Candles and Roses Read Online Free PDF Page A

like a teenager. She knew a few people—not exactly friends, but people she could spend an evening getting pissed with. Most of them were in the same boat, one way or another. Divorced, unmarried, or saddoes who’d never had a real relationship in their lives. Some had kids they wanted to get away from, some just had empty bedsits they didn’t want to go back to. Most, unlike Jo, were locals who’d spent their lives in this nondescript suburb. She could understand pretty much everything else, but not that. Why would you want to stay there? For that matter, why would you want to stay anywhere without a good reason?
    ‘Go on,’ Dave said. She was pretty sure this one was Dave. ‘Just a bit longer. Have another drink.’ He was a brickie, she thought, or a plasterer. Something like that. He’d told her earlier. They were southerners—real southerners, that was, from Surrey or Sussex or somewhere, up here working on a job. She’d thought all southerners were rolling in money, and there were jobs down there for the asking. Dave had said no, it wasn’t like that, not any more. ‘First it was the recession, then it was the bloody immigrants. Bloody Poles and Czechs and Romanians, undercutting us and taking all the work—’ He’d stopped, conscious of the way she was looking at him. She didn’t like that talk. People should be able to go where they liked, work where they wanted, that was what she thought. If the likes of Dave weren’t good enough to compete, well, that was their tough luck, wasn’t it?
    ‘Anyway,’ Dave had gone on, ‘if you want to make decent money, you’ve got to go where the work is, haven’t you? That’s why we’re up here. Loads of new builds, and we can get a good rate. I mean, that must be why you’re down here, isn’t it?’ He didn’t appear to see any contradiction between this and what he’d been saying about immigrants, but Jo couldn’t be bothered to point it out. She knew Dave’s type well enough. If he was working up here, it was because no-one down south would have him.
    Dave and his mates had latched on to her and Jade as soon as they’d walked in the pub. It had been all right at first—they were a lively enough bunch—but as the evening wore on most of them had peeled off for one reason or other, mostly in pursuit of another bunch of females. Now she was sitting here, in this noisy pub, stuck with builder Dave and his fascinating array of small-talk. Once he’d got beyond ‘fucking Mancs’ and ‘fucking Scousers’, along with a related set of negative views about the local football clubs, there wasn’t a lot left.
    ‘Just one more,’ he insisted again. ‘What can I get you?’
    She shook her head. ‘Really can’t—’ She’d almost called him Dave, but she still wasn’t sure this actually was Dave, so she hurried on. ‘Need to go now so I can get the last train.’
    ‘Can’t be time for the last train yet. Just another glass of wine.’
    Jo shook her head, more insistently this time. ‘I’ve got to walk up to Piccadilly,’ she said. ‘I’ll be OK if I go now, but I’ll only just make it.’
    ‘What about your mate there?’ Dave pointed out. ‘She doesn’t look like she’s ready to leave.’
    ‘She looks like she’s ready for something,’ Jo said. ‘I’m sure I can leave her in your friend’s safe hands.’
    ‘Look, just stay a bit longer. Tell me about yourself.’ This was a desperate ploy. Dave had shown no previous interest in finding out anything about her.
    She shrugged. ‘I’m from Scotland. It’s a dump. That’s why I left. All you need to know.’ She pushed herself to her feet. ‘And now I’m going. Been nice to meet you, Dave. Till the next time.’ She grabbed her coat and, with an unacknowledged wave in Jade’s direction, stumbled towards the door. Behind her, she heard: ‘For Christ’s sake, I’m Pete . That’s Dave. Stupid fucking cow—’ but she was already out of the door and into the chill night