by Mo Fanning
‘Not too bad.’
‘It’s nice weather for the time of year.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
Maybe we’re fine after all. She’s done her worst. We can get over all the crappy stuff. I’ll apologise, she’ll apologise. We’ll become friends.
‘What time did your train get in?’ I say.
‘I drove up in the Subaru yesterday evening.’
‘Right. I see. And that’s some sort of car is it?’
The thing is I know it’s a car. I’m not stupid. I suppose I think that by acting daft, she’ll like me more. The look on her face though leaves me feeling like the biggest loser on God’s earth. On stage, Dick Rock has dragged up Helen. She’s rubbing baby oil into his shaven chest.
‘Right, well nice to see you,’ I say and go to walk away when Ginny grabs my elbow.
‘Not so fast?’ she hisses, all bleached teeth and angry eyes. ‘Did you get your jollies watching that freak show take the piss?’
When I say nothing, it seems to make matters worse.
‘At least have the fucking nerve to admit you set me up,’ she says. ‘I might even think better of you. You were the same at school. Sad little sack of shit. Do you remember what we used to call you?’
I shake my head.
‘Duracell,’ she says with relish. ‘Copper top.’
‘You can’t talk to me like that.’
‘What are you going to do about it? Tell teacher?’
She flashes a familiar but long-forgotten smirk and pats me on the head.
‘Lisa Doyle, the one who got away. The one who’s better than all of us? She’s got her own perfect little life up here in Manchester.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t think I’m any better than anyone else.’
‘Stick with the losers, like Ian Tyler.’
For a second, I think she’s going to say something more, but she stops. The anger and power fade as soon as they started and she walks away. But something rises up inside me. Unexpected and sudden. A burning fury that bites the back of my throat.
I hear a voice that sounds like mine call her name and she turns to give me an amused look, before walking slowly back.
‘Did you squeak, little mouse?’
‘What did you mean about Ian?’
‘Your little boyfriend is coming out soon isn’t he?’
‘My what?’
‘I heard you and Sister Act in the toilets. Little Lisa Doyle can’t get a bloke the normal way, so she has to settle for jailbirds. You’re a sad pathetic loser.’
‘Ian’s someone I knew at school.’
‘He’s a thug who got what he deserved.’
‘What do you mean?’
Ginny’s face changes to one of pity and surprise, her voice grows childlike and sing-song.
‘I’m sorry, Lisa, I thought you knew. I was one of those who made sure he got what he deserved. You should have heard all the do-gooders talking. You’d think he was a bloody saint. The judge was all for probation, but I wasn’t going to have that piece of filth live anywhere near me. I made sure that everyone signed a petition to get rid of him for good.’
‘You put him in jail?’
‘Well I can’t take all the credit. After all Ian did most of it himself. But I’d like to think when push came to shove ... I shoved.’
Bernie had said something about how he almost avoided jail and nearly earned a chance to work things out with his family. She never explained what she meant, but now it’s clear.
‘Don’t look at me like that.’ Ginny pulls out a pack of cigarettes. ‘I was doing my duty as a responsible citizen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to step outside.’
She turns to walk away, but something causes her to stop. She doesn’t turn round when she speaks.
‘They all know about The Armchair Bride, you know? Everyone here. I’ve told them. Everyone’s laughing at you. Even your precious Brian.’
Helen has a hold of my arm.
‘Come and have a dance,’ she says. ‘It’s Abba. Amy’s here too. You never said she was pregnant.’
‘I only just found out,’ I say and watch Ginny push her way through the crowds.
‘It’s Dancing Queen,’ Helen says. ‘Your favourite.’
Twenty three
‘Crikey, whatever is the matter with you?’ Amy hands me a drink and I try to smile but my face won’t join in.
‘That woman is true evil,’ I say. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’
‘Let it go. She’s probably got one on her after the ribbing from Fonda.’
‘It’s more than that.’
‘Forget about her,’ Amy says. ‘How about you and me go and have a dance?’
‘I’m not in the mood.’
She shakes her head. ‘You might get away with telling Helen you’ve gone of Abba, but not me. This is meant to be a party, not a bloody psychoanalysis session. If you want to explore how bullying impacted your outlook on life we’ll do it over breakfast.’
I put down my drink and let her lead the way. She’s right and telling Ginny to piss off helped. For the first time, I know something inside has changed. I’ve allowed people like her to rule over me for too long. For more years than I care to count, I’ve let worry about what other people think occupy space in my head. The music changes from Kylie to something I don’t recognise.
‘How about we get another drink instead,’ I say as I spot Ginny heading for the loos, nose in the air.
‘Actually, I could do with a wee,’ I say. ‘Get me a coke or something.’
Amy’s has seen Ginny too.
‘I thought we agreed ...’
‘I have to tell her what I think once and for all. Wait here and if I’m not out in ten minutes, round up the girls and rescue me.’
The toilets have seen better days. Dimly lit with walls painted brown and a stench that suggests bleach might be on ration. It’s quiet, apart from the drip of ancient plumbing. Two cubicle doors stand open. I wait by the sink and take a deep breath.
The music from outside grows louder as a red-faced girl I don’t recognise staggers in with a lanky bloke in a cheap suit. They tumble into the middle stall in a fit of giggles.
A toilet flushes and a latch clunks, then nothing. Silence and then the latch rattles once more. A grunt of frustration followed by a bang as someone kicks the door.
‘Hello?’ I hear Ginny say. ‘Is there anyone there?’
I stay silent.
‘The lock’s broken. Go and find someone to help.’
The middle cubicle door bursts open and its occupants emerge, adjusting their clothes. They barge past and back into the club.
Ginny fiddles with the latch again, but it doesn’t give way. I stay there a few minutes longer before discretely coughing.
‘Is there someone there?’ she says. ‘I’m stuck. Help me get out.’
‘It’s Lisa.’
‘Oh great.’
‘I just wondered if you still think I’m a sad pathetic loser.’
‘You know how things get. I’ve had a few too many.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes then?’
‘I’m sorry, OK? I’m a bitch. You’re fabulous. Now help me.’
‘What gives you the right to lord it over everyone?’ I say. ‘You’re not at school now. Who told you it was fine to go right ahead and stick your nose in? Why march into mam’s house and make me look stupid?’
‘Like I said, I’m sorry. Now please help me. I’m not good with confined spaces.’
‘Oh sit down and shut up, Ginny, there’s plenty of space in there.’
‘It isn’t the space, it’s the being trapped that freaks me out.’
‘Funny that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I wonder if Ian Tyler feels the same.’
‘What?’ Ginny sounds like her patience has run thin. ‘I did what any other concerned citizen might do. The man was a danger.’
‘He walked into a bank to give back a toy gun his kid left behind.’
Ginny aims another kick at the door.
‘Fuck you,’ I say. ‘What’s the point in trying to talk sense to you?’
I wash my hands, check myself in the mirror and leave her alone.
Bernie’s up on stage doing karaoke while the rest of the group cheer. Helen slumps on a sofa looking happy. I crash next to her.
‘Penny for them?’ she says. ‘Something’s bothering you.’
‘I wish Ginny wasn’t here.’
‘Ignore her. It’s not like her life is a fabulous success story.’
‘That’s what Amy said.’
‘Ask anyone. They’ll all say the same.’
The baying crowd encourages Bernie to sing again and she needs little coaxing to launch into an encore.
‘Ginny probably wouldn’t think to mention it,’ Helen says. ‘But her posh husband filed for divorce after catching her with her knickers round her ankles in the golf club storeroom.’
‘You never told me that.’
‘Might not be true, but we were all there in the pub when he stood up and told everyone she was a slut and that he couldn’t stick living with her one more day.’
I want to laugh, but something tells me there’s more to it.
‘I didn’t want her to have any part in my wedding. I don’t even know why she needed to come tonight. I haven’t forgotten how she made you feel. How she made us both feel. Yes, I suppose I did feel a bit sorry for her at the time, when my mum said she’d asked her to help. I need to learn to say no.’
‘I don’t blame you Helen. I don’t even blame Ginny really,’ I say.
‘What?’
‘It’s as much my problem as it is hers. If I can’t put the past behind me, how can I expect her to? She’s spent all these years trying to make out she was so much better than the rest of us and there she is with no job and no husband. She’s going to have to find a job.’
‘She’s been cleaning,’ Helen says.
‘No! Who for?’
‘Some woman who lives the other side of town, just far enough away to make sure nobody knows. I see her go out each morning, all dressed up. I suppose she must get changed when she gets there.’
Part of me feels sorry for her. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a cleaner – Mam cleaned houses for years. But Ginny was always all about keeping up appearances and making people think you’re someone you’re not.
‘I’d actually admire her if she told me that herself,’ I say.
‘Ginny is Ginny. As long as she pretends nothing’s happened, she can go on kidding herself she has the upper hand.’
Helen sits back and smiles.
‘She hates you though, you’re right about that.’
‘What have I ever done to her?’
‘Don’t you remember what she used to say at school about how she hated Stourbridge? How she bragged she’d be out of there at the first chance she got. Then she finds out you beat her to it.’
‘I’m not the only one though, you can’t tell me everyone we went to school with still lives there.’
‘Of course not, but seeing someone she used to treat like dirt doing so well for herself really hurts.’
‘That doesn’t even make sense.’
‘You know about all that business with Ian Tyler?’
‘Bernie told me.’
‘She probably didn’t tell you the half of it. She’s been away in London fighting the good fight so she wouldn’t know what went on last year.’
I’m intrigued.
‘Ginny went out of her way to make sure Ian never stood a chance. She had people sign petitions and gathered a gang together to stake out his mother’s house. That poor woman. She made that family’s life hell.’
‘Why?’
‘After her husband left she started chucking herself at anything in trousers. Ian included.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought he was her type. It’s not like he’d got anything she’d want.’
‘He has two legs and a pulse. That’s her type. He was working at the golf club and she took to hanging around there, all dressed up in her designer frocks, getting pissed at the bar and making a show of herself. She threw herself at him.’
Helen shakes her head at the memory.
‘And he was having none of it?’
‘He told her to sling her hook. It was Jenny he loved.’
Helen reaches for her glass but finds it empty.
‘That’s enough time wasted talking about Ginny,’ she says. ‘I want to say thanks for all of this. I’ve had a great night. I think everyone has. You’ve been a real mate.’
‘If it wasn’t for Amy, I’m not convinced I would have pulled it together.’
I spot my sister up on the stage.
‘This one is for my big sister, Lisa. I’m going back home tomorrow and I’ll miss her like crazy,’ she roars before launching into ‘Sisters are doing it for themselves’.
Twenty four
‘So this Ginny woman left without saying goodbye to anyone?’ Sharon is keen to hear my blow-by-blow account of the hen night. We’ve managed to sneak away from a busy box office ostensibly to catch up on work matters, but our meting quickly descended into mugs of tea, pilfered hospitality biscuits and gossip.
‘I was glad to see her go.’
‘Will she still come to the wedding?’
‘I spoke to Helen last night and nobody’s heard from her in days.’
I’ve already filled Sharon in on the back-story about Ginny’s split from her husband and how she’s making ends meet by moonlighting as a cleaner and slutting it round the local golf club.
‘The strange thing is I ended up feeling sorry for her,’ I say. ‘For all her faults, nobody should have to be so worried about what other people think that they have to make things up about their life to save face.’
‘Is that not the pot calling the kettle black?’
Every drop of blood in my body rushes to my face.
‘I suppose so.’
‘You’re still going to the wedding though?’ Sharon says.
‘I have to, more for Helen than anything else. She’s the sort who sticks by her mates and I sort of miss that.’
‘Remind me to cross you off my Christmas card list,’ Sharon feigns outrage.
‘You and Andy are the best friends I could ask for,’ I say. ‘But with Helen it’s different. We grew up together. She knows what I went through at school.’
‘Talking of Andy, when’s he back?’
‘Friday, he reckons, unless they keep them behind for re-shoots.’
‘Is that not cutting things a bit fine?’
‘I’ve managed to get out of the rehearsal and he reckons he can get a flight into Birmingham on the Saturday morning. The wedding isn’t until two.’
Brian pops his head round the door.
‘Sorry to break up the party,’ he says. ‘But would could I have a quick word with Lisa?’
‘Sure, we’re about done here,’ I say, but my voice sounds high pitched and Sharon gives me the strangest look before gathering up her papers.
‘Would you mind if we went upstairs?’ he says. ‘The light in here gives me a headache.’
Outside Brian’s office there’s a new face behind Nina’s old desk.
‘This is Sylvia,’ Brian says and we shake hands. ‘Go through and take a seat, I’ll grab us s
ome coffees.’
There’s a neat pile of letters on his desk. The top one is from a firm of solicitors and I find myself reading it upside down. I struggle to follow its archaic language and resort to saying sentences out loud when Brian puts a mug down on the desk, next to me.
‘Audrey,’ he says. ‘She’s trying to take me for every penny she thinks I’ve got.’
There’s no wedding ring on his finger.
Brian pushes the letter to one side and opens a folder filled with sales reports.
‘The next six months are going to be busy,’ he says. ‘We’ve got two big shows and seven one-off Sunday concerts. I’m going to need you to make sure you have cover for the on-sale dates.’
I feel I ought to write something down, instead I sit and nod like one of those dogs on the parcel shelf of a car.
‘We need to talk about next year’s panto,’ Brian continues. ‘The promoters want to arrange a photo call and we need to get the letters out to our supporter’s club by the start of May. I want to open priority booking in the third week of May.’
He stops talking and looks at me.
‘Any questions so far?’
Obviously I have questions. Like what went wrong between us? A few weeks back we were having dinner in a posh restaurant, but now he’s behaving like it never happened.
‘I’ve got it covered,’ I say.
He shuts the folder.
‘That’s about it, then.’
Neither of us appears to know what to say next. On any other Monday I might pass comment on the awful weather and wish my life away, longing to be sat next to a large vodka or a roaring fire. It doesn’t seem right.
‘Lisa,’ he says as I reach for the door handle. I turn around, unable to stop my face smiling. I need him to make some silly joke, anything that proves we’re still friends.
‘Could you ask Silvia to pop through?’
When I reach my own desk, I sit down heavily. What exactly have I done wrong? Brian’s gone from being the guy who laughed and joked his way through dinner and telling me I looked beautiful to a miserable marketing machine.
