The Girl From Barefoot House (45 page)

She sighed. ‘I hate interviewing staff.’

‘I would, too.’

‘I might pick the wrong person.’

‘It happens sometimes.’

‘Then I’d have to sack them, and I’d hate that more.’

‘So would I.’

‘I’ll put an advert in the
Echo
tonight.’

‘That mightn’t be a bad idea.’

She made a face at his back. Bloody workaholic.

She missed Dinah, but didn’t have time to mope. The
contract came from Brewster & Cronin, and she sent it to Terence Dunnet to appraise. She hired a replacement for Dinah. Cathy Connors had moved to Liverpool eighteen months ago when her husband’s firm had relocated to Cheshire and she had been forced to resign her job as editor with a publisher in London.

‘I’m working for a bank at the moment, producing their house magazine, but quite frankly I find it mind-bogglingly boring. Give me fiction any day. I never thought I’d find a position up North with a genuine publisher.’

‘Well, you’ve found one now,’ Josie said contentedly. Cathy would take some of the load off her own shoulders, giving her more time to travel round the country, meeting her writers, taking them to lunch, trying to make them feel as if they were part of a family, not just anonymous assets of a large, impersonal company.

April arrived, and Josie realised that Lily was avoiding her. She was cold and unforthcoming when Josie phoned, and hadn’t been to see her once since the New Year’s Eve party. Lily was too thick-skinned to have taken offence because she’d left early. It must be something else. She recalled the suspicion in her eyes when she’d come into the bedroom and found her talking to Francie. It wasn’t that, surely!

Francie’s workforce had grown larger, mainly due to regular orders from Barefoot House. She needed to speak to him, warn him that two of their books would be reissued shortly so that he would be prepared. It could have been done by phone, but she decided to go in person for a change.

It was impossible to carry on a conversation in a glass
office with no roof while the presses thundered away. Francie took her outside, into the soft mist of a spring morning, and they sat on a wall and talked.

‘It’s not exactly an ideal place to consult with me best customer, but I’m afraid it’ll just have to do.’ He looked a bit down in the mouth, unusual for Francie, who rarely let anything bother him.

She told him about the reissues, and he promised to drop everything as soon as he heard from her. He knew how important it was that orders were met with minimum delay.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, when he got to his feet and began to walk up and down, hands in pockets, kicking at stones.

‘Your friend’s the matter, Lily Kavanagh.’

‘I thought she was known as Mrs Francis O’Leary these days?’

‘Yeah, and it’s Mr O’Leary’s bad luck that she is. Honestly, Jose …’ he sat down again ‘… I wouldn’t dream of saying this to another soul, but we’ve always been completely open with each other. She’s a pain in the bloody arse. If you must know, she thinks you and me are having an affair. I wish to God we were. It would be worth the endless nagging.’ He leered at her weakly.

‘Just because she found us talking in the bedroom?’

‘She said there was an “air of intimacy” about us. I said why the hell not? I’ve known the bloody woman for over thirty years, she’s me friend. Lily said she’d prefer it if I weren’t, and I told her to get lost. I’m not giving up me friends because she’s got a dirty mind.’

‘You said some very intimate things that night, Francie.’

‘I wish I’d done them, not just said them.’

Lily was her own worst enemy. Josie didn’t know what to say.

‘I wouldn’t mind if I’d done anything wrong,’ Francie continued irritably. ‘You know, Josie, I swore to meself I’d never get married because I wanted to avoid this type of thing. I’m a laid-back sort of guy, I like to get on with people. I never cause trouble. If people like me ruled the world, there’d never be another war. If it weren’t for the lads, I’d do a runner. I can’t take much more.’

It was
that
bad! She’d speak to Lily, if she’d let her. Try to talk some sense into her bad-tempered friend.

She kept putting it off. Lily would be taking Simon to school, collecting Alec from playgroup, making dinner, making tea, just sitting down to the television, on the point of going to bed.

In the end it was Lily who rang her, early one morning when Josie was about to go down to her office. ‘I’ve got a lump, Jose,’ she whispered fearfully.

‘Oh, no, Lil! Where?’ Josie cried.

‘In me breast.’ She began to cry. ‘Will you make sure Francie looks after the boys properly when I’m gone? I don’t want to ask our Samantha. She’s only young, and she’s expecting again. Not that I’ll see it,’ she wept. ‘I’ll go in that hospice near Ormskirk. I’ll not let me family watch me suffer. I’m going to be dead brave, Jose. And don’t send flowers to the funeral. I’d sooner the money went to cancer research.’

‘Is it much of a lump, luv?’

‘Well, actually, I can’t find it,’ Lily sniffed, ‘though I’ve felt all over. But I had a mammogram last week, and they’ve written and said to come back this avvy for another. They’ve found something on the X-ray. Oh, Jose. I don’t want to die.’

‘You bloody idiot!’ Josie gasped with relief. ‘That
might mean nothing at all, just that the X-ray hasn’t come out properly or there’s some quite innocent shadows. Even if there is a lump, the chances are it’s benign. It’s a bit early to be planning your funeral, Lil.’ The same thing had happened to Esther only last year. Mind you, Esther had been worried sick when she’d got the letter asking her to go back. She said, more kindly, ‘I’m not surprised you’re upset, but try not to worry. Would you like me to come with you to the clinic?’ She had arranged to drive to Rhyl to take a new author to lunch, but it would have to be changed. Lily came first.

‘
Please
, Jose. I don’t like worrying Francie.’

Another X-ray and a thorough physical examination revealed Lily’s breasts to be completely lumpless. They went to town to celebrate, and got slightly tipsy over a pub lunch. Then they linked arms and went shopping.

‘This is just like old times,’ Lily said. ‘But Liverpool’s so different from how it used to be. There’s no Owen Owen’s any more, where Francie threw me on a bed and sort of proposed. It’s Tesco’s instead.’

‘There’s no Blackler’s either, or Reece’s, where we used to go dancing.’

‘The Rialto burnt down,’ Lily reminded her.

‘Most of the cinemas have closed. And we’re two middle-aged women with grown-up children and greying hair.’ Josie laughed. ‘Everything changes, Lil. Us and Liverpool included. Come on, let’s have coffee in St John’s Market. That’s not half changed, too, since I used to go there with me mam.’

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch for a while,’ Lily said when they were on their second coffee. ‘I’ve been rather busy, what with the boys. I thought … Oh, it doesn’t matter. I haven’t exactly been meself lately.’ She
crumbled the remains of her scone. ‘I think Francie’s a bit fed up with me.’

‘That’s not like Francie,’ Josie said carefully. ‘He’s not the type who easily gets fed up.’

‘How would you know?’ Lily was immediately suspicious.

‘For goodness’ sake, Lil. We’ve both known him since we were sixteen. He doesn’t like people making waves. Remember when he walked out of that pub in Smithdown Road?’

Lily pursed her lips. ‘There was no reason for that.’

‘Yes, there was. You were moaning your head off over just about everything in sight. He couldn’t stand it so he left.’

‘I’d die if he left again.’

‘Then don’t make waves,’ Josie said simply.

‘Who said I was?’

‘You, in effect, when you claimed he was fed up. He wouldn’t get fed up without a reason.’

‘As I said, I haven’t been meself.’ Lily scowled. ‘He drives me mad when he walks away and all I want to do is talk.’

‘You mean nag?’

Lily suddenly grinned. ‘Probably. Anyroad, I’m going to be as nice as pie to everyone now that I’m not going to die. I was ever so scared, Jose, when that letter came. I’m glad I’ve got you.’ She squeezed Josie’s hand. ‘Thanks for coming with me.’

‘Think nothing of it. Now, let’s go try on those frocks we saw in that boutique in Bold Street. You’d really suit the red one. And I’ll treat you to a shampoo and set. I could do with a trim meself. Oh, and another thing, this new woman who works for me, Cathy, goes to a gym in the lunch hour. I thought I’d do the same in the
evenings. I’m getting a paunch.’ She patted her stomach which was as flat as a pancake. ‘Why don’t you come with me, Lil?’

‘I must admit me figure’s not what it used to be.’

‘Then it’s a date. We’ll go together, twice a week.’

Dinah was homesick in London, but now she had a flat of her own and was determined to stick it out, become an international executive and travel the world.

‘Well, your room’s always here for you, luv,’ Josie assured her whenever she rang.

‘I know, Mum. It’s that thought that keeps me going, knowing I’ve got a real home in Liverpool if things go wrong. Is Barefoot House busy?’

‘Incredibly busy.’

Brewster & Cronin had bought the US rights to five books, and she had bought British rights to six of theirs. It meant Barefoot House would soon be producing a book a week. Josie was sometimes in her office until midnight, writing letters, reading manuscripts, making phone calls to New York where the time was five hours behind.

One of her books reached number five in the bestsellers chart, and stayed there for almost two months, an achievement only surpassed by William Friars, whose transfer to Havers Hill she’d read about in
Publishing News
, though there was no mention of when his new novel would be coming out.

My Carnal Life
was reprinted for the eighth time. Val Morrissey reported that
Miss Middleton’s Papers
was being seriously considered by a Hollywood company, Close-up Productions, for a film. Josie rang Julia Hedington when she knew her children would be home, in case she fainted at the news.

One hot, clammy morning in July, Cathy Connors came into Josie’s office holding a manuscript. Josie recognised the look on her face straight away. She’d read something that wasn’t merely a run-of-the-mill enjoyable thriller, suitable for publication but unlikely to set pulses racing throughout the land. She’d read a ‘breaking new ground’ book, as Josie called them, different, exciting, innovative.

‘This is marvellous,’ she said in a rush. ‘I read it last night – all night, in fact. My husband thought I’d fallen asleep downstairs when he woke up at four o’clock and I wasn’t in bed. The thing is, Josie, the author’s only twenty-one. He lives in Northern Ireland.’

Josie looked at the cover.
My Favourite Murderer
, by Lesley O’Rourke. ‘It’s a woman,’ she said. ‘The man’s name is spelled differently.’

‘Of course! I’m so tired, I can hardly think.’

‘I know the feeling. Go home, why don’t you? Have some sleep. I don’t expect my employees to work all night. I’ll read this later. I’d start now, but I’d never get a minute’s peace.’

Cathy said she’d slip off at midday. ‘You’ll enjoy that, Josie.’ They smiled at each other. ‘I almost envy you, having it to read for the first time.’

‘There can’t possibly be a better recommendation than that!’

Everyone felt lethargic with the heat, despite the open windows and electric fans. The front door was propped open. Even Richard’s typing wasn’t at its usual fast pace. The telephone hardly rang; perhaps all over the country people felt the same. Cathy went home, Richard and Bobby went to lunch. Eric was still to arrive. There was only Esther in Reception when Josie went upstairs to
take a shower and change her soggy clothes. It was one of the advantages of living over the office.

She emerged from the shower, feeling only slightly fresher and longing for a little nap. The heat was debilitating. Half an hour wouldn’t hurt, on the bed in Dinah’s room, which was at the back of the house, much quieter. She put on the alarm in case she slept all afternoon.

The high-pitched beep sounded thirty minutes later. Oh, Lord! She felt worse, not just tired but groggy. Her head seemed to be stuck to the pillow, she could hardly hit it. And she’d had a terrible dream, a nightmare, in which Francie had slain Lily with an axe, and Laura had been watching, laughing. Then the dream changed. Mam appeared, crying bitterly, and Josie began to cry with her. ‘Stop that!’ Aunt Ivy screamed, pinching her wrist. The dream changed again. She was with Jack in the snow-covered garage in Bingham Mews. ‘I love you,’ Jack whispered. ‘I don’t want you to go.’ But Josie had flown away, soaring up into the night sky until the world below disappeared, and she was alone in the stark, black wilderness, knowing she was destined to stay for ever, that she would never see another human being again.

She rolled off the bed, put on a towelling robe, went downstairs and made tea. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She dried them with her sleeves, blinking because the room looked so weird. The units, the taps, the kettle – all seemed to have two outlines, the real one and another, slightly fainter, behind. She couldn’t wait to go down to the office – talk to Esther, ring Lily, do some work – so everything would seem back to normal.

‘Is anyone there?’

The voice, a man’s, came from downstairs. Josie went
on to the landing and peered over the white bannisters. A blurred figure, framed by a halo of dazzling sunlight, was standing in the doorway, clutching a travelling bag. Not many people came to the office without an appointment. It was probably a salesmen, offering stationery at a discount, or office machinery. Esther would see to him. At any other time Josie would have done it herself, but she was wearing a bathrobe. It would give a most unbusinesslike impression, even if only to a salesman.

Esther must have gone to sleep. The man’s eyes, probably blinded by the sun, hadn’t yet adjusted to the change in light, and he hadn’t notice the door marked ‘Reception’.

‘There’ll be someone with you in a minute,’ Josie called.

The man stepped inside and shaded his eyes with his hand. He looked up, saw Josie, smiled. ‘Hi, sweetheart,’ he said.