather than answer, he headed for the lounge, where he paused in front of an old-fashioned drinks cabinet and poured me a whisky. Four fingers. Neat.

Uh oh.

How about we talk in my study?

How about I go home and hibernate for six months or so? Sure, wherever you want.

He settled himself behind a massive desk and straightened the row of pens sitting on the jotter in front of him. Come on, speak. I perched on the edge of the seat opposite him, waiting.

I don’t know how much Edith told you about me?

Not a lot, I admitted.

Did you know I was her lawyer as well as her bridge partner?

I shook my head, feeling a sudden dread. Was this about me living in her house?

My son’s taken over the firm now, but it still says ‘Thomas and Thomas’ on the sign. His eyes took on a wistful look as he stared at a spot above my head. "Those were the days. Standing up in front of the judge, picking apart the prosecution piece by piece. Closest I get to a courtroom nowadays is watching Judge Judy. Of course..."

Please, get to the point. My knuckles were already white from gripping the wooden arms of the chair.

I had to defend some real pieces of scum, he continued. Always felt secretly pleased when one of them got sent down. As long as my fees got paid, of course. He shook his head and re-focused on me. So, where were we? Oh yes, Edith.

I barely managed to nod my head in agreement.

A couple of years ago, Edith asked me to draft her will for her. Did she ever mention it to you?

No.

I thought not.