Never Can Say Goodbye (13 page)

Frankie was now completely swept up in this love story from so many years ago. It was so wonderfully romantic.

‘But she didn’t? Turn you down, I mean?’

‘No, duck, she didn’t. She just smiled at me – such a lovely smile she had, it lit up the whole village hall – and said yes.
And she just stepped into my arms – and off we went.’

Frankie nodded. ‘And … ?’

‘And all my pals were jealous. I could see ’em all looking at me and wondering why this beautiful girl had danced with me
and not with them. And holding her in my arms was like holding … oh, I don’t know … like holding stardust and moonbeams all
rolled into one. Magical. And she smelled of summer flowers and I knew there would never be anyone else for me.’

Frankie swallowed the lump in her throat. It was all a million miles away from the frenetic, frantic, noisy groping and gesturing
of getting-to-know-you on the dance floor these days.

‘And –’ she looked at him, not wanting the story to end ‘– you carried on dancing with her, did you?’

‘Ah, I did. And we talked when we sat out the more lively dances and got to know one another a bit. I bought her a ginger
beer – the village hall weren’t licensed – and then we danced some more. And when the night was over I walked her home.’

‘Oh, that’s so lovely,’ Frankie sighed. ‘Walking her home. I so wish people still did that.’

He nodded. ‘I held her hand, and we walked across fields and along lanes and I didn’t know where I was or what time it was
or anything. I was just floating along, listening to her talking and laughing – she had such a pretty laugh – and then we
stopped at the end of her street and I kissed her goodnight.’

Frankie swallowed again. ‘That was brave of you.’

‘Ah.’ He chuckled. ‘I thought she might slap me face, but she didn’t. She kissed me back. And I was like a dog with two tails.
There wasn’t a happier lad in the whole world than me that night.’

‘And you asked to see her again? And she said yes?’

‘Yes, to both, duck. By some miracle she saw something in me – me, not very tall and not very good-looking and with curly
hair and a bit of a squint. And her – the prettiest girl in seven counties. And then I told her I loved her.’

‘Wow.’ Frankie shook her head. ‘And what did she say?’

He chuckled again. ‘She said she was right glad because she thought she loved me too. And that was it. We’d be together for
ever, we said. And we were. From that day on … until … until she died. We courted for four years while we saved up to get
wed.’

‘And she wore the dress?’

He nodded. ‘She was always beautiful, but never more than
on our wedding day. In that dress. It means everything to me, that dress. I’ll never, ever get used to being without her,
duck. Never. My heart broke the day she died and has never mended. All I want is to be with her again. She was my life, my
love, my reason for living.’

Frankie dashed away the tears. ‘Please, please, have the dress. You don’t have to pay for it. I’ll wrap it up for you now
and you can take it home.’

‘I can’t, duck.’

‘Why? Because you think, um, Thelma and Louise might –?’

‘Thelma and Louise is long gone. Back to wherever they came from. They took what they wanted – and there weren’t much to take,
I can tell you – and then they cluttered off.’

OK. In his grief-stricken mind, Thelma and Louise had taken their gun-toting, mad-car-driving away from Kingston Dapple. That
was a relief.

‘So, if they’ve gone, why can’t you take it home now?’

‘I haven’t got a home any more, duck.’

Oh, no … Frankie groaned. Homeless – at his age! How awful. Surely there must be shelters or something? Or was he even too
mad and sad to be housed in a shelter?

He looked hopefully at her. ‘So, now do you understand, duck? This was the only thing of my wife’s I had left. And Thelma
and Louise robbed me of it – and everything else. I don’t care about the rest of it, but I care about the dress. It was the
most important thing I had left in my life.’

‘But you came in here wanting to buy it, didn’t you?’

‘No, duck. I’m here with it. It brings my Achsah close to me, see?’

Achsah? Frankie frowned. Where had she heard that name before?

‘
Achsah
?’

‘I thought it was a lovely name.’ He nodded and gave a little chuckle. ‘Mind, she always hated it. Called herself Betty in
private. Her dad was a bit of an old fire and brimstone man. Well known for it over in Tadpole Bridge, he was. All her brothers
and sisters had odd Old Testament names too. Poor souls. They all hated them and—’

‘What’s
your
name?’ Frankie interrupted, everything suddenly falling scaringly into place like a tumble lock.

‘Ernie Yardley, duck. What’s yours?’

‘Frankie Meredith,’ Frankie said faintly. ‘And you can’t be Ernie Yardley because Biddy came in here a few weeks back and
bought an outfit for his funeral. Ernie Yardley’s dead.’

‘I know I am, duck.’

Frankie felt very sick. And very, very frightened.

‘Don’t be scared, duck.’ Ernie beamed at her. ‘I was scared rigid meself when I found out I was dead but not
gone
– if you get my drift.’

Nooo, this couldn’t happening. She must be dreaming …

‘You mean, um … ’ Frankie closed her eyes in the hope that it was all an illusion, then opened them again. It wasn’t. Ernie
was still there. ‘You mean, you’re a
ghost
?’

‘I suppose I must be.’

‘You can’t be.’ Frankie looked wildly round the shop. ‘I can’t be here talking to a ghost. I don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘Not my problem, duck, if you don’t mind me saying. Whether you believe in me or not is neither here nor there, really, is
it? I’m here, so are you, and we’re having this chat, so one of us must be mistaken, mustn’t we? Look, can I just tell you
my side of things?’

‘NO!’ Frankie shouted, angry at her gullibility and still
terrified at the same time. ‘No, just go home. Stop messing about, stop playing silly games and go home. Oh, you nearly had
me fooled with that story.’

‘The story ain’t a story, duck. It’s all true. Exactly how it happened. All I want now is to be reunited with my beloved Achsah.
She’s waiting for me, and I can’t reach her.’

‘Sorry. This isn’t funny any more. You are
not
a ghost! You are
not
Ernie Yardley! Maisie stupid Fairbrother set you up for this, didn’t she? Because I said I didn’t believe in ghosts, she’s
sent you along to play at haunting. You might as well drape a white sheet over your head and go “woo-woo-woo” and—’

‘Look, duck, I don’t like it any more than you do. I don’t even understand it. But I left this life in Poundland just as I
was getting some nice cut-price things for me tea. And it didn’t bother me a jot. I’ve wanted to be reunited with Achsah for
so long, duck. But I’m not. I’m here, with her frock what they stole from me, see?’

‘Go away!’ Frankie marched over to the door and hauled it open. The thick grey fog swirled in, like … well, like a whole lot
of ghosts. ‘Get out! Now! You don’t scare me. Not any more. It’s just some sort of stupid joke! Go, please!’

‘You go and ask Slo Motion if you wants to know the truth.’ Ernie looked woebegone. ‘Slo Motion did my funeral. They – Thelma
and Louise – didn’t go along with my plans, duck. They changed everything to the cheapest possible.’

‘Stop it! You’re just being silly now. All this nonsense about Thelma and Louise.’

‘Thelma and Louise are my nieces, duck. My only relations. Pair of nasty bitches they are too. And they had me cremated when
I wanted to be buried along with Achsah in the little churchyard in Tadpole Bridge, like we’d always planned. They
went cheapskate, duck. They cleared out all my things and got rid of them. What they couldn’t sell, they just dumped. Like
Achsah’s dress here. And that wasn’t all –’

Frankie clapped her hands over her ears. ‘La-la-la! I’m not listening! Get out! And tell Maisie Fairbrother that this won’t
work! I-do-not-believe-in-ghosts!’

‘As I said, I’m sorry, duck. But it’s really not my problem what you believe in. You go and ask Slo to tell you what happened
before my funeral. Slo knows who I am and what happened. Get him to tell you about the car journey to Tadpole Bridge. Ask
him what happened at the traffic lights. There weren’t no one there except him and me and I was dead. Not a living soul knows
about that car journey except me and Slo, and I suppose I’m not a living soul, so to speak. Get him to show you a picture
of me, and then you’ll know who I am.’

‘Get out!’ Frankie marched to the door and flung it open. ‘I’ll be fair to you. I’m going to count to ten … ’

‘OK, duck, off you go.’

‘One and two and … ’ Feeling very silly, Frankie counted slowly. ‘ … nine and ten. Right, if you don’t go now I’m going to
call the police. I don’t want to, but I will, then you and Maisie Fairbrother are going to look really silly with your trumped-up
nonsense, aren’t you?’

There was no reply. She squinted round the shop. The 1950s rails stood silent. Achsah’s alleged wedding dress was still there.

And Ernie Yardley, or whoever he was, had gone.

How on earth had he managed to slip past her? For his age he must be amazingly light on his feet. Probably ballroom dancing,
Frankie thought. He’d obviously been a good dancer in his day. And there’d been a big increase in ballroom dancing in the
area since
Strictly
. All the oldies loved it because it
reminded them of the days when every village had a little dance hall – just like in Ernie’s supposed story – or so Rita had
said. However he’d managed it, he’d gone.

Frankie carefully searched every inch of the shop. No, not a sign of him. Thank goodness, because she really would have called
the police. Probably … Silly old fool – telling her such a tale. Just as well Lilly hadn’t been here – Lilly would have believed
every single word of it. And damn Maisie Fairbrother. She’d have a few things to say to her, too. It would take more than
a few mad old pensioners to frighten her …

Checking everything again, Frankie locked the kitchen, set the alarm, switched off the lights and opened the door. Oooh, it
was a really awful night. The fog hung, a sulphurish yellowy-grey blanket, blotting out almost everything in the market place.
The thought of heading home to Featherbed Lane, and having a bath, hot chocolate and snuggling into bed with a good book until
sleep swept over her, had never seemed so appealing.

‘Goodnight, duck.’ Ernie’s voice wavered from somewhere behind her. ‘And please, if you’ve got any compassion in your soul
after what I’ve told you about me and Achsah, go and see Slo Motion, tell him I said “Whoops, Ern, there you go. Can’t have
people thinking you can’t hold your ale, can we?” and get this lot sorted out for me.’

Frankie swirled round in the darkness. How the hell had he got back into the shop? ‘No. No way. Absolutely not. This has gone
too far. Get out of my shop!’

‘Please, duck. You seem like a nice girl. I miss Achsah so much. I want to be with her again. I can’t spend eternity alone
like this. You can help me if you want to.’

‘Enough!’ Frankie slammed the lights on again and marched
angrily across the shop, looking between, under and over the rails. ‘I like a joke as much as anyone, but this isn’t funny
any more. I don’t know where you are or where you were hiding, but enough’s enough! Get out!’

But, despite searching every inch of Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks, from top to bottom again, Frankie could find no sign of
Ernie Yardley.

The shop was completely empty.

Her heart thundering, Frankie hurtled into the Toad in the Hole. It was, as usual, practically deserted.

Frankie looked round the minimalist decor in despair. There was no one here who could help her. No one she could talk to.

A few couples sat awkwardly on the high stools, and a lone man was picking at what looked like a plate of entrails-in-jus,
but there was no sign of Lilly or the others. They must have decided against the Jägerbombs-fest and gone their separate ways.
And Dexter had gone out for a night of passion with the nubile Ginny. Even Brian and his kebab van were still touting their
Saturday night cholesterol-fest round the villages.

And Ernie Yardley’s so-called ghost was possibly still in Francesca’s Fabulous Frocks.

Not that she believed it for a moment. She didn’t, simply didn’t, believe in ghosts.

Was someone playing a cruel trick on her? Someone who resented her inheriting Rita’s shop and wanted to drive her
out? It seemed highly unlikely, but then so did Ernie Yardley’s so-called ghost …

There was only one thing for it. Tired as she was, Frankie knew now she’d never sleep until this was sorted out. She pulled
out her mobile phone.

‘Oh, hi, Phoebes, sorry to bother you. I mean, I know you said you and Rocky were having a cosy night in and I hope … What?
You’re dressed as who? Really? Wow. OK … A bit too much information there, probably … Please don’t let me stop you … Oh, yes,
I can hear AC/DC in the background. I thought you were seriously into Take That? Does it? OK … No, no – what I really wanted
to ask you is Slo in downstairs? Is he? Oh, great … And do you think it would be too late … ? Oh, don’t they? Never before
midnight? Yes, the late-night films on Sky can be quite … OK, lovely. No, I don’t want to arrange a funeral, thanks. I just
need to ask him something. What? Yes, it was. A really great day. Thanks again for all your help, Phoebes. I really couldn’t
have done it without you. Oh, no, don’t worry, I won’t pop up tonight. You and Rocky carry on. See you soon … Bye … ’

Frankie snapped her phone shut, dug into her handbag for her car keys and stepped out of the Toad into the cold, clammy, foggy
night.

Thirty-five slow, tortuous minutes later she pulled her bright blue Mini into the parking space outside the Edwardian house
in Winchester Road where both Phoebe and Slo had flats. It normally took about ten minutes to drive between Kingston Dapple
and Hazy Hassocks but tonight it had been like driving blindfolded. It had been petrifying, not being able to see the road
markings, or, in some cases, even the road.