by Emmy Ellis
She imagined being that younger version of herself now, looking at the scene as if on the outside, as though she was that fresh-faced girl with the rest of her life ahead of her. If only she knew then what she knew now. She might have loved William a little more, hugged and pleased him a little more, worried a little less.
She’d left school and started work at Plumbstead’s solicitors where she’d met Leona Cardigan. Rebecca didn’t need to work, her family were well-to-do, and her parents frowned on the friendship she’d formed with someone they called ‘that common girl’. That common girl, however, had just as much money in her family as they did in theirs.
She recalled what her mother had once said: “They’re the sort who think they’re somebody just because they’ve built themselves up from the slums.”
Despite her parents’ opinions, she continued her friendship with Leona, who proved to be a good laugh and gave her a much-needed break from always being on show and behaving herself. She could be her real self, the self who had to be contained at home. Spending night after night in each other’s company, Rebecca and Leona grew close. Best friends.
Until Rebecca met William.
She saw him—one of those common people, too—as many nights as she could. Leona claimed to know him well from her school days and, as Rebecca had an idea Leona felt left out, she’d asked her if she’d like to join them on their dates. Leona had agreed—a bit too eagerly.
I should have sensed something then. She sighed again. Stupid young girl that I was, only spending time alone with William after Leona went home… God, that girl knew exactly what she was doing.
They’d snatched time to themselves, and William said he loved Rebecca, and she told him she’d felt the same right from the start.
Tears pooled and fell, and she wished she could turn back the clock, wished she could tell him everything she hadn’t instead of saying it to a ghost.
“Leona seems to think she knew you well at school,” Rebecca had said one night while they’d strolled back from dropping Leona off.
William had let out a mirthless laugh. “I didn’t know her very well. All the boys used to take the piss out of her. She thought she was something special because her old man had money. I got the shock of my life when I saw her again. You know, when you wanted your friend to join us. Once I realised it was her, I nearly pissed myself.”
“She seems to think you were really good friends.”
“In her bloody dreams maybe.”
At the recollection, a sob mixed with laughter left Rebecca.
She lived in the past a lot these days.
What else is there?
For two years back then, Rebecca’s frisson of jealousy had died down. William was hers and hers alone. One night, shortly after Rebecca and William’s secret engagement, she’d come down with a nasty bout of flu. William, feeling sorry for Leona, all dressed up and nowhere to go, asked Rebecca if she’d mind him taking Leona out anyway.
“You just keep your hands to yourself,” she’d joked.
“Give me some bloody credit.”
Rebecca had gone to bed and snuggled up, safe in the knowledge that William would behave.
“Just one night away from them is better than none,” her mother had sniped. “Here, drink this cocoa and eat some toast.”
Amazingly, the next day, Rebecca felt one hundred percent better and went to work, ready to bombard Leona with questions as to how their evening had gone. Rebecca’s enquiries fell on deaf ears. Leona wasn’t at work. Guessing she’d caught her bug, she shrugged it off, intending to telephone her friend as soon as she got home to find out all the gossip.
The memory fast-forwarded, and a wry smile touched Rebecca’s lips. She’d walked down her street after work, anxious to phone Leona. She’d turned to enter her driveway, and William jumped out of the tall hedges that lined the path and grabbed her.
Rebecca had squealed and smacked a palm against her chest. “William! What are you playing at?” Her cheeks had warmed from fright, and her heartbeat went wild.
William clasped her elbow and pulled her along the street. They reached the corner, and he looked from left to right then turned her to face him. “I didn’t mean it. She made me do it. It wasn’t my fault.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“She’s a bloody nutter. Gives me the creeps. Talk about make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.” William’s eyes had narrowed as if he’d brought an image back to mind.
“Calm down and start again.”
“Didn’t she tell you? She said she would. Said me and her could be together. She’s a fucking crackpot.”
“Tell me? Tell me what? She wasn’t at work today. Look, go through the evening.”
“Right. I took Leona out, like you said I could. To the pictures. I really wanted to watch that film an’ all, but she kept chatting. She got the message that I wasn’t listening after a while and shut up. Just when it got to the really juicy bit, she turned round in her seat and told me how much she loved me, said she had done for years, ever since we were at school.”
Rebecca’s heart had skipped a beat.
What was Leona thinking telling William that? She knows all my secrets. The things I’ve told her about him…
“Is that all she did?” Rebecca had asked.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Rebecca had fought to come to terms with the fact that she might hear something she’d rather not, but determination to hear William out won the battle raging inside her. She’d looked at him, acknowledged the state he was in, and waited for him to speak.
“After she’d gone on about loving me for God knows how long, she gripped the back of my neck and kissed me.” William had swallowed. “I didn’t respond, I swear. I just wanted to get her mouth away from mine, so I shoved her. She cried out, from the shock I reckon. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but there’s something else I have to tell you. Don’t go mad at me now…” He’d inhaled deeply, blowing out through shaky lips. “When she was getting out of her seat, she said she was going to tell you that I’d kissed her and then she could have me all to herself. I don’t ever want to see her again.”
William’s sincerity was so obvious that Rebecca would have found it difficult not to believe him.
“I don’t want to see her again either.” She’d call his bluff, just in case. “But I want a few words with her first.”
Remembering back to those days misted Rebecca’s eyes. She’d thought herself and Leona had got on so well, that they’d be friends for life. Those times were lost, and she’d never forgive Leona for what she’d done.
Best friends don’t steal your fiancé.
Leona had denied the whole episode at the cinema at first.
“I don’t know what you’re going on about, Rebecca. What’s got into William, making up such a story?” Leona had sounded offended. Her accent had changed since she’d been friends with Rebecca; her harsh London brogue had disappeared, and a softer, mellow tone had taken its place with nicely rounded vowels, although sometimes, when angry or excited, her true accent came out.
“You don’t know what I’m going on about? So, I suppose William’s lying then? Is that what you’re saying?”
“That’s right. He’s is lying. He wants you all to himself and resents me because he has to share you.”
“Resents you? He’s welcomed you on all of our dates, taken us both. You’re really ungrateful.”
“Don’t use that tone with me. Who do you think you are?” Leona snapped.
“A damn sight better than you, I know that much.” Rebecca had smiled. “If what you’re saying is true and William is lying, you won’t mind telling him that to his face in front of me, will you?”
Leona’s face had reddened, and she’d blustered, “I don’t need to say anything of the sort to his face. I don’t have to prove anything.”
“It’s you who’s the liar.”
Leona’s cheeks had turned a deeper
shade of red. “All right, you’ve asked for it. I did tell him that I wanted him, an’ I did kiss him. Now what are you goin’ to do about it, you silly cow?”
“I’m going to do nothing at all. Because he loves me.” Rebecca moved to walk away but couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Oh, and one other thing. My mother was right after all. You are common.”
Satisfaction raged through Rebecca with the memory of that altercation. Nowadays, because of Leona, she didn’t let herself get close to anyone. Gracie was the only one she relaxed her guard with. She’d never be taken for granted by a friend again.
Oh, those days were gone now. She missed having William to turn to for support. His premature death had spun her into oblivion for months, and she’d been unable to come to terms with the fact she’d hardly begun her life with him, that she’d never see him walk through that front door again, shouting out, “Hello, darlin’. Have you missed me today?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. She’d never get over the death of her husband and would do anything to have him back. She’d also do anything in her power to get back at Leona Cardigan, who she’d heard was a spindly old hag with no one to love her. Pleasure had soared through Rebecca’s system when she’d heard that information. She sneered, knowing she’d never find it in her heart to forgive Leona.
One day, I’ll make her pay.
Chapter Seven
Sitting on the bus on her way to work, Gracie pondered on the direction her life was going. She loved every aspect of her world at the moment, except for not having a bloke. All she needed was someone to love her. Finding him was another matter, but it wasn’t for the want of trying.
She’d convinced herself she’d been looking in all the wrong places and, at twenty-two, realised it was time to climb down from the shelf and take the business of finding a boyfriend seriously.
Mum had told her the story about Leona and that she was still unmarried. Uncharacteristically, she’d been spiteful in the process of telling the tale.
“Aww. I feel sorry for her,” Gracie had said.
Mum’s scathing response had startled Gracie. “That woman is an ugly old prune and common as muck, even though she’d say different. You’re beautiful and have plenty of time left to find the right man. Where are you going when you go out?”
Gracie had sighed. “I’ve been to all the places you suggested. Where else is there to go?” She’d fiddled with the white tablecloth on the dining room table. “There must be someone out there.”
“There is. It’s just a matter of finding him. Why don’t you come out to the theatre with me sometime; it might cheer you up.”
“I could do, but not for a while. I’ve things to go to that have been organised for a while.”
Thinking back to that conversation settled depression on Gracie’s shoulders. The chances of meeting anyone at the theatre were slim, but it couldn’t hurt to try.
She stepped off the bus directly outside Plumbstead’s—the same place as Mum had worked—and entered the building.
There was no more time to think about the lack of a man in her life.
Chapter Eight
Debbie woke earlier than usual and stretched, reaching behind her to open the curtains. Afternoon sunlight streamed in. She had to get her arse out of bed. Shirley was coming round for breakfast. They’d planned it in the early hours just as the girls were leaving, Shirley saying she was down in the dumps. A new customer had called her ugly once he’d clapped eyes on her face.
Debbie wouldn’t be letting him back again. The cheeky bastard looked like the back of a bus, and he was fat round the middle an’ all, so what room did he have to bloody talk? Poor Shirley had cried, saying she’d be jacking it in if one more man said anything like that.
Out of bed, Debbie walked into her en suite and had a quick shower. She still smelt of Cardigan’s aftershave that had rubbed off on her skin, sex, and dried sweat where she’d given him a workout so he could pretend he wasn’t who he was for half an hour.
He’d told her about his dead wife, saying she was the love of his life and that Debbie reminded him of her. She ought to be creeped the fuck out by it, but she wasn’t. Too many men to count had asked her to pretend to be their wives, women who no longer had the energy to shag them, and she’d done it to make money.
Cardigan also told her he didn’t express himself to just anyone. “You’re special to me, Treacle,” he’d said, “and I know you won’t open your gob.”
No, she wouldn’t. He’d kill her if she did, and besides, she liked being his floozy and could admit she’d got a tad jealous that he’d taken other women to his house. One-night stands, he’d called them, people who took the edge off when Debbie was busy. Truth be told, she’d press the button behind the desk anytime he walked into the parlour, was never too busy for him.
She stepped out of the shower, telling herself off for getting attached.
“Stupid cow. Like he’s going to make you permanent. He’ll never marry anyone else, he said so.”
She took some leggings and a baggy T-shirt out of the wardrobe, sending a text letting him know not to nip up to her flat, she had Shirley coming. He replied, sending her three kisses, and she got all silly, wishing they meant more than they did.
The doorbell went, so she went to the intercom and lifted the phone. “Yep?”
“It’s me.”
“Come up.” Debbie pressed the button to unlatch the door at the side of the pub and imagined, with every clang of footsteps, Shirley climbing the steel steps that led up here. She opened the door and smiled. “How are you feeling today? Shut the door after you.”
Shirley gave the thumbs-up, looking trendy in her pink Adidas tracksuit. She’d probably been to the gym, hair in a high ponytail, damp from a shower after.
“I take it that means you’re fine.” Debbie wandered into the kitchen with all its mod cons, the room done out with pure-white walls, her appliances black. They were a sod to keep smudge-free, so it was a good job it was only her she had to clean up after, wasn’t it.
Frying pan out of the cupboard, she stood in front of the hob. Shirley came in and plopped onto a stool at the breakfast bar. She dumped her bag on the black granite top with white veins running through it and took off her fitted trackie jacket.
“I decided, once again, to fuck what men think of me.” She stuck her elbows on the surface and propped her chin in her hands. “Bloody bastard. Where did he get off saying that?”
“It’s exactly what he must have done.” Debbie took eggs, bacon, and sausages out of the fridge.
“What are you on about?”
“He got off on being a wanker. You know how some of them are. It probably gave his maggot a bigger thrill.” She busied herself putting the sausages on a tray for the oven.
“Yeah, he’s about four inches hard if I’m any judge.”
They wet themselves at that, and Debbie had a moment of being so glad she’d met Shirley all those years ago out on the street. They’d stood together, watched out for each other, and if she had a best friend, she’d say Shirley was it.
They chatted for a bit while the sausages cooked, then Debbie fried the eggs and bacon and shoved beans in the microwave. She dished up, and they ate side by side, Shirley saying a good fry-up after the gym kind of negated her efforts, but what the fuck.
Stomach full, Debbie made coffee and padded into the living room. She’d clean up later, stuff it all in the dishwasher and leave it to do its magic. Shirley joined her on the sofa, and they spent a good couple of hours putting the world to rights, mainly by discussing the clients and their weird quirks.
“Tommy’s the worst,” Shirley said.
“I’m not sure I want to know.”
“You do.”
Debbie smiled. “Go on then.”
“He likes me pinching his toes and wiggling them.” Shirley leant back after delivering that and pulled a ‘fucking weirdo!’ face.
“What?” Debbie shuddered. She didn’t do toes.
“Yep, says his wife won’t go near them.”
“I don’t bloody blame her. Why does he want you to do that?”
“Says it reminds him of being a kid and his mum playing This Little Piggy. When I get to the bit where the piggy runs all the way home, he grabs me and shoves it in.”
Debbie held her hand up. “Nope, no more.”
Shirley roared with laughter. “The things we do to pay the rent, eh, messing about with people like Tommy Toes.”
* * * *
Debbie sat behind the reception desk. Tonight, she had Hello magazine and a packet of chocolate Hobnobs to dip in her tea. All the girls were busy, so she had a few minutes to herself where she didn’t have to let anyone in and pander to them, offering drinks or letting them out with a fake smile. She had the room rents to add into her Excel spreadsheet as well.
Everyone had paid up at the start of the night. She never had any trouble collecting. Might be because Cardigan would sort them if they were late in paying, plus Debbie would turf them back out onto the street corners. When you landed a job in a parlour, you bloody well counted your lucky stars.
The buzzer for the door sounded, startling her. Maybe a client had turned up early. She glanced at the CCTV monitor.
Fuck, it was that nasty bloke who’d been cruel to Shirley.
She got up and walked around the desk, leant over to grab the key, putting it in her pocket, and the pepper spray Cardigan insisted they all use if punters got lairy. Shirley hadn’t when that wanker had said what he had to her, because he’d whispered it in her ear and hadn’t been aggressive at all. Debbie reckoned that was scarier than physically abusing her while shouting in her face. A quiet voice sometimes brought more fear.
She opened the door, stepped out so it closed behind her, and held the spray in sight, taking the lid off. “What do you want?”