19
Annie arranged to meet Alex at his studio later. Lara locked up the shop and they went back to the apartment. They found Noreen there, slumped on the sofa working her way through a packet of Ryvita.
‘There’s no food in this house,’ she complained.
‘There’s food in the shop,’ said Lara. ‘They work the same way as the shops in Ireland.’
‘I’ve been too busy managing strippers,’ said Noreen, dropping a chunk of crispbread on the carpet. She eyed Annie as she leaned down to scoop it up, then carried it over to the kitchenette where she immediately busied herself with the carpet sweeper. ‘I didn’t get the chance. I just can’t believe you haven’t got anything in. Two women in a flat and no food!’
‘Sorry,’ Annie paused her wiping. ‘I should have brought some supper back from the cafe. I didn’t think. And with the party and everything I didn’t have the time to shop for us.’
She seemed genuinely upset by her mistake.
‘Don’t apologise,’ Lara said.
Noreen raised her eyebrows and smiled knowingly. Clever, popular Lara had got herself a skivvy. It was a role Noreen herself had inhabited as a small child, but tired of by the time they were ten.
‘It’s not your responsibility to feed us,’ Lara said to Annie, a little too firmly.
She turned to Noreen. ‘And we don’t have a Mammy looking after us here, so you had better get used to fending for yourself in the kitchen. Anyway, Ryvita is food and by the way, they’re expensive and they’re mine.’ She snatched the packet off her and flounced into the kitchen. Noreen laughed. Annie was in awe of the easy way Noreen and Lara were with each other. The pretend anger. Saying awful things without reproach. Fearless.
‘Well, fear not, I’m not eating any more of this shite,’ Noreen said, waving her last crispbread in the air before stuffing it in her mouth. ‘This is paper. I want some spuds. I haven’t had a proper feed since I got here.’
‘Did you not have anything at the club today?’
‘Just peanuts and crisps. Arthur was supposed to go and get me a plate from the cafe but he couldn’t leave Molly. The lads got a bit rowdy today.’
She said it like she had been working there for ten years.
‘You plied them with drink and wound them up, I suppose.’
‘I do recall having a laugh and flirt with one or two of them. In the interest of pint sculling, of course. By the way – why do they call Arthur ‘Ironing board?’ He wouldn’t tell me.’
‘I have no idea,’ Lara lied. She knew. She had heard the story from Shirley, then wished she hadn’t. She supposed Noreen would know everything about everyone by the end of the week, but she wasn’t going to enlighten her. In Noreen’s own interests she added, ‘And just let me tip you off. Coleman likes people who mind their own business.’
‘Well actually,’ Noreen said, with a little hint of spite in her voice, ‘Coleman was very happy when I didn’t mind my own business today. Brian, the bar manager— ’
‘I know who Brian is.’
‘Yes, well, he was ripping Coleman off.’
Lara had suspected Brian in the past, but had never done anything about it. It was best not to get in between these gangster boys. But there was no point in trying to explain that to Noreen. It might frighten her or, worse again, encourage her.
‘So Coleman sacked him on the spot and I got his job.’
‘Good for you,’ said Lara.
She felt a little spit of envy. Was Noreen muscling in on her territory with Coleman? After just one day?
‘Anyway, it means I need something glamorous to wear on my first night behind the bar.’
Before Lara had time to comment, Annie, who had finished tidying, piped up.
‘I’ll find you something.’
‘I don’t think your clothes would fit me,’ Noreen said, then with a dramatic sweep down her body adding, ‘I am an exceptionally voluptuous woman.’
Noreen remembered how John had described her as that the first time they had sex together. Noreen had taken it as the compliment it was intended to be, and used it to make her even less apologetic for her curves than she was already. She pushed the thought of John aside.
‘Nonsense,’ Annie said, smiling. ‘You’re not that big. I’ll find you something.’
Noreen raised her eyebrows at Lara as Annie scuttled off to her room.
‘She’s trying to be nice,’ Lara said, ‘so be nice back.’
Noreen let it go. She had other, more pressing matters to attend to with her best friend.
‘Talking about being nice,’ Noreen said. ‘I think Coleman fancies me.’
Lara got a fright. She consciously readjusted her face from shocked amusement to vague interest.
‘Really?’
‘I know. He’s gorgeous and I’m… voluptuous. But I felt something from him. I think we made a connection.’
Lara was sure they had. Coleman was a hard-headed businessman and she knew that Noreen’s business acumen would be immediately apparent to him. But fancy her? She supposed it was possible.
‘You’ve been here less than a day, Noreen.’
‘No point in letting the grass grow, Lara. It’s the sixties. I’m a sexual adventuress! I’m here to have new experiences. London experiences! Orgasms! And Coleman looks like the kind of guy who knows all about that. Oh God,’ Noreen suddenly thought of something awful, ‘you’re not after him are you?’
‘No.’ Lara said the word quickly and firmly then wanted to grab it back straight away. Was it kind to let Noreen go through an attempt at seducing Coleman when she had seen so many other, more experienced woman fail? Although, she could see Noreen had her mind made up and there would be no stopping her. In any case, Coleman was a gentleman and would find a way of putting her off. Unless…
‘I thought so. Because I figured if you had wanted him you’d have taken him by now.’
Lara shook her head and said, ‘No. Not interested. Go right ahead, Noreen, just…’ she wanted to say be careful, but then another question opened up inside her. Suppose he said yes? Suppose Noreen seduced Coleman and…, ‘just have fun.’
‘Oh I will. Glad I’ve got a clear run at him, so.’
Annie came back in holding up a dress on a hanger. ‘I thought this would be perfect for you for tonight.’
It was a navy A-shaped smocked dress with a high, round, light blue collar. Annie bought it two weeks ago and was keeping it for special occasions. Because of its loose shape, it would fit Noreen and give a serious, professional look for her first day at work. Also, crucially, it would cover her up so that the men weren’t giving her lots of unwanted attention.
Noreen’s lips tightened with offence.
‘Are you joking?’
Annie looked crushed.
‘I’m working at a strip joint. As a barmaid. That’s like something a nun would wear.’
‘Noreen!’ Lara could see Annie was hurt.
‘Sorry. It’s a nice thought, Annie, but, well, I just want something a bit more sexy, you know?’
Annie didn’t know. Her demure nod and querying eyes made Noreen want to give her a smack. She didn’t come all the way over here from holy, Catholic Ireland to be judged by some skinny strap who wanted to dress her like a bloody nun.
‘I’ll go down to the shop,’ Lara said.
None of her own clothes would fit Noreen. Lara knew that Annie had dug out the big frock to make Noreen feel better. To help Noreen believe she was thinner than she was. Noreen didn’t care about that. If clothes didn’t fit her, it was the fault of the clothes, not her body. The kind thought had backfired.
‘I’ll bring you back something a stripper would wear. A voluptuous stripper.’
‘Classy though,’ Noreen called after her. ‘I wouldn’t say Coleman goes for anything trashy.’
When Lara was gone, Noreen found Annie looking at her in wide-eyed horror.
‘What,’ Noreen said, unable to help herself, ‘is the matter wi
th you?’
Annie replied with uncharacteristic force.
‘Leave Coleman alone. He’s in love with Lara.’
Noreen took a breath. It was a small shock. On the other hand, everyone was in love with Lara.
‘Lara’s not interested.’
‘She is. Everyone sees it. It’s just…’
‘Just what?’
‘Well, Lara is reluctant. Nobody knows why. She’s just – I don’t know – but she should be with him. That’s all.’
‘Oh really?’
Even as she snapped her disbelief, the germ of an idea formed in Noreen’s head. Maybe Lara wasn’t over her brother. She had not, by the sounds of it, been out with anyone else. Coleman, if he did fancy her, was pretty irresistible.
Plus, while Matthew was a subject non grata with her, Lara had not exactly asked where he was or what he was doing. If she had, Noreen might have told her that he was in a London seminary, on a six-month academic bursary, researching religious art. Something to do with restoring some old paintings for the seminary, unimaginably boring. Her parents had asked Noreen to leave Lara’s address with them so they could forward it on and have him call on them when he got there. Checking up on her and upsetting Lara at the same time! Noreen had destroyed every shred of evidence of where she was going before she left. The last thing she needed was Matthew turning up here, cramping her style. By the look of things, Lara would certainly not be too happy to see him. How awful if she wasn’t over him? Although, how stupid too, when she had a dreamboat like Coleman after her. Still. Noreen was no competition to her. Noreen wasn’t interested in love. She had that at home with John. In fact, she had come here to get away from it. All she wanted was a bit of modern fun. She’d be in and out of Coleman like Flynn. Lara wouldn’t even notice she’d been there.
‘Yes really.’ Annie was standing in front of her staring. She looked angry. In fact, in that moment, Noreen felt a little afraid of her.
The pub had taught her that sometimes it was the quiet types you ought to be afraid of. Aggressive people blew out a lot of hot air. It was the ones in the corner, quiet as mice, nursing their drinks, who could be unpredictable – even dangerous – when they blew. What is your story? Noreen said to herself. No family, no friends, apart from Lara. There’s something amiss here. Something creepy. Something I really don’t like.
‘Alright so,’ Noreen said. ‘I’ll keep my hands off him.’ And she raised them in the air just to make a point.
‘Good,’ Annie said. ‘Thank you.’ And she smiled a beatific, glittering smile.
Noreen flinched.
‘Now,’ Annie said, ‘excuse me. I have to go out.’
‘Where are you going?’ Noreen asked, trying to end their exchange on a relatively normal note.
‘I’ve got my first modelling assignment,’ Annie said. Then, not even bothering to put on lipstick she grabbed her bag and called back to Noreen, ‘Wish me luck!’
‘Good luck!’ Noreen said, her voice brittle with irritation.
As soon as Annie had gone Noreen headed into her bedroom. There had to be something in here. Some evidence of who Annie was. Where she was from. She was a liar, Noreen knew that for sure. Lara said she thought she was from Leitrim, but Annie had implied to Noreen the night before that her mother was from Cork. Noreen had been quite drunk but she remembered that contradiction, and used it to justify opening and closing all of the drawers in Annie’s room. She looked for letters, diaries – but there was nothing. Only carefully folded, plain-coloured clothes. Everything she had looked new. There was no evidence here of a family, no memorabilia, no ornaments, no photographs or trinkets. Nothing that would even put her in Ireland. Noreen knew that Annie was pure Irish. Despite her best efforts to hide it, Noreen could hear the accent behind the fake, English twang, although she could not place it by county, which frustrated her no end. But she could find no evidence of Irishness in her drawers, not even a set of rosary beads. Noreen’s mother had stuffed one into the pocket of her coat, which she had found on the boat, and hidden two in her case before she left. If Annie was Irish there would be a miraculous medal on a vest or a pair of rosary beads somewhere in this room. Eventually, Noreen pulled back the valence sheet, got down on her hands and knees and looked under the bed. And there it was. Right in the middle under the bed almost beyond reach. She leaned in her hand and managed to pull it towards her when she saw there was a big padlock on it. Noreen’s stomach lurched. Why would somebody padlock a suitcase?
‘Noreen!’
Lara was back. Noreen shoved the case back towards the middle of the bed and gathered herself.
She wouldn’t say anything to Lara about this. She didn’t want to explain to Lara why she had been snooping. But there was something very wrong here. Until she got to the bottom of this mystery, there was no point in worrying her old friend.
20
Alex rang one of his friends and begged him to lend him his studio on Cheyne Walk for the evening.
‘I’m impressed,’ Lara said when she turned up at the address and found the lights and backdrop all set up, along with a box of cigarettes and a plate of biscuits.
In the past six months, Lara had been courted by several photographers, but none whose work had especially impressed her and none of the big ones. Chevrons was developing a name as a cool underground hang-out spot for some of the photographers and their models, and although she knew them in her capacity as hostess there, she was still not established enough on the scene to approach any of them about photographing her work. In any case, ambitious Lara was learning that in sixties’ London asking wasn’t cool. Blowing your own trumpet was considered crass and uncool. The polite thing was to wait to be discovered. Lara had been hoping Penelope would do that for her. When that fell through, this unknown press photographer was a pretty poor, but possible, second bite at Podmore’s fashion page. He had taken some knockout shots of Annie so the least she could do was give him a break – and hope she might get a break out of it too.
When Annie sat down in front of the photographic studio’s dressing room mirror, with a dozen bulbs illuminating every crevice of her being, she regretted her decision.
‘God – you are so beautiful,’ Lara said, putting her small makeup bag down in front of her.
Dorian used those exact words to Annie before he defiled her. The memory made her feel sick.
She looked at herself. She was beautiful. Even she could not deny it. Nonetheless, with her perfect skin and her high cheekbones and her large, soft green eyes and doleful expression, Annie hated the beautiful girl in the mirror. Her extraordinary, ethereal face had led her into years of abuse and finally driven her to murder. That face was her enemy. Annie rarely looked in a mirror and now, here she was, staring at her vulnerable self under a dozen spotlights and inviting other people to do the same.
Sensing her despair, Lara grimaced and said, ‘Ugh – everyone looks bad under these lights,’ and spun Annie’s chair around so that she was facing away. Spilling out her small bag of cosmetics, she started applying makeup. Lara patted the Max Factor panstick onto Annie’s cheeks in thick, beige stripes then began to gently blend it into her skin, covering the smattering of light freckles on her otherwise perfect, pale skin. With her eyes closed, Lara’s gentle, feminine touch reminded Annie of her mother and her nerves began to recede.
As she worked Lara thought, not for the first time, what an unusual girl Annie was. Secretive and unworldly, she didn’t even know how to apply makeup properly. It was not common for any woman, certainly not a model, to allow other women to do their makeup for them. Every woman, even the plainest girl, knew how to make the best of themselves. Applying makeup to another woman’s face felt like a strange intrusion, but as Annie closed her eyes and yielded to the touch of the brushes and sponges, Lara decided to use the beautiful bare face as an artist’s canvas, to create a modern masterpiece.
When she was finished Lara spun Annie around to look at her reflection in the mirror. Her
long red curls were flattened down under a hair net and her face seemed like a shocking, exaggerated version of itself. Her skin was mask-like pale and her eyes were contoured in black and white with long spiky lashes, looking enormous and staring back at her, blankly. Annie’s lips were powdered and painted, pouted in a seductive way that a good, Catholic girl could never have intended them. She was just taking in the strangeness of this new self when Lara, securing her grip by pinching the middle of her forehead, slid a short blonde wig over Annie’s head. Wig on, Annie stared at the reflection in awe. She could not see any part of herself looking back. Who was this blonde, seductive, confidently modern girl? Not her. Not Hanna.
‘Annie? Are you ready?’
Every trace of Hanna was gone now. Not just in her name but in her face too.
Annie Austen had finally arrived. She was blonde, mod and brand new. She was That Girl! Vulnerable, abused Hanna was gone. Hidden so far under this new disguise, that Annie could not find her. She was free.
‘I’m ready,’ she said.
A sheet of thick white paper hung from a scaffold and rolled onto the floor in a carpet. As she stepped onto the pristine background Annie willed herself to enter this new life.
She moved, this way and that, showing off the cut of the A-line minidress Lara had picked out for her.
Alex spoke in a stream of instructions. ‘Now you’re working. Good girl. Move forward. Come on. That’s it. Now – hand on hip, right side to camera.’ Encouragements and chides came flowing out of him, filling the awkward space between camera and model. Disguising the intrusion of capturing a human moment by assuming ongoing permission.
As Annie moved in front of the camera, the movements began to feel natural to her. She became aware of how these new, painted-on features might look to the camera, how the most minuscule flick of an eyebrow or curve of the lip would alter the mood of her face. ‘Centre it up a little now sweetheart – perfect! To the left? Loving it – loving it. Good girl – there you are. Look at me. Over here. Look to your right, now. Lovely. Eyes wide. No blinking, naughty girl…’ She was aware of her tall, slim body making shapes.
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