Chapter Twenty-One

Blondie’s ‘One Way or Another’ is blasting from the stereo as I run the hoover across the living room floor, picking up stray cat toys, abandoned mugs and the little pair of scissors I misplaced along the way. I’ve already washed the bedding and it’s currently tumbling in the dryer, there are new sheets on the bed and the duvet cover has been changed (which was a deceptively exhausting task, FYI) and I’ve given the bathroom and kitchen a thorough going-over until they sparkled. Russell and Jed aren’t even due home for a couple of hours, so I’m feeling rather pleased with myself. Gran’s hopefully going to be discharged this afternoon, so I’m hoping I’ll have time to do the handover with Russell and Jed before dashing over to Gran’s to welcome her home before my shift starts. I’ve already packed my stuff and the bags are waiting in the hallway. I’ll miss the flat (though maybe not the early-morning wake-up calls from my furry flatmate) but I’m determined to find my own place and have already saved a couple of promising flats on the properties app to look into when I’m not so busy blitzing Russell and Jed’s place for their arrival.

‘What do you think?’ I’ve switched the hoover off, but I still have to raise my voice so Bolan can hear me over the music. ‘Clean enough for your owners?’

The cat glares at me from his radiator hammock. Okay, so we haven’t exactly bonded during my two-week stay, but at least I’ve managed to keep him alive. I’m going to take great satisfaction striking that one off the list, because surely there’s nothing more grown-up than taking care of another living thing? I should get bonus points for keeping my shit together during the six a.m. pawings to the face.

With the flat gleaming, I sit down on the sofa (carefully, so as not to disturb the plumped-up cushions) and open Instagram on my phone. Paul hasn’t messaged me this morning, but I can tell by the gym selfie posted earlier that he’s been as busy as I have. I like the post before scrolling through the rest of my timeline. My friends list has grown, and my old schoolfriends Shelby, who has posted twelve near-identical photos of her sleeping baby, and Spencer, who seems to post nothing but football gloats and rants, have followed me back. I wonder vaguely if James is on Instagram, but I still don’t know his surname so I can’t look him up.

I’m at a loose end once I’m up to date with Instagram, so I grab my project bag from the hallway and add a few more rounds to my sausage dog’s body. If Gran’s serious about the responsibility of the crochet project resting on the shoulders of me and James, I’m going to need all the practice I can get.

I’ve growled at the stupid crochet sausage dog three times and sworn at it once (I won’t repeat it, it was that bad) when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Confusion, quickly followed by alarm, floods my body, until I hear the familiar whistle of Russell. He’s over an hour earlier than expected, so I’m glad I was up early for the flat-cleaning mission. Flinging my crochet into my project bag, I leap to my feet to greet my boss and friend, but Russell isn’t interested in me. He heads straight for the cat, who springs from his radiator hammock like it’s on fire. He circles Russell’s feet in a figure of eight a couple of times before he flops onto his side, lifting his paws for a belly rub.

Where has this friendly cat been hiding for the past two weeks and why have I been stuck with his miserable twin?

‘Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?’ Russell scoops the cat into his arms and they nuzzle each other. ‘Did you miss me? Because I missed you. Yes, I did.’

‘Would you two like some privacy…?’ I tiptoe towards the living room door, only half kidding. Russell stops rubbing his nose into the cat’s furry neck and puts him back down on the carpet.

‘How’s everything been? Any problems?’

I think about Bolan and his insistence that I get up at the crack of dawn every morning, plus his attempt to kill my poor plant. ‘Nope, everything’s been fine. Shop, flat, cat – no problems at all.’

‘Good, good. Glad to hear it.’ Russell claps his hands together and sucks in a breath. ‘Especially as I have another massive favour to ask. Well, it’s the same favour really, just an extension, if you like.’ Bolan is circling his feet again, so Russell scoops him up. The cat rumbles with pleasure as Russell scratches under his chin. ‘The thing is, we sort of need to stay in Manchester for a bit longer.’

‘How much longer?’

Russell pauses his chin-scratching. ‘A month? I know it’s a lot to ask, and at such short notice, and we’ll totally understand if you say no. There’s no pressure. At all. It’s just that we trust you, and we know how good you are with the customers and everything, and you’ve clearly taken great care of the flat and our precious Bolan. But, like I said, no pressure.’

The way Russell looks at me, all wide-eyed and thin-lipped, adds a teeny bit of pressure. If Bolan wasn’t in his arms, he’d definitely have his palms pressed together. But then I don’t think I want to say no anyway. I like having my own space here at the flat, and the extra money will sit nicely in my new savings account.

‘I am going to take Bolan back with me. We’ve missed him too much already.’ He sticks his face into the cat’s neck again. ‘So that’ll be one less thing to worry about. If you say yes, obviously, which you’re still under no pressure to say.’

‘Okay.’ I make my way back to the sofa, flopping down and making sure I cover the stain on the Russell photo cushion. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘You will?’ Russell joins me on the sofa, with Bolan curling up angelically on his lap. ‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously.’ I reach across to stroke Bolan since he’s in such a good mood. ‘I’ll need to get myself a new alarm clock if you’re taking this gorgeous little furball with you though.’ I laugh until I spot Russell’s confused face. ‘You know, because he likes to wake you up early in the mornings by pawing – gently – at your face?’

‘You’ve been letting Bolan sleep in the bed with you?’

‘No. Of course not.’ I look down at the cat, who I swear is grinning slyly up at me.

‘Good, because that’s a big no-no.’

‘Obviously.’ The sneaky furry bastard .

‘So how did he paw at your face to wake you up?’

That cat is definitely smirking at me now. He’s loving watching me squirm. He’s probably been waiting for this moment since his owners left two weeks ago.

‘Didn’t you know he can open doors?’

Russell looks down at the cat, who’s started doing that rhythmic clawing thing on his lap. ‘He can?’

‘He’s a very clever kitty.’

Too clever.

I can’t believe I’ve been outwitted by a ball of fluff.

Russell pops into the shop before he has to dash off back to Manchester, to say hello and check I haven’t trashed his business over the past two weeks (he denies this last bit, but he does disappear into the little room at the back for a nosy at the paperwork). Claire, who’s been overseeing the running of the shop during the early afternoon shift, says she’s happy to carry on with her increased hours for a few more weeks, and Russell assures me that he’ll have a chat with Bridget to make sure she’s still on board (she will be. It’s been reported back to me that she’s in her element bossing people around) and liaise with the temp agency to ensure we have sufficient cover.

‘I hope it’s Danny working with us again.’ Claire sighs dreamily as we wave Russell off. Bolan is strapped into the passenger seat in a pet carrier, and it’s oddly gratifying to see him behind bars. He’s out of my care now, which means I can strike looking after him off my list.

‘I’m sure Danny will jump at the chance to carry on working with us.’ I nudge Claire. ‘Or you, at least.’ They have their date tomorrow, so I’ll be swapping my pet care duties for the child variety. A Sunday afternoon is an odd time to have a first date, but with their shifts and Claire’s parental responsibilities, it’s the only chance they have.

Russell’s car disappears from view and we head back into the shop. It’s a drizzly day, so it’s pretty quiet and the lunchtime rush is more of a shuffle. There are only a couple of customers waiting to be served at the counter while a disappointed family slouch at one of the tables, their buckets and spades tossed aside while they pick at their food.

‘So what happened to your big career plans?’ Claire is back behind the counter and I lean against it while she works on the first order.

‘What do you mean?’

Claire nimbly wraps a portion of fish and chips and places it on the counter, chatting with the customer and completing the transaction before she elaborates.

‘You were supposed to be starting a whole new and exciting career, but you’ve just signed up for another month of this.’ She spreads her arms wide to indicate the chippy.

‘I couldn’t say no, could I?’

‘You could have.’

I lean my forearms on the counter and rest my head sideways on them. ‘You’re right. I could have, but I didn’t want to. I love working here, so this can be my way of saying goodbye.’

‘By still working here…?’

‘For one last month. And then after that…’ I stand up straight and click my fingers. ‘I’m gone. I’ll have a month to decide what I want to do and go on interviews and stuff, and by the time Russell and Jed get back, my career will be ready to take off. Then I’ll have a whole month to settle into my new job before Paul gets back.’

Claire gives me an odd look, as though she doesn’t think I can pull this off. But I absolutely can. I have a plan now and I’m going to stick to it. I’m going to take it seriously – I have to, because time’s running out. I’m going to use the next seventy days to become the best version of Cleo Parker as I can, and Claire will be looking at me with awe rather than the scepticism she’s sending my way right now.

I grab myself a plate of chips and sit at the table next to the miserable-looking family. The drizzle has turned into a proper downpour now, with rivers of water flowing down the windowpanes. Any hope of building sandcastles has been dashed and one of the kids has started to wail. The incessant noise is putting me off my chips, but thankfully they pack up and trudge out into the rain, buckets and spades dangling by their sides. As they leave, they pass Riley, who looks like a drowned rat. His usually floppy hair is plastered to his skull and his rain-spattered glasses have fogged up from the warmth of the shop. Still, he manages to hone in on Claire, despite the limited vision, and the rain may have soaked through his clothes, but it hasn’t dampened his spirit. He’s his usually cheery self as he chats to Claire as she fulfils his order. He’s a nice bloke, and I can’t understand why Claire won’t give him a chance. Why does she always go for the idiots who revel in treating her like crap?

Riley waves a chirpy goodbye before he heads back out into the downpour, his shoulders already hunched against the onslaught before he makes it over the threshold. The sky has taken on an ominous grey hue and the rain doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, so I decide to stick around in the shop even though my chips are long gone. I’ve been checking my phone every few minutes but there’s been no word about Gran being discharged from the hospital yet. I do find a selfie Paul uploaded on Instagram of him and his (extremely beautiful) personal trainer colleague, but I quickly scroll past it without liking it.

Finally, the message I’ve been waiting for comes through, and I dash up to the flat to grab the pack of coffee pods I bought earlier in the week before legging it over to Gran’s. The rain has slowed to a mild drizzle, so I’m more damp than sodden when I get there. Gran is still en route from the hospital, so I shove the coffee pods in the cupboard and have a bit of a tidy-up. I thought about presenting the coffee pods to James, to show how considerate I am, but then I’d have to explain the extent of my coffee-pilfering so I’ve decided to go with the no-fuss approach.

There isn’t much to tidy, to be honest. James, it seems, is pretty neat. I put away the bowl and David Bowie mug from the draining board, but there isn’t a visible crumb on the worktop or a stray teaspoon resting on the corner of the sink (there’s usually a little collection before I think to deal with them) and even the tea towel is folded and draped over the handle on the oven door. And it’s a similar story in the living room; there are no mugs lying around, no magazines tossed aside or odd shoes causing a trip hazard in the middle of the room. I’m actually thankful it’s James who’ll be here with Gran, because this place would be a pigsty within minutes if it was down to me.

It’s an unsettling thought after projecting nothing but resentment over James’ presence at Gran’s house for the past few weeks, but I don’t have time to dwell on it as his car has just pulled up outside and he’s helping her out onto the pavement. I rush out to help, but Gran bats us both away.

‘No fussing, please. I’ve had enough of that over the past twenty-four hours. I just want to sit in my chair, with a cup of decent tea and the remote control. Do you know how much sleep I got last night?’ Gran’s gait is slow as she makes her way along the garden path, but she shoots James daggers when he attempts to take her arm. ‘About four and a half minutes. In total. There was so much noise on the ward – coughing, snoring, moaning about being too hot, too cold – that I was woken countless times. I want to sit quietly, with no clucking around me, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the house, for a couple of hours minimum.’

‘We can’t leave you, Gran. You’ve just got out of hospital.’

‘You can.’ Gran steps aside, so James can unlock the door. I’m surprised she let him take charge of that, to be honest. ‘And you will. James, my dear friend, can you please make me one of your lovely cups of tea and then drag my dear granddaughter away for a little while?’ Gran touches my arm with her good hand. ‘I appreciate your concern, honestly I do, but I just need to decompress. Get my bearings. And I promise I will phone you if I need anything at all.’

‘Anything? Even if you drop the remote and need it picking up?’

Gran is clearly holding in a sigh, but she nods. ‘I’ll promise that if you promise to take James to the pub to say thank you for everything he’s done?’

I hesitate. I don’t want to leave Gran, but I do want to kick-start my social life and the pub is a great place to start. As long as it isn’t the Red Lion.

I suggest heading over to the Fisherman, even though it’s way across town, because I’m still not ready to bump into Dane or the skanky barmaid. James seems nonplussed by my choice of venue, until we arrive at the pub and he discovers there isn’t a pool table and everyone else in the pub is a pensioner. I get the first round in and we sit by the window so we can look out across the harbour. The grey clouds have finally drifted away and the water is shimmering.

‘I get the impression Cordy isn’t going to be an easy patient.’

I shake my head. ‘Not easy at all. She’s usually the one looking after other people and she’s fiercely independent, unless it comes to mowing the lawn or DIY. But here’s a tip for you: never, ever refer to her as a patient in front of her. She will not like that at all.’

The corner of James’ lips quirks upwards. ‘Thanks for the warning.’ He takes a sip of his pint. ‘So. These sausage dogs. Are you ready for the challenge?’

‘Nope. But I don’t think we have much choice.’

James snorts, and his face lights up with mirth. I feel a little glow inside, but that could be the wine working its magic.

‘We’ll be fine.’

I arch an eyebrow at James, and I feel that glow again when he laughs.

‘We will. And if not, we’ll buy some handmade toys from Etsy and pass them off as our own.’

I raise my glass to that idea. ‘I like your style. Can that be Plan A?’

James gives a sad shake of his head. ‘Emergency Plan B only, I’m afraid. I don’t think Cordy would let us get away with it.’

‘I think she’d let you get away with anything. She’s taken a real shine to you. I don’t think you could do any wrong in the eyes of Gran. You’ve fast become her favourite grandchild and you’re not even related.’ I smirk at James, but I’m not even kidding.

‘Let’s see how she feels after six weeks of me playing nurse.’

‘Good luck, James. You’re going to need it.’ I raise my glass again and this time James clinks his pint against it.