Page 6 of Loving Netta Wilde

‘Yes, I am fully aware of that, Netta. I need to phone your father. God knows what he’ll say. I just hope he contains his fury, for Liza’s sake.’

Netta put a hand over her mouth to hide the smile that was forming at the thought of her dad, the mild-mannered Arthur Wilde, containing his fury. Her mum’s expression made it clear she hadn’t hidden it well enough.

She was saved by a well-timed interruption from Neil. ‘Excuse me butting in, ladies, but it’s getting a bit busy. I could do with some help.’

Her mum shot him a withering look. ‘We’re rather busy here too, if you don’t mind, Neil.’

Something very close to pain and bewilderment flashed across Neil’s face. Under normal circumstances, he could do no wrong, as far as her mum was concerned. But these were not normal circumstances and he’d been well and truly told off. ‘Sorry, Geraldine.’

She gave him a cursory glance. ‘I’ll be with you shortly. I need to call Arthur.’

Netta took Neil by the arm. ‘Come on, we’ve got customers waiting.’

‘She didn’t take it well, then?’ he whispered.

‘She did not.’ She cast her eyes over to her mum who was shaking her head, waving an arm and talking, all at the same time. ‘Poor old Dad.’

By the time her mum returned she’d calmed down enough to prove that she was by far the best sales person out of all of them. The customers loved her. Especially the older men. Not that long ago, she’d had been taken in hand by her style savvy sister-in-law and had blossomed into a chic septuagenarian who could easily pass for ten years younger. It got her a lot of interest from men of a certain age. They were wasting their time. She only had eyes for one man. But that didn’t stop her exploiting their attentiveness when it came to increasing profits.

Today’s market was in Moseley village which wasn’t really a village, just a suburb in the south of Birmingham, but it had a sort of bohemian, urban-village feel about it. There were a lot of arty types who lived here, including Colin when he wasn’t being locked out of his own home. Colin liked to give the impression he was a bohemian arty type who cared deeply about the world. Providing you didn’t scratch too deeply under the surface, he got away with it.

Her dad turned up just a little before two, when they’d pretty much packed up for the day. ‘Colin’s moved in then, has he?’ He was talking to Netta, but his eyes were on her mum, or rather the man talking to her mum – mid-sixties, tight jeans, loose shirt, red bandana around his neck.

‘Just temporary, Dad. Very temporary.’

‘Don’t let him get under your skin, Nettie.’

‘I won’t. Frank and Liza are keeping an eye on him.’

‘Good. Do you still want us to come over tomorrow?’

‘Of course. Life goes on as normal. Unless you really don’t want to see him.’

He turned to look at her for the first time. ‘No, we don’t want to see him, but we want him to see us. We want him to know we’ve got his number. We’ll be there. Now, I’ve come to pick your mum up before she gets whisked away by yet another admirer. Can’t keep them away.’

‘I don’t think you need worry, Dad. You’re well ahead of the competition.’ She glanced in her mum’s direction but got distracted by a familiar peroxide blonde head walking through the stalls further up. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said, as she ran off in pursuit of Arianne.

Arianne crossed over the main road. Netta tried to follow, but the traffic lights changed before she got there, and the road was too busy with cars, so she had to wait. By the time she was able to get over, Arianne was disappearing into a middle eastern café. Netta got to the window in time to see her taking a table that was already occupied by a man. She sent a message to Colin:

Now’s a good time to get back in your house. Just spotted Arianne in a café in Moseley village. Go there straight away.

She noted that he’d picked the message up. With any luck he’d be in the area already and he’d be back home and out of her hair within hours.

Before she had a chance to congratulate herself on a job well done, a message came back:

No point. She’s changed the locks.

5

FILTHY LOOKS AND DEATH STARES

Colin lay in the bed that was his son’s. Naturally, his son wasn’t there. If he had been, Colin wouldn’t be in this bed, or even in this room. He wouldn’t even be in this house, his son disapproved of him that much. Five years. That’s how long it was since they’d last spoken properly. Five years since Will had found out Colin was lying to Netta about his earnings. A silly mistake on his part. He shouldn’t have left his accounts out where anyone could see them. He and Netta were already divorced by then, but she was still paying for everything and he was still officially a stay-at-home dad with no real income. If she’d bothered to take any interest in his work when they were together, she’d have known it was starting to sell. But she didn’t, so who could blame him for not letting on? When it all eventually came out, she’d made a scene and insisted on selling the house. Those secret earnings of his had been enough to help buy her out, so it worked out for the best really. Except that Will refused to have anything to do with him. Arianne blamed Netta for that, but Colin knew his son was a man of principle. Principles were great, providing they didn’t get in your way.

There was a throng of visitors downstairs that he had no inclination to join. He’d been expecting them. Liza had warned him about their Sunday-morning ritual, a gathering of all the people who’d adopted the little dog Maud’s puppies. Apparently, a walk in the park was involved, followed by brunch in Netta’s kitchen. It all sounded very pleasant, if you liked that sort of thing. He’d never been a dog lover. He wasn’t a dog hater either, he just didn’t see the point of them. Or cats for that matter. Mind you, he didn’t see the point of anything at the moment. Not since that message from Arianne.He was still having trouble taking it in. Changed the locks, she’d said. Changed the locks to his doors!How dare she? I mean really, how dare she?

There was a tap on the bedroom door. ‘Dad, we’re heading off now. Will you be okay?’ Dear, sweet Liza. She was the only one that cared.

‘Yes thanks, darling. Have fun.’ He’d added an upbeat lift to that last bit. It was important to sound positive, even if you felt like slitting your wrists.