Fallen Women

by Sue Welfare

  Julie nodded. ‘Oh right. Actually I’m really glad that I’ve seen you both. We’re having a house-warming party tomorrow evening. Why don’t you come along? It’s very informal, it won’t be very late as it’s a weeknight. It’s really for the girls; you know what kids are like. There’ll be loads of people there that you know.’

  Kate was about to protest that there would be absolutely no one there that she knew when it occurred to her that Julie was talking to Maggie. She didn’t even have the wit to ask who ‘we’ was – husband, lover, kids, a cat?

  ‘Number 62, seven o’clock. It’ll be lovely to catch up.’ She looked back at Kate. ‘Is your husband staying here with you?’

  Kate’s face must have answered for her because Julie said, ‘Job for them to get away, isn’t it? I just thought that if he was around you might like to bring him along with you. Extra pair of hands on the barbecue always welcome. Although these days you never know whether to say husband or not do you?’ she laughed conspiratorially. ‘Remember Pippa Rose?’

  Kate didn’t have time to reply or even draw breath.

  ‘Pretty? Went to work in the Nat West? Travelled a lot. Long ginger hair. You must remember her. Good at games. Got her colours in the cross-country.’ Julie paused, waiting for Kate to catch up and then leaned forward and said conspiratorially, ‘Lesbian.’ And when they didn’t immediately say anything, continued, ‘I’d never have guessed. Nose ring, Doc Martens and everything.’

  Kate would have laughed if Julie hadn’t looked so serious. ‘I was talking to her mother last week in the library.’

  Which presumably assured the validity of the statement, thought Kate.

  ‘Still not come to terms with it.’

  Kate wondered whether Julie meant Pippa or her mother.

  Walking through town with Maggie, who appeared to be on first name terms with practically everyone they met, had made Kate sentimental for small town life, but at that moment she remembered just how claustrophobic and judgmental it could be. Nodding in a way that she hoped conveyed something appropriate Kate silently thanked the stars that had guided her away.

  ‘See you tomorrow night,’ Julie said, as she marched off towards Boots. Kate nodded and waved and made agreeable noises; not that there was a cat’s chance in hell that they were going to go.

  Chapter 6

  Joe supped the froth off a fresh pint; his eyes, if not his thoughts firmly fixed on the empty stage in the corner of the bar. He’d played at the Royal Oak quite a few times in the last few years, certainly enough to be on nodding terms with the management and his missus.

  It felt familiar, not quite home but the sort of place Joe had hung out since he’d downed his first pint; a pub where the jukebox was full of classics – Clapton, Hendrix, Stones, The Who. Places like this were his natural habitat, this and battered church halls and dodgy clubs; he’d served his time. Joe squared his shoulders; he could walk the talk.

  When they did the Joe Harvey special on Channel 4, they’d shoot it in pubs like the Oak. There was a real gritty heart to the place. Melvyn Bragg would look great here leaning up against the bar supping a pint.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry about this, Joe, but Lucy and I really do have to dash,’ said the guy from Kate’s agency. ‘So, I’ll ring you at the end of the month? Right? See what you’ve come up with. You’ve got the brief there, haven’t you? And the art work?’ He had a lisp that changed ‘terribly’ to ‘tweribbly’ and ‘ring’ to ‘wing’, ‘brief’ to ‘brief.’ It was hard not to laugh.

  Joe nodded; half a dozen shots of some wholesome toothy teenager in a pink gingham cowgirl outfit, cradling a tub of marg like it was a cross between the Holy Grail and Brad Pitt. At the bar, Lucy, What’s-his-name’s assistant, bent over to slide half a dozen pastel-coloured folders back into a rucksack. While Joe admired her arse, the man, who drank designer water and wore trendy specs, and looked about as happy in the public bar of the Oak as Joe would at a Baptist revival meeting, pulled out a Palm Pilot to add something vital.

  He had wanted a slice of lime in his drink, in the Oak where you were lucky to get a clean glass. Lucy was a different kettle of fish altogether. She was wearing a white tee-shirt with pink arms that might once have fitted her kid sister, on the front the legend ‘little princess,’ the words snuggled up between large, high and very round breasts. Her outfit was finished off with tight shiny black flares and bleach blonde hair scrunched up into ridiculous little knots. Joe couldn’t quite work out exactly what her role was. She had taken the odd note here and there but she spent most of the meeting drinking gin and tonic while watching him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye as if he might be dangerous. Maybe she was on work experience.

  Whatever, so much nervous interest gave Joe a real boost; he was pleased he hadn’t shaved now: it made him look unkempt and dangerous. Lucy shuffled off her stool and smiled, blushing furiously as he shook her hand, lowering her eyes she scuttled after What’s-his-name.

  ‘Sure you don’t want another drink before you go?’ offered Joe jovially, toasting their retreating backs.

  The man shook his head and mimed huge amounts of regret. Lucy shrugged; what could you do?

  Life’s hell, Joe thought, watching them scurry out of the matt black door, and turned his attention back to the thoughts that had dogged him all morning.

  Where there was a band, there were always girls. Girls not unlike Lucy; it was one of the constants of life. A given. Bands = Birds. Girls and women of all ages who got off on attracting their attention, girls who giggled and waved and got more brazen at the slightest encouragement, girls who longed to be touched by the magic that they believed performers had. Girls, who even in a dive like the Oak, would give almost anything to leave with the band. Almost anything – and very often everything. It was one of the reasons why Joe had learned to play guitar in the first place – the money, the fame and the chance to get laid. The stuff that drove teenage boys everywhere.

  Not that Kate had ever been one of those girls. Oh no, Joe and Kate met during one of Joe’s brief brushes with regular gainful employment. He’d been working in a music shop and she’d come in with a guy from work. Joe never did find out whether they were an item or had been or maybe planned to be.

  Joe grinned; Kate had been standing there in the shop, bored out of her crust, staring into the middle distance while this geek she was with went off to play at being Hendrix on some seriously expensive guitars.

  Joe had sidled over and flirted a bit because there was no one else about and the guy who ran the place, sniffing some real money, had made a beeline for Kate’s mate. Joe was as bored as she was. Kate was moderately impressed that he was a guitarist but not in the same way as the girls in the pubs and clubs were.

  She didn’t have the same addiction, that same hungry need for bright glittery stuff that those girls had. While he was chatting her up Kate just saw a guy who worked in a music shop, someone who happened to play guitar, not someone likely to take the world by storm, not someone bright and glittery and made of white-hot stardust. Maybe that was it, maybe Kate had always seen through him.

  Joe sighed and watched the other punters, perched like crows on stools around the bar. The Oak was a music pub so it didn’t generally do much of a lunchtime trade in the week. In the daylight the interior, painted mostly black and red with a splash of gold here and there, looked cheap and tacky.

  It needed the night, the darkness to make it special. The night and the music. The Oak had showcased all kinds of bands, new bands, blues bands, young bands, bad bands. He and his best band had had their opening gig on that very stage. Joe made a mental note to tell Melvyn Bragg.

  He couldn’t remember if it was here that he’d first met Chrissie. If it wasn’t this pub it was one very much like it. Not that he’d done anything about it, there was no need to, but he had noticed her, in the way that those sort of girls, women, want to be noticed. Joe smiled and then drained his glass down to the suds. Oh yes, he had most
definitely noticed her.

  ‘Would you like me to get out? You could have a little rest?’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine.’

  Pushing the wheelchair back up Church Hill was hell, made all the worse by Maggie apologising to Kate every hundred yards or so for being so heavy.

  ‘Wasn’t it Julie’s mum who ran off with some chap from the bank?’

  Kate was too breathless to answer even if she wanted to; had these people got no shame?

  It was a relief to be back home.

  ‘I’m going to go up to my room and get on with some work,’ Kate said once Maggie was back inside.

  ‘Why don’t you use the dining room? There’s a power point near the table, a phone line. It’ll be a lot more comfortable for you and you can leave your things out.’

  So Maggie settled herself down on the sofa to look through the gardening books, after which she planned to have a little nap, while Kate unpacked her briefcase and papers and set out her work on the table.

  Work was the one space Kate always felt able to retreat into. Today was no exception. She unpacked the folders and notes, mock-ups of ads and photos – a little bit of reorganising and it looked like home from home, she thought ruefully, plugging in her laptop and firing it up. The to-do list popped up on the screen followed by the job she was working on; Kate sighed and put on her glasses. Home from home with just as many deadlines and jobs.

  ‘Four star-studded nights and five excitement-filled days exploring the magic of the Algarve … aboard our luxury air-conditioned coach.’ There ought to be some photos for this somewhere Kate thought, glancing back at the file.

  When she looked up again it was late afternoon. She yawned and got up for a stretch.

  True to her word, Maggie was sound asleep on the sofa surrounded by piles of books, graph paper, felt tips and magazines. Kate made herself a cup of tea and then went back to email the afternoon’s work to the office. She plugged the modem into the house phone and logged on, watched the little bundles of work fly off into the ether. It felt good to see them vanish, electronic homing pigeons weighed down with words. When that was done Kate settled down with her mug and picked up her email. The menu said she had six new messages.

  Kate idly scanned down the list of incoming messages, work, work, a couple of things from the office – nothing that she couldn’t sort out from Maggie’s with a phone call – and then clicked on the next one down. It was a receipt from the on-line dating agency that they’d signed Chrissie up for on Friday evening. For a moment it made the breath catch in her throat; maybe they’d made a mistake, and then Kate looked at it more closely and re-read the profile. It was Chrissie’s all right – all the right ticks in all the right boxes, but for some reason her email address was on the receipt instead of Chrissie’s.

  Maybe Bill had put it in by accident. Bad timing, but it shouldn’t take much to put right. There were bound to be instructions somewhere on how to change the personal details. Or maybe she should just delete it – after all, Chrissie had a man now, Kate thought bitterly.

  ‘Dear Vulnerable Venus, we are delighted to receive your personality profile and details and to tell you that you have passed our stringent vetting policy. Your profile will appear on our web-site as from today.

  It had Saturday’s date on it.

  ‘To protect your anonymity, just like regular ads in the personal columns we at RomanticSouls.com give all our clients their own personal box number, yours is box number 2758. You’ll need your password and your box number to access any replies, to edit your personal details or add a photo or additional text. To do any of these please go to our web-site at www.RomanticSouls.com.’

  Kate glanced down the list at the remaining unopened emails – they all began ‘2758, you have mail’ – and were dated over the weekend.

  She re-read the letter again then clicked the link which took her straight to the dating agency’s pages. As their home page appeared, Kate took a deep breath and banged in Chrissie’s box number. When she got to the Vulnerable Venus’s ad, Kate picked up her mobile.

  But who should she ring? Chrissie? Joe?

  ‘Kate, hi, how are you?’ Bill said, picking up after two rings. He worked from home too and at least she wouldn’t have to explain to him who all the people involved were.

  He didn’t sound all that surprised to hear from her and for an instant Kate hesitated; did he know about Joe and Chrissie already? And if that was true how long had he known? Her stomach fluttered; maybe Bill had always known. Maybe he had been protecting her right from the start. Kate took a steadying breath; she was beginning to get more than a little paranoid about this whole thing.

  ‘How’s it going? How’s your mum doing?’ Bill asked cheerfully.

  There was a pause as Kate struggled to find her voice, which Bill spotted. ‘Are you okay?’

  Did that mean he knew?

  ‘Have you see Joe over the last couple of days?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. I’ve been working my arse off. Why?’ Now he sounded surprised and a bit bemused. ‘Should I have? Was I meant to come round or something? Joe cancelled the video thing with the boys because you came home early. I’ve missed something, haven’t I?’

  ‘I’ve run away from home, Bill.’ He was the first person she had admitted it to.

  He laughed. ‘What do you mean, run away? What’s the matter?’

  Kate sighed; where did she begin? ‘I feel as if my head is about to explode.’

  ‘Too much red wine or is Joe off on one again? He was really uptight on Friday.’

  ‘Joe and Chrissie are having an affair or have been having one, I don’t know which tense to use.’ Her voice quavered. ‘When I got home on Saturday morning they were there.’

  It sounded so stark, so clear cut, so very easy to understand when said out loud.

  ‘Jesus, are you sure?’ Bill sounded genuinely shocked. ‘Joe and Chrissie?’

  ‘You didn’t know about them?’

  ‘No – Jesus,’ he repeated. Kate was relieved. ‘Bloody hell. I’m stunned. I don’t know what to say. Where are you now? Are you okay? Do you need anything?’ The words tumbled out one after the other.

  ‘I’ve come back to my mum’s for a few days. She needs a hand but I need time to think, work out where we go from here.’

  ‘Right,’ said Bill. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  Kate sighed. ‘There isn’t anything much you can say. The thing is I’ve just logged on and there are loads of replies for that ad we worked up for Chrissie.’

  There was a brief silence and then he said, ‘Delete the bloody things – it isn’t rocket science, Kate, for Christ’s sake. Do you want me to drive up there?’

  Kate laughed grimly and said, ‘No, and anyway I’ve seen how you cope with women in distress and if I start crying I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. Maybe I ought to reply to one of these guys, after all Chrissie and I have obviously got very similar tastes in men.’ She was thinking no such thing but Kate wanted to ease the tension.

  There was no way Bill could miss the raw emotion in her voice. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. ‘I’m good with women. I only had a go at Helena because I was wearing a cream silk shirt; I didn’t want mascara all over it, that’s all. What’s so bad about that? I seem to remember you had tissues and brandy.’

  Sniffing back the tears, Kate snorted. ‘And Diana?’

  ‘White foundation, pink mohair and a new black suit? You have got to be kidding.’

  ‘Ellen?’

  ‘If you’re gonna make a meal of it,’ Bill growled.

  Kate laughed, ‘No, you’re okay. I just wanted a friend to talk to, I didn’t expect you to come up here and rescue me but I’m touched that you offered.’

  As she spoke, Kate clicked one of the symbols beside the ad, putting her glasses on so as not to overlook a single syllable, and opened the profile they had written for Chrissie. ‘Maybe I should leave my email address on here, and start over?’

  �
�Vulnerable Venus: Good woman seeks genuine man with a warm heart. Are you solvent, sexy, and looking for someone special to share your life with?’

  To get any further Kate needed to type in Chrissie’s password, ‘Desperate’ – it had seemed funny when Chrissie had come up with it on Friday night. As Kate typed it in, the email appeared.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Kate,’ Bill was saying.

  ‘It’s all right, I’m fine.’

  ‘You don’t sound fine to me.’

  Silence.

  ‘Kate, talk to me.’ He sounded annoyed.

  ‘Would you like me to read them out?’

  Silence.

  ‘Dear Venus …’

  ‘Stop it, Kate. They aren’t for you, they’re meant for Vulnerable Venus. They’re meant for Chrissie. You aren’t vulnerable, you just need a friend.’

  Kate didn’t like to point out that up until Saturday she had had a very good friend, or at least so she had thought, and it had done her no good whatsoever.

  ‘Do you want me to go round and talk to Joe?’

  ‘And say what. Bill?’ Kate stared, blinking back the tears, at the RomanticSouls.com web page, all strewn with hearts and flowers and boxed testimonials from successfully mated and dated members, and then at the flashing envelope besides the words ‘New mail for you.’

  ‘Tell him what a moron he is,’ said Bill.

  ‘I don’t think that’ll help. How about this one?’ Kate said, reading from the screen. ‘Forty-five and fat, this frisky and friendly fella wants a wild woman to share his life. Likes Elvis, Abba and Showaddywaddy.’ It was too horrible to contemplate. ‘There’s more.’

  ‘Kate.’ Bill sounded exasperated.

  ‘I don’t know what else to do, Bill. I’m in shreds. I daren’t think about Joe and Chrissie. It hurts so much. I’ve woken up the last two mornings and for a few seconds I’ve thought it was a bad dream and then it all comes pouring in and I know that it’s not and it’s horrible. Terrible. How could he do this to me?’ The words caught in her throat.