Lola's House (Lola Series) (2 page)

My eyes scan
the passing traffic, barely registering where I am, so lost am I in my thoughts.  I realise I have kind of lost control of everything lately.  It’s hardly surprising, given the events of the last year that I have dropped the ball and let things coast along, and now I am paying the price for my own neglect.  It’s definitely time I got a grip back on life.  I have to pay more attention to where life is leading me instead of stumbling along with the flow. But which direction should I be heading?

I exhale
out loud, gripping the steering wheel tighter, and watch as my knuckles turn white.  A loud honking noise from behind reminds me where I am and I pull out into the traffic.

Chapter Two

I arrive back at the shop to find Sandip’s white van parked in my space, so I park my little car behind it, and enter the shop through the back door.  Muriel has a dress on a hanger which she is busily steaming with an iron to remove
the creases. 

‘Hi
, Muriel, sorry I had to pop out.  Has Chrissie gone?’ I say, craning my neck to look around.

‘Hi, chick, yes she went about ten minutes ago.  She bought two skirts and a jacket - she looked really nice in them, although she has a body to die for, that girl can wear anything.’  Muriel put
s the steam iron down and positions another dress ready for the steam treatment. 

I drop my bag onto the counter
throwing my keys into the top.  ‘Which skirts did she buy?’

‘The
red suede one that came in the other day and a plain black one, they looked fabulous on her, but she has legs that go on forever.  I always wanted legs like that,’ she says, wistfully.

I look down at my own legs, clad in jeans, which don’t exactly go on forever.  At thirty-one years old I am more of a pear shape,
but not in a bad way.  The one bonus is my more than ample boobs, although they have a tendency to spill out when I move fast.  My blonde hair is shoulder length and wavy and I’ve been told I’m not bad looking in a voluptuous kind of way.  ‘You and me both, Muriel,’ I sigh, averting my eyes from my less than endless legs.

‘Anyway, she said to tell you she would see you at the Waddling Duck at seven-thirty to talk about the hen night.’

‘Oh God,’ I groan, ‘more like a hen nightmare.  I don’t know how I get talked into these things.  Do you think I could feign some sort of debilitating disease to get out of it?’

‘You’ll enjoy yourself once you get there, you’ll see,’ she sa
ys, putting the dress back on the rail to let the creases fall out and then switches off the iron.  ‘How about I go and make us a nice cup of tea.’

‘That would be excellent,’ I sa
y, pulling a packet of chocolate digestives out of my bag and holding them aloft. ‘We’d better do these babies some damage then.’

Five minutes later we are sitting by the counter dunking biscuits and slurping tea.  Muriel
is one of my most favourite people ever.  She had come into the shop about five years ago, looking to buy a nineteen fifties grosgrain handbag on display in the window.  We got chatting about fashion and that was it, she started working for me the following week.  Now she works twenty-five hours a week and I think I would be lost without her.  She knows everything there is to know about vintage fashion and is a demon behind the sewing machine.  She’s also been a bit of a surrogate mom to me as my own mom lives miles away and I only ever see her a couple of times a year, and then I try and keep my visits brief.  There would be no points lost for anyone who mistook my mom for Margaret Thatcher, in her heyday, complete with football hairstyle.  The lady is definitely not for turning.

‘So how
are the builder’s getting on?’ She dunks her biscuit and narrowly avoids losing half of it in her tea.

‘Don’t ask
, Muriel, now Ned’s telling me the electrics need replacing, or to quote builders terminology,
shot to shit
.’  I do little air quotes with my fingers at this point. ‘I just don’t know how I’m going to find the money – business is so slow at the moment.  I think I’m going to have to sell the house and live in the back of the shop.’

‘Well, now you come to mention the business I’ve had a few ideas in that direction,’ she sa
ys, taking a bite from her soggy digestive.

My ears perk up and she has my full attention. ‘Go on, tell me more.’

‘You know my niece is nearing the end of her university degree?  Well anyway, she and her friends have designed some really fabulous vintage inspired pieces I think we could sell in the shop.  She asked me about it the other day, said if she could have a little corner to showcase her things she would give us a percentage and put our shop on her website.  Plus she will direct some of her university friends down here to the shop.’

‘Wow, that sounds fantastic, we need a breath of fresh air in here and some young stuff.  When can I meet her and have a look at her designs?’ I bl
ow on the top of my tea, sending ripples across the surface.

‘I’ll get her to come down one of the days next week and bring
in some samples.  She’s so talented.  I think you’ll love her stuff.’

‘Excellent, you set it up then and I’ll look forward to meeting her.’  I knock back the rest of my tea
, making sure to avoid the biscuit crumbs at the bottom of the mug.  ‘I can’t believe she has her own website and we don’t.  Why don’t we have a website, Muriel?’

Muriel laugh
s. ‘I don’t know, that’s not my department, but I do know someone who can hook us up.’

‘Blimey, Muriel, you know just about everyone in town, how did I ever manage before you came along?’  I
put my arm around her shoulder and give her a semi-hug.

She gets a little flustered -
she’s not one for displays of affection, although I think she secretly enjoys it.  ‘Yes, well I just have a very large family.  I’ll get my nephew to pop into the shop too, so you can have a look at some of the sites he has designed.’

‘You are
fantastic; if I could bottle and sell you I’d make a million.’  I kiss her on the cheek and leave her with a big beaming smile on her face, as I go into the back of the shop to wash the mugs.

After Muriel leaves for the evening I spend the next couple of hours tatting around in the back of the shop, sorting through things I should have chucked out years ago.  I fill two bin liners ready to take to the charity shop and then snap off the light in the stock room.  It’s ten past seven when I finally leave and drive the five minutes home.  I haven’t got time to go in and do anything with my appearance, so I dump the car on the drive and half walk, half run to the Waddling Duck just down the road, where Chrissie and I always meet. 

At the pub, Chrissie ha
s positioned herself in the corner and by the looks of it has already sunk a glass of wine.  I go over and drop my bag on the seat next to her.

‘God, you look a fright, what happened?’ she sa
ys, knocking back the remains of her wine.

I quickly glance in the mirror
on the wall opposite, and notice I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.  I try and smooth my hair and rub a smudge off my face.  ‘I’ve been clearing some things out the stock room and I lost track of time.  I’m not staying too long anyway, I need to get home and do some calculations to see if I can afford to get my electrics fixed.  What are you drinking?’

‘I’ll have another one of those please as that one went down rather well,’ she sa
ys, pointing at the empty glass on the table.  ‘Oh, and shall we got some chips to share, I’m starving?’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ I sa
y, grabbing my purse and making my way over to the bar.

Back at the table
again, I set the drinks down and sit beside Chrissie.  We chink our glasses together and say cheers, and each of us are silent while we take a nice long drink. 

‘So, about this hen night,’ she sa
ys, as she sips from her glass. ‘I’m hoping you’re going to be joining in the fun, and not sitting there with your calculator working out how much money you have left to pay for plastering or whatever.’

‘Of course I’ll be having fun.  It looks like I’ll have to make the most of the weekend, as I won’t be going anywhere else for a while seeing as I’m pretty
skint.  Where is it we are going exactly?’

‘Brighton, I thought I’d told you that?’

‘Well no, as you only let slip this morning it was actually a weekend and not just a night out,’ I say, thinking back to earlier in the day when she had dropped the bombshell.

‘I was thinking we could have a look round for a man for you to really put a smile on your face.’  Her eyebrows sho
ot up and she gives me a knowing look together with a nudge from her elbow.

The waitress appear
s, putting a big plate of chips on the table.  I thank her, and Chrissie picks up the vinegar and splashes it all over the chips, which quickly evaporates leaving an acidic fug in the air.

‘A man in Brighton?
  You are having a laugh I take it?’  I say, as I pick up a red hot chip and put it in my mouth.  It burns my tongue so I quickly start blowing out air and fanning my mouth.

‘What’s wrong with getting a man in Brighton, we won’t be doing hen things all weekend.’

‘I know that, but it’s Brighton, gay capital of England.’  I swallow the chip and move swiftly in for another one before Chrissie eats them all.

‘Oh God, you’re right, I never thought of that.  But I’m sure there’ll be some straight men there.’ 

‘Even if there is, Brighton is about two hundred miles away from here.  I can’t afford to get into a long distance relationship with anyone.’

Chrissie laugh
s. ‘Who said anything about a relationship?’

I roll my eyes in the
ir sockets in exasperation, as a male hand appears from nowhere and reaches into the chips and helps itself.  We both look up and see Calum, Chrissie’s boyfriend, and she springs up and kisses his cheek. 

‘I thought you weren’t picking me up until
later?’

‘It is
later, babes, I’ll go and get us all a drink seeing as you two look set for the evening.’  He winks at me and asks what I want to drink.

‘I’ll come with you, Cal, and help you carry them back,’ she sa
ys, leaping out of her seat again and trotting off to the bar with him.

Typical Chrissie, she
is so in love with Cal she can hardly bear to be apart from him for five minutes.  But they are really sweet together, I don’t know how she will manage for a whole weekend away from him.  I muse on what a perfect couple they are; trying to remember the last time I have felt that way about someone.  I wrinkle my nose - that is probably a subject area best not to dwell on for too long.

I come back down to ea
rth with a bump, as I look up and see a familiar face at the bar, and the very same subject area that I don’t want to dwell on.  I feel my heart start to thud in my chest and I go ice cold as a fine sweat breaks out on my skin.  He turns around slowly and I see his dark hair and then his face, confirming my worst fear. James, my ex boyfriend. He spots me, smiles and waves.  My hand involuntarily waves back of its own accord and I have to force it back down to my side. 

James and I had split up last year
and not really in a good way.  We had dated whilst at university and when I moved to Lichfield, he came with me and we rented a flat about five minutes walk from Gran’s house, so I could keep an eye on her.   James had very firm ideas about what he wanted in life.  Unfortunately, gran’s house wasn’t one of the things on his list and he wanted me to sell it and buy a boxy flat with views of the canal.  When I refused he dug his heels in, and the rest as they say, is history.

That was a year ago and I haven’t set eyes upon him since. 
Until now.  What I really want to do is run, but as he is making his way across the pub towards me, I can’t do that without making myself look like a total moron.  So I sit tight with a smile fixed on my face and pray I will start breathing again soon.

And of course, i
n my imagination I have always looked perfect when I bumped into him, but typically, the reality is a little different. But it’s too late to do anything about my appearance, as before I know what’s happening he is standing in front of me, smiling and saying hi.

My brain kicks into emergency mode and I smile back, hiding the
turmoil going on underneath my skin. ‘Hi yourself, how are you doing?’

‘I’m good thanks, Lola.  How have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.’  He annoyingly, look
s perfectly groomed in jeans, sky blue shirt and a year round tan.

‘I’m great thanks, been working hard, you know how it is,’ I say, trying to decide how to get the frozen grin off my face.

‘Still got the shop?’ he asks. 

‘Yes, we’re still ticking over.’  I’m not about to tell him we’re going down the pan
, am I?

‘I’ve just popped in for a swift one with some mates.  I can’t believe it’s really you, Lola, you look great,’ he says, inspecting me a little closer. 
‘Although, you do look a little dusty.’

‘Oh yeah, I was clearing out the back of the shop,’ I laugh nervously, and sm
ooth my hand over my messy hair.  Only a minor miracle will improve my appearance tonight and they are a bit thin on the ground at the moment.

‘Well it’s been great seeing you,’ he says,
standing there awkwardly for what seems like forever.  ‘We should catch up properly sometime.’

‘Yes, we should, that would be great.’ 
Why, why am I saying this?  On the surface we are drawn to each other, but the reality is we have never quite been on the same page - we repel each other like the north ends of two magnets.