Page 43 of A Clean Sweep

I t was D-Day. Or rather, M-Day. As arranged, Meryl had shut up shop early and she and Tabitha had set off like Holmes and Watson in pursuit of Moriarty.

Except his name was probably something much more mundane.

Like Eric or Kevin. Unlikely to be Xavier as he had a considerable way to go alphabetically.

Behind the steering wheel, Tabitha glanced across at her boss and friend.

She was ghostly white and gripping her handbag as if her life depended on it.

She'd assured Tabitha she was OK, that this was the right thing to do, but her demeanour suggested otherwise.

Seeing Miroslaw again and facing the truth about his treachery was clearly something Meryl was dreading.

Understandably. To meet a man you thought was your soul mate, only to discover he was a conman with only your bank balance in mind, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Indicating left, Tabitha pulled into the yard with the sign McArthur's Builders in bright red letters against a white background.

A few vans with matching logos were parked out front, alongside piles of paving slabs, bricks and miscellaneous materials.

When quizzed, Meryl reluctantly admitted she didn't know Miroslaw's surname.

Tabitha suspected McArthur wasn'tit, but didn't push the point.

She now firmly believed he was about as Polish as the Queen but saw no need to rub more salt into an already painful wound.

'Are you ready?' Tabitha squeezed Meryl's hand, after prising it from her handbag and noting the definite tremor as she responded.

Part of her wanted to put the car in reverse and get as far away as possible from this place and that man.

Find someone genuine and lovely who would worship and adore Meryl, not treat her with such contempt and callousness.

But she knew closure – another word she loathed – was only a few steps away.

Until Meryl slammed the door on this doomed relationship she would be unable to open the way to another.

'Hi! We're looking for the boss. At least, we think he's the boss. Miroslaw?' Tabitha addressed the man behind the desk, who was cleaning his left ear with the tip of his Biro. After scrutinising the results – and wiping them down on his overalls – he deigned to look at them.

'Sorry, love. Didn't quite catch what you said. Got a bit of an ear infection. The missus says I should get drops but I figures there's nowt you can't fix with a good old scour. How can I help you?'

Tabitha took the lead, Meryl quivering by her side. 'I was asking if we could see Miroslaw. I believe this is his company. If you could please call him, see if he's free to come and talk to us.'

The man – whose name badge said "Bert" – scratched his head.

A fine dusting of dandruff settled on his shoulders.

Tabitha tried not to visibly recoil. They were here for information, not to assess the dubious habits of a staff member.

But if he so much as cleared a lung or scratched his balls she swore she would …

'Miroslaw? Never ‘eard of him. Sure you've got the right place?

' Bert was definitely going in for a groin adjustment.

Before he could realign his tackle, Tabitha whipped out a photo from one of the websites.

'Do you recognise this man?' She waited, aware that Meryl was leaning on the counter, her face contorted with angst and apprehension.

Bert removed his hand from down under and swivelled the photo from left to right. Took out a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and looked again. Sighed deeply, then sighed again. This time, with genuine regret.

'Sorry. I do know this guy but he ain't the boss.

Never was. Think he's been leading you up the garden path.

He worked here for a few months. Seemed OK at first but then money started going missing.

Couldn't quite pin it on him but he always had an answer.

A bit too slick, if you know what I mean?

Anyway, he legged it, probably a couple of weeks ago.

Haven't seen him since. Hope he hasn't been doing the dirty on you too? '

Tabitha wrapped her arm around Meryl's shoulder.

She was still shaking, but with shock or with fury, it was hard to tell.

She had to get her out of there. A stiff drink or two was a given.

They'd head back to the shop, park the car, and take it from there.

Just one small question was dying to leap from Tabitha's mouth.

'So. You do know him but he didn't call himself Miroslaw. What did he call himself?'

Bert had another scratch. Another snow globe moment of whiteness followed.

'Malcolm', he replied. 'Said he came from the West Country but I never bought the accent. Never trusted him, truth be told.'

Back at The Little Shop of Treasures, Tabitha ushered Meryl upstairs.

She hadn't said a word on the return journey, just stared ahead as if all the answers to the universe were etched on the windscreen.

Time for some serious action. She headed for the fridge, located a bottle of white and grabbed two glasses from an overhead cupboard.

Thankfully it was a screwtop as Tabitha hadn't a clue which drawer might contain a corkscrew.

She poured two generous measures and brought them over to where Meryl had collapsed in a crumpled heap.

'Here. Get this down you. It won't cure anything but it'll help numb the pain.

I know the advice is to "drink responsibly" but right now I think you need be a bit irresponsible.

Oh Meryl, I am so, so sorry.' Tabitha took a generous mouthful of her wine.

Waited as Meryl raised her glass, then proceeded to knock it back in one. Go, girl!

Spluttering slightly, Meryl signalled for a top-up. Tabitha duly obliged, already prepared to crash on the couch if their drinking session showed signs of continuing.

'You know, I should have known it was too good to be true. All those years in the desert and along he comes, my Lawrence of Arabia. My knight in shining armour. Sweeping me off my feet, making me believe I'd found my happy ever after. But it was all a big, fat fucking lie.'

Tabitha winced, not least because she had never heard Meryl swear before.

It was a bit like watching The Sound of Music and hearing Julie Andrews drop the F bomb.

She bit her lip and watched as Meryl downed another substantial measure.

Thankfully there was a second bottle in the fridge.

And she would happily stay the night and open the shop in the morning if needs be.

'Is it me, Tabbie? Do I just attract the wrong kind of men?

Am I so dumb, so stupid that I can't see when I'm being played for a fool?

I'm not getting any younger, and clearly not getting any wiser.

Should I just give up? Cash in my savings and sail off into the sunset?

Where I'll probably meet another smooth-talking bastard with his eye on my assets. And I don't mean these !'

Meryl looked down despondently at her cleavage, which was heaving considerably less since she'd consumed the best part of a bottle of wine.

She was calmer, that was for sure, but her morale had been dealt an almighty blow.

Tabitha didn't know how , but she knew she had to find a way to put her boss back on her feet, restore her faith in humanity – at least, the ones with penises – and ensure the Dancing Queen was back at the top of her game.

A second bottle down and Meryl swayed her way to her bedroom. Tossing a pile of bedding and pillows in Tabitha's general direction, she hiccupped gently and weaved her way back for a hug.

'You're an angel, Tabbie. I don't know what I'd do without you.

You're like the daughter I never had. Your mum's the luckiest woman on the planet, having you.

Sleep well. See you in the morning.' And she was gone, leaving Tabitha to arrange the covers and pillows on a sofa that was clearly not designed for slumber.

More like chronic back pain and rampant insomnia.

Ah well, she was still young, free and single.

Which suddenly reminded her. Adam. With all the drama of Meryl and discovering her mum's much younger lover (if they'd got that far yet, who knew?) she'd neglected to contact him.

And the ball was firmly in her court as she had all his details.

She pulled his card out of her purse and located her phone.

Time for a text. She squinted at her watch.

Definitely not too early. Or too late. After a few misjudged attempts she managed to type : Hi there!

It's me! Tabitha! How are you! Would you like to meet up sometime?

She hit send then squinted at what she'd just written.

Far too many exclamation marks. Bugger. Too late now.

He was probably sniggering at her message then hitting delete.

All that flirty stuff at the showroom and she'd blown it by firing off a text fuelled by alcohol and empathy for her boss.

Not the best way of launching a fledgling relationship.

Tabitha slumped back on the sofa, resigned to a restless night plagued with nightmares of Miroslaw and Adam poking her with pitchforks and cackling demonically. Then her phone beeped.

Hello there! It's me! Adam! I'm just fine, happy to hear from you! Are you free tomorrow evening! Drinks at Bar Belle, say 7pm! That would be great! PS I think I trounced you with the exclamation marks!

Tabitha suppressed a giggle, stuffing a corner of duvet in her mouth in case she disturbed Meryl. Just when her faith in mankind was hitting an all-time low, there was someone out there who could make her smile.