Free Vintage Babes by Elizabeth Oldfield Page A

someone,’ she said, as if she had no idea who that someone might be. ‘Giles and Simon have always hoped I’d fall out of a high window or under a bus, but now they’ll be hiring a hit man.’
    ‘You should watch your back,’ I said wryly. Her stepsons would begrudge every single day Tina spent in the house and she could live for another thirty years. But the Thyme Park plot must be worth something in the million-pound bracket. ‘The money from the shares was meant to support you?’
    ‘Yes. Duncan said if I spoke to the bank manager he’d suggest the best way to invest it to give me a monthly income. But I don’t own the shares, so there won’t be any income. How will I manage? How can I manage now?’
    Presumably, having ensured she was without funds, Giles and Simon intended to pressure her into a deal where she was paid off cheaply and they took possession of the property. She might currently have a roof over her head, but she would need to pay a sizeable amount of council tax for that roof, plus there would be regular outgoings for utilities and upkeep.
    ‘Perhaps you could sell a car?’ I suggested, recalling the vehicles parked on the forecourt.
    ‘Yes! Duncan gave me the Mercedes for my birthday, but I found it a pig to park – I’m rubbish at parking – so he took it and bought me the Beemer instead. But the Merc’s in my name so no problem there.’ Looking cheerier, Tina swigged again from her glass. ‘And when the car money runs out I could sell some jewellery. Duncan had a thing about buying me brooches and, to be honest, most are hideous. So old ladyish. So old-fashioned. Of course, he was much, much older than me, like a father really, and his taste was dated.’
    ‘When you get the money from the car and for the brooches, put it into a bank account,’ I told her. I don’t usually go around issuing instructions to people I’ve just met, but she seemed to need looking after.
    ‘I will.’ Tina knocked back another mouthful. ‘Duncan handled all the bills, but I’ll have to pay them now. And I’ll have to deal with everything else he dealt with, like locking up at night – he made such a fuss about that – and getting the car serviced and making sure there’s enough air in the tyres. But I don’t know how to fit the air machine at the garage onto the wheels, so –’
    ‘So you read an instruction manual or you ask someone to do it for you. People are very kind,’ I said, trying to quell her rising panic.
    While I can’t claim to be a whizz at ‘blokey’ things which require a drill or mechanical know-how – to my shame, after Tom and I split, I had had endless trouble opening the bonnet of my car – I am semi-proficient in most areas. And if there is something I can’t manage, my dad will always help.
    ‘Really?’ she said uncertainly.
    ‘Really. And if you have family living within shouting distance –’
    ‘I don’t. My father died when I was a child and my mother –’ Tina broke off. She looked wistful. ‘I’m all on my own.’
    ‘Then you’ll just have to grit your teeth and get on with it. It isn’t that bad.’
    She pouted, as if teeth gritting did not appeal. ‘Are you on your own?’
    I nodded. ‘Divorced. Simon mentioned the love god. Who’s he?’
    ‘Max, my personal trainer. He comes twice a week and his personal services are work-outs, that’s all. But he’s a handsome guy with muscles to die for and –’ she giggled ‘– he shocks the neighbours. I’m sure they think we spend our time smoking dope or getting up to other kinds of naughties.’ Her expression sobered. ‘Max costs twenty pounds a throw. He usually charges fifty, he’s qualified and it’s the going rate, but Duncan gave him money to buy mats and dumb-bells and a couple of exercise bikes, so he reduced the price for me.’
    ‘Your husband and Max were friends?’
    ‘Sort of. They met when Max was giving a fitness demo to the golf club ladies to try to drum up customers.