LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 8

      ‘What are you wearing?’

      Tash looked up from the office’s main computer. ‘Morning to you too, Emma. You’re late, by the way.’

      ‘Soz. Couldn’t shift Stevie out of the bathroom. Little bro has turned thirteen and discovered girls. And the shower. Used up all my shampoo.’

      ‘You need to find a place to yourself.’ Tash slumped back onto her desk chair and fanned herself. It was the beginning of another hot day and tourists were already thronging Berecombe’s main street. On her way from the car park, Tash had ducked around several suntan-anointed families heading to the beach. Pausing before unlocking the agency’s front door, she’d gazed after them wistfully, wishing her life was so carefree.

      ‘No argument from me there. Can I have a pay rise then?’ When Tash didn’t rise to the bait, Emma said, ‘So what are you wearing? Baggy’s never been your thing. And how long is that skirt?’ Emma twisted and peered down at Tash’s feet. ‘And flats?’ Her eyes widened. ‘The heel of your foot is never in contact with the ground!’

      ‘Well, it is today. Haven’t you got to put the coffee on?’

      Emma flicked on her computer and got up. She went into the little kitchen and called through, as she boiled the kettle and rummaged for biscuits. ‘Not up to high heels this morning? Bit stiff after the run last night?’

      ‘You could say that.’ Tash was sore but not for the reasons Emma was hinting at. She’d been right, she’d had to pay for defying Adrian. And what he’d done to her in bed had made her feel demeaned. It hadn’t been even close to the erotic experience he’d promised her. But after a bottle of wine each, he’d persuaded her to let him do it. The final humiliation had been waking up to find he’d gone in early to work, leaving some clothes for her laid out in the dressing room. She’d hunted for her usual skirt suits and stilettos but they’d disappeared. In their place was the midi skirt, loose blouse and expensive-looking leather pumps that she was currently wearing. They were marginally smarter than the only other clothes left in the wardrobe.

      Emma reappeared carrying two mugs of coffee. ‘Great crowd last night. Brilliant that Millie and Jed turned up although I think Amy’s going to struggle.’

      Tash took her mug. ‘Well, she’s a bit of a lardy-arse.’

      ‘That’s so unkind, Tash! I seem to remember you weren’t all that svelte not that long ago.’

      ‘Yeah. And I did something about it.’

      ‘Well, maybe Amy is trying to as well. It’s not always easy.’

      Tash bit her lip. Why was she such a cow sometimes? Because you’re unhappy, said the voice in her head. She sipped her coffee. ‘Sorry, I know it isn’t. Sorry Em,’ she repeated. ‘I’m in a foul mood this morning.’

      Emma raised an eloquent eyebrow. ‘Just this morning?’

      ‘Point taken.’ Tash sat up straighter and took in a great gulp of breath. It was a gorgeous summer day, she lived and worked in a beautiful seaside town. She loved her job. Life was good, wasn’t it? Glancing across at Emma she wondered if she’d understand? Emma was younger by a few years and happy in what seemed a loving and uncomplicated relationship with Ollie. Did he play mind games the way Adrian did? She was about to ask when Biddy Roulestone flung herself through the door, a hot-looking poodle trailing behind her.

      ‘Need a house,’ she boomed unceremoniously. ‘For Arthur and me. Thinking ahead, you see.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘Neither of us getting any younger. Bungalow would be good. Want to release a bit of equity too. Got my sights on a silver swingers’ holiday in Lanzarote, amongst other things.’ She hmphed. ‘Can’t persuade Arthur though. Might have to leave him here with Elvis.’ The poodle, recognising his name, looked up and wagged his tail. ‘Oh,’ Biddy added. ‘Having a go at baking. Got a bit addicted to Bakeoff and thought it couldn’t be that difficult. Thought I’d have a bash.’ She slung a Tupperware box onto Emma’s desk. ‘See how you get on with my special brownies. Stick me on your property hotlist, won’t you?’ She waved as she began to leave. ‘Come on Elvis,’ she muttered to a reluctant-looking dog. ‘And, if you can find me the right house, you might have mine and Arthur’s to sell and all.’ She cackled. ‘That’ll up your commission!’

      Once she’d gone, leaving dust motes swirling in the morning sunshine, Tash looked at Emma and said, ‘Arthur Roulestone must be a saint.’ They burst out laughing and it broke the tense mood.

      Emma opened the box and sniffed the brownies cautiously. ‘Well, they smell good.’ She picked one up and bit into it. ‘Taste good as well. It was great that Kit came running too,’ she said through a full mouth, returning to the subject. ‘We had such a great time in the Old Harbour afterwards. Shame you had to get off home. God, he looked good in those sweats. Never seen a man with such long legs.’

      Tash’s bad mood threatened to return. She’d not mentioned Kit’s presence to Adrian when he asked who had gone running. It had seemed easier. She thought back to how Kit had loped along, his long legs making light work of the two-kilometre run. He’d been a good running companion. Not talked too much, had gone through the stretches with her. Easy company. The run hadn’t taxed her all that much either but the group had decided, to be fair to the beginners, to start with a short distance and build up. The fun run itself was only five kilometres but they had less than a month to train up. ‘Waste of training, if you go and get hammered in the pub afterwards,’ she snapped, conveniently forgetting the bottle of white she’d drunk. ‘And now, when you’ve finished with gossiping perhaps we can sort out the day diary? I’d like you to value the Morrisons’ bungalow today. And this time Emma, try and get them to sign us up.’

      Emma looked mutinous for a second. The Morrisons had Hughes and Widrow over at least twice a year to value their crumbling 1930s bungalow, with absolutely no intention of putting it on the market. But she knew better than to argue with Tash in her present mood. ‘Yes boss,’ she sighed and hid her resentment in her coffee mug.