Page 7 of Hit For Six (Balls and Banter #1)

CHAPTER FIVE

Lola

Fumiko was already airport bound when Lola finally made it back to the flat.

Squiffy, as ever, was at home, pacing about the kitchen as she waited for dinner.

Lola owed a lot to the little cat; whose presence amidst Fumiko’s constant travel assignments had been part of the drastically reduced rent deal.

Lola didn’t go away much these days so it was no hardship for her to look after the fluffball most of the year while her landlady was away for work.

She scooped the cat up in her arms and Squiffy rubbed her head against Lola’s cheek as if she sensed everything she’d endured and wanted to make it better.

More than likely, though, she had a hidden agenda of the Go-Cat Chicken and Duck dry kibble variety.

‘Oh, Squiffs.’ Lola put her marmalade friend back on the floor and went to the cupboard for the large packet to portion out her biscuits. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘Miaow, miaow,’ Squiffy replied, and Lola could only guess at the feline’s wisdom.

‘First things first: bin the dress. You’re right.’

Lola was gutted. She’d only bought her Beau-re-mi dress a couple of months ago.

Admittedly, she’d lucked out when she’d snatched it up in one of Bath’s thrift stores at a fraction of its original price.

The beer stain would come out and normally she’d take her own unwanted things to the charity shop too, but the dress was suffused with bad energy and nobody else needed any of that.

‘And the second thing has to be calling the hairdresser, praying very hard that he can magically squeeze me in tomorrow morning for a transformation. No matter how minimal.’

Squiffy, mid-munching, shot Lola an unconvinced look. Oh, to be a cat right now.

Lola pulled out her phone from her bag, scrolled down the directory to H and called up her fairy godfather, praying that if Joaquín wasn’t hovering around reception to take the call, his latest receptionist wouldn’t be a gatekeeper.

‘Good afternoon-cum-evening, you’re through to Snippets! How may I help you?’

Ah, the reassuring Spanish accent told her Joaquín was winding down for the day. On Fridays he’d even wheel the drinks and turròn trolley out and she could just picture him now with a little tumbler of Pedro Ximenez in his hand.

‘Hey, Joaquín. It’s Lola Smith. Listen, I know it’s a big ask but I was wondering if you could wave a magic wand over me sometime tomorrow?

I’m thinking several inches lopped off my ends, and I’d like to try some bangs.

Not quite a Claudia Winkleman job, but not a micro fringe either.

Something I can basically hide behind at a moment’s notice. ’

‘Lola! Oh. Madre mia, qué desastre… ’

Squiffy’s fur stood on end at Joaquín’s reaction and she skittered off to the lounge.

‘News has reached you already, then.’

Lola’s heart and her stomach sank in tandem.

‘It certainly has, my guapa , and I don’t even watch sport.

But look, this is Bath. It’s a village. Not that anybody other than me is associating your name with the calamidad …

Playing detective and reading in-between the lines, however, your requirements are…

a little bit exact. Come in tomorrow at nine.

We’ve just had a cancellation. I’ll stick you down the end by the loos, far away from the gossip.

I can’t move Aphrodite and her boobies from your line of sight, I’m afraid.

I’ve only just refreshed the layout of the salon but at least she’ll stand guard over you. ’

Lola had forgotten that Joaquín’s nude Greek Pantheon regularly changed places.

‘No, it’s fine. Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.’ As was that amazing human who’d called off their appointment. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Lola ignored the handful of missed calls and messages flashing up in her notifications on her phone.

It had been bad enough dashing through the city with a snail-like Harry trying to keep pace as they’d dodged the crowds to the nearest taxi rank.

Bath’s streets had mostly been full of milling tourists, but she’d been subjected to one or two snickers, not to mention a group of builders and their wolf whistles.

Fair play to her boss for making sure she got home okay.

After a bath to rid herself of the remnants of the day, Lola changed into her summer pyjamas.

The third thing she needed to do once she’d discarded the six little biscuits that Squiffy had left in her bowl, was to fling a pizza in the oven.

Lola might not have much of an appetite after the day’s unsavoury events but fuelling herself was a must if she was going to be scouring the internet for job vacancies, and somehow refraining from clicking on social media, or replying to messages from concerned friends…

or going down a research rabbit hole of all things Monty Beauchamp-Carmichael.

The fourth thing, had Lola’s heart been made of darker stuff, would have been to make a voodoo doll of Julian.

But she was far too superstitious to meddle with forces she didn’t understand.

Sadly, she had to accept her fate. There was a tiny ray of light: she remembered that he was off to America on Monday for a week-long business trip.

Which meant she had seven days to bag herself a brand new career.

She could do it if she made a start tonight.

Once the pizza was ready, Lola let out her first and only giggle of the day, grabbing the kitchen scissors to cut her food.

Fumiko would have gone bananas at the uncouthness.

And then she berated herself: she’d ended up with six slithers.

Enough of that number! She trimmed the triangles again so it looked like she was about to serve a small child.

Then she grabbed a pad of A4 paper and a pen, and retreated to the lounge, where Squiffy was already curled up in a ball on the sofa, purring contentedly.

‘Okay. Help me out here, universe. I’ve got to be due a lucky break!’

Lola stuffed some pizza in her mouth, rubbed her hands together, made a few quick updates to her Linkedin profile, and clicked on the first local job website.

But once the clock struck midnight and Squiffy retired to her cat basket, Lola knew it was time to turn in too after a virtually pointless search.

To add insult to injury, Monty’s face and those piercing blue eyes tortured her soul as she battled for hours with her duvet, finally flinging it on the floor and falling into a dawn slumber.

***

A weary Lola slotted her key into her parents’ front door, pressing the doorbell for good measure. Her dad would usually be at the allotment with sandwiches and a flask of tea on a Saturday lunchtime, but she didn’t want to startle her mum.

Thank god her parents weren’t into sport or social media and they never read the papers.

True, they did like to watch the news to keep abreast– completely cringeworthy choice of word there– of current affairs.

But they were only interested in national events so they never caught the build up to the big stories by tuning in to ITV West and the likes.

Gail and Greg Smith were the happiest of introverts.

Well, they’d been Squiffy-style content in their bubble before life had thrown them a couple of curveballs.

Gah, there went Lola’s addled brain again thinking in unhelpful idioms.

But anyway, the fact that her parents only had a small friendship group– moreso former work acquaintances who she’d never met– conveniently meant that there was little chance of them hearing about Lola’s misdemeanours via the grapevine. Every cloud.

‘Hiya, honey.’ Gail emerged in the hallway. The endearment felt so loving and gentle when it came from Lola’s mum’s lips… in stark contrast with a certain narcissistic womaniser. ‘I’ve just popped some fish fingers and chips in the oven. Do you want them with baked beans or peas?’

‘I said I’d fix our lunch today, Mum! I don’t like you standing too much. But beans would be ace,’ said a beaming Lola, reverting immediately to the comfort and words of her childhood, even if these would be the watery Tesco Value variety and not her beloved Heinz.

‘I can’t lounge around all day. It’s not good for my joints. It’s important I keep myself flexible.’

‘Yes, but all the bending and stretching, tsk!’

Her mum was only five foot two and Lola swore that the cupboards in her parents’ kitchen had been designed by an NBA basketball player.

‘Here… quickly before Dad gets back.’ Lola delved into her handbag.

‘It’s been a good month. I got another bonus.

Yay! So here’s a little something to help with the bills.

’ Lola always felt better about her monthly lie when she fired it out like that.

She pressed an envelope full of notes into her mum’s reluctant hand.

‘Don’t tell him, will you? I know he’d shove it back in my bag when I’m not looking, and I also know you said no more handouts, but it’s my job to take care of you both.

I don’t have any holidays planned this year.

’ She’d be lying if she said her heart didn’t occasionally break at the thought of all the musicals she could have watched with all the top ups she’d given her mum, but it was for the greater good.

‘And I want to do what I can. You’ve given me so much over the years so shh: take it!

’ Lola finished with a non-negotiable wink.