Oh Crumbs Read online

  ‘Dad.’

  ‘And we know how well that would work, don’t we?’ For once Mandy didn’t have a quick reply. ‘Exactly. So I guess this Cinders isn’t going to the ball.’

  ‘I suppose you can do one of those Open University things, you know, if you really want to get a degree.’

  Abby had already looked into that, but it wasn’t going out into the big world by herself, mixing with people her own age. It was working as a secretary during the day, coming home, doing the chores and then working on a computer in the evening. ‘I guess I could, if I have time.’

  She rose carefully to her feet, grabbing at the table for support as her legs wobbled. Her stomach felt restless, as if it had only done half the job. It was going to be a long time before she’d be able to face drinking again.

  ‘I suppose I could help a bit more,’ Mandy said hesitantly as they made their way up the stairs. ‘Maybe clean my room and make some meals.’

  Abby’s foot slipped and she stumbled. Was the alcohol playing tricks with her, or had Mandy, for the first time since their mother’s death, actually stopped fighting her? ‘That would be great. Thanks.’

  Mandy nodded, holding on to her arm to help her up the last few steps. ‘Anyway, it’s a good job you aren’t going to uni because all they do there is drink and you’re crap at it.’

  As she stepped gingerly onto the landing, Abby started to giggle. A second later Mandy joined in and pretty soon they were both leaning against the wall, tears streaming down their faces.

  ‘What’s all this racket?’ Their dad’s sleep crumpled face appeared from behind his bedroom door.

  ‘Abby’s just realised why she’d be rubbish at university.’ Mandy glanced sideways at her and they burst into giggles again.

  He stared at them as if they were certifiable. ‘I thought we agreed you weren’t going?’ A smidgen of panic raced across his features. ‘We need you here, Abby. I’m sorry but I don’t think I can manage—’

  ‘I know,’ Abby cut in quickly, pushing herself away from the wall. ‘And it’s okay, I’m not going to uni. I’ve just got a secretarial job in the town hall.’

  Relief washed over his face but then he frowned, rubbing at his chin. ‘Being a secretary is good, honest work but you were such a bright thing at school. Is it going to be enough for you?’

  ‘Of course it will, Dad. Of course it will.’ She wasn’t sure if the repeat was to convince him, or herself.

  He gave her a tired smile. ‘I hope so. Now do you think you can make it to your beds without waking the rest of the household up?’

  Abby went to kiss him on the cheek. ‘We’ll try. Night, Dad.’

  When he’d disappeared back to his room, Mandy grinned at her. ‘We’ll soon be off your hands, Abs. Just think, only another twelve years before Ellie is eighteen.’

  It was Mandy’s idea of a joke, but this time Abby couldn’t smile. As she threw off her clothes and slumped onto the bed, her chest felt heavy, and tears stung the back of her eyes.

  She loved her family with all her heart, but was she really supposed to wait until she was thirty before starting to live her own life?

  Chapter One

  Abby was running late. She was always running late, but today it was really, really important she wasn’t.

  ‘Oh crumbs, come on you three, get a move on. You’re going to miss the bus if you dawdle like this.’ With lightning speed she cleared the breakfast bowls off the table and into the dishwasher.

  ‘Hey, I hadn’t finished,’ Holly moaned.

  Though she was fourteen, at times she still reminded Abby of the little girl who’d peed her pants in the churchyard at her mother’s funeral.

  ‘Tough. You can grab a cereal bar.’ Equally there were times Abby felt so much older than her twenty-four years. Times when she could barely remember life when she’d had a mum, instead of trying to be one. Twelve years she’d been doing this. And it wasn’t getting any easier.

  When nobody moved Abby began to pull the chairs away from the table, resulting in a chorus of protests from all three of them. ‘Come on, come on.’

  ‘What are you in a tearing hurry about? You’re always late for work.’ Sixteen, going on sixty, Sally was meticulous in everything she did. Schoolwork, tidying her room, even organising her schoolbag, like she was now. Placing one neat, scrupulously labelled folder in after another.

  ‘I’m not always late.’

  ‘You are.’ Ellie thrust her hands on her hips. ‘You told us it’s a good job the guy you work for fancies you, ’cos otherwise you’d be out on your ear by now.’

  ‘I don’t believe I said it quite like that.’ That was Ellie for you. Still only twelve, she saw far more, knew far more – at least she thought she did – than most girls her age. ‘Look, I’m in a hurry today because I’ve got an interview for another job.’

  ‘Is this now you’ve got that degree you’ve been working on forever?’

  ‘Thanks, Ellie, and yes. It’s still secretarial, but it’s for a personal assistant to the managing director, so a step up from my current role.’

  ‘Does that mean you’ll get more money?’

  ‘If I get it, yes. If I’m late, no.’

  Ellie clapped her hands. ‘Come on, come on. We need to get moving so Abby can get a better job and we can afford pizza.’

  Abby swallowed down her laughter as she watched the flurry of bag packing. If she’d known pizza would work as a bribe, she’d have used it earlier.

  As the three sisters raced outside to catch their bus, Abby sagged against the door. Her respite was short-lived though, as Mandy barrelled down the stairs towards her.

  ‘Hey, Abs, will you take George for a minute?’

  The wriggling eight-month-old was thrust into her hands and Mandy dashed back up the stairs. For a second Abby stared down at the gorgeous face of her nephew. He was so cute, with pink cheeks and big blue eyes. What a shame he was the product of a brief, ill-advised relationship with a local waster, leaving Mandy a single mother at twenty. And still living at home.

  George held out his chubby hands and pulled at Abby’s fringe. ‘Hey, turnip, none of that. I need to look smart for this interview.’ She made a few faces at him, making him grin and revealing two bottom teeth. Adorable as he was though, time was marching on. ‘Will you come and take your son, please?’ she shouted up at Mandy. ‘I need to get ready.’

  ‘I’m on the loo,’ her sister’s voice echoed back. ‘You’ve got no idea how hard it is to take a pee these days. Just bung him in the high chair and give him a rusk. I’ll be there in a minute.’

  Sighing, Abby hitched the still grinning George – who was certainly no lightweight – into his chair. ‘So, my interview’s at nine o’clock,’ she told him as she hunted down the rusks. ‘And it’s a ten minute drive away. It’s now twenty to nine. To give me time to park the car and walk into the building I need to leave about … ’ She glanced down at her watch. ‘… now. And I still haven’t decided what to do with my hair. Up and tidy, or down and natural?’ Which, as she had crazy curls, was a polite way of saying unruly. George gurgled and grabbed at the proffered rusk. ‘It’s no laughing matter,’ she told him, which simply made him gurgle even more.

  He was happily gumming the rusk when his mother finally made it back down the stairs.

  ‘At last. Right, I’ve got to go …’ Abby trailed off as George’s rusk covered hands shot out and grabbed her blouse. Clearly delighted with himself, he kicked his feet and waved his arms around, managing to flick yet more rusk gunge over her. ‘Shit. Dirty, crumpled and on time, or clean and late?’

  Mandy halted mid-stride. ‘What?’

  She pointed at her baby goo enhanced blouse. ‘Should I go upstairs and change? If I do it’ll make me late for my interview.’

  ‘God, I don’t know.’ Mandy walked into the kitchen and blew a raspberry at George. ‘Which is more important in your world, tidiness or punctuality?’

  ‘At this rate I’m going t
o be late and messy. Oh crumbs.’

  Manically she tore out of the kitchen and into the living room where she grabbed her handbag. ‘Where are my good luck wishes?’ she yelled as she lunged for the door.

  ‘Right here.’ Mandy blew her a kiss. ‘Knock ’em dead, girl. Just keep your arms crossed – that way they’ll never notice the blouse.’

  Doug rolled his shoulders, loosening up muscles that had seized after he’d left the gym that morning. He was only thirty, for crying out loud. Surely he shouldn’t be feeling this stiff? It wasn’t as if he wasn’t fit. His training bordered on the obsessive.

  It had to be this chair. This office. This damn company.

  With a sigh he glanced down at today’s diary. The one helpfully put together last Friday by his personal assistant before she’d dropped the bombshell that she was leaving. And no, she wouldn’t be able to work her notice because she was flying to Australia the next day.

  It was now Thursday, and already he’d interviewed more potential PAs than he ever wanted to see again in his lifetime. Any one of them would have done, but the agency had insisted he see all of their top candidates, which apparently meant squeezing this final one, Abigail Spencer, into his morning.

  ‘Time for a word?’ Geraldine, director of marketing, glided into his office on a cloud of expensive perfume. Walking straight up to his desk she fisted her hands in his jacket lapels and kissed him.

  Off balance, he pulled away. ‘What was that for?’ He wasn’t a fan of public displays of affection, hell he wasn’t even sure about private ones, and he especially didn’t appreciate them in his office.

  Clearly not put off by his brusque tone she slowly trailed her tongue across her blood red lips. ‘That was a taster for tonight. What time do you want me?’ Her eyes told him the double entendre was deliberate.

  ‘What happened to texting or phoning? We agreed, Geraldine, this is just sex.’

  She arched a sculpted dark eyebrow. ‘You think I’m looking for anything more? Why do men find it so hard to understand that not all women are made for marriage and babies? I mean, do I look like anybody’s mother? Really?’

  She had a point. Dressed today in bright red heels and a matching skirt that hugged her hips, she didn’t look like any mothers he’d met. Nor, he thought, did most mothers undo quite so many buttons on their blouse. At least not while at work. ‘No,’ he conceded. ‘You look like a woman I’d like to see in my bed at nine o’clock tonight.’

  Her sultry red lips curved in reply. ‘Good answer. And remember, the only part of you I’m interested in is the part between your legs.’

  She pivoted on her killer heels and sauntered back out of his office leaving him to stare after her, half aroused, half ashamed. He enjoyed sex, particularly the wild, pounding sex he had with Geraldine, but he wasn’t proud of what they had together. Yes, it was a mutually satisfying encounter, but after the passion had been spent he felt soiled, somehow. Hollow. He wasn’t a man for cuddling up afterwards, but still, he wanted to believe the act should be about more than two selfish people trying to get off.

  ‘Your nine o’clock is here, Mr Faulkner,’ the agency temp droned in her bored, why isn’t it five o’clock yet voice.

  Doug glanced at the clock on his wall. Three minutes past nine, if he was going to be pedantic. He’d wait and see what she was like before he made that call. ‘Okay, send her in.’

  While he waited for Bored Temp of the Year to show his interview candidate in, he took a look at Abigail Spencer’s CV. It was pretty impressive. A secretary for six years, she’d also just completed a business degree via the Open University.

  ‘Mr Faulkner?’

  God, she looks like ruddy Bambi, was his first impression as he stared at the girl in the doorway. Huge brown eyes in a cute face. Blonde hair that surely hadn’t been combed today tumbled round her face and over her shoulders. A pair of slender legs appeared from beneath her knee length skirt. He could see they were trembling, even from across his office.

  ‘Abigail? Please, come in. Take a seat.’ And for goodness’ sake take some weight off those legs before you keel over, he thought. While she walked to the chair he noticed a few other things, like the way the knuckles on her hands, currently holding her jacket stiffly together, were almost white with tension.

  As she neared the chair she put down her handbag and then almost tripped over it, making her entry onto the chair more of a thump than a graceful slide.

  He smothered a smile. ‘Did you have any difficulty finding us?’

  ‘Umm, no.’ She bit into her lower lip and smiled. ‘Actually, maybe I should say yes, then you can put my lateness down to an inability to read directions which obviously isn’t a good thing but it might be better than thinking I couldn’t get out of the house on time.’ Finally she took a breath. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You were five minutes late because you left your house late?’

  ‘Three minutes late, actually.’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘Sorry, that sounded rude. I was just trying to point out that I wasn’t quite as late as you said, but, yes, I was late. I’m sorry.’

  His brain was struggling to keep up with the flow of her words. ‘Apology accepted, though I don’t think you answered my question.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Her eyes flicked briefly up to the ceiling. ‘Oh crumbs, I think I’ve said that three times now. I doubt that’s in the How To Impress At An Interview handbook.’

  ‘Four times, actually.’

  ‘Four?’ He didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes widened even further. ‘Wow, now I really am sorry.’

  Doug didn’t have the faintest clue what to make of her. It had just taken her nearly five minutes to bumble her way through a question he’d only asked to relax her. And she hadn’t even answered it properly yet.

  She must have realised this because she launched into another of her eye popping replies. ‘It’s not that I didn’t plan to leave the house on time. I deliberately woke early so I could get my younger sisters on the school bus but then my eldest sister – there are quite a few of us – anyway, she asked me to look after her baby while she popped to the toilet.’ Abruptly she halted, giving him a sweet, embarrassed smile. ‘I don’t think you really need to know any of this, do you?’

  Feeling dazed, Doug shook his head. ‘It won’t make the difference between hiring you or not, no.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her face seemed to lose some of its … joy, he supposed was the word. ‘Perhaps you’d better ask me another question?’

  He’d ask her another twenty-five minutes worth of questions, he decided, and use up all the appointed time, but the end result would be the same. He’d already made up his mind. ‘What qualities would you bring to the role of my personal assistant, Abigail?’

  Abby guessed now wasn’t a good time to tell Douglas Faulkner that actually the only person to have ever called her Abigail was her headmaster. Five minutes into the most important interview she’d ever had and so far she’d literally catapulted herself into the hot seat, and then gone on to inform her would-be boss that she was late because her sister had gone to the toilet. Why oh why did she have her muppet head on today?

  Opposite her there was a deep rumble as Douglas Faulkner cleared his throat. A pointed reminder she hadn’t answered his latest question. Smiling apologetically she looked into his incredibly blue eyes … and instantly lost all train of thought.

  ‘You were going to tell me the qualities you’d bring to the role?’ he prompted.

  Don’t look at him. He was way too attractive to be sitting in an office. His face was surely designed for magazine covers or films. Not a biscuit company. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, dark hair that curled over his collar, there was something poetic about him. Something wild and untamed that was totally at odds with the expensive suit he wore. He looked like he should be riding a black horse across high cliffs, not constrained by a suit and four walls of an office.

  Risking another glance, her eyes skimmed over broad shoulders that strained ag
ainst his jacket. Beneath it was a starched white shirt. Hastily she drew her own jacket more firmly across her wrinkled blouse. ‘I’m organised, reliable, honest and able to think quickly and flexibly. I’m also passionate about what I do,’ she added, remembering that enthusiasm featured high on the list of qualities companies looked for.

  ‘You’re passionate about typing up minutes?’

  Was he laughing at her? It was hard to tell because though his eyes were sinfully blue, they were also heavily guarded. ‘Maybe passionate is the wrong word to use in that case, although it can depend on the meeting. I’ve been in some where the minutes could be classed as fruity. At least they would have been if I’d not removed some of the more, umm, juicy remarks.’

  When he didn’t comment on her garbled response she waded straight into the conversation gap. ‘I’m passionate about helping my boss.’ Did that sound too soppy? Too slutty? ‘I mean, I enjoy making his life easier, smoother. Ironing out the wrinkles for him.’

  His eyes flickered towards her blouse. ‘Good to know.’

  Self-consciously she tugged at her jacket again, feeling the beginnings of a traitorous blush.

  ‘Are you too warm? If you are, feel free to take your jacket off.’

  Oh no. Her skin was now so hot it prickled but there was no way she could reveal her crumpled, baby goo blouse to this man and his oh-so-immaculately-ironed white shirt. ‘Thanks. I’m okay.’

  Though he went on to ask her a few more questions, Abby knew he was simply going through the motions. She’d blown it.

  Finally he picked up the large paperweight on his desk, rolling it round in his elegant, long fingered hands. Yes, she’d noticed them. ‘Is this role one of many you’re applying for, Abigail, or is it this job in particular you’re after?’

  ‘This one,’ she blurted quickly, truthfully.

  ‘Why?’

  Oh crumbs, she thought, then felt a very untimely desire to laugh.

  ‘Have I said something funny?’

  ‘No, sorry.’ Heck, she’d already ballsed this up, might as well be honest. ‘It’s just Mum didn’t like us swearing so I try to say other words instead, like “Oh crumbs”, and it occurred to me that if I got this job, which clearly I’ve blown all chance of getting now, but, well, I just thought it would be funny to work for a biscuit company called Crumbs and say, “Oh crumbs”.’