Page 41 of Gold Digger
“How did you meet Florrie?” I asked as we climbed the stairs (the lift had long since given up the ghost, and we were well into the third month of taking the pee-smelling stairs).
“She came to the big room while you were cleaning.”
I took my keys out and, finally, we were in our little oasis. Once inside, I turned the deadbolt and put the chain on. I’d move the chest of drawers across once Hayley was in bed later.
“Florrie speaks a lot,” Hayley told me. I laughed at that – Hayley wasn’t wrong. The time I’d met Florrie with Margot she’d certainly had a lot to say. “So she said it didn’t matter if I was quiet – she’d make up for it. We learnt a dance. She had a phone and played some music on it, and she taught it to me.”
It was the most words I’d ever heard Hayley say at one time, and I felt like my heart was breaking. Why did the first kid she connected with in years have to be the niece of a man who hates me and the granddaughter of a woman who’d prefer to pay me off than take the small risk of me being a part of her family one day?
“You can’t see Florrie again,” I told her. “What about the kids at school?”
She looked away, and her little shoulders dropped. For a mad moment, I considered ringing Ollie and saying, “Hey, listen. I know you hate me and your family hates me, but how about we arrange a playdate between my sister (who you aren’t aware exists) and your niece? Sound good?” Yeah, never going to happen. But then Hayley said something in a low whisper that I only just caught, and it changed everything.
“I spoke to her.”
“You what?” I flew to where she was curled up on the sofa. “Hayley, you spoke to her?”
“It was only one word,” she mumbled as if it was no big deal, when it was a very,verybig deal. Hayley hadn’t said one word to anyone other than me in two years. “It was after she showed me the dance.”
I felt my throat swell and my eyes sting but I managed to ask, “What did you say?”
“Cool.”
I let out a watery laugh. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
She shrugged, and I gathered her up in my arms, hugging her to me.
“So, can I see her again?”
I closed my eyes and hugged her tighter as her little arms came around my neck to cling onto me.
“We’ll see, lovebug. We’ll see.”
Chapter 19
I’m only a cleaner, remember?
Lottie
“Why don’t you ever drive, Vics?” I asked as we glided to a stop outside the pub. Vicky tended to travel in the Buckingham town cars with a driver, so we were both sitting in the back.
“I can drive, but I rarely do and never at night.”
I felt some discomfort coming off her. “Okay, hun, you don’t have to?—”
“I have meltdowns,” she blurted out. I was a bit more attuned to Vicky now. She may have been difficult to read, but she wasn’t impossible. This subject made her uncomfortable. I wished I could take back the question.
“Okay, honestly, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”
She shrugged as if it was nothing and that shrug was the first half-lie she’d ever told me. “I had them a lot as a child, but they’re very rare now. You know, standard stuff – hand flapping, shaking, covering my ears. It can be triggered by bright lights, very loud noises, aggressive situations where physical violence is a threat. So, I can drive, but I never drive at night. The headlights, the streetlights, the unpredictability of the environment just mean I’m not comfortable.”
“Okay,” I said softly. “Well, that sounds like a pretty sensible decision then.”
“I always make sensible decisions.”
“Right, yes, of course,” I said, hiding a smile. To be self-effacing was, in Vicky’s book, just another form of lying: she couldn’t see the point in it. “Thanks, Rich,” I said to the driver. “You coming in for a pint?” Richard smiled at me.
“No thanks, Lottie.”
