and gaze up at her as she sips the last of her beer. The music booms and a smooth voice proclaims today’s news headlines. There’s a politician who’s in trouble. He’s made a crass remark and other politicians are calling him a buffoon and demanding that he resign. A woman from some fiscal group at a university talks about 3 per cent inflation, how prices are going up, and that it’s going to be a hard summer for investors. Nanny tuts.
Then the local news: the screen moves to a street I recognise in Norris Green. A man’s voice narrates that the police have staged a big coup to do with money laundering in which a large amount of cash was involved: the first man was arrested in what’s expected to be a sequence of arrests. I stare at the screen, at a plastic door with no lights on inside. I remember the same view from Adie’s Boxster. An old pair of trainers hangs from the telegraph wire. It’s the same house.
Nanny Basham adjusts her glasses and sucks her teeth. ‘This city is full of scallies. It never used to be like this.’
I shake my head and wonder if Adie has anything to do with the crime on the television. When we stopped outside the house, he said someone owed him money. For a second, I wonder if he’s lost it all. I know he is a wheeler-dealer, but it’s possible he’s involved in something worse.
I mumble, ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if it’s connected to Adie. Who knows what he does? It’s probably not legitimate. Bonnie’s best away from him, Nan.’
‘I agree, Georgina. But it can’t be easy for her.’
‘Of course it is. You just walk out of the door.’
‘Splitting up, like you did with Terry Wood? Some women find it difficult to be by themselves all the time.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Perhaps Bonnie’s not like you, Georgina. Perhaps she doesn’t hold with your ideas about women’s lubrication.’
‘Liberation, Nan.’
The voice on television talks about the arrest and how further arrests will be made.
Nanny shakes her head. ‘They want locking up, all of them. And the key throwing away.’
Nan looks tired. I ask her if she’s all right and she tells me she’s fine, she’s just worried about Bonnie. We both are. I can’t stop thinking about the text messages; burned in my mind is the photo of us standing either side of the man called Beddowes and I can’t rid myself of the image of Adie’s fading pallor as he watched his business contact take the selfie.
Bonnie doesn’t call me. I text her three times on Sunday night and by midnight I’m so worried, I ring. She answers me with a faint voice. She’s in bed with a migraine.
On Monday, I leave her alone and decide she should have time to herself. She can call me if she needs me. For all I know, she’s in Sri Lanka on a second honeymoon.
On Tuesday, my feet don’t touch the ground. Amanda and I are busy all day and we spend lunchtime advertising for a new beauty therapist. Now Jade is away so often, we need help and business is good enough to try out a new pair of hands.
I rush to Nan’s at lunch to put her groceries away and during the afternoon, I move from client to client. Diane Morris, now Diane Morris-Kandeh, arrives at 3 p.m. for a facial and spends an hour chattering about her husband, twenty-five-year-old Lamin who by all accounts is descended from a Mandinka warrior. He’s especially warlike in the bedroom. I roll my eyes because hers are closed, make my voice light and coo, ‘Lovely.’
Amanda and I are still busy at five o’clock. Jade texts me that she’ll jump in a taxi at the station when she arrives back from Brighton just before midnight. She has a client first thing tomorrow, at 7.30. I check my email and we have two applicants already for the therapist’s job: seventeen-year-old Lexi and twenty-three-year-old Ella-Louise, both claiming to have experience in treatments I’ve never even heard of. The younger one has apparently invented new nail-art designs and Ella-Louise has qualifications in intimate waxing for men, so I decide to interview them both on Thursday morning.
My last client of the day, Mrs Gaffney, whose first name is really Daphne, arrives for her pedicure at five fifteen. She’s seventy-seven and sprightlier than I am at the moment, given my thumping headache. She entertains me with a catalogue of raunchy tales about her first three husbands, so I always enjoy those sessions. She seldom talks about the fourth, who died last year, except to say, ‘He was the love of my life, God rest him.’
We finish just after six o’clock and Amanda stares out of the window. Beyond the frame, all is grey – the sky is dishwater dark outside, and then a splattering of rain hits the glass and she shudders.
‘Rhys’s working the late shift. It looks horrible out there. Am I up for a twenty-minute walk home in a freezing downpour through the park?’
I take the hint. ‘Stop for a cheeky glass of wine, a bite to eat. I’ll get you a taxi home later. We’ve worked hard today.’
She sits at the kitchen table and smiles. I uncork a bottle of Merlot and it splashes into two large glasses with a familiar glug. I’ll make beans on toast. The company will be nice.
Half an hour later, the Merlot bottle is half empty. Or half full. Amanda’s chatting about the coming summer and a holiday in the sun.
‘When we first met, Rhys and I spent July on the Algarve in a villa. We had a pool outside, rolling hills, no neighbours. He used to stroll around naked all day in the sunshine …’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Sounds like a fire hazard to me.’
She misunderstands my cynicism.
‘Oh, definitely. I believe in keeping our relationship hot. I mean, I didn’t choose a firefighter for nothing. Sometimes I even get him to keep his yellow helmet on.’
I’m ready to join her in spluttering laughter, but her face is serious. I giggle anyway.
‘Rhys and I have everything we want, though. This year, I’ve asked him if we can spend money on experiences. I need a holiday. I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii.’
I imagine the beaches, the surf, the cocktails, the garlands; lei placed round my neck by a welcoming islander with a huge smile.
‘I’ll have to get the calendar out and look at holidays. It’ll be easy if we can appoint one of these new applicants.’
‘I hope we find someone.’ Amanda wrinkles her nose.
‘We’ll interview on Thursday. I’ve invited Lexi and Ella-Louise.’
‘We have plenty of work for at least one of them.’ Amanda scrapes her fork on the plate. ‘We both work far too hard.’
I agree and reward us both with a top-up from the wine bottle.
‘In fact, Georgie, you need a holiday, too.’
I think of Bonnie and wonder again if she’s at the airport with Adie.
I nod. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘When did you last have a break?’
I think about it.
‘I
