The Next Step

It had taken the entire weekend, but it was ready to go.

"Are you quite sure that everything's saved?" Joanna sat in front of the ASUS, her finger poised over the Enter key. "I'm not going to delete anything, am I?"

"God, Mum," Beth grabbed her mother's finger and jabbed it down onto the keyboard. "Right, now everything is live and happening in real time," Beth sat back in her chair. "This means you need to monitor the website on a regular basis, even if it's only once a day to see if you've got any more messages or sales. If you want to change your selling structure to a bidding system rather than a flat price, we can do that, but only with new pots as you add them onto the page, okay? If all your pots sell really quickly, it means you're not asking enough and we should try the bidding facility on some of them to see what sort of end-price you get; you understand how it's done?"

"I think so," Joanna nodded. "So all these," she waved at the six current images of different pots and vases they'd managed to video and load onto the River Pots website. "Are being sold at the price you've put beneath each one ..." She shook her head. "I still cannot believe anyone would be willing to part with even that much cash for ... oh, okay, okay," she waved her hands in surrender as Greg gave her a meaningful look. "I won't say that any more, though I might think it," she smiled. "So, if anyone actually buys one of the pots, then they can use one of these payment methods that we've got listed here through this Stripe program. The prices all include postage and insurance costs and once someone has paid the price we're asking, we can print a postage label out here with their address, and then all I have to do is pack it carefully in a box with lots of padding and take it to the post office with the label, right?"

"Yes, Mum, exactly right. Now, just in case all these pots sell, do you have any more that you can put in their place? There's no point paying for a website when you've got nothing to sell on it. You really need to have at least the same number of videos again ready to fill in the blank windows when one gets sold."

"So we need to do another six videos?" Joanna looked frazzled.

"Have you got another half-dozen pots?" Greg asked. "This could turn out to be pretty demanding on you if they go quickly, you realise."

"Oh, there's plenty of pots in the cupboards by the sink in the studio," Joanna waved his concern away as if production was the least of her concerns. "And I can probably get another couple done during the coming week if I have to. It's just making the videos that seems to be taking the time. I don't like bothering you."

"Well, there's nothing stopping you and Beth making the videos by yourselves, you know," Greg stretched and leaned back. "We've kind of got the whole thing down to a fine art. You don't really need me anymore."

"Well ... maybe we can do the vids by ourselves," Joanna thought for a second and nodded. "But I still prefer a bit of adult support so that this one," she nudged her daughter. "Doesn't talk me into something I'll regret."

"Did you speak to that first person, the one who wanted the blue vase?" Greg looked for the dark blue urn on the screen. It was still there, with all its dimensions, qualities and listed description, revolving slowly with its brothers and sisters.

"I just emailed them again this afternoon saying that the website and payment system would be going live later today," Joanna said. "Though I seriously doubt they'll be back. Nobody is really going to pay ..."

There was a musical warble that had three sets of eyes turn to look at the message box.

"HA!" Greg stabbed a finger victoriously at the screen. "So much for all your self-doubt!" He grinned, jubilant. Payment had been made on the big blue pot. In front of three fascinated gazes, the image of the spinning blue vase faded from view leaving only five others.

"Is it meant to do that?" Greg looked at Beth who clearly knew more about all of this than both adults put together.

"Yes," she said. "Unless you want to leave your pots up on show after they've been sold? I can change the action sequence if you'd like?" She looked at her mother with an earnest expression.

No, I think it's a good idea to take them down when they're sold," Joanna nodded. "After all, the money ..." she shook her head sounding completely baffled. "The money, all of it, has been paid, yes?"

"Yup, by direct debit," Beth pointed at the small message box near the payment facility. "The money is probably already in your account."

"So we're richer by £200?" Joanna's voice was a mere whisper.

"Well done, Mum." Beth smiled quietly and patted her mother on the shoulder. "You just sold your first pot."

"We'd better get some more videos made, in that case," Greg was already heading towards the studio with the torch.

###

They had all been so busy over the weekend that Monday arrived almost without notice. Beth had taken two days of the previous week off school, not wanting to go in until her bruising faded. All that was left was a line of greenish-yellow marks down the left side of her face.

About to offer Beth some concealer, Joanna heard a car outside the door and glanced through the bedroom window. Greg's blue-grey BMW sat waiting outside. She hurried downstairs.

"If you're okay with it, I thought I'd give Beth a ride to school this morning," Greg met her eyes as he leaned through the open window of the car. "Unless she'd rather not, of course," he added. "I had a feeling she might be a little uncertain about going back. You know the last thing I want to do is barge in, but I just thought that ... well ... y'know."

"I think it's very generous of you to offer but the decision has to be Beth's," Joanna said, resting her hand on his arm. "See how she feels. She might not want to ..."

"Hi Greg. Why are you here?" Beth was slightly breathless having run down the stairs and out to the car. "Is there a problem?"

"No problem, Toots. Simply wondering if you'd like a lift to school this morning. S'up to you, but I'm here if you need a bit of extra support. Just say the word."

"Or if you'd rather not, Beth?" Joanna watched her daughter's expression, smiling suddenly as the child dashed back towards the house, shouting that she was getting her coat and bag. "I guess that answers that," she said.

"Only if you're sure I'm not intruding," Greg looked at her. "I just want to make it perfectly clear to everyone at that school I wasn't making empty threats last week. If Arnold hasn't done what he agreed, I want him to know I meant every word I said."

Beth returned, an expectant look on her face. "Can I sit in the front?"

"Ask your mum, not me," Greg smiled. "I'm only the driver."

"Make the most of this because it's back to walking tomorrow," Joanna shook her head at Beth, amused. "It's very thoughtful of you, Greg."

"Just doing my job. Speaking of which, we never did get around to deciding what we were going to do about finding our mysterious cleaning lady."

"Talk later then," Joanna waved as Greg's car pulled away, heading up Bevington Street. The drive would only take five minutes.

"You alright with going to school today?" Greg kept his eyes on the road and pavements on either side: there were kids all over the place at this time of a morning.

"Yeah," Beth nodded as she stared out the window. "I talked with a couple of my friends online last night and they said Jan, Shauna and Kimberly weren't in school after Wednesday. Everyone thinks they've been suspended."

"Those the girls who were being nasty?" Greg's fingers tightened on the wheel.

"Yes. But nobody knows what's happening, though there may be an announcement in assembly today."

Pulling the BMW to a gentle halt, the school entrance was seconds away down the road, the main glassed entrance standing wide open as children of all ages streamed inside. Greg looked at his watch. "Want me to come in with you?"

Beth thought. "You don't need to come inside with me … but …"

"Yeah?" Greg smiled at her hesitancy. "What, you want me to carry your bag or something?"

"No, that'd be silly. But it would be nice, if you didn't mind …"

Lifting his eyebrows, he waited.

"Could you come with me and stand outside the doors so's everyone can see you?" Beth gave him a hopeful look. "Just so everyone knows I've got someone on my side."

A wave of sadness washed through him at the thought of what this child must have endured. He nodded. "Want me to look mean?"

Beth laughed. "Maybe a bit."

There was still a fairly solid flow of students crossing the road and the wide pavement in front of the school as she left his side and made for the double sets of doors. As promised, Greg stood firmly in view of everyone, his arms folded and a stern expression on his face. Turning, with a small wave, Beth was gone.

###

"I can't think of anything else we can do, not really," Joanna sipped her coffee and looked thoughtful as she lifted her fingers, ticking off the points as she made them. "We've both spoken to the company and been advised that the woman we want to find doesn't actually work there. Neither of the people who referred the company to us are completely sure where they saw the original contact details. Apart from you and I, everyone who knows of this cleaning firm has had a very different experience."

"And all the experiences were tailor-made to suit very specific needs," Greg added. "My friends at the pub got help with the new baby and your mate at the hospital got help looking after her mum and getting her finances sorted out." He shook his head, sighing as he examined the big date-and-sultana muffin she'd bought him as a thank you for taking Beth to school. "Nobody we've spoken to has a bad word to say about any of their dealings with Charmed Cleaning."

"Do we?" Looking at him directly, Joanna frowned. "Yes, absolutely, the experience we've both had has been deeply weird and inexplicable. We still have no earthly idea why anyone would have done what was done to our homes. We don't even know how it was done or … any of it," she frowned some more. "The whole thing is intensely confusing and possibly even a little bit troubling, but are either of us really unhappy with what was done? I mean genuinely upset with it?"

Puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled, Greg leaned back in the coffee shop chair. Linking his fingers across his middle, he thought. Was he upset by any of it? It was bloody confusing, no doubt about it, but he had no sense of anxiety, just an ongoing puzzlement and curiosity. Things had happened both in his flat and at Joanna's house that made no earthly sense and couldn't be explained away by any normal means, but did that make them bad things?

"I'd just prefer to know the why of it, I think," he said finally, looking down at his half-eaten muffin. "My job is to solve mysteries and find answers to things that aren't always easy to find and I've been doing it for a long time," he sighed. "There's a kind of compulsion to know."

"Even though sometimes things simply can't be discovered or known?" Joanna watched his expression. "Sometimes we have to let things go whether we like it or not."

Lifting his eyes, Greg smiled at her. "That sounds like something a counsellor would say."

"It is," she admitted. "Not that it makes the notion any less true."

"I dunno," Greg sighed again. "It kind of goes against the grain, to be honest."

"Well then, maybe we don't need to stop looking entirely, but perhaps only when some new information turns up. Like one of your cold cases."

"Using police terminology against an officer of the law in pursuit of his duty might be construed as an offence you know." Greg smiled.

"Then you'd have to arrest me, wouldn't you?" Joanna laughed.

A strange wash of warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of his coffee, filled his stomach. He smiled again. "Beth would probably demand to have a go at the booking system," he grinned suddenly. "She's as sharp as a tack, that one. Brave too."

"They all are," Joanna looked down, a wistful cast to her expression. "I wish I could have done more for them, been there for them more often when they needed me. Done more."

"They are good kids," Greg was surprised at the unexpected heat in his words. "And you're a good mother. There's nothing wrong with any of them or with you. They might be a little bit quiet, but there's nothing wrong with that, it just makes them more thoughtful," he said. "Anyone would be proud to count those children as theirs."

Nodding without speaking, Joanna suddenly fished in her pocket for a tissue. "They are," she murmured, dabbing her eye. "They're terrific kids and I love them with all my heart but you know sometimes, just sometimes, I have this terrible feeling I'm doing it all wrong."

Reaching across the little table between them, Greg caught her free hand and held it tight in his, squeezing her fingers.

"Nobody's perfect," he said quietly. "Everyone can point to any number of things they've screwed up in the past, but that doesn't mean what you're doing or what you've been trying to do is in any way wrong. You're a wonderful mum and your three are lucky to have you."

Raising her eyes to him, Greg realised how much she and Beth were alike, both of them so brave and both trying so hard not to give in to life's cruelties. "You're an amazingly strong woman to have managed all you've done since your husband died," he said slowly. "I'm not sure I could have coped with everything as well as you have, with all the upset and worry, not just for yourself but for all of them as well," he shook his head. "Don't you ever think you're doing anything wrong, 'cos you're not. You're exactly what those three need."

"Thank you." Joanna wiped her cheek with the side of her hand. "It's such a relief to be able to talk to another adult about this stuff, though I worry now that I'm dragging you into something that I shouldn't. It's not fair of me to dump all this on you, especially when you've been so kind."

Greg's chest heaved as he sucked down a deep breath. Mother and daughter were certainly alike and just as bad as each other. "You have no idea," he said staring forward. "How much my life has picked up in the last couple of weeks, just having someone else to think about than my own miserable self. The bit of help I've been able to give you and the kids is nothing, honest, nothing. Although," he sat back with a smug look. "I did have a good idea about that website, didn't I? Admit it."

"Yes, it was a good idea," Joanna nodded, blinking and putting away her worries for the moment. "I've still no idea why anyone would want to pay those amounts for my pots." She held up a hand, forestalling his immediate comment. "Yes, I know. You've already told me that I have no self-judgement in this matter and you may be right. It just feels very strange."

Well, if you can sell a pot each week say," Greg pursed his lips. "Then that's going to be around an extra grand a month, less tax and costs. Beth tells me that the payment software you've got on the website automatically deducts tax and things on your behalf and pays it all into a special tax office account; it even prepares all your tax paperwork for you, so whatever ends up in your own bank account is free and clear of any other payment. That's got to make things a little easier."

"I've already filled in the sole trader application," Joanna was grateful for the change of topic. "You can do it all online these days, so Beth showed me. You were right: it actually didn't take very long and I managed to get the business name registered straight away, so there's no problem there, either. The only thing Beth insists I organise now is a picture of me in a dress holding one of the damn pots, as well as finding some appropriate background music."

Greg smiled. That was a cue for him if he ever heard one. "I may be able to give you a bit of a hand there."

###

He returned to Fountain Green Square after dinner with his own elderly laptop, after refreshing his memory on what exactly he might be able to provide in the way of website music. The boys were watching the TV and, on strict instructions from her daughter, Joanna had gone upstairs to find a 'dressy' dress that would do for a photograph on the River Pots webpage.

"No, that's too boring," Beth discarded yet another of Greg's background compilations. "It needs to be a little more like …" she paused, searching for inspiration. "Like an action film soundtrack, after the hero wins and everyone is happy and the music is still kind of action-y but calmer as well."

"So, some kind of calm action hero type music?" Greg maintained a very straight face. "Okay," he had a think, his memory scrolling through all the music files in all the different folders in his database. Even Beth had been quite impressed at the size and scope of the thing though she'd scoffed mightily at his antique device, asking if it was steam powered.

Throwing her a very jaded look, Greg was privately pleased she seemed to have suffered no long-term consequences of the previous week's drama. Time would tell.

There was one batch of files of ambient music he'd collated together ages ago in a folder simply because he couldn't think of anywhere else to put them. All instrumentals, the music could be described as action film trailer music; there was a bit of everything in it; emotion, tension, violins … yeah, it might do.

"Okay then, how about this?" Pulling up the folder, he clicked on the first extended compilation but almost immediately stopped it; it was far too dramatic for background music. "Let's try this one," he murmured, opening the next file down. It was ambient film-score themes with a touch of background orchestration, a shade more heightened than conventional music.

For the first time that evening, Beth sat and listened without making any derogatory comment. "It might work," she nodded thoughtfully. "The solo guitar is nice with the violins in the background and it's not boring. How long is it?"

"About," Greg squinted down at the small numbers. "Six minutes. Why don't I send you the file and then you can see what you can do with it creatively?" He began typing an email on his laptop to Beth's email address, attaching the sound file. She's told him this was an inefficient way of sending anything these days and why couldn't he simply upload to the cloud. Greg smiled and sent her the email, making a mental note to find out how to upload something to the cloud.

"Will this do?" Joanna's voice came from behind them and the musical collaborators turned simultaneously.

"You look really nice, Mummy," Beth nodded with satisfaction that her mother had actually put on something meeting the description of a 'floaty' dress. It also had dark shades of mauve and blue and brown in it which would match nicely with the purple velvet under the spinning pots. Already, her inner designer was considering complementary colours for backgrounds and accents. Maybe a deep blue river background with banner headers of white? Maybe some pictures of the Thames at sunset? At least her mother looked like someone who might make pottery now, not at all like the stuff she wore to go to work during the week. It was a good look for an artist. Beth thought she might be able to do something useful with this. She wondered if Greg had other sounds in his database. River sounds ... seagulls maybe.

All Greg could think was how pretty Joanna was. Her hair seemed longer, pinned back on one side showing the smooth line of her neck and the curve of her shoulders. How soft she looked … soft and sweet. He smiled. She was like a breath of fresh air. Her lips were a darker shade than usual, not that he was paying really close attention.

"Will this do?" Joanna asked again, watching Greg's face. Frowning for a moment, her face cleared and she relaxed, twirling on the spot, the loose chiffon sleeves and skirt giving her the semblance of being wrapped in a transparent shadow.

"I think you look perfect," Greg nodded. "The dress. Is perfect," he amended.

"Now that you finally look like someone who makes things, we can take a photo and put it on the website next to your bio," Beth looked thoughtful. "Where would be a good place to have your photo taken?"

"How about sitting at the wheel where you make the pots?" Greg opened his hands. "At least then everyone will be able to see that it's actually you who's the potter."

"Yes!" Beth snapped her fingers. "And then we can make a video of you actually making the pots before you put them on the website for sale!"

Looking momentarily harried, Joanna gave her eldest child an undecided glance. "Perhaps later, Bethy. One thing at a time."

Assembling in the small studio that had become so familiar in the last couple of weeks, Greg suggested Joanna sit on the wheel's seat.

"Kind of side-saddle, if you know what I mean, not as if you were going to start work on something but like you were at a party and just …" he waved his hands vaguely. "Sat on the thing."

"Like this?" Hooking the heel of her shoe over the lower rail of the wheel's seat, she turned to one side, crossed her legs and leaned forward, supporting her chin in one hand, her elbow resting on the raised knee.

Greg's stomach gurgled strangely. "Perfect," he said again, lifting his phone, looking for the best pose. "I'll take a few different ones and then Little Miss Expert over here gets to choose which one is the best or we'll never hear the end of it."

In a matter of seconds, the deed was done. Rather than waiting for Greg to stagger his way out of any more technological backwaters, Beth simply relieved him of his phone and sent the images to the laptop.

"It's almost frightening how competent she is with that stuff," Joanna accepted Greg's hand to balance on as she unhooked her foot and slid off her seat. "She's so single-minded about learning everything." A faint waft of her perfume reached him and his pulse surged at the same time his stomach gurgled again.

"Are you hungry?" Joanna looked at him appraisingly. "When did you last eat a proper meal?

"Ah, I had a coffee and some biscuits before I came over. It's been too busy today to even think about eating."

"Right. I'll just get changed and then I'll sort you out something edible," Joanna looked at him airily. "I will not have you going hungry simply to keep Beth and me happy with the website. The very least I can do is organise you a decent supper."

Unwilling to disturb Beth at her work which, based on her expression, was deeply technical and fiddly, Greg went and sat with the boys who were in the middle of an argument.

"Oy," he spoke quietly as Jack punched his brother none too gently in the arm. "Be nice. He's smaller than you."

"It's my turn to choose what to watch but he's lying on the remote and the football's about to start." Jack's pout was epic and Greg had to bite the inside of his cheek not to smile. He checked his watch.

"It's his bedtime in five minutes," Greg looked down at the boy. "Your mum'll be after him any second now, just wait a tick."

As if she'd been given a stage direction, Joanna stuck her head around the door telling Max to go and clean his teeth and be off to bed. Raising his eyebrows, Greg gave Jack a nudge, leaning over and picking up the TV remote. "Here you go," he said. "Who's playing?"

"West Ham and Cardiff," The boy accepted the device and eagerly began pressing buttons until the television screen flipped to the scene of a green turf and files of players running onto the pitch.

"Don't tell me you support Cardiff City?" Greg gave him a look of deep pity.

"Of course not," Jack watched the players avidly. "I'm a West Ham man, me."

Greg could hardly believe it. "You follow the Hammers?"

Curious at Greg's tone, Jack looked up at him. "Yes. What's the matter with that?"

"Who's your favourite player then?"

Jack looked thoughtful for a second before shrugging. "Well, personally," he said. "I think Declan Rice is ace, even though Marko Arnautovic got Hammer of the Year last year," he shrugged again. "Who do you follow?"

Shaking his head and grinning, Greg gestured towards the television. "The Hammers," he said. "Though I reckon Mark Noble could see both Rice and Arnautovic off without raising a sweat."

"No way!" Jack sounded both shocked and elated that at last, there was someone in the house who shared his admiration of West Ham United Football Club. "Have you ever seen them play at the London Stadium?"

"Yeah," Greg nodded, taking the remote from the boy and touching the volume up a notch. "I try and catch as many home games live as I can, though of course, I can't get to all of them because I'm working. But there's at least a few home games a month, so I try and get to one or two of them," Greg watched the two teams line up in preparation for the national Anthem. "When was the last time you saw them play?"

Looking back to the TV, Jack gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Never been," he said. "I just get to watch bits of them at the weekend mostly, 'cos mum won't let me stay up late on a school night."

"And you've never been to a Hammers home match?" Greg was surprised. The boy must be keen to keep such enthusiasm going at his age. "Doesn't your mum want you to go?"

"It's not that," Jack met his gaze again. "I was only a baby when dad died, and there's not really enough money and mum can't take me 'cos she has to look after Max and work all the time." He flashed a quick grin. "But seeing 'em on the telly is almost as good, isn't it?"

"Yes it is. Almost as good." Greg turned his eyes to the small screen though his mind was somewhere else entirely. Of course Jack would never have been able to go to a match without someone to take him and apart from tight finances, Joanna didn't strike him as the football type.

"Hang on," he said, handing the remote to the boy beside him. "Back in a minute. Tell me if I miss anything."

Heading out into the kitchen, Greg watched Joanna assembling the makings of a substantial Welsh rarebit, presumably for his supper.

"Can we talk about football?" he said.