The Whiskerly Sisters (2 page)

Exercising quietly in the corner was Rebecca, a slight, elegant lady in her mid-fifties. Keen on fitness, Rebecca, or Bex to her friends, came across as shy, reticent, passive; a woman who rarely spoke unless spoken to. Ever punctual and a good listener, she gave little away so no one really knew much about her. She moved through Charley's routine with all the grace of a gazelle, in time, in step and with a pleasant smile on her face. Whatever was happening in her life, Bex knew how to rise above it. She had learned the secret of serenity.

The only man regularly present at the Tuesday night class was Sly. Tall and muscular with the face of an angel and overly long auburn hair, he was adored by every woman present, not just for his looks, but also, unusually for himself. He was their ‘why can't' man. “Why can't my husband, boyfriend, lover, partner be like him?” the girls would lament, staring unashamedly at the sight of his sculptured back leaving the room. Well dressed, well mannered, well groomed and gorgeously fragrant, he was, on the surface at least, every woman's dream. He moved like a dancer, his smile could light up a room and his love for the female of the species was obvious. Although quiet by nature and sometimes a little aloof, he had an easy charm and a real respect for women, which instinctively put them at their ease. He had the uncanny knack of being able to be both their ultimate fantasy guy and simply one of the girls. Best of all, he was single! But, no matter how they tried – and some of them really, really tried – he never properly flirted with any of them and, to the best of their knowledge, he had never asked any of them out. Jeez, what did a girl have to do?

Twenty minutes into the routine and Jax was cursing the clock, willing it to move faster. Surely to God, there couldn't be forty more minutes of this purgatory? Still, it was better than last week when she hadn't been able to keep up at all. Three gym sessions a week were making inroads into her fitness, but it was tough going. What made it worse was the knowledge that behind her Izza would have barely broken into a sweat.

“Stay low and pump it,” commanded Charley, all teeth and hair.

Did anyone in their right minds really own that many crop tops and matching sweat bands?
wondered Jax, who had yet to see the same outfit twice.

“Come on, lower. Now squeeze – that's it – hold those glutes,” ordered Charley. “If you don't squeeze them, no-one else will. Now pulse, come on, lower. Pulse it.”

“Give me a break,” grumbled Jax, whose backside simply refused to graze the deck no matter how hard she tried. Gritting her teeth, she tried to inch down a little lower. Christ that hurt! Sometimes life was just not fair.

Had she been able to read her mind, Celia would have agreed. Life definitely wasn't fair for Celia right now and most especially when it came to her job. She worked 45 hours a week for a toy manufacturer as PA to a megalomaniac. The pay wasn't bad, but brother did she earn it. Impossible deadlines, unrealistic expectations and far too frequent savings of the day were common themes in Celia's working world. Her boss, Patrick, was utterly disorganised, maddeningly mercurial and, some days, he could make the Victorian workhouse seem like an easy life. There were times when she even believed that he set her up to fail deliberately so that he could take his frustrations out on her. On the other hand, he had promised her the role of Office Manager with two staff to support her when they moved to the new warehouse in the autumn, so it was worth putting up with all the crap. Wasn't it?

Izza was wondering if anyone would notice if she took a sneaky peak at her mobile under the pretext of needing a sip of water. Her boyfriend, Tony, hadn't texted her all day and she was getting anxious. Why oh why did he do this? One minute, he was all loving and giving, talking about moving in together and undying devotion; the next he was pushing her away, telling her she was too clingy and that he needed some room. One day, he was texting her every five minutes declaring undying love and fidelity then, out of nowhere, the winds would change and in would pour the sidewinders – accusations of infidelity, disloyalty, putting everyone else above him, not loving him enough. On and on he would storm. Worse, she might be faced with a wall of absolute, angst-ridden silence. Eventually, when she had bitten her nails to her elbows, he would call. He had been working he'd explain. Or mending the car or down the pub or playing football or eating chop suey or watching TV – whatever, stop fussing, back off, give me some space and sometimes, terrifyingly, IT'S OVER.

Izza's heart soared. Tony had sent her a text. All smiles now, she swiftly returned her mobile to the pocket of her hoodie and resumed her place. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that her mother was looking at her with that frown on her face again. Izza ignored her. What could she possibly know about love at her age?

Charley glowered at the class in front of her, barking instructions at them and expecting immediate compliance. A fitness instructor for many years and an attractive woman in her early forties, Charley was a perfectionist. She set herself high standards, always looked the part and furthermore expected anyone attending her class to behave in a similar manner. Failing to turn up to class was almost a hanging offence as far as she was concerned. Furthermore, she loathed newcomers and could barely tolerate the sight of the out of condition Jax sweating and heaving in front of her. In a rare moment of pity, she had graciously condescended to let her to come to her classes, but only because she was close friends with Fresna and Celia, both of whom were long standing members of the group. True, Fresna was often late, but Charley had decided long ago to overlook that because of the woman's dedication and stamina. Besides which, she could always be counted on to attend every Celebrity Gym Club Workshop or Fitness Break, plus persuade a bunch of friends to come with her, which in turn, gave Charley considerable kudos with the Women's Health and Fitness Association, but those sweet thoughts were not at the front of Charley's mind this evening.

No, this evening, Charley was in a foul mood; she felt savage and she was taking it out on her class. The Club Manager would have spoken to her severely had he known about it. However, as an experienced professional of many years' standing, Charley had gained the unswerving loyalty of the group. She knew nothing would be said. And, in any case, several members of the group delighted in this aspect of her sessions, believing they were getting exceptional workouts. So what the hell, it was win-win.

However, it was far from win-win in her personal life where she was fighting a losing battle, which for Charley was untenable. Her problem centred on the Neanderthals next door. Three months ago, her life had been pleasant, peaceful and perfectly under her control but then, in the space of one short weekend, a seemingly ordinary married couple had moved into the house next to hers. That is to say a seemingly ordinary married couple along with their two extraordinarily unattractive toddlers, their four baying hounds, their three shitty cats, their psychotic parrot and their thundering black and decker drill had moved in next door; as a consequence of which Charley's life had undergone a sudden, dramatic, downhill shift. Nothing she had done or said so far had alleviated the situation, which was beginning to alarmingly spiral increasingly out of control. The constant noise, the lack of privacy and the deep frustration she felt at being disempowered were beginning to take their toll.

Forcing herself to concentrate on the group in front of her, Charley nailed the smile back onto her face and stepped on the gas. Celia and Fresna glanced at each other and smiled knowingly. No prisoners would be taken tonight. It was going to be an outstanding workout.

It was the habit of a few select members of the group to meet in the upstairs bar of the Lord Nelson pub, known as the Whiskerly Room, which was opposite the gym. It was not the three line whip regimen that was the hallmark of the Tuesday class, more of a drop by if you are available kind of thing. By the time, Charley arrived, freshly made up and looking more like she had stepped out of Vogue rather than out of the shower, there were several people there already. Unfortunately, on this occasion Sly was not among of them, which slightly irritated Charley, who was determined to get her claws into the handsome man and made the most of every opportunity to do so. Tonight was not going to be one of them. Damn!

Jax was sipping on a diet coke.
Bless her,
thought Charley uncharacteristically,
she really was trying and did seem to have lost a little weight.
Izza, drinking Archer's, was consumed with texting. Celia, deep into her third glass of merlot, was giving it large about Patrick to Bex, Fresna and everyone else in the room regardless of whether or not they wanted to listen.

“The man is insane.” roared Celia. “Does he think the fairies do it? Why can't he organise himself just once? Twenty marketing folders to put together, a presentation to format – all urgent – must be out the door by twelve and then he bloody well leaves the building and forgets to sign it off and then has a go at me because it arrives late. Well thank you very much. Has me running up and down those effing stairs from dawn till dusk, never a thank you and for what? For what?” she grumbled.

“Why do you do it?” asked Fresna, already knowing the answer, having heard the story before, but ever eager for further chapters from Celia's tales from the toyshop.

“You bloody well know why, Fres,” said Celia passionately. “The promotion. This is it, I can feel it. Management at last! Sodding overdue, of course.”

“Of course it is,” soothed Bex. “With your skills, you should have been promoted years ago.”

“Instead of which, he walks all over you for peanuts every single day,” contributed Jax.

“Ooh very pot-kettle. Get over yourself sister! Right now, you're just anti-men,” fired back Celia, who resented what she saw as an attempt to rain on her victim parade. “You'll get past him. You know what they say. Time is a great healer and all the jazz,” she added, without a trace of sympathy for her friend's situation.

“Yes, look at me,” sighed Tiffany. “Who'd have thought this time last month that I would have found…HIM?” she asked of no one in particular as she gazed adoringly at her blond reflection in the mirror over the bar.

“Again!” replied Celia sarcastically and who decidedly did not want the attention turning from her tales of daring don't at work to the snakes and ladders that constituted Tiffany's love life.

“Give it up Tiff,” she advised. “It's doomed. You're fated to spend your entire love life seesawing between being picked up and then dumped by some charmless prick in some seedy bar somewhere in the vicinity of nowhere and couldn't care less.”

“She's right,” counselled Fresna, whom no man would dare to either pick up or dump. If there was any picking up to do, she'd be the one doing it and when it came to dumping, she preferred to do it at the height of the relationship when everything was at its best and most definitely before it waned as it inevitably would given enough time and attention.

“Don't be so mean,” said Bex, ever the peacemaker. “She's an adult. She can make up her own mind. I'm delighted for you, Tiff. I really am.”

“Thanks Bex, you're a real friend,” replied Tiffany, pointedly turning her back on the offending Celia.

There was a breath or two of silence. It was at this point and with perfect timing that Charley breezed into the room.

“Let me guess,” she said, sizing up the situation at once and pointing at each one in turn. “You're in love, you're still at war with your boss, you've just had a shag, you're dying for some chocolate, you're saying nothing about anything, she's texting and I'm buying.”

In one single, succinct sentence, Charley had both summed up the situation and deftly stolen the limelight.

“Grab us a corner someone,” she ordered, approaching the bar where Alex was waiting to serve her anything her heart might desire and a whole shedload more should she ever give him the merest flicker of interest, which she never would because, in her eyes, Alex was a nobody and quite simply beneath her.

Bringing their drinks across to the table at which the finger flicking Izza already sat hunched over her mobile, the ladies sat themselves down and watched as Charley brushed off the love struck bartender, collected her slim line tonic and joined them.

“You look tired, Charley. Everything alright?” For once, Bex was opening up the conversation.

“Fine,” Charley assured them shortly, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, agitated that she might be betraying her anxiety.

“Rubbish,” countered the belligerent Celia. “Something's up, Charley. You've been like a bear with a sore head for weeks now and, no offence, but you've got dark circles under your eyes and you're losing weight. Come on ‘fess up. What's up?”

Charley knew that she would not be able to brush off a determined Celia. Drawing herself up and taking a deep breath, she gave back as good as she got.

“Well, if you must know, you nosey cow – in one sentence – noisy neighbours. Christ, it's like living next door to the Designer Gooneys. Kids, dogs, cats, even a parrot for God's sake – and he's into late night DIY.”

“Oh dear, poor you. Have you spoken to them?” asked Bex with genuine concern.

“What do you think?” replied Charley tartly.

“Why don't you dob them into the Environmental Health?” asked Celia, who had little time for anyone else's problems.

“I tried threatening them with that, but it's not that straightforward. All I got from the Council was a bunch of useless advice. Besides which, I could spend a fortune on a solicitor to get nowhere,” replied Charley tonelessly.

“Get up a petition – get all your neighbours involved,” suggested Jax, ever eager to find a solution.