by PH Morris
He looks at the things I am holding and raises an eyebrow at the men’s shaving foam. I know what he’s thinking, so I don’t bother to correct him.
“Mark? Mark?” I hear a shrill voice from an aisle away.
Mark closes his eyes as if doing a mental squirm and turns slowly. “Over here,” he says in an almost whisper, as if trying not to be found.
“Oh, there you—Oh, hi.” The blonde takes a long look at me up and down. I realise I’m staring at a familiar face, who is wearing a wicked grin like the cat that ate the cream.
Mark has the good grace to look slightly mortified, and I watch as Blondie slides her manicured fingers through the crook of Mark’s arm, bold as brass right in front of me.
“Mel, this is…” he starts.
“Anne Marie…”I finish for him.
Mark looks between the two of us quickly, with a very puzzled look on his face.
“You know each other?” Again, his head is moving back and forth between us like he’s watching the men’s final at Wimbledon.
“Yes,” Anne Marie almost purrs, “Mel is my sister.”
“Sister?” He looks like he has no idea.
“I’m sorry, I have to dash,” and I walk past them. I leave the items on the end of a shelf and walk out of the shop.
I race back to the apartment and then hop from foot to foot, pressing the lift call button repeatedly.
“Come on, come on.”
As I get in the lift the doors can’t close quickly enough, and I race down our corridor and fumble with the keys before bursting through the door, making a choking sound.
David is on his feet in minutes. “What’s happened?”
I am shaking and crying.
“It was Mark… Mark and her… in the shop.”
David leads me to the couch and sits me down, but I can’t sit, I’m too wound up. He returns with a glass of water, which I take a few sips of then place with too much force on the table.
I am pacing now, and David looks worried and confused.
“Mel, just breathe and tell me.”
“I saw Mark, with Anne Marie.”
I can see that David doesn’t know who that is.
“O…kay, who is Anne Marie?”
“My sister, my fucking sister. The low-life two-faced fucker!”
David holds his hands up like he’s trying to calm down a cornered animal.
“Mel, I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“I didn’t, until about six years ago. Why the fuck would she be in Manchester, and with him, and what sorted of twisted shit is this? I genuinely do not know what to do or think.”
I grab my phone and dial Kat.
“Hi, Chica,” comes her breezy reply, but I suddenly can’t speak. “Mel…? Shit, are you okay?”
David takes the phone from me and explains to Kat as much as he knows, and I know that Kat is filling him in on the other side.
He nods and makes positive sounds throughout their brief discussion. “Okay, see you in half an hour.”
He hangs up and puts the phone down on the table.
“She’s on her way.”
David makes me a cup of tea, then before too long he’s buzzing Kate up from the underground car park, and he leaves the door slightly ajar. I can hear Kate stomping down the corridor, and within a few minutes she drops her bag on the counter and brings me into a hug.
“Okay, tell me again.”
I explain the very brief meeting with Mark at the shop and what they both said and how they were close.
“Well, he’s either a fucked-up little fucker, or she is an evil troll bitch,” Kate offers by way of explanation.
I don’t know what to think. Could he have finished with me to be with a prettier, younger version of me? She did look a little like me: her hair was a little lighter than mine, but we had the same shaped eyes, but different colours, and the same shaped face. Why did all those features look better on her than on me? Why was she in Manchester looking like that? The last time I saw her, six years ago, she was a sulky, dirty teenager. Not the styled, perfectly quaffed lady I saw this evening.
“Do you think they are together, together?” I ask.
David and Kate share a look. “Well, from what you said, it does sound likely. What I don’t understand is why she is here and why she’s with Mark.”
“I know, that’s what I keep thinking. It’s only been like eight or so weeks since we broke up, and then she’s on the scene; seems highly suspect to me.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I give up.” I throw my arms over my eyes in defeat.
“Oh shit, I left the rice and the shaving foam. I just ran out.”
“Hey, don’t worry, we can have it with frozen chips instead, and I can rock the rugged look and then pick up some shaving stuff tomorrow. Anyway, at least you didn’t get done for shoplifting.”
Kate stayed for a couple of hours, and we ate the curry with chips and theorised over what Knobby Chops could have been doing with Anne Marie and how they might have met, and Kate even went on a social media stalking session.
With the use of Google, we found that little Miss AM had managed to get herself a job with a media company arranging events, and she appeared online a few times at various locations. Perhaps that was where she had met Mark. It was either a set-up or a bizarre coincidence…which could happen, but my bullshit radar was beeping.
A few weeks before, I had got the girls to get my stuff from my old house, and Mark had only been there briefly to let them in. The girls had packed up the rest of my clothes, and Mark had asked if there was anything I wanted. I had declined. There was nothing there for me anymore. I didn’t give much thought as to what he was going to do; I couldn’t have cared less. I suppose he could have moved out of the house and rented in town. If that were the case, it would be horrendous if I saw him often. Suddenly I was very interested in him again – a feeling I hated.
I finally said bye to Kate at around eleven, and by the morning I was more mad than sad. So, I decided I would get on with it. The chances of bumping into Mark again were remote even if he had rented nearby and, in any event, he had no idea where I was staying. I wasn’t going to let him, or her, get under my skin.
Saturday was a quiet one, and I think David was worried about leaving me. But I assured him I would be fine. He was heading off early on Sunday morning, so I didn’t see him after he went to bed on Saturday evening.
The next morning, I woke up to grey skies, which matched my mood. As I padded into the unusually quiet kitchen, Marmalade curled himself around my legs, purring.
I leaned down and scratched his head. I made myself a coffee and cereal and found a little note from David:
Missing you already. Don’t forget to feed Marmalade.
Text me to let me know how you are, and I’ll find us a couple of hunky guys. Love D x
Followed by a pic of a cat, a muscle arm and a USA flag.
Because the day was miserable, I did the cleaning to keep me nice and busy. I took a bin-bag full of rubbish to the lift to take down to the waste bins. As I opened the lift, which had a mirror on one side and polished steel on the others, I saw they were covered in cardboard. Even the floor had a layer of cardboard. As I entered the cardboard box, it made me feel like a child again when my parents would get me an enormous box from the supermarket and make it into a little house for me.
In this case, the cardboard was for a reason, and it wasn’t fun. A note on the door explained:
‘Apartment 4A is undertaking some refurbishments over the coming weeks. The lift and other communal areas have been lined with cardboard to protect the walls. We apologise for any inconvenience caused. The refurbishments will start after nine and finish by four each day to minimise the impact on other occupants.’
Wow, either a considerate builder or a lazy one
. Who knows, there might be a Diet Coke man or two? Oh, wait till I tell David.
Back in work on Monday, and true to their word, there was minimal disruption; I didn’t see a builder at all. Not on Monday, nor any other day that week.
I was swamped at work with the Campbell project, working until seven each night.
David was due back on Friday morning and would probably be shattered, so I sent him a little reminder about the builders in case they were disruptive when he got back. He replied to say that he wanted his bed and would take his chances.
I finish work on Friday and can’t wait to see David and find out all about LA. I’ve missed him, and the weather has been as miserable as I’ve felt. Despite my mood, with the long days at work and late finishes, the week has passed quite quickly.
When I get to our building the lift appears to be stuck on the fourth floor, and I remind myself that this is where the renovations are taking place.
I press the call button several times in an attempt to hurry the thing along and, just as I am contemplating the short walk up, the lift starts to countdown. I’m being lazy, but I can’t be bothered.
I ride the cardboard lift up to our floor and can hear music coming from our door. As I unlock the door, David is dancing around the kitchen and doesn’t hear me enter. A few moments later he must feel my presence, as he turns with a huge smile on his face.
“Hey there,” he says in a fake American accent.
“Howdy,” I reply, knowing full well I’m in the wrong part of the US but not caring.
He gives me a big hug.
“God, I’ve missed you, little one,” he gushes.
“Yeah, me too. So, how was it? Tell me all; I’m dying to know all the gossip.”
“Wine first!” He spins gracefully and grabs a large glass of white wine and passes it to me with a flourish.
We talk and giggle for about an hour while he regales me with tales of his time in LA, which mainly involve the coolest bars he has been to and less about guys he met, which I can tell he is disappointed about.
He asks me if I have seen Mark, and I can say a big fat no. I change the subject because I don’t want to talk about him or my dear sister.
We agree that as it’s Friday night we are not staying in, though I know he is probably a bit tired. I suggest he goes and gets a couple of hours in as I plan to have a shower and wash my hair.
I exfoliate my face and apply a mask. I apply a treatment to my hair and shave my legs – I am not doing it for anyone or for any reason, but to drag out my prep time and give David a chance to sleep. I dry and straighten my hair and, before I apply a good layer of make-up, I go and see if David is in the land of the living.
I make him a good strong coffee and knock tentatively on his door; I go over to the bed and say his name quietly at first. When I get no response, I increase the volume until he grunts in recognition. I tell him I have left him a coffee; he grunts again.
Half an hour later he is still zonked out, and I pretty much think Friday is a wipe-out. We can go out tomorrow. I feed Marmalade and find a gushy movie on Netflix. About halfway through, David appears at the door like the walking dead.
He’s bare-chested and wearing boxers and slippers; he shuffles to the couch, grabs a throw and plonks down beside me with an exaggerated yawn.
“Oh dear,” I comment in a playful tone, “what happened to the ball of fire?”
“Shut it,” he smiles and then stifles another yawn. “Sorry, Mel, can we do something tomorrow instead?”
“Sure, we can. Did you drink your coffee?”
“No, it went cold.”
I get up and make him a fresh one, and one for me too; his yawning is getting infectious, and it is only 9pm; I am not ready for bed yet.
Because we haven’t eaten, I raid the fridge and make a carpet-picnic of leftover bits and bobs: hummus, pitta, olives, cooked chicken pieces, and some sweet potato fries from the freezer.
All in all, it turns out to be a cosy night in, and we talk easily about our lives. He asks me about Anne Marie, and I feel able to tell him as much as I know about her, including the day we met and what a surprise that was.
“Yeah, you’re not kidding. I couldn’t believe I didn’t know about her. She was a real sourpuss.”
“And the other day, did you recognise her straight away?”
“No, not really; she’s got bright blue eyes, not like my muddy green ones.”
“Your eyes are lovely, Mel, one of your many qualities, and they change depending on your mood, did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.” I don’t really think about my eyes and what colour they are; maybe it’s just the light, or maybe he is trying to be kind. “Anyway,” I press on, “her eyes are really blue, distinctive, but they are cold, like there’s ice behind them, not warm or sparkly. The other thing is she has a small scar over her left eyebrow. Not obvious, but I noticed it when I saw her because she had her eyebrow pierced when I first met her, so my attention was drawn to it. Her hair was blonde, but brittle and over-processed. However, when I met her in the supermarket, she had the same icy eyes, and then I noticed the scar – no eyebrow ring, but the scar was there, even though she had a lot of make-up on. Her hair was smooth and glossy and a nice blonde. Not brassy like last time.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, like I was getting it off my chest in one big lungful.
“So, have you asked Mark about it?”
“No. To be honest, the more I think back on it, the more I think he looked confused and shocked. I genuinely don’t think he knew.”
“What are you going to do? Have you thought about asking Mark how they met or if they are…you know… in a relationship?” he adds sensitively.
“It still hurts to see him with someone, and I knew it would, but with her… Anne Marie. I wonder if… well, you know… if he or she did it on purpose… She was clutching his arm like she was marking him as her property…He didn’t look overly fussed about it himself.” I was thinking back on the day less than a week ago and could feel the emotions surfacing.
“Hey, don’t cry, Mel, he’s not fucking worth it. He’s not worth a single tear or a minute of your time, and if she’s the cold bitch that you say then they’re welcome to each other.”
“Thanks, David, I appreciate that. I knew it was going to be tough but it’s so soon.” I feel empty like a shell cast aside on the beach.
“Your hair looks nice tonight, by the way; shame we are not going out.” He’s stroking strands of my hair through his fingers.
“I know,” he announces excitedly, “let’s get you a new do, and a pamper session tomorrow. I can call my friend Antonio at the salon, and I am sure he will squeeze us in.”
“Sounds nice,” I sniff, with little interest.
“Oh, come on, let’s have some fun.”
He’s up now, with new enthusiasm, and grabbing his phone. “Antonio love, it’s me. Listen, can you help me? I have a lovely lady I know, and she needs your magic…” there was a pause…”Yes a lady, and no of course I’m not,” he laughs. “She’s my roomie and in need of a trim, maybe a few highlights.” He’s waving his hand in the air as if performing magic. “I know it’s a big ask, but you can you fit her in?” he pleads, then squeals, “Excellent! Early, yes, of course. Eight-thirty? Christ, that is early. No, of course we can. “He gives me a cheeky wink and a thumbs-up.” Ciao, Antonio, see you tomorrow.”
He gives a flourish of kisses down the phone and then, with his arms spread wide in mock self-appreciation, says, “Am I the best Auntie D in the world or what?”
I can’t help grinning, “Yep, you’re the best.”
Chapter 7
The next morning, we are both up early and, although David is still in the wrong time zone, I know he is running on caffeine and enthusiasm. A rather heady cocktail for him.
I shove on simple jeans, a blouse and flats, and we leave the apartment. We take the stairs as David doesn’t like the claustrophobic effect of the cardboard lift, but I think it’s because he can’t see his reflection.
Going down is easier than coming up, so we hit the street with a spring in our step.
Fifteen minutes later we are outside The Cutting Room and meet what must be Antonio at the door with a cupholder of lattes and his keys.
He embraces David in a half hug, which is difficult given that his hands are full, and then he wiggles his fingers of his free hand at me, making the keys jiggle noisily.
“Here, hold these,” he passes the coffees off to David. “I had to guess on the coffees; hope they are correct.”
“Thanks, Antonio, that’s lovely, and thanks for opening early for us.”
“No problem, love,” he waves it off as nothing. We enter the salon, and he disappears briefly; moments later the place lights up and comes to life around us.
He sits on the sofa and pats the space next to him, gesturing for me to sit with him. He then makes a grabbing motion in the air, and David responds by placing a cup into his hand.
David passes a cup to me, and I see David’s eyes sparkle as he looks at Antonio – he dotes on him. I wonder why Antonio isn’t interested. Shame, they would make a good couple.
“Right let’s have a look.” He puts the coffee on a small table and lifts sections of my hair, deep in thought.
“So, what did you have in mind?” he asks me, but before I can answer David chirps up:
“I think she needs a bit of texture to it, some layers and a little lift in colour for the summer.”
“Mmmm…” Antonio is fingering my hair again. “Yes, the condition is pretty good, so let’s keep the layers long, take out some of the weight, give it a good treatment and a trim and, yes, a few highlights and lowlights scattered through with a few panels. Yeah, that should work.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” I ask meekly.
“NO,” they announce in unison.