‘But you were good at it,’ Lara said. ‘The pictures look great. It’s such a waste not to do it.’
‘It’s just how I look, Lara. It doesn’t mean anything. Being beautiful isn’t…’ Then she got a faraway look in her eyes. ‘It’s not good. It can be – a curse.’
Lara could see that Annie was overwhelmed and not being disingenuous about her beauty. She seemed, if not unaware, then at least genuinely uninterested in the power of her appearance. Everyone in London was all about the look. Annie had it but she wasn’t interested in using it. Lara sometimes wondered if there was something fundamental missing in her friend.
It was almost admirable enough for her to let it go. Except that Lara had a vested interest in harnessing Annie’s beauty to promote That Girl. Bigging this up was getting them nowhere. So she played it down.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s no big deal here, Annie. And there’s certainly no need to leave the cafe. Just take one afternoon off, we’ll take a stroll up to a quiet part of Kensington Gardens, and Alex can just take some snaps of you. No fuss. I’ll do your hair and makeup and put you in one of my frocks.’
Annie still looked uncertain.
‘Please, Annie. It’s the only way I’ll get the fashion editor there to take notice of me.’
‘But you’re a brilliant designer. They should take notice of you anyway.’
‘I need a face, Annie. And I’m afraid you’ve got it.’
Annie looked at her and Lara put on a pleading face. She had her.
‘Just this one time? Please? I promise I won’t put pressure on you again.’
Annie nodded.
It wasn’t the modelling she minded. But the possibility of curious Noreen snooping around in her room had unnerved her. Her past would make anyone want to keep a low profile and becoming a fashion model was the opposite of that. She’d enjoyed being photographed but she got a fright seeing her picture published in an English newspaper. However, she owed it to Lara to help her in any way she could. And these pictures, Lara assured her, were just for the fashion editor’s eyes and not for publication.
Alex was a nervous wreck when Lara called and told him her plan. He told her that Vogue would be expecting him to put together a big studio shoot. However, Lara told him there was no way Annie would agree to that and persuaded him to call the picture editor and stand his ground. ‘Tell her you work better on location and one to one,’ she told him. ‘Which is true. You call the shots – they’ll respect you for it.’
In the end, they were charmed and a date and time was set, much to Alex’s irritation, around Annie’s work schedule at Fred’s.
❊
Days passed, Coleman had not gone near Lara in the shop, or the flat. Lara felt annoyed about that. Although she knew it was an irrational expectation, part of her wanted Coleman, a proud, macho man, to risk almost certain rejection by telling her he loved her again with such brute force it would quieten the uncertainties she had been feeling since their encounter.
Although the very idea of it terrified her too. What would be the consequences of being with him? An English gangster. What would it mean? He said he loved her – did that equate to marriage with a man like that? Lara was a free spirit but she was also an Irish Catholic. How did that work?
She was so confused. First by her own behaviour. That sudden, passionate letting go she had experienced in his office was very unlike her. Then – with Coleman? And his declaring he was in love with her like that. So soon? It didn’t seem possible and yet, in some small part, she felt as if this was something she had really known. Was this what she wanted? Had she wanted it all along? Her and Coleman? She was a middle-class Irish girl from a good family and he was a cockney orphan who had grown up to be a gangster. Lara winced at her own bourgeois sensibility and, yet, it didn’t seem possible that she could be in love with him. And how could you not know if you loved someone or not? Surely love was the great certainty. She had never been uncertain about Matthew. If anything, she had been too certain. The more she thought about it, the more of a puzzle it seemed to become.
After a few days keeping herself distracted by the buzz of the shop, Lara decided to lock herself in the studio. Doing some practical, creative work was the best way she knew to give her some space to take it all in and decide what to do about Coleman and the business because, after all, the two were intertwined.
Lara pulled her apron down from its hook behind the door and, placing the plain, navy rectangle over her head, walked across the bare floorboards to her cutting table. Reaching into the pocket for a pencil, Lara found a letter from her mother that she had stuffed in there a few days ago. Lara’s mother sent her long gossipy missives about what was happening back home in Cork, every week. Her mother was never short of news, much of it about the state of their neighbours’ health and of little interest to Lara. Lara wrote back sporadically, brief notes giving her mother the bare facts about where she was working and what she was doing, but always the impression that she was busy, and happy and getting on with her life, which was all her concerned parents wanted to know. Her mother’s letters were important to Lara because they were the only thing connecting her to home. She had thrown herself into London life so hard that sometimes Lara felt she was in danger of forgetting who she was. Marian’s letters grounded her, reminded her where she was from and stopped her from becoming completely lost in this new, English world she had chosen. Lara grabbed the envelope and tore it open. One of her mother’s silly, light-hearted gossipy letters was just what she needed to escape this jittery, uncertain feeling that was taking her over since she and Coleman made love.
Dear darling Lara,
Just sending you a short note to alert you to the fact that Frank Lyons was onto us by telephone just now. He said himself and Patricia are worried about Noreen. Apparently, she left for London a month ago and hasn’t been in touch. She told them she was staying with you. I told him that was news to me. I wouldn’t put it past the strap to lie to her parents while she went off gallivanting. That said, she will never be as deceitful as that vile brother of hers. Sorry to preach darling, I am your mother, after all!
I’m afraid I had given Frank your address before he informed me that Matthew is also over in London at present (studying or something) and that he might call on you. I was most insistent in trying to put the man off but you know what he’s like. Very brash (I never liked him). I am so sorry. Just thought I had better warn you in case Matthew turns up at your door and gives you a fright!
All my love, Mam.
P.S Bridie Bannagher has pneumonia! More next week.
Lara stood, paralysed. Matthew was in London.
In a moment she realised that everything had changed. Rather, the confusion that had been building in her the past week climaxed and spilled over.
When Noreen went for an afternoon nap in preparation for the evening shift she found Lara waiting for her.
‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me Matthew was in London?’
Noreen’s stomach sank to the ground. How did she find out? Oh my God – had he been to see her? Lara was waving one of her mother’s letters at her. It was so stupid of her to think she could keep a secret from anyone in Ireland. No matter where you were in the world, word got around by letter. In just one short week, everyone would know your business.
‘I didn’t think it was important. I didn’t think you’d want to know. You hadn’t asked after him.’
That was all true. She was out of it now.
‘Of course I didn’t ask after him. Why would I? After what he did!’
Noreen felt a pang of defensive anger rise up in her. After all, Matthew was still her brother. Bad and all as he was, blood was thicker than water. Normally, it would be in Noreen’s nature to lash out and give as good as she got. But something in her held back. Some survival instinct, perhaps a maturity brought on by being away from home, reminded her that this was Lara’s flat she was living in. And, she was working for a man who was, almost
certainly, Lara’s secret lover. Plus, she was annoyed now. In not talking about her brother she had been simply protecting her old friend. Her silence had been motivated by kindness rather than deception. How dare Lara accuse her of keeping secrets when she was, after all, an open book? Even going as far as expressing an interest in Coleman when Lara had, clearly, set her sights on him herself. This small humiliation rose up in Noreen now as a petulant swipe.
‘Exactly,’ she said, breathing in slowly, turning her anger into haughty reason. ‘I didn’t want to add to your upset.’
‘Well you’ve bloody well added to it now by lying to me,’ Lara shouted at her.
Noreen took another deep breath, closed her eyes and said, ‘I’m so sorry, Lara. I didn’t mean to upset or offend you.’
Both of them knew Noreen well enough to know that she wasn’t one bit sorry. However, fiery, impulsive Noreen had never held the moral high ground before. When it came to losing her temper, she was generally the first to blow. She found she was rather enjoying this new, passive aggressive Noreen and the obviously disquieting effect it was having on Lara. She felt more in control of herself. She was using her annoyance to better effect.
‘Would you like me to give you the address where Matthew is staying?’ she asked, plastering a look of genuine concern on her face which, as the person looking at it, Lara found barely convincing.
Lara wanted to kill her. But this new, conciliatory Noreen had discombobulated her. Plus, she had no other way of finding out where Matthew was. And, in the past hour since she read her mother’s letter, Lara realised that she did need to see him, very much. She was still confused about Coleman, but the letter from her mother, as well as being shocking, revealed to her that the past might hold the answer to her future. She had not got over Matthew and needed to see him before putting their relationship, and all the anger and hurt it had caused her, to rest. Seeing him, she decided, was a necessity, and she could not bear the idea of sitting around waiting for him to call.
‘I haven’t even been to see him myself,’ Noreen went on. That was true. She hadn’t, technically been to see him. Noreen didn’t mention that he had been to see her. She hoped to hell if Lara did go and see him (which she probably wouldn’t. She’d have to be some eejit to pick her wimpy, priest brother over a hunk like Coleman), he’d have the good sense to keep his mouth shut.
‘To be honest, Lara, I really didn’t think it was such a big deal, but if it means so much to you, of course, I’ll see if I can dig out the name of the seminary where he’s staying.’
‘Thanks,’ Lara said, plastering a grateful and apologetic smile on her face, which to Noreen didn’t look the least apologetic or grateful.
Their stand-off was interrupted by Annie who came tripping in the door with a bag of food.
‘I just saw Coleman on the way up,’ she said. ‘He was asking if you were going down to the club this evening, Lara. Said he had something he wanted to talk to you about.’ Then she winked – a cheeky wink. It was most unlike her to joke around like that, but Annie had changed a little. Nothing dramatic, just a lightness had taken her over, making her feel like making a cheeky comment about Lara and Coleman. Not, for one moment, did she think it might be considered indiscreet, or that Lara might worry that Annie knew something that she shouldn’t know, or was wondering if Coleman had said something to her. Opposite her, Noreen was quietly fuming, convinced that obviously Annie knew about her friend and Coleman. Lara had confided in Annie and not her, and now, the sly cow was teasing them both with it.
‘I’ve got spaghetti for dinner,’ Annie said and, oblivious to the flatmates’ anxiety and anger, walked towards the kitchenette.
‘Lovely!’ the two Cork girls said in unison.
Except, in truth, neither of them felt it was very lovely at all.
27
Annie had finished her morning shift in Fred’s and was getting ready to go home when she noticed the young seminarian who had been in a few days before that, taking the window seat again.
When she first saw him, she thought he looked nice. He had been painfully shy, barely able to look at her when she delivered his mixed grill. She had assumed he was a one-off customer but here he was, back again. And, my, but he was handsome.
It was strange for Annie to notice a man in that way. She could not remember ever having looked at a man that way before. When she first met Dorian she thought him handsome and kind. As a child, she had been charmed by him and fallen a little in love with him. That piece of love made Annie feel that, somehow, she had invited him to ‘love’ her that way. It was what he told her. When he abused her, and she saw the extent to which his appearance was the worst kind of lie, he robbed her of any interest she might have in boys and young men. Not that she ever came across any, but now that she had the opportunity, the freedom to love, she felt too tainted to even consider it. Men were a threat, or not a threat. And yet, here she was, looking at this man, this stranger, in a way she had never considered looking at a man before.
Some of the breezy attitude she had in front of the camera followed Annie home, and over the next few days she found she was feeling somewhat lighter in herself. Her pictures came out in the paper, and everybody made a great fuss of her. Fred told her she was ‘sex on legs’, which made Giuliana hit him across the back of the neck with a tea towel and Annie laughed until she thought she might be sick.
While she enjoyed the experience, she hadn’t really wanted to take it much further, but when Lara and Alex insisted she do some more pictures with them, she said that she would. Perhaps it would be fun to become a model, but for now Annie was happy to enjoy the small feeling of freedom that the one appearance in the paper had given her. She had been hiding for so long it didn’t do to rush into anything.
Perhaps it was because he was a priest, but there was a quiet, thoughtful air about him that made her feel safe.
He seemed to have more confidence today. When she brought out his mixed grill, he looked up at her, smiled and said, ‘Thank you,’ as if it held some significance. He had refined, delicate features for a man and his eyes were shining with kindness. He liked her. She could tell. Yet, she didn’t mind.
Annie felt the eyes of men on her all the time. Even if she dressed modestly, she felt herself being leered at, appraised. She always felt nervous in the company of men she didn’t know. Even with men she knew, Coleman, Arthur, Fred and Alex, she kept part of herself apart. She closed herself off from every man she met. No matter how nice they appeared, there was always the possibility that a savage demon might be lurking in their psyche. She would not be taken in again.
Sometimes, when she was serving a customer in the cafe, or simply talking to a man she knew, an image of violence would flash through Annie’s mind. A fist. A curse. A slash of pain. Somewhere between memory and fear, Annie lived with the intrusion of these momentary waking nightmares since Dorian first started abusing her. She hoped they would disappear with Dorian, but they returned in small, random shocks, like a trapped nerve jolting her when she least expected it. She believed this was God’s way of punishing her for killing a man. Dorian had been her abuser, but it was still a crime against God. Thou Shalt Not Kill. Annie had learned to clamber over these thoughts, not allowing them to paralyse her. But she knew they would never go away. Not as long as she carried the shame of what Dorian had done to her and the guilt of having taken his life.
The memories usually happened when she was in the company of men. It was why she insisted Lara come on photoshoots with her. Even though Alex was nice and certainly only interested in her modelling capabilities (she wasn’t sure that Alex was interested in girls at all), she did not feel safe alone with any man.
While God had not protected her from Dorian, Annie could not help thinking that perhaps He had sent this young priest into her cafe. There was something so delicate in the young man’s eyes that she noticed them as soon as he walked into the cafe. It felt almost as if his eyes mirrored her own. Was that God sending
her a sign? Or could it be something as human as attraction? That seemed the more likely option to Annie but either way, even though she had finished her shift, she felt herself drawn over to him to take his order.
When she delivered his mixed grill, she took the unprecedented step of sitting down with him, rather in the same way Lara had done with her when they first met.
‘May I join you?’ she asked, putting down his plate while adeptly balancing a cup of coffee for herself in the other hand.
‘Please do,’ he said, and his face lit up in a smile that was, to her eyes, almost beatific. She smiled back, put the coffee on the table and sat down opposite him. The two of them sat smiling stupidly at each other for a second, before she nodded at his mixed grill. He quickly picked up his fork and pierced a large sausage, sending two squirts of fat flying – one across the table onto her coffee saucer and the other onto his hand.
‘I’m so sorry!’ he said, horrified.
She laughed and handed him a napkin.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He put it aside and put down his fork, confessing, ‘Actually, I’m not that hungry.’
‘That’s a big meal for someone who’s not hungry.’ And she felt emboldened. Playing her part in the photo shoot the day before gave her confidence. Maybe she could be somebody else. The girl who makes jokes. The girl who flirts. The girl who isn’t afraid.
‘I guess my eyes are bigger than my stomach,’ he said. ‘I’m Matthew, by the way.’ He held out his hand.
‘Annie,’ she said, looking at his oily fingers, then at him, and they both laughed again.
Giuliana was watching this exchange take place. A good Italian Catholic, she was delighted to see her young waitress flirting with the handsome seminarian, so she quietly removed his plate and slipped a cup of coffee in front of him.
Neither of the young couple noticed. They were utterly enraptured with each other, and seeing her sad young Irish waitress so happy made Giuliana go out to the kitchen and give her husband Fred an uncharacteristically tender kiss on his bald head.
That Girl Page 19