An Autumn Crush (12 page)

‘Women are daft for filling in the blanks. “Oh, he hasn’t rung me because he’s lost his phone,” or “He’s been kidnapped by aliens,” or “He
might have been run down”. They’ll believe anything rather than, “He doesn’t want to see me again and daren’t tell me”. Now I’m putting on the kettle
before I jump in the bath. Tea or coffee?’

Floz answered coffee, and was only relieved that she didn’t have to enter the argument and explain that sometimes there really were genuine reasons why someone might just cut and go.

She waved Juliet off later and then read the email which had landed an hour ago, but which she wanted to save until she was alone.

Floz remembered how he’d planned to take her fishing one day and then they were going to cook their catches on a barbecue in the woods behind his house. She felt a pain
deep inside her. She opened the desk drawer, got out her headphones and plugged them into the side of her computer, then she opened the attachment which had been labelled
What I feel about life
now
. The gentle stringed opening of the Louis Armstrong version of ‘What a Wonderful World’ began and she listened to the lyrics, trying to imagine the mindset of a man who had
accepted that he was shortly going to leave it, and she sobbed hard in the empty flat. The sound was that of an animal in pain.

Coco might have been a ‘giddy’un’ about Gideon but that was nothing compared to what Juliet had become at the prospect of a man cooking her dinner, which she
thought was a very sexy proposal. She had tried not to be stupid and map out the future, but lurid pictures were crossing her mind of a few dates down the line and Ralph taking off her dress and
kissing his way down her body with expert skill.

Her SatNav was telling her that she was now turning into Riffington Place. She tried to see the numbers of the houses – 96, 94, 92 – so she still had a way to go to 10. She was in a
sedate estate on the outskirts of the village of Lower Hoppleton, one that looked like Pensioners’ Land. 38, 36, 34 . . . any minute now. Juliet was nearly exploding with anticipation. 24,
22, 20 . . . She checked the piece of paper again that had Ralph’s number written on it. Yep, it was definitely 10.

When she found it, she texted Floz to say she had arrived and then rang Coco.

‘Ooh, what’s his house like?’ said Coco excitedly.

‘It’s a bungalow and the door has a stained-glass picture of a big bird.’

Coco could read a very unmerry note in her voice. ‘What’s up with that?’

‘Nothing,’ said Juliet, who hadn’t mentioned the chintzy frilly curtains at the window, where she had pictured wooden blinds, or the hedge cut into a cockerel shape. Or the
gnomes peeping from behind foliage in the garden.

‘Go enjoy. Judgeth not a man by his front door,’ said Coco. ‘Anyway, bugger off, I need to have a shower. You aren’t the only one with a date this evening, girl. However,
my mobile will be in my pocket at all times if you need me. Remember, “fab” is code red.’

Juliet lifted her bottle of wine and locked the car door. Yes, Coco was right, she was being overly judgemental. She would have had something to moan about if the house had been a scruffy dump
with an old car parked in the middle of the garden. Excitement started to surge through her as her heels tappy-tapped on the crazy-paved path. She saw the doorbell was next to a plaque bearing the
name of the house –
Holmlea
– which she wished she hadn’t seen as its cheesiness made her cringe. She pressed her thumb on the button and a cheap tinkly tune rang out
– the first few bars from the theme tune to
EastEnders
. She had a sudden lump of dread in her stomach, which thankfully cleared when she saw the silhouette behind the door which she
recognized immediately as handsome Ralph. Then the lump drew back as the door opened and Ralph appeared there, looking older and chunkier than his profile picture, in a dark brown cardigan and
matching house slippers. Those photos he posted on his profile had obviously been lucky ones.

Ralph smiled widely at the sight of Juliet and said, in a voice that sounded as if it had been issued from his nose whilst totally bypassing his voice box, ‘Come in, dear Juliet, come in.
Tea’s just about ready.’

Juliet, for all that she wanted to run back to the car, found herself not wanting to be rude after he had gone to the trouble of cooking a meal. She told herself that she would stay an hour
– it wouldn’t kill her. Ralph moved aside to let her enter and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He smelled nice, at least. He had obviously shaved for the occasion and applied cologne. But
was it enough to offset the gnomes and the cardigan and the slippers and the nasally voice?

‘Don’t be rotten,’ said an inner voice of reason. ‘Your dad wears those sorts of slippers and the occasional cardigan and they don’t make your mum want to throw up.
And let’s not even talk about your bunny slippers, Juliet Miller.’

Juliet followed Ralph down a short hallway, the walls covered in black and white and sepia family portraits in frames and into a neat square lounge with a tiled fireplace and furnishings in a
limited colour palette of browns, beiges and light bile green. A massive old-fashioned radio sat in the corner. It was like something out of the war. She half-expected Vera Lynn to leap out from
behind it singing ‘White Cliffs of Dover’.

‘I thought it was a bit chilly, so I made a fire,’ said Ralph and he smiled, and Juliet saw brown bits stuck in his lower teeth. She tried to smile back but her mouth wasn’t
behaving and it ended up more like a twisted grimace.

‘I brought you this,’ she said, handing over the wine. He had nice hands at least, she thought as he reached for it, desperately trying to see something positive and make her last
the hour.

‘Later,’ he said. ‘I’ve just brewed a big pot of tea. Can I take your coat?’

‘Oh, it’s okay, I’ll just keep it here, behind me,’ said Juliet, removing it. The room was boiling hot with that real fire blazing out. Thanks to the archaic setting, the
fire didn’t look as cosy as it should have.

‘I’ll get you some refreshment,’ Ralph said, sweeping his eyes quickly and approvingly over her short dress which she could now see was a totally unsuitable buy for this
evening. Ralph edged backwards out of the door as if she was the Queen and he daren’t turn his back on her. Juliet heard him clattering about in the next room, presumably the kitchen, and
realized she’d been naive for taking the way a man wrote emails for his total sum. The Robert De Niro hunk she had visualized had turned out to be Rigsby from
Rising Damp
.

Juliet looked around. The furniture was old-fashioned and dark, polished to a high shine though. The two sofas were bulky with precisely placed cream antimacassars draped over their back and
arms. Cushions embroidered with the names
Ralph
and
Mum
were arranged neatly. More old photographs were hung on the walls and there were loads of ornaments on shelves – brass
ones and some Spanish dolls in bright dresses in a cabinet along with an old tea-set and the top layer of a very old wedding cake with a faded bride and groom on top. And some bits of porcelain
with
Mother
written on them.

‘Here we are,’ said Ralph, appearing at the door with a tray, which he set on Juliet’s lap. There was a dainty china cup of tea on it, a little milk and sugar jug, and a big
plate of pie and mash and carrots. And a bottle of brown sauce. ‘The pie is my own recipe,’ he said with pride.

‘Oh lovely,’ said Juliet, thrown by yet another vision smashed. She’d expected a three-course meal at a dinner-table and long champagne flutes full of fizz which they’d
chink together and toast their first meet.

Juliet was starving and it did look rather good – if plain. She took a forkful of pie, sniffing it surreptitiously for any strange chemical smells which would render her unconscious and
unable to ring Floz and Coco after an hour to ‘check in’.

Ralph had seated himself on the sofa opposite to her and was watching her chew with open glee. Juliet smiled awkwardly through her mouthful, but Ralph remained there watching her.

‘Where’s yours?’ she asked after a second forkful.

‘Oh, I had mine with Mother at five p.m.,’ he replied. ‘She won’t wait and she hates eating alone. I like her to have eaten by five-thirty then she can have her tablet
and be asleep by six-thirty. Hopefully all night, although you never can tell these days.’ He sighed fondly.

‘So, you live with your mother?’ said Juliet. Nice as the pie was, she didn’t want to sit here eating it alone with a man with bits of meat in his teeth staring at her.

‘Yes,’ said Ralph. ‘She has the back bedroom and I have the front and I work from the third bedroom which is extended out into the garden. I’ll show it to you after
sweet. I’ve got a coffee Viennetta.’

Inside Juliet’s head, her brain was screaming, ‘Help!’ Then in her pocket her phone rumbled.

‘Oh excuse me,’ she said, taking it out and seeing Floz’s lovely name flash on the screen.

‘Are you all right?’ asked her flat-mate. ‘I know I said I’d ring after an hour but I thought I’d check on you a little bit earlier than that.’

‘You are joking!’ said Juliet, grabbing this chance at escape with both hands and feet. ‘How did you do that?’

‘Do what?’ said Floz.

‘Have you rung an ambulance? You mustn’t move. Stay right where you are. I’m on my way!’

‘What?’

Juliet lifted up the tray and stood. As Ralph stood also, Juliet thrust the tray into his hands.

‘Oh my God, my mother has just fallen down the stairs. I’ll have to go to her. I can’t believe it – she hasn’t even rung an ambulance. I’m so sorry to cut our
evening short after you’ve gone to all this trouble.’

‘Oh it’s fine, you must go,’ said Ralph, looking crestfallen. ‘You have to look after your mother. They’re very precious creatures.’

‘I’ll see myself out. Thank you so much. It was so nice to meet you.’

Juliet dived for the door, hoping it wasn’t locked. It wasn’t. The cool air of the evening hit her in the face and she breathed it in gratefully.

Ralph had put the tray down somewhere so he could wave Juliet off. She saw him backlit by the orange hall light, a cardiganned, slippered silhouette. Juliet scrambled into her car wearing her
best mum-worried expression and zoomed off. Once around the corner, the tension loosened its grip on her whole body and she drove home in a state of almost kick-back euphoria. She decided that she
just might marry Floz Cherrydale when she got home.

Floz was in her ridiculous Dalmatian-spotted dressing-gown when Juliet barged into the flat, flung her arms around her dainty flat-mate and planted a huge wet kiss on her
cheek.

‘Florence Cherrydale, I love you and will love you forever,’ she gushed.

When Floz could breathe again, after being squashed to within an inch of her life, she asked, ‘What on earth happened?’

‘Wine – I need wine if I’m doing
Jackanory
,’ said Juliet, disappearing into the kitchen and coming out with a bottle and two glasses. It was only a cheap blended
red, but it tasted like nectar in her present mental state.

Floz listened as Juliet filled her in on Ralph and his bungalow and tray.

‘Ten Riffington Place!’ gasped Floz when she heard the address. ‘Blimey, that’s a bit too near Ten, Rillington Place for my liking.’

‘Oh my goodness.’ Juliet clamped her hand over her mouth in shock. ‘
Ten Rillington Place
. I wondered why it sounded a bit familiar. Mind you, Ralph was too wimpy to be a
serial killer like Christie.’

‘Yes, well, from what I remember about the case, Reginald Christie wasn’t exactly a macho man. That’s why he gassed his victims first before he . . . he assaulted them. You
were reckless,’ said Floz. ‘Going to a strange man’s house was very risky.’

Her voice dropped at the end as she remembered that Nick had at one time been going to come to her flat to stay for a fortnight. But then her mind quickly counteracted that because she and Nick
had built a relationship up over many months and got to know each other. No one could keep the pretence up for that long; she would have known if he wasn’t genuine and safe.

‘I know,’ said Juliet. ‘But he was harmless, really. And at least a decade older than his photo, I reckon. He made some nice gravy though,’ she laughed at the end.

‘You shouldn’t joke. Some people are very clever at painting portraits of themselves on the net that bear little resemblance to how they are in real life. It’s a sea teeming
with nutters.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Juliet, her laughter subsiding. ‘But they can’t all be nutters.
I’m
on the site and I’m not a nutter.’

‘True,’ said Floz.
And neither am I nor is Nick.
‘But it does pay to be careful. You mustn’t go to a man’s house again on a first date. He could have put
drugs or anything in his gravy.’

Juliet smiled at Floz’s concern. She was buzzing too much from the relief of getting away to see things darkly. ‘Yes, Mum. Coco had a good experience at least, so that bodes
well.’

‘But, remember, he’s just had the one date so far, so let’s not jump the gun.’

‘Oh, Floz, you’re so sceptical,’ sighed Juliet. ‘Have you had a real hard time with the unfairer sex?’

‘No more than any other woman,’ said Floz, feeling the conversation was edging too close to things she didn’t want to think about and getting ready to deflect Juliet’s
attention. ‘So, will you give internet dating another go or not?’