The Cinderella Moment. Gemma Fox
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he was still smiling at her. Maybe it was time to admit defeat. It was obvious that he was impervious to indifference and people who couldn’t look grumpy however hard they tried, and whatever had happened to him that day, it was obviously an ice age away from Feckett, Reckett and Snore.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes. It is.’
‘Good-oh.’ He grinned as if her response was a personal triumph. ‘There,’ he said with delight. ‘That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?’
Cass laughed. ‘What?’
He opened up the rucksack at his feet. ‘Do you fancy a peach? I bought all sorts of fruit from this fantastic street market. Kind of celebration. I’ve had so much to sort out, lots of financial stuff – but I think I may have pulled it off. I think it’s going to be OK after all.’ He pulled out a selection of brown paper bags and set them down on the table. Some were damp at the corners where things inside had been squashed.
‘Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear all my woes. Oh, how about cherries? Look at these, aren’t they wonderful? Please feel free. Help yourself; there’s loads.’
Cass stared at him over the growing pile of fruit. He had to be mad or, worse, he was a social worker or a psychiatric nurse; maybe he cared in the community and got people to make raffia lampshades and sing ‘Kumbya’ while he played the guitar. Whichever it was, he was obviously relentlessly cheerful.
He grinned, shaking a bag in her direction. ‘It’s all right, I’m not mad – it’s just that I’ve had a really good day.’
Cass found it was particularly unnerving when people read minds, or told you they weren’t mad. He held out a peach. ‘Try one of these,’ he said. ‘They’re absolutely amazing. Really.’ He waved it at her again.
Cass took a bite. He was right.
‘Sadly, blah blah blah, high number of exceptionally well-qualified applicants. Blah blah, on this occasion you lucked out, chuck.’ Cass screwed the paper into a ball and slam-dunked it into the swing bin before taking a long pull on her coffee. ‘Another one bites the dust.’
‘Try and resist humming the tune, would you,’ said Jake. ‘From Messrs Moustache, Lecher and Nosepicker, I presume?’
‘Uhuh – the very same. I could have done that job standing on my head while juggling puppies and playing the banjo.’
‘Maybe you should have mentioned that in your CV.’
‘This is driving me nuts, Jake. I’ve got to find a job. I needed this job. I’ve sent out dozens of applications, I haven’t made the short list on half of them. What the bloody hell is wrong with me?’
‘Nothing. If it’s any consolation – and I can see that it probably isn’t – in this particular case it sounds as if it was already a done deal. They’d got someone in the frame but they’re still obligated to advertise.’
‘Bastards. What the hell am I going to do? I have to get a job. Maybe I should put a card in the post office window. Cleaning – or how about dog walking?’ She sighed. It was just after nine in Cass’s kitchen, the sun was shining and Cass was dressed in her interview suit. Well, most of it, the long-line flattering-for-the-pear-shaped-woman-jacket that she had bought on the recommendation of someone in the Mail on Sunday was hanging on the back of the kitchen door, well away from all the stray buttered toast, cat and dog hair.
‘Maybe I’ve been setting my sights too high. Don’t pull that face. I’ve got to find a way to earn some money, Jake. I’ve got a house, a dog, a cat and kid to look after, and you can’t do that on nothing. Maybe I should take in washing?’
‘What you need to do is go back and talk to your solicitor. David should be helping.’
‘He did, remember? He helped himself to the hired help and buggered off.’
‘Cass, if I made you a suggestion, would you promise not to slap me or go off on one?’
‘Depends. If it’s sex, then the answer is still no, Jake. I’m still way out there on the rebound.’ She mimed a far distant horizon. ‘And I draw the line at pensioners.’
He mimed deep hurt and then said, ‘And if it’s not?’
She smiled. ‘Try me.’
‘Well, I’ve got this friend –’
‘Fitting me up with one of your peculiar mates is the same as having sex. You’re my neighbour, we’re good friends, we’ve been good friends for a long, long time, and I love you dearly, but I don’t need you to procure men for me.’
‘Wait, wait,’ Jake said, holding up his hands in protest. ‘I wasn’t going to mention it, but please hear me out. I’ve got this friend who runs a little place in Brighton. Barney Roberts – you must have heard me talk about him. Anyway, he owns this great little gallery, deals in all sorts of art, there’s some workshop space, a craft and gift shop. He’s looking for someone to help him out for the summer.’
Cass glanced at her watch. ‘Your point being…?’
‘Barney is an awkward old bastard. He’s just had an operation on his back and needs a hand. Last time I spoke to him, he was like a bear with a boil on its arse.’
‘Uhuh.’ She took her jacket down off the hanger and slipped it on. ‘Take my advice, Jake: don’t ever go into advertising.’
‘I know it’s a long way away, but you can’t keep going through all this. You need a change of scenery – a break. What do you think?’
‘What do you mean, what do I think? I’ve just done a nine-year crash course in living with a miserable bastard. And, as you mentioned, it’s in Brighton. Lest we forget, Jake, I live in Norfolk. And at the moment, as things are, I can barely afford to live here, let alone there. I read somewhere that it’s more expensive to live in Brighton than London –’
‘Yes, but that isn’t the point. You need to change your luck, Cass, do something different. Underneath, Barney is basically a really good guy. OK, so maybe it’s a long way underneath at times – but he’s prepared to make nice and easy for the right person.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Well, for a start he’s got a great big basement flat he’s rolling around in, and he’s lonely.’
‘Oh, come off it, Jake – this sounds like procurement to me. I’m not a nurse. I’m sure Brighton is jam-packed full of people looking for jobs.’
‘Yes, but he doesn’t know any of them. He’s not good with people – he can be funny – and besides, I’ve already told him about you.’
‘Oh well, that was kind of you,’ Cass said grimly. ‘You told him about me? So I’m a charity case now, am I?’
‘No, but please think about it, Cass. I don’t want to see you go, but I do know that the offer is genuine. Barney is as straight as a die, and he really does need someone to help him out. I thought of you straight away.’
‘Because?’
Jake sighed. ‘Because you need to get away from here and stop mooning around. This way you could do some of your own stuff – paint, for God’s sake – and still work. You look awful, Cass. You’re not eating properly. When was the last time you picked up a pencil or a paint brush? Everyone is worried about you; you know that, don’t you? David is stupid.’
‘Everyone?’ Cass said thickly. The sound of David’s name still made something hurt deep inside her. How could she have been so blind? How was it she hadn’t seen it coming?
‘Everyone,’ Jake murmured, leaning forward to stroke the hair off her face. Cass looked up at him; Jake was sixty-five if he was a day. He’d come round the day she moved into the cottage with a chicken-and-bean casserole and a bottle of red wine and had been part of her life ever since.
Cass