Good Men and Mavericks

Good Men and Mavericks

Suze Appleton

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Published by Susan Appleton

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Copyright 2012 Susan Appleton

The right of Susan Appleton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

This book is also available in print from the author’s website www.suzeapple.co.uk

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Dedication

This book is dedicated to my mum,

Hilda Appleton,

a woman who can make a chicken

feed a family of four for a week

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Good Men & Mavericks

Contents

1. Rock bottom

2. Running away

3. Proposal

4. At Ronnie's

5. Wine therapy

6. Payout

7. Reunion

8. Wwoofing

9. Organic plans

10. Manchester

11. Passion

12. Job offer

13. Decision time

14. Meeting the family

15. Coffee

16. Huddersfield

17. Blind date

18. Cleaning up

19. A new venture begins

20. Surprise visitor

21. Back to The Sound

22. All together

23. Suitors compete

24. False alarm

25. Refuge

26. First wwoofer

27. Vigil

28. New arrival

29. Hope rewarded

30. A fresh start

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Chapter 1 – Rock bottom

Toilet brush in hand, and cleaning bucket over her arm, Sharon paused. She held her breath and listened at the bedroom door. She could hear noises coming from the room, rhythmic, banging noises that could only mean one thing. It was at times like this that she wondered why she had taken this job in the first place. Sighing, she moved along the landing to the next bedroom. Thankfully there were no noises coming from this one and she was pretty sure that she had seen the couple getting ready to leave the guest house wearing all their walking gear. She tapped anyway, just in case, and walked into the room.

It was a lovely sight, the room was immaculate. The guests had tidied everything away and even made the bed. The room was probably cleaner than it had been when they arrived. Sharon wasn't keen on this part of her new job but she loved this kind of guest and always made sure that they got extra portions at dinner. She went through into the ensuite to give the bathroom a look over but it didn’t need anything. She gave it a quick spray of air freshener then checked her watch. She had gained twenty minutes before Jane would come looking for her. Walking over to the window seat she dropped her brush into the bucket and dumped her cleaning kit on the floor. Sitting down on the patchwork covered window seat she gazed out of the window.

She had always liked the view from room four. It had probably been the master bedroom when the house had been a family home. It was certainly the one that Sharon would have chosen for herself. She could see down their own fields to the road, and over the roofs of the houses below she could just make out a tiny sliver of blue sea. She curled up on the window seat, hugging her knees to her chest. Despite the bumping noises coming from the next room it was blissful compared to sitting downstairs in the conservatory with Jane.

Jane Moffatt, the new tenant of her friend Julie’s house, had been a shock to her system when she first arrived a few months ago to run the place as a guest house. It had come just as Sharon had thought she would have to move back to Stockport until the court case was settled. It had seemed a stroke of luck at the time, that the new tenant had wanted someone to live in and work for her. In exchange for minimal pay and some food Sharon was expected to clean, cook and generally do anything the guests wanted. Although Sharon was thankful that she was still here at all, in her favourite house on the Isle of Man, it was often a struggle not to tell Jane what she could do with her toilet brush. Jane thought her role was to be the lady bountiful, always in full make up, her ridiculous dog, with its ridiculous name, tucked under her arm. God forbid that it should walk

Sharon frowned out of the window at the thought of Miss Sugar Plum, Jane’s Pekinese. She had thought she liked all dogs but she was prepared to make an exception for this one. It wasn't the dog’s fault really, but Jane kept it in such a state of pampering, even dressing it in matching outfits,that even its bark was pathetic. When Jane made one of her frequent flying visits to her real home in Cornwall, it gave Sharon great satisfaction to treat it like a real dog, making it walk round all the time and feeding it on commercial dog food rather than the fresh chicken and fish that Jane insisted was the only thing it liked. Funnily enough, Sharon had found that it was quite happy to eat dog food after a few hours without anything.

Refusing to spoil such a lovely time with thoughts about Jane or the dog Sharon turned her thoughts back to her own affairs and how she had ended up here, on the Isle of Man of all places. Only twelve months before she had been in her little flat in Stockport with a regular job, getting regular money and paying regular bills, getting regularly skint every month. She cursed as she thought how she had been duped by Tom, in his guise as a Swami. He had been very charismatic but really, how could she have just followed him to Sri Lanka and done all the ridiculous things that she had? At least one good thing had come out of it, her good friend Julie, whose house she was now living in, even if it did mean working for the hateful Jane. Of course that had never been the plan, but they had not reckoned on Tom's minder, Mark, taking legal action against them.

The latest letter from Sharon's solicitor on the mainland, Rachel Rogerson, had indicated that she was about to settle the court case with Tom and Mark, or Action House Limited, the name they preferred to hide behind. Sharon didn’t know whether to get excited or not. In a way she didn’t dare let herself believe that it could have a good outcome. She was convinced that it was just going to be a case of how big a number she owed them.

She could have kicked herself for not being more careful when she was setting up the retreats with Julie last year. Ruefully she thought back to the excitement of giving up her job and flat to live here and do something meaningful, without considering where their ideas had come from. She still didn’t think Tom and Mark had a right to sue her, or Julie. Nothing on the website for Ballalanka Retreats had mentioned the Swami's teachings directly. There were similarities, yes, but hadn’t his ideas attracted Sharon in the first place because they matched with her own? So, she wondered, how does a person have rights over thoughts? He couldn’t have copyright over ideas that were centuries old and that’s all that his really were, a rehash of ancient wisdom. Thankfully, Rachel had pounced on this and was using it to contest his outrageous claim for a quarter of a million pounds.

A ship, tiny on the horizon, steamed slowly from right to left at the limits of Sharon's vision as she wished her own affairs would sail that smoothly. Sharon was hopeful for a good outcome for more than just her own sake. For the last few months Tony had been very attentive and although she wasn't one hundred per cent sure about him, she didn't want to involve him in any debt she might have as a result of her foolish adventure in Sri Lanka. Bloody Tom! She thought back to when he had been so seductive at first as Swami. All that had changed when she didn't play his game, what a hypocrite he'd been. And as for Mark... He was just menace with added meanness. If it hadn't been for Tony here on the Isle of Man... She shivered at the thought of how low she had gone. Lovely Tony, who had cared for her out of the sheer kindness that he felt for everyone. He was such a good person, Sharon knew she was lucky to know him.

Gazing dreamily out of the window it occurred to Sharon that it had gone quieter next door. She held her breath and listened. First she heard the shower, five minutes later the door banged and she heard footsteps running downstairs. Checking her watch it was five minutes to eleven o’clock. Great, five minutes to clean probably the messiest room in the house. She took one last look at the view before she picked up her bucket and took it into the next room.

This one couldn't have been more different to room four. Clothes were strewn over every surface, the bedding was all over the floor and an empty bottle of Tequila on the bedside tables was tipped on its side, just above a stain on the carpet. She looked round the room in disgust. It was an utter mess. They must be pigs to leave a room like this. She was half inclined to leave it that way so they could deal with their own garbage. But Jane would never allow that and Sharon would never hear the end of it. She was in the bathroom vigorously brushing the toilet pan when she heard the ominous footsteps on the stairs. Expecting it to be Jane, come looking for her, she didn't even look round.

'I know I'm late but this room was such a pig sty and they were having a bit of fun, if you know what I mean, so I couldn't get in till now...'

She tailed off as a pair of boots came into view at the side of the toilet pan. She looked up to see the owner of the boots grinning all over his face.

'Oh, I know what you mean. You should try it sometime, love, it might put a smile on your face now and then,' he said.

'Oh... Mr Jamison,' she stammered, standing up and blushing like the fool she felt herself, 'I er... that is... Oh God, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean anything. It was just, well, I thought it was my boss, come to hurry me up,' she finished lamely, realising that she was just going to dig herself a big hole if she carried on. She stood up to face him, holding the toilet brush in front of her

'That's all right, love, it would take more than that to offend a big bloke like me,' he said in a broad Lancashire accent. 'It's Jim by the way. Mr Jamison's my dad. Oh, and I do apologise, for my girlfriend, that we left the place in such mess but we were in a bit of a rush and she's not much good at the tidying lark. We have to get on to get a good place for the TT practice runs.'

He was a big, well-set man and as he reached over for the jacket on the back of the door behind Sharon he came very close to her, brushing her arm as he leaned over. She felt his body close to hers and it seemed he deliberately leaned closer than he needed to. She tried to wriggle out of the way but the room was so small that she was already backed up against the wall. The only other place to move to was the toilet, and she wasn't sure she wanted to sit there before she had finished cleaning it. She felt the threat of his animal nature as he breathed down her neck, not at all like her kind Tony, and blushed even more. He grabbed his jacket and laughed again.

'Maybe next time love,' he grinned leerily at her, 'when I'm not so knackered. I'm good but I'm not that good.'

He ran down the stairs laughing heartily, but not until he managed to pinch Sharon's bottom on his way out. Indignantly Sharon slammed out of the bathroom, without spraying the air freshener. That would show him. He could come back to his own stink. She threw the bedcovers roughly over the bed, grabbed her bucket and marched out of the room, slamming that door too. She did not have to take treatment like that from anyone, and certainly not from an oversexed, would-be biker. She would just have to tell Jane that was it. She was going back to Stockport even if it did mean starting again, signing on the dole and finding another grotty flat to live in.

She stamped along the landing to her own room, giving it a quick tidy, before she went down the stairs, slowing down as she came to the last one, catching sight of the view again out of the hall window. She couldn't help stopping to enjoy the pleasure of seeing the sea sparkling in the distance. She didn't get that in Stockport. Maybe she could take it for a bit longer after all. It really was too nice here, and the thought of hunting round for a flat that with no money was just too depressing. She sighed as she turned towards the kitchen. There was good and bad about everything and here did have some good points. Unfortunately when she opened the kitchen door she walked straight into one of the bad points, Jane Moffat. She was flapping round the little kitchen with Miss Sugar Plum yapping at her heels. Steam was rising from the kettle on the hob and fat was spitting from the frying pan. Jane's usual composure had left her and she rounded on Sharon the minute she came through the door.

'Sharon, where on earth have you been? I've been shouting for you for the last twenty minutes,' she screeched.

Sharon knew that was a lie because Jane would have shouted the house down to get her to cook.

'Jim has asked for a cooked breakfast and you know that is your specialty, not mine.'

Hah, thought Sharon, my specialty is doing all the work while yours is doing nothing all day. She guessed that Mr. Jamison had somehow charmed her into making him a breakfast, although why he would want a breakfast when he was in so much of a hurry to get off, Sharon could not even guess. When Sharon carried on putting away the cleaning things and didn't bother rushing to help her, Jane threw off her apron, picked up Miss Sugar Plum and clipped briskly out of the kitchen on her kitten heeled slippers.

'As I said, this is your department,' she called back over her shoulder. 'Jim wants bacon, eggs and toast, I'll go and keep him talking so that he doesn't complain about how long it is taking. Get on with it, Sharon.'

Sharon scowled at the closed door and looked at the mess on the stove. There was no way she wanted to cook anything for that horrible man. She flipped the half cooked bacon and burnt eggs out of the pan onto the cold toast and sprinkled them liberally with salt. Adding a pot of tea to the tray she took the breakfast through to the dining room where she saw Mr. Jamison lolling on a chair with his mouth dropped open, snoring away. There was no sight of Jane, she must have decided to leave well alone and go for a lie down. Her favourite spot was a big chair in her private sitting room, where she sat with her eye mask on and the little pug curled up in her basket next to her. At least when she was there Sharon got some peace.

She banged the tray down on the table and left the room without waiting to see what he said. She didn't care if he liked his food or not, and she certainly didn't want to engage in any conversation with him.

She had barely made it back into the kitchen before the door banged open behind her. Mr. Jamison stood there with the tray in his hand.

'What do you call this, love?’ His face was deep red and he didn’t look quite so happy now. ‘I can't eat this muck. What kind of place is this? Stick this in the bin and tell your boss she can whistle for her money. I'm off somewhere else where they know how to treat folk right.'

He threw the tray on the floor and stomped down the hall. Sharon heard him run upstairs and very soon he was back down again. She sat still at the kitchen table, dreading that he would come back in for a final outburst but she heard the front door slam, then the roar of his bike reverberated throughout the house as he zoomed down the drive to the main road.

Sharon was relieved that he was gone but she was still shaking from being shouted at. Most of the customers at the house were lovely, especially the bikers, they had good manners mostly, but every now and then there was the one who thought the usual rules didn't apply to him. She wondered how Jane was going to take the news of another non-payer. She didn’t have to wait long before she heard the sound of Jane’s heels clipping quickly across the hall, followed, of course, by the sound of Miss Sugar Plum scurrying behind her.

Yet again the kitchen door burst open and Sharon looked up wearily at the sight of Jane’s face, twisted with temper, agog to know what Sharon had done now.

‘What was all that about? What have you done now?’

Jane stood with hands on hips, for once ignoring the little dog as she tried to jump up at her owner. Sharon pointed at the tray on the floor. She wasn’t in the mood right now to pander to Jane’s ego.

‘It seemed he didn’t like your cooking.’

She threw the comment at Jane, knowing she was never going to accept that. As expected Jane exploded.

‘How dare you! How dare you suggest that I was responsible for that!’ She pointed at the tray and continued. ‘You can just clean that up right now, and the cost of it will be coming out of your wages.’

By now Miss Sugar Plum was sniffing gingerly at the tray and started to pull the bacon out of the mess. Jane went apoplectic.

‘Miss Sugar Plum, Miss Sugar Plum, you come right here this minute!’ Jane was screaming at such a pitch that the little dog cowered on the floor. Immediately Jane was full of remorse and her tone became instantly coaxing.

‘Oh, mummy’s sorry, diddums, come to mummy. Mummy wasn’t shouting at you, darling. Mummy was shouting at that stupid woman who upsets our guests. Come to mummy, sugar.’

Something in Sharon snapped. There was no way she was going to take that final insult from a half wit who couldn’t fry an egg. She looked at the mess on the floor, at the silly little dog being forcibly dragged into Jane’s arms, and at the face of this mean woman who had no grip on reality. She stood up and glared at Jane.

‘Well, Mrs. Moffatt, it says a lot about the cooking here that you won’t even let your dog eat it. And you won’t have to worry about the standard of my cooking anymore because I quit. As of now, so you’ll just have to clear that mess up yourself.’

With that, she walked past a startled Jane as Miss Sugar Plum cowered in her arms.

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back to contents

Chapter 2 – Running away

As her indignation subsided Sharon sat miserably on her bed next to her half packed bag. She wondered whether she could afford the trip back to Stockport. The money Jane had paid her didn't amount to more than pocket money and that was given grudgingly. Jane had even insisted on getting an equal share of any tips. The unfairness of that had really annoyed Sharon. She looked through the box that she had tried to put some savings into. She could raise sixty pounds. It would just about do it, although she would have nothing once it was gone.

She finished her packing and sighed, thinking back to the beautiful retreats that she and Julie had originally planned to run in this house. The plan had just been coming together and it had been such a fun time, before they received the summons from Tom, or Swami as she had first known him. Poor Julie, she thought, now she had enough on her plate. Her son had come back from his wanderings round Europe after sticking a pitchfork through his foot. She was stuck in Devon, nursing him back to health. Sharon was glad that she had Tony for company. He was so kind and they still met at The Sound whenever they could. It wasn’t easy fitting it