by Freya North
No. No staying the night.
For goodness’ sake, she said to herself, trains run late and indulging in taxis to and from the stations would still be cheaper than a hotel room. And Jodie, who’d be expecting to work now? Vita would simply swap the Saturday with her, therefore avoid having to pay her extra. And Rick? It was probably just client relations and there’d be all the other new stockists of Teds in Beds and Bugs in Rugs at the drinks.
A text arrived from Tim asking how it was going.
And that’s when a litany of his nights out, nights away, disappearing acts, hit her like a freak downpour. And suddenly, in the sunshine and warmth and busy brightness of North London, for the first time she didn’t allow the memories to soak her and chill her to the bone. Instead, she said to herself, Vita! You shall go to the ball! Do something different. Just see what life may have in store for you – you never know, you might really enjoy yourself.
To bolster her resolve, she sent a text to both Candy and Michelle.
Bloke at show asked me for drink!!!
There. She’d done it. They’d kill her if she opted out now. She sensed them in the background, jumping for joy. She anticipated the barrage of What what what????!!!! and Go girl!!! texts. And when they arrived on her phone she smiled and switched it off and felt happy to be all on her own, feeling her way. Now she was liking her time in a new place, a sunny day, out and about in Muswell Hill with the pedestrians who bustled that little bit more than at home, cars that took a few more liberties, people noticeably trendier, younger, more savvy. The energy was more lively than at home, and yet somehow more anonymous too. And that was a good thing. People weren’t unfriendly, they were just in their own bubbles. City versus market town, Vita supposed. She’d never trade her home patch for this – but it was nice to be a visitor because you were welcomed without actually being noticed. Vita could blend and partake and no one really acknowledged her; thus she could relax and enjoy the novelty of it all. Returning to the show, she checked her phone quickly. A deluge of hyper-enthusiastic texts from Michelle and Candy. And another from Tim, asking again how it was going. Great! was all she needed to say to that. Then she switched off her phone, and went inside to browse and chat amongst the stands with a confident smile and her stapler and instincts at the ready.
North London
Rick and Vita started off sipping complimentary white wine and talking shop. He’d left his stall and gone to find her, finally tracking her down at the Heaven Scent stand, sniffing candles.
‘Loo cleaner with top notes of joss sticks?’ He peered over her shoulder.
She didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’d say it’s more bubble gum underscored with grass cuttings.’
He took the candle from her and made a show of inhaling with eyes closed as if it was fine wine. Actually, Vita wasn’t far off the mark.
‘I’m going to be in the foyer in twenty minutes,’ he said. ‘I like to get there promptly and take advantage of the free booze. I shall be the bloke in the corner, who’s decanted warm white wine on the irritating side of sweet into a pint pot. I shall pilfer you one too.’
When she located him, however, she was pleased to find him holding two wineglasses of chilled, quite decent white. He chinked her glass and she wasn’t sure what to say so she took a steadying glug, conscious that he was looking at her intently. She knew if she described the sensation she experienced, Michelle would say butterflies and Candy would call it a frisson. Whatever it was, it was giving her a buzz and she felt lively, chatty and chuffed.
‘Had a good show today?’
Vita nodded. ‘Excellent,’ she said, looking around for nibbles to balance the booze, the adrenalin; but complimentary canapés were apparently beyond the sponsors’ budget. ‘It’s been great. Loads of ideas.’
‘Orders? Have you bought much?’
She reddened a little as if she’d done it all wrong but then she thought, That’s only by Tim’s rules. ‘I have,’ she said. ‘Candles and diffusers. Some really nice little planters – tin, embossed. Some amazing bookmarks – they’re made from laser-cut ply, so thin they’re like lace. Some china too – milk jugs in the shape of cardboard milk cartons, butter dishes which look like margarine tubs, sugar bowls resembling a crinkled open packet of sugar, espresso mugs like crumpled paper cups – but all in white glossy stoneware.’
‘Quirky,’ said Rick.
‘That’s my shop! Oh, and some Dogs in Clogs and Mice in Hice.’
Rick laughed.
‘How was the show for you?’
‘It was great,’ he said, ‘a really good day. If tomorrow is the same, it’ll be fantastic.’
Politely, she asked him about his business, when he formed it, what gave him the idea, how hard it had been to set up and keep going in these challenging times. He responded with ease and threw in extra details as if they were bonus discounts. His age (twenty-nine), his background (Hampshire, older sister married with kids, parents still in his childhood home), his current situation (owner of small modern house in Milton Keynes, drives an Audi, plays five-a-side), his work (serviced offices he can walk to as well as travelling to clients a couple of days a week). And then he mentioned an ex, just in passing, just so the information was out there (four years together, split in the new year, bit of a mad woman so good riddance).
‘And you?’
‘Me?’
She told him about the shop, her mum, the Tree Houses, and then she told him about Tim, surprising herself how easy it was to mirror Rick, to mention her ex casually.
‘How is it sharing the business?’
‘Not ideal.’
‘I’ll bet,’ said Rick. ‘I admire you.’
Vita shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’
He raised his glass to her. ‘Shall we get out of here? Or do you want to butter up traders?’ She looked around the hall and thought, If we leave here, where might it lead? Simply up to Muswell Hill? Or beyond?
‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘I feel quite hungry,’ he added.
Did she feel hungry?
‘What do you think?’ He said it in an American accent this time.
How much thinking should she do about whether it was a good idea? She glanced at Rick who smiled easily at her. Friendly, easygoing, nice-looking bloke.
‘Let’s go and have a quick drink somewhere else,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’ His regular voice now.
‘I think –’ said Vita. And then she decided not to think, just to act. ‘That would be great.’
They circumnavigated the Palace, pointing out landmark buildings hazy in the distance. When he located them, he tucked his head close to hers, his outstretched arm against her, guiding her gaze. It sent a tremor through her body which mixed with the adrenalin and dried her mouth and in all, it was a fantastic sensation. They crossed a rather dingy car park and walked along a path by the children’s playground, strolling up Dukes Avenue making small talk about the Edwardian splendour of the area. When they crossed roads, he put a hand on her shoulder, at her elbow, in the small of her back, and she felt herself all but float along the pavement.
‘Look at these,’ she said, pointing out the paintings on chewing gum, and she liked it that he simply marvelled at them, with no need for clever quips. She liked him. She liked the feeling of liking him. She felt light and smiley and too full of excitement to think about her friends, both of whom were desperate for updates, haranguing her phone which was deliberately on silent. She felt bolder than she had done in months, and this had a momentum of its own. She had no need of her support network. Pretty soon, she was nudging Rick teasingly when he said something intentionally daft or corny.
‘Age before beauty,’ he said, opening the door to the John Baird pub.
‘Fuck off!’ she laughed and as she went in ahead of him, she thought to herself, Have I just added a nonchalant wiggle to my walk?
It was a nice pub in that it was very un-Muswell Hill. It hadn’t been converted into a gastro eatery, nor was it in any w
ay indulgently stylish. It was traditional, down to earth; the clientele from various walks of life across the age groups, the staff friendly and with an obvious landlord and landlady at the helm who were most welcoming. Refreshing, really. A proper boozer. Oh! And with a small Thai restaurant within it to one side. Perhaps Vita would find her appetite later, after all. They took their drinks out to the small patio area at the back, the conversation between them now larky and flirty. They sat side by side and Vita consciously serpentined her body close to Rick’s. She thought to herself, Look at me! And then she thought if Michelle had been here, she’d have called her coquettish. Candy would probably call her foxy. She felt both. In fact, her senses were heightened and she felt everything: the breeze that changes with the arrival of evening, the tang of the vodka and cranberry, the light intrusion of somebody else’s cigarette smoke, the contagion of other people’s high spirits, the warmth coming through Rick’s body.
They drank.
Eventually they ate.
He forked tasters of his dishes into her mouth. She hand-fed him a bite of her Thai spring rolls. They did the whole lingering-gaze thing, following it with the glancing-away, smiling-knowingly routine. Vita felt vivacious, a feeling she remembered, enjoying the self-confidence, the larkiness. And then it was last orders and that bell set off the one that Vita naturally carried in her subconscious. It wasn’t so much a warning note, it was a checkpoint, a reminder to be sensible, at all times. And then she thought about trains and tomorrow and she thought she’d really better go. As they left the pub – her in front, doing the wiggle again – Rick put his hands lightly on her shoulders and the tingle it sent through her made her think, Why don’t I just throw caution to the wind for once and see where it takes me?
But she couldn’t. Not yet, not tonight.
‘I ought to go – last trains, and all that.’
He regarded her for a long moment, assessing whether to push it tonight or pursue it tomorrow. Ultimately, he shrugged and then nodded. ‘OK. I understand. Let’s find you a cab.’
His conceding made her waver – so different from Tim always pushing for what he wanted, Vita eroding her own wishes in order to please.
‘It was fun,’ Rick said. ‘Here’s a cab.’ He whistled through his fingers.
‘I’d love to be able to do that,’ Vita said, blowing hopelessly on hers. Suddenly Rick took her fingers between his lips, kissing the tips of them before filling Vita’s mouth with his. Oh God, the feeling!
Rick cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning forwards to speak to the driver. ‘King’s Cross.’
Straightening, he grinned at Vita and despite the din of the cab engine and a waft of diesel, they stood motionless on the pavement for a suspended moment and she thought, Oh, sod the cab and the train – come on, Vita, come on!
But it was only a thought and though she’d opened her mouth, she just couldn’t chance words out loud. Again, though, Rick made use of her parted lips, leaning towards her, his hands lightly on her waist, kissing her mouth slowly with unmistakable intent. Just as Vita started to kiss him back, he pulled away.
‘Hop in, lady – your carriage awaits.’
‘Let it wait,’ she said, her hands at his neck, tilting her face towards his, kissing him back. Her lips and his, both wet with the torrent of kisses they were trying to hold at bay because they couldn’t help but be aware that they were in the middle of the pavement on Fortis Green, the taxi’s meter was ticking, she wasn’t going to stay with Rick, she was going home and trains were waiting. Oh, but just to kiss him for a little longer!
‘Safe journey,’ he winked at her. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Sleep tight,’ she winked back.
‘Like a Bug in a Rug,’ he laughed, leaning into the cab, kissing her again.
And then the taxi drove off.
You really can’t call that a dawn chorus, Vita thought, wide awake at just gone five with the parrots attacking her sleep much as they were pillaging the pears on her tree. She lay there, listening to their screeching, unsure whether they were cheering or berating the pears for falling. She’d been to the window and counted five birds this morning. Though she’d gone back to bed, sleep was impossible but she didn’t need to be up for at least another two hours and she happily lay there, indulging in playing back all the fun of the fair. Would she see him again? Was it just schmooze? She didn’t think herself a particularly good judge of character but Rick did seem genuine. Perhaps he’d ring her next week and see if she was happy with her order. Or she could email him, couldn’t she? Did the Rules – those stupid, contrived, dating-etiquette stipulations she’d read about in her twenties – also define dating in one’s thirties? Did she have to wait for him to make contact? Was she allowed to send an email then? A friendly one, a little larky, perhaps to say, Oi, you! I want my further discount! She’d wait until after the weekend, she decided, plenty of time to muse and practise.
When Vita opened the shop the next morning, she imagined all the traders setting up their stands in Ally Pally and the high street in Muswell Hill starting to hum with activity. Tables and chairs on the pavement outside the cafés; perhaps the chewing-gum man would be searching for the perfect blobs for that day’s work. Maybe the day staff at the John Baird were hoovering and polishing and spritzing away the linger of last night’s spilt beer. Then she dragged herself back to Wynford and the first thing she did was look for the best spot for Rick’s wares which would be arriving by courier sometime the next day. Time for the teasel figurines to go, she thought. Bless them – they really hadn’t been popular and they did look a little forlorn and dusty.
Jodie had been fine about not coming in because no matter how strapped she was, that girl liked working even less. Vita checked the ledger. Not much business had been done yesterday – but actually, it was about average for this time of year with the schools not yet on summer holidays. A text came through to her phone. It was Tim. How did it go?
She stared at the message and then she thought, You know what, I actually don’t want to correspond with you just yet. So she didn’t. Mid-morning, he sent the same text again, following that with another half an hour later which just said, U ok? Tx. It was his fallback text – the one he’d sent her over and over again, not for the last three or four months but frequently prior to that. It always used to give her a lift, that text. He’s thinking about me. Today, though, she saw it for what it was – him checking in, needing to know he was still alpha, not liking to be ignored, wanting to assume that she might not be OK, that she might be needy, down, just where he liked her to be. It was like his Night Babe, Txx texts – those had stopped too and initially she pined for them but now she saw them as equally manipulative. How could he send those to her when his new girlfriend was no doubt waiting for him in bed? And did that mean that when Vita was still with him, he was sneaking out the same text behind her back too? Today she felt a novel nothing about this contact from Tim. A non-feeling that was a great feeling. No surge in her stomach, no intrusion into her thinking, no need to text back in the way she would have done not so very long ago.
Lunch-time was quiet so she continued with the notes she’d been making about ideas for window display, about rotating stock, even rearranging the layout of the shop altogether. She was standing in the centre of the floor, trying to envisage the tables over there, moving the trunk out of which the throws and cushions were displayed to over here, shifting the baskets to the side wall and the console over that side, when the shop phone rang.
‘That Shop – can I help you?’ she answered.
‘Hullo. I’m looking for this great new toy I’ve heard about called Dog on the Bog or something?’
Vita couldn’t believe it – her first solo trade show and she’d pinpointed the new must-have! The caller was American or Canadian or perhaps even Australian.
‘Clog!’ she said. ‘The dog is in a clog.’
‘That’s the one.’
‘My stock is due in tomorr
ow – I’d be happy to put one on one side for you?’
‘Actually, I wanted to buy the one that’s the Kit on a Shit.’
Pardon? The what?
Silence.
‘Miss Vita?’
It’s him! The sod, the sod!
Quick! Be wacky! Be clever!
But she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
‘Vita?’
‘I’m—’ I’m what? ‘I’m trying to think of something really clever and wacky to say. Mister Rick the Dick.’
Laughter. She’d made him laugh. She felt very pleased with herself. And then all of a sudden she was saying, Yes, OK, yes – a drink tonight? Sure, why not! And that was when Tim came in. Vita turned away from him to have a moment to properly end the conversation, and Tim thought, Has she just turned her back on me? Then he thought, Who’s she on the phone to? She’s gone all furtive. And when Vita ended the call and turned to him, he saw her face was quite flushed.
‘Who was that?’
‘That?’
‘On the phone, Vita.’
‘Oh, no one. No one. Just someone, actually, from the show yesterday. I might pop back into London tonight. For another – another meeting. A meeting-type drinks thing.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Oh, a new supplier.’
‘Called?’
‘Mouse in a House.’
‘The person?’
‘Oh, er, Rick Edwards?’ She said it as if she wasn’t entirely sure she had the right surname. And then she thought, Why on earth am I doing that? Michelle would kill me and Candy would say, Be loud be proud, or something.
‘And what does Rick Edwards want tonight that he couldn’t get yesterday?’
And Vita heard every word and she absolutely knew the answer and she couldn’t possibly say, Well, he probably wants to kiss with tongues tonight and who knows where that might lead.
‘Vita?’
And then she thought, Why not just tell Tim the truth. It’s all I ever did when we were together and as Candy would say, it’s good for my funds in the Bank of Karma. ‘He asked me out on a date.’