‘Graham? It’s Angie. I can’t come in today. I’ve been up all night . . . and now I’ve got a real gut ache. I must have eaten something off over the weekend. I’m going back to bed now.’
She walked to the bottom of the road and joined the bus queue.
Carol was there. She looked at her watch. Angie had to be in work before Carol.
‘You’re cutting it fine,’ Carol said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m not well.’
Carol looked at her.
‘I’m going to see Gene.’
‘Oh, Angie. I thought we’d decided it was Cynthia.’
‘I don’t know what to think. I’m going to have it out with him. I’ve told Graham I’m ill.’
‘Be careful,’ Carol said. ‘Just because your dad’s won all this money, you can’t muck them about.’
‘I’ll probably go in later. I’ll say I’ve had a miracle recovery. Or that we’ve run out of toilet paper.’
The bus came and they ran up the stairs. It was good to see Carol on a weekday morning. It gave her courage.
*
The boutique wasn’t open. She pushed open the door of Harry’s shop. Harry was cutting the hair of a someone who looked like a business man. Rose, the assistant, stood at the back, folding towels.
‘Hello, cuz,’ Harry said. ‘Don’t often see you in here on a Tuesday morning.’ He looked at her face. ‘You need a cup of tea. Rose. Where’s she gone? Rose, can you put the kettle on?’ He looked in the mirror at his client. ‘Cup of tea, Arthur? Tell Rose that’s four cups, will you Ange?’
Angie went into the small kitchen where Rose was filling the kettle. Angie looked at herself in the small mirror hanging crookedly over the sink. Mirrors everywhere, telling the same story. No wonder Harry had said she needed tea. She looked so pale, with dark rings under her eyes, and her hair wasn’t lying flat at all. As they waited for the kettle to boil, Rose gave her a timid smile. Angie almost burst into tears. She realised she didn’t want to believe that Gene had been with Cynthia. If it was Cynthia and he put his arm round her that must mean he still cared for her. Whereas, if it was just a strange woman, it might be no more than a one-night stand.
The kettle was boiling. They made the tea.
Angie’s hands were shaking as she handed a cup to Arthur. She sat down on one of the waiting chairs, her hands wrapped round her cup as if she needed to warm her frozen fingers.
At a quarter past ten she said goodbye to Harry and walked to the boutique. The door was open. She walked in.
Gene was bent over the till, sorting through a pile of notes. ‘Morning,’ he said cheerfully, without looking up.
Angie was silent.
Lazily Gene lifted his head. ‘Angie! Darling! What a lovely surprise.’
He’d never called her darling before. It sounded so loving and tender.
He slid the pile of notes back into the till and came round the counter. ‘What a treat to see you on a miserable Tuesday morning. Where did you get to last night? I waited for you.’
You didn’t wait that long, she thought. ‘I was late,’ she murmured.
‘Are you OK? And shouldn’t you be at work? You don’t look too hot. Tell you what – why don’t I lock up for an hour, it’s always quiet just after bank holiday, and we can go and have a coffee somewhere. We’ll make up for last night.’
‘What is there to make up for?’
‘We missed each other, didn’t we! I missed you. I came back to Chelmsford early, specially to see you. Come on. Let’s walk down to the Saracen’s. I’m sure they do morning coffee.’ He pulled the door of the back room closed. ‘Tell me all about your weekend.’ He looked at her again. ‘You know I really did miss you last night.’ He stroked her hair, then pushed her gently out of the front door and locked it behind them. He drew her arm through his and they walked towards the town.
In the quiet pub she sat down. He brought over two watery cups of coffee. ‘Good job I’m not really Italian,’ he said, moving between the tables to sit beside her. ‘I’d have to complain to someone about their espresso machine. Or their Maxwell House jar. Anyway, here.’ He reached inside his coat and pulled out a small box. ‘I got you a present.’
‘You didn’t. What for?’
‘I did! Because I like you, sweetheart. Ooh, that tough face! Go on, open it.’
Slowly she opened the small square box. It was a silver charm bracelet.
‘See?’ he said, as she pulled the bracelet out of the box. ‘It’s got a little scooter and a pork-pie hat because you’re a mod and a horseshoe for good luck. Oh, and this is a heart, because, well, I care about you.’
A heart! She swallowed the sweetness of it. ‘And what’s that?’
‘That? Oh, that’s a silly Christmas tree because . . . it was Christmas when we met. And as we go on, we can get more charms to mark special days. You’ll be weighed down with them all! I was going to give it to you last night, but you didn’t turn up.’
She found herself near to tears again. This couldn’t be happening. This was the loveliest thing she’d ever received. She must have been wrong about last night. At least she hadn’t said anything!
‘Do you like it?’ he said.
‘I love it. I love it.’ She swallowed a sob. ‘I love it.’
CHAPTER 17
THERE WAS SO MUCH GOING ON. There was Gene, there was Roger, there was the offer of the management job. And there was the interview. It was all so crazy, she almost forgot that she’d taken Doreen’s jumper to the dry cleaner’s and she needed to collect it. Roger and the oil from his scooter had completely ruined it and Angie hadn’t been able to do anything about it herself. There was a message attached to the sleeve when she picked it up:
Jumper has been badly washed. Wool – apparently mohair – has become matted and tight. Several stains noticed, particularly around the neck and the cuffs. An attempt has apparently been made to remove stains with various substances.
The lady in the shop said it was quite unusual for a note like that to be written, but seeing Angie’s face she had said the shop wouldn’t charge her.
As she left the shop Angie peeped under the cellophane. ‘Oh. Oh.’ It was awful, though given all the choices she had to make, it was the least of her worries.
She had to make a decision about the English Electric job by the end of the week. Should she take it? Should she become a respected part of the English Electric family? Should she put herself in line for even more promotions? But if she did, was she doomed to stay at the company for ever? Would any of her dreams ever come true? And what should she do about Roger? Should she leave him for Gene?
Usually if she had problems like these, she would discuss them with Doreen. Doreen always had sensible things to say. But Doreen would disapprove of Gene. Perhaps she could talk to her about the job and just not mention Roger or Gene. Yes, that’s what she’d do.
She took a deep breath and went to find Doreen. She was in her bedroom trying to coax her hair into a new style of flick-ups.
Angie stood in the doorway. ‘Reen, can I ask you something?’
Doreen spoke to Angie’s reflection in the dressing table mirror. ‘Actually, I’d like to ask you something.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My sweater.’
‘Oh. Oh?’ Angie tried to keep the same expression on her face.
‘It was in my drawer and now it’s not there. And I know Mum and Dad haven’t got it.’
‘Have you asked them?’
Doreen was fiddling with a flick-up, rolling hair round her finger. ‘Strangely, no.’
‘Well,’ Angie said, ‘this isn’t about clothes. It’s about my job.’ There was almost a sob in her voice.
Doreen turned away from the mirror and gazed at Angie. ‘You look dreadful.’
‘I’ve messed everything up,’ Angie said.
‘Have you? What? How?’
Angie took a breath, then shook her head.
‘What?’ Doreen repeated, half laughing. ‘Come on, what’s happened?’
Angie couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to tell her, ‘It – it was Roger. He, he came round.’
‘Oh God, what’s he done now?’ Doreen put her arm round Angie’s shoulders.
Doreen was being so friendly and nice. That would stop as soon as Angie said the word ‘sweater.’ She couldn’t tell her. Doreen was looking at her, smiling in a warm, concerned way. She had to say something. ‘Oh, I don’t know what to do about him. Should I pack him up or what?’
‘Pack him up? Why would you do that?’
‘I don’t know. He’s . . . he’s . . . ?’
‘He’s a nice boy. You’re lucky to have him.’
‘Well, you’ve changed your tune. You said he was boring.’
‘Boring is not always bad. Someone like you needs someone dependable.’
They fell silent. Doreen lifted a lock of Angie’s hair. ‘You’re so lucky to have this thick hair. Are you really worried about Roger?’
‘Why, what else would I be worried about?’ Angie felt her cheeks colour. ‘Well, if you must know . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘There’s Gene.’
‘Gene – what? That bloke in the boutique? You’re not still interested in him, are you?’
‘Well, as it happens, I am.’
‘Oh God! But he’s . . . he’s so wrong for you.’ Doreen coughed. ‘He’s married, he’s older than you.’
‘So? I think he loves me.’
‘Why on earth would you think that?’
‘He gave me this.’ Angie pulled the bracelet from her pocket. ‘Look.’
Doreen gazed at the box, then took a deep breath and opened it.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Angie said, as Doreen lifted the bracelet from the box and laid it in the palm of her hand.
‘Ohh,’ Doreen breathed. She seemed transfixed by the bracelet. ‘He gave you this? When? When did he give you this?’
‘He gave it to me yesterday.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘I don’t know. Because it was our two-month anniversary, I don’t know.’
‘You’ve been seeing him for two months!’
‘Look, at all these charms. There’s a horseshoe.’
‘Really? You’ve been seeing him for two months? And now he’s given you this?’ Doreen was breathing heavily as she flipped through the charms. Without looking away from the bracelet she said, ‘I thought you only had horseshoes at weddings.’
‘Perhaps that’s what he’s thinking! Because look, here, it’s a heart. A heart!’ Angie pointed at the heart that Doreen was staring at.
‘Yes, I can see it’s a bloody heart,’ she snapped. ‘But why did he give it to you? What did he say?’
‘What do you mean? He didn’t say anything. It speaks for itself doesn’t it?’
‘And he gave you that yesterday?’
‘Yesterday morning. He was going to give it to me the other night, but I was late. I stood him up.’
‘Did you?’ Doreen looked at the bracelet. It slithered from her fingers to the floor.
‘Careful!’ Angie said, retrieving it from the rug. Tenderly she put the bracelet back in the box.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing him?’ Doreen sounded almost breathless.
‘After what you said about him?’
‘Look Ange,’ Doreen said. ‘I don’t think he’s good for you. What do you know about him? I mean, he’s still got a wife, and if . . . if he’s cheating on Cynthia with you, for all you know he’s got other women too.’
‘He probably has. In fact, I know he has.’
‘Do you?’
‘I saw him with someone else.’
‘Did you? When?’
‘The other night, Monday. I was meant to be seeing him, but I was late.’
‘Angie!’
‘And I was late because I was cheating on him!’ Angie sounded almost triumphant. ‘I’ve got another bloke too. I’ll never be able to wear the bracelet in case Roger asks where I got it. Gene and I are two of a kind!’ she said proudly. ‘I know he’s a bit . . . wild, but then so am I.’
‘Really?’
‘And when he kisses me it just feels lovely.’
Doreen drew her head back. ‘You – you haven’t gone all the way, have you?’
Angie looked at her sadly.
‘Oh no, you haven’t! Please tell me you haven’t.’
‘I haven’t, I haven’t,’ Angie said. ‘He said he respects me too much.’
‘Oh respect! That’s a good one.’
‘Sometimes I wish he’d go a bit further.’
‘No, you don’t.’
Angie smiled. ‘Really, he’s the reason I’m thinking of ending it with Roger.’
‘Oh God!’ Doreen said sharply.
‘What? What?’ Angie said. ‘Don’t you want me to be happy?’
‘Yes, I do. That’s why . . . oh God.’ Doreen seemed to shake herself. ‘Look, why don’t we go out for a drive? Stop somewhere for a drink? There’s no rush to make a decision is there? Perhaps you should wait. Come on, I’ll buy you a whisky. I certainly need one,’ she murmured.
‘Whisky! I don’t like whisky! And look at the state of me!’ Angie craned her neck to look into her dressing table mirror. ‘I look terrible.’
‘No, you don’t. Just put on a bit of lipstick. You can borrow that new one of mine. Mystic Cherry. It will probably suit you more than me.’
‘I don’t know if I feel like it.’
‘Go on. You can tell me all about Roger. You probably need to talk about it. We’ll sort something out.’
This was just what Angie had wanted. Doreen’s opinion – she was always so sensible.
Doreen stood up and went to the wardrobe. She began rifling through her clothes.
‘Actually,’ Angie said, ‘there’s something else I want to talk about. It’s about a job. They’ve offered me a promotion at work.’
‘A promotion! Well, you kept that quiet. What kind of promotion?’ Doreen turned from her wardrobe. There was a strange look on her face. She almost looked as if she was about to cry.
Angie repeated, ‘Yes, a promotion. Graham said they’re looking for a manager in Section F – it’s a similar job to the one I’ve got, but more money and – well – it’s management. The job’s mine if I want it. Me, a manager. Can you imagine?’
‘Little Angie, all grown up and managing!’ Doreen gave a small laugh. ‘Well, good for you, gal. That’s great.’
‘Except that now I’ve got an interview for a job in London.’
‘Oh my god! You’re a dark horse. What’s this one for? Company Director?’
‘No, it’s fashion. Well, not fashion exactly. It’s a technician in a fashion school. It pays a lot less, but this could be my chance to get into the fashion world. You really might have to start wearing my dresses round town.’
‘Oh Angie. What a time to have to make such a decision. I mean, you should seriously think about the management job.’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘But fashion is what you’ve always dreamed of, I know. What do you know about this London job? Will it really take you to the places you want to go?’ She looked into Angie’s face. ‘You want to do it, don’t you?’
‘I do. I haven’t got the job yet – it’s just the interview. Miss Darling from school told me about it.’
‘Well, it’s a tough old world out there,’ Doreen began. Angie’s face fell. ‘But look. Miss Darling must think there’s a chance. She always liked you, didn’t she? And didn’t she do some really high up job in one of the fashion houses, Cardin or somewhere? I never understood how she ended up in Chelmsford.’
‘I think she had a stroke or something. I think she nearly died and she was told she had to take life easy.’
‘But Chelmsford?’
‘Someone said she had old friends who lived in Chelmsford and so she moved here, to Broomfield.
One of those new houses near Mill Hill Lane. And then she got a job at the school. She was only part-time. But she was married and she was the first person who I ever knew who was married who still called herself Miss.’
‘And what does her husband think of that?’
‘Didn’t he die?’
‘Don’t ask me. Anyway, with all that behind her, she must know what she’s talking about. Go for it, Ange, you’ve got to go for it, you really have. Never mind Roger and – and Gene.’ She picked up her handbag. ‘Oh my god. Everything’s happening so fast. Come on, let’s go for that drink. Because we’ve got Australia to talk about too and this bloody interview we’ve got to go for.’
‘I’m not going! Are you really going to go?’
‘I don’t know. More and more I think I shouldn’t stay here. Let’s talk about it in the pub.’
‘But what if we see someone when I look such a state?’
‘We shan’t. We’ll be in the middle of the back of beyond. Anyway, sod them. Because,’ Doreen pulled Angie off the bed and pushed her towards the bathroom, ‘with my lipstick and a bit of blusher, you’ll look like the Queen of Sheba.’
Angie loved it when Doreen was kind and funny, like this. She went into the bathroom.
‘You can wear my black jumper, if you like,’ Doreen called from the bedroom. ‘If I can find it.’
‘No, it’s all right.’ Angie came back into the room, holding the little pot of rosy blusher. ‘I’ll wear my Fred Perry. It’s . . . it’s too hot for a jumper. Or a coat. You know you should get yourself a new coat.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, that girl I told you he was with when I was late – she’s got one like yours. I saw it.’
‘Did you? Oh God. Well, I’m throwing it out then.’
‘It wasn’t as nice as yours. It was longer, I think, and a bit worn out.’
‘I’d still better put it in the dustbin. Right, where shall we go?’
Doreen was being so nice. Angie had to tell her. ‘Reen, oh Reen. I’ve got something you definitely should put in the dustbin.’
‘What do you mean?’
Angie went into her bedroom and groped under the bed. She pulled out the sweater.
The Girls from Greenway Page 14