Hubble Bubble (9 page)

Over the weekend, she’d ring all the people who’d answered her Baby Boomer advert in the library, and arrange a meeting in the village hall. Booking the village hall would, of course, mean she’d have to face Tarnia
Snepps, and there would no doubt be the usual battle over who was really in charge. Tarnia, if she thought the Baby Boomers Collective might improve her image, would try to muscle in. As usual.

Mitzi tapped her fingers as Mick and the boys roared into ‘It’s All Over Now’. Perhaps she ought to study Granny Westward’s recipe book more closely. There may well be something in the recipes to help her steal a march on the Botox Queen of Hazy Hassocks. Empowerment or something along those lines. Ginseng in the ginger nuts or caraway in the custard creams.

The phone rang. Groaning, Mitzi glanced at the clock. Gone midnight. It was probably a wrong number. Someone drunkenly wanting a taxi or a kebab delivery. Not bothering to stand up, she rolled towards the handset.

‘Hello … oh, Lance, these late-night calls are becoming a bit of a habit, aren’t they? What’s the matter? Is Jennifer listening in on the extension? She’s where? Doing what? No, I’m not laughing … honestly. But that’s what you get for marrying someone from Chigwell. French manicures and facial detox weekends … Hmmm … What? No, I promise I’m not laughing … what? Oh, don’t be silly, Lance – of course you don’t! Tomorrow? No, I don’t think so – honestly. I’m very busy. Give me a ring in the week, okay? Sorry – goodnight.’

Irritably, she clicked off the phone and threw it under the cushions. Mick and Co. were warbling ‘Under My Thumb’.

Mitzi cuddled Richard and Judy and sighed heavily. Bloody hell. Why had Lance chosen tonight, of all nights, to tell her how much he still needed and loved her?

Chapter Six

‘I know it’s a cliché, but I really, really hate Monday mornings,’ Lulu grumbled as she burrowed deeply into the kitchen’s avalanche cupboard, trying to find a matching boot. ‘But then, if Mondays were part of the weekend I suppose I’d hate Tuesdays instead …’ She sighed heavily. ‘What I really need is a life of total indolence.’

‘Not unlike the one you have now, then,’ Mitzi laughed.

‘Not fair,’ Lulu paused in her boot-sort to peer over her shoulder at her mother. ‘Now you sound like Nasty Niall. It may not be a conventional career – but I work very hard in the shop and on fund-raising and awareness and – oh, and by the way before I forget, Doll says I’m to ask you if you’re thinking of seeing Dad while Jennifer’s away being buffed up. Because if you are, we want it put on record that we’re not happy about it. Much as we love him, he’s not to be trusted, Mum. If you take him back—’

‘Of course I’m not taking him back,’ Mitzi said. ‘I’m not even going to see him. You know what your Dad’s like. Without Jennifer there to mother him, he was just feeling lonely. And she was only being buffed up over the weekend. She’ll be back today.’

‘That’s okay then.’ Having resumed her hunt, Lulu broke off with a little yell of triumph as she discovered the boot, then sat on the floor to pull it on. Richard and Judy helped with the laces. ‘Still, it was all a bit spooky. You know,
you wishing for someone to love you and want you and then – shazam! – Dad’s on the phone saying those very words.’

‘Pure coincidence,’ Mitzi said firmly. ‘And you know Dad always gets maudlin when he’s left on his own for more then twenty minutes. But it was fun, wasn’t it? Especially for you, with the gorgeous Shay moving in next door.’

Lulu scrambled to her feet and opened the back door. ‘Yeah, far better for me than for poor old Doll having to endure Brett’s amorous advances, that’s for sure. Mind you, I haven’t caught as much as a glimpse of him since Friday. He was probably just a pigment of my overheated imagination.’

‘Don’t you mean figment?’

‘After that Wishes Come True concoction I know exactly what I mean.’ Lulu grinned. ‘Right, I’m off. Oh, sod it, it’s raining. I’ll get soaked waiting at the bus stop.’

‘Hmmm – not one of the things I have to worry about. No more wet Monday mornings and getting into work sopping wet and tearing round at lunchtime getting even more sopping wet. I think I shall just spend the day ensconced by the fire organising my first Baby Boomers Collective meeting in the village hall – oh, and maybe planning my next culinary surprise.’

‘That’s so cruel,’ Lulu pulled a face as she rummaged in the pile of back-door debris for a serviceable umbrella.

‘Oh, I think the Baby Boomers are looking forward to meeting up at last – and my cooking wasn’t
that
bad.’

‘It’s not the cooking or the Baby Boomers.’ Lulu looked despondently at a selection of umbrellas with torn fabric and bent spokes. ‘It’s the staying at home by the fire bit … Oh, what the hell – I’ll run to the dentist’s and see if Doll can give me a lift into Winterbrook. It’ll be loads quicker than the bus or waiting for you to get dressed and offer.’ She grinned. ‘Plus it’ll give me a chance to find out what happened during the Love Fest. Bye!’

Doll had become used to her scrounging lifts in the Polo
in inclement weather over the years. It always led to sisterly arguments about Lulu taking her driving test – again. Having failed seven times and knowing that, even if she could drive, she certainly couldn’t afford a car, and not being sure that as an almost-eco-warrior she should be adding to atmospheric pollution anyway, Lulu always felt the argument was very much stacked against her.

The rain was irritatingly fine and non-stop, so by the time she reached the surgery Lulu’s feet were squelching, the hem of her trailing skirt was saturated, her Afghan coat was giving off an even stronger aroma than usual, and drops were dripping annoyingly from the end of every one of her beaded braids.

‘Drowned rat alert!’ Viv the receptionist called out cheerily, not looking up from her screen. ‘Blimey Lu, that coat pongs to high heaven! If you hang around outside Patsy’s Pantry with the rest of the rough sleepers, you’ll make a fortune.’

‘Oh, ha-ha.’

Lulu sploshed her way towards the row of whey-faced patients who, by the way they were all hunched together in the furthest corner, clearly felt that having dental treatment early on a grey and dark October Monday morning was not high on their list of priorities. Perching wetly on the edge of an uncomfortable chair, Lu wondered why dentists always had awful furniture and harsh overhead strip lighting and receptionists like Viv. Maybe it was to fool people into thinking things could only get better.

She picked up a copy of
My Weekly
and shook her soggy braids out of her eyes. ‘Is Doll in yet?’

Viv still didn’t look up from her computer screen. ‘Ages ago. She and Mr J have got an early wisdom tooth. She’ll be free then until the new dentist arrives at about ten. I’ll let her know you’re here.’

‘Thanks.’ Lulu plunged back into the magazine. She always enjoyed reading Mitzi’s copies when she could get her hands on them. There was always a lot of retro-1960s
stuff in them. Lulu had always yearned to be a proper hippie.

The surgery door opened. The knot of waiting patients gathered more tightly together. Ignoring them – and their collective sigh of relief – Doll grinned at her sister. ‘You’re not getting into my car like that. That coat stinks like a sewer. Why on earth don’t you invest in a mac?’

‘I’ll have a look through the stock when I get to work.’ Lulu gave Doll a swift top-to-toe appraisal. Disappointingly there were no telltale signs of a passionate weekend. She didn’t look even slightly ravaged. She looked, as always, neat, clean and sort of polished.

Doll shrugged. ‘You are such a scuz-bucket! Can you just hang on there for a minute – I’ve just got to clear up a few things before Tammy takes over in my surgery.’

At the ‘s’ word, the patients gibbered a bit more. Doll, in a swirl of pristine navy uniform and sensible shoes, vanished back towards the inner sanctum – but not before a menacing waft of antiseptic had blasted into the waiting room. Two of the patients crashed to their feet and headed for the door.

Their escape was hampered by a very tall, very wet man trying to get in. Lulu, having exhausted the instructions in
My Weekly
on the best use of black eyeliner and white lipstick to achieve the Dusty Springfield look, watched with interest.

The newcomer was certainly worth watching.

With cropped hair, a damp leather jacket, one diamond ear-stud and a sort of beautiful, craggy, dangerous Vinnie Jones face, he was head and shoulders above any of the usual Hazy Hassocks dental patients. Lulu had an almostunfaithful-to-Heath-Ledger moment.

Viv was still immersed in her computer, leaving the man standing looking rather lost on the cream lino tiles.

Lulu smiled encouragingly at him. ‘Hi.’ She shook her damp braids away from her face in what she hoped was an attractive gesture. ‘You might as well sit down and wait for
her to finish. They have a really weird set-up here. The receptionist doesn’t speak to her patients until she’s finished playing her patience.’

The man gave a bit of a chuckle at the play on words and Lu warmed to him instantly. And he sat beside her. People often didn’t, especially on buses, because of the Afghan.

Viv finished her card game with a triumphal flourish and glared at the newcomer. ‘Yes? Your name? You can’t just sneak in and sit there, you know. You have to tell me you’re here and who you are.’

‘Okay,’ he nodded. ‘Sounds sensible. I’m here and I’m Joel Earnshaw.’

Lulu gave him a further appraising glance from under her clogged-together lashes. Joel – nice name. Nice voice too. Deep and northern-ish. Being none too sure about dialects she couldn’t tell if it was Lancashire or Yorkshire or maybe even Geordie.

‘You haven’t got an appointment!’ Viv complained after scrolling through the appropriate page. ‘Are you an emergency?’

Joel shook his head. ‘I’m a bit early. I wasn’t supposed to be here until ten.’

Viv pulled her skinny black eyebrows together. ‘Well, I still can’t find you here. You’re not on my list. You’re not an NHS swap, are you? Have you been sent to us from another surgery? This isn’t a
benefits case,
is it?’

‘No,’ Joel said firmly. ‘But now you come to mention it, I am very keen to see dental treatment available to all again. I don’t believe that good teeth should be the sole preserve of the wealthy.’

The knot of quivering patients nodded as one.

Lulu clapped her hands. ‘Oh, well done! I’ve been saying that for ages but no one listens.’

‘Shut up,’ Viv snapped at her. ‘And you—’ she flashed slitty eyes at Joel ‘—have no need to start spouting lefty cants in here! We give a good, honest, value-for-money service.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Joel grinned. ‘And before we get even deeper into the mire, maybe I ought to explain – I’m not here as a patient. I’m a dentist. The new dentist. Mr Earnshaw.’

‘Oh!’ Viv flushed russet. ‘Why ever didn’t you say so? You don’t look like a dentist. And I thought you – he – was called Joe. Our nurse Tammy said you were called Joe.’

‘Possibly she misheard,’ Joel said gently, standing up and walking to the desk. ‘My accent sometimes causes problems south of Watford. So, now we’ve got that cleared up, shall we start again?’

Viv was simpering and preening. Lulu smiled to herself as Joel Earnshaw turned on the charm. Lucky, lucky Doll – working with someone like him. Even the waiting patients – well, the female ones at least – had perked up considerably.

‘Finished at last.’ Doll tip-tapped back into the waiting room, pulling on a sensible navy raincoat and freeing the ends of her neat blonde hair from the collar. ‘We should be able to get you to work before Mr and Mrs Pippin start advertising for a replacement.’

‘They wouldn’t do that,’ Lulu said as she stood up. ‘They’ve always said I’m totally irreplaceable. Well, that they’d never find anyone else quite like me – which is the same thing, isn’t it? But Doll – look … no,
look!’

‘Why are you jerking your head like that?’ Doll frowned. ‘And why are you pulling funny faces? And why—’

‘Doll,’ Viv’s voice dripped honeyed cream. ‘Meet Mr Earnshaw. Joel. Our new dentist. Doll—’ she fluttered her eyelashes at Joel ‘—is our senior nurse. She’ll be working with you until you’re settled in. Then you’ll get Tammy.’

Doll smiled and held out her hand. ‘Lovely to meet you. Sorry I wasn’t around when you came for interview – and so sorry that I’ve got to leave you. I won’t be long – an errand of mercy into Winterbrook – I’ll be back in plenty of time for a quick run-through before our first patient arrives.’

Joel shook her hand, smiled back and murmured something friendly.

Lulu frowned. Why wasn’t Doll all starry-eyed and breathless? Why was she simply her usual friendly efficient self? Why hadn’t she at least blushed a bit?

‘Come on then, sleaze-bag.’ Doll was heading for the door. ‘Let’s get you to work.’

Still bemused, Lulu gave Joel Earnshaw a last glittering beam, and dripped in Doll’s wake.

‘What is wrong with you?’ she exploded as the Polo swished through the Hazy Hassocks puddles towards the main Winterbrook road.

‘Nothing.’ Doll didn’t take her eyes from the road. She drove as efficiently as she did everything else. ‘I’m fine. Why?’

‘But
him
…’ Lu pushed her braids away from her eyes. ‘Joel. Your new dentist. The man you are going to be working with in less than an hour’s time!’

‘What about him?’

‘Dolores Blessing! You are beyond help!’

‘Don’t call me Dolores, Tallullah.’

They grinned at each other. Their real names – their parents’ embarrassing flights of Hollywood fantasy – remained a dark secret between them, their closest friends and their birth certificates.

‘But he’s soooo cool!’

Doll changed gear. ‘He’s okay. A vast improvement on Mr Wiseman of course, and pleasant enough – and nowhere near as ancient as Tammy said he was. What do you reckon? Late thirties? But – he’s not my type.’

Lulu gave a snort of disgust. ‘No, well, he wouldn’t be, would he? Not if boring old Brett the Postie makes you go weak at the knees.’

Doll giggled.

‘Bloody hell, Doll – don’t tell me you actually enjoyed being seduced by someone dressed in cheap black leather? Someone you know better than you know yourself.
Someone who cuts his toenails in front of you and picks his teeth, and probably does disgusting things under the duvet, and—’