by Jill Mansell
The façade of friendliness had gone now. His eyes were cold as he jeered at her.
‘Oh help, I’m sooo scared.’
Damned if she was going to be the one to get up and leave, Dulcie stared back. If he’d been one of the yuppie types at the Cat and Mouse, she would have told him exactly what she thought of him by now. But because he was hungry and homeless, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Which was weird, because he could.
‘Go on, you can afford it. Don’t be such a selfish bitch,’ he snarled. ‘Give me a tenner and I’ll go.’
‘There are two policemen over there,’ Dulcie lied coolly. ‘Shall I tell them you’re harassing me, demanding money with menaces?’
He snorted with laughter.
‘Menaces! I’ll deny it. I’ll tell them you were harassing me.’
‘Oh right. And who do you think they’ll believe?’ Dulcie retaliated. ‘The woman with everything, or a repulsive little creep like you?’
‘You can’t call me that,’ said the boy, stunned by the derision in her voice. ‘I’m homeless.’
‘I can call you anything 1 like,’ Dulcie snapped back, ‘because you’re a git.’
He went, loping off with his Tennant’s Export in one hand and the wriggling puppy in the other.
As he made his way across the precinct to the off-licence he turned and winked at Dulcie, and mouthed, ‘Worth a try.’
Dulcie stayed where she was. The encounter had depressed her; she wasn’t proud of the way she’d reacted to the beggar’s taunts. I’m just a horrible person, she thought wearily. No wonder Patrick prefers Claire.
The Salvation Army band played on, and when a young girl came round shaking a tin, Dulcie slid a tenner in. Anyone who wore one of those unflattering bonnets, she decided, deserved all the help they could get.
‘That’s really kind of you,’ whispered the girl in the bonnet, and all of a sudden Dulcie wanted to cry. She shook her head. ‘No it’s not.’
The girl moved on. Dulcie took another swig of Coke. What had the beggar called her, a selfish bitch?
Well, that was true enough.
His bitter, accusing voice rang again in her head: ‘You’ve got everything,’ and Dulcie felt a lump expand in her throat.
‘I don’t, she thought, feeling horribly sorry for herself. ‘I used to have everything, but I don’t any more.
A mother with two young children came and sat on the bench. Dulcie shifted her bags to make room for them.
‘Mum. Mum, I’m thirsty, can I have a Coke?’ clamoured the boy.
‘Me too, Mum, I’m thirsty too,’ his younger sister chimed in.
The woman, who had just eased off her shoes with a groan of relief, closed her eyes and groaned again.
‘Robbie, we’ve just sat down. Can you wait five minutes?’ Dulcie wasn’t a mother but even she knew this was a request doomed to failure.
‘N000! Mum, I’m thirsty now.’
‘So am I, so am I, Mum, so am I-I-I!’
‘Oh God,’ croaked their mother, wearily fumbling around for her shoes. ‘Okay, okay.’
‘Here, they can have this one.’ Dulcie leaned across and offered the woman her second can. ‘I bought two but I’m not thirsty any more.’
‘Are you sure?’ The woman’s gratitude was overwhelming. ‘Oh, thank you so much. You’ve saved my life! That’s really kind of you.’
Another really kind. Two really kinds, thought Dulcie, and one selfish bitch.
The children fought over the Coke and guzzled it down, while the woman waggled her pop-socked feet, making the most of five minutes’ rest.
Dulcie watched the brass players shake spit out of their trumpets and ready themselves for the next carol.
‘I know this one,’ exclaimed the girl next to her on the seat, swinging her legs in excitement.
‘It’s "Silent Night". We sing it at playgroup. I’m nearly four,’ she informed Dulcie proudly.
‘We’re having a navitivy play next week and I’m an angel.’
‘Really?’ said Dulcie. ‘That’s brilliant. I’ve always wanted to be an angel.’
The girl jumped off her seat and stood in front of Dulcie. ‘I’ll sing it for you,’ she announced, eyes shining. ‘Si-lent night, Ho-ly night, All is calm, All is bright ...’
Not to be outdone, her brother joined in, his clear, true soprano ringing out in the cold night as he guided his young sister’s reedy warble through the second and third verses.
Dulcie had to swallow hard as he soared into the descant; she’d always had a weakness for descants. She watched the two of them singing their hearts out and felt her bottom lip begin to quiver. What in heaven’s name was the matter with her today?
. . sleep in heavenly pee-eace, sle-ep in heavenly peace,’ concluded Robbie and his sister, romping home well ahead of the band.
Dulcie plastered a bright smile on to her face and applauded. ‘That was terrific. Thank you!’
‘Couple of show-offs,’ said their mother with a grin. ‘Guess what Father Christmas is bringing me,’ chirruped her daughter, ‘a Barbie and a bicycle.’
‘With stabilisers,’ Robbie interjected brutally. ‘My bike won’t have stabilisers.’
‘And he’s bringing it on his sleigh and the reindeers are going to help him get it into our chimney.’
Robbie was looking superior, as if he was itching to tell his sister Father Christmas didn’t exist.
Noticing this, their mother forced her feet back into her too-tight shoes and stood up.
‘Right, you two, we’ve got a bus to catch. And Robbie, sshh.’ Ruffling her son’s hair and raising her eyebrows in mock despair, she said to Dulcie, ‘Have you got any?’
Children, presumably. Not buses, Dulcie decided. She shook her head.
‘No, ‘I haven’t.’
‘Lucky you,’ said the woman, plainly not meaning it. She smiled. ‘Thanks again for the Coke.
‘Bye. Merry Christmas.’
For the second time that evening, shoppers gave Dulcie’s bench a seriously wide berth. They glanced out of the corners of their eyes at the woman sitting on it and hurried past determined not to get involved.
Dulcie saw them and didn’t care. She carried on sobbing, unable to help herself. She didn’t know why it was happening, she just knew she couldn’t hold it in a minute longer.
Tears streamed unstoppably down Dulcie’s icy cheeks. They ran down her neck and soaked into her black polo-necked sweater. She searched blindly in her coat pockets for a tissue and pulled out something soft and knitted instead.
Dulcie stared at what she saw. That was it; she’d really hit rock bottom now. You couldn’t sink much lower than shoplifting Father Christmas mittens from BabyGap.
‘Honestly, it’s a bit much,’ hissed an irritated middle-aged woman to her friend. ‘1 mean, why doesn’t somebody do something about her? That’s what we pay our taxes for, isn’t it?’
‘It’s all care-in-the-community these days,’ tut-tutted her friend, ‘but what good does it do them?
‘I bet she’d far rather be in a nice psychiatric hospital than out in public like this.’
‘Poor thing.’ The first woman’s voice softened. ‘You can’t help feeling sorry for her.’
Her friend chivvied her along. ‘Come on, Jean, don’t get involved. I told Edward we’d be home by nine.’
Bibi, who had overheard this conversation, glanced briefly over her shoulder to see who the two women were talking about.
She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw it was Dulcie.
Dulcie, in turn, thought she was hallucinating when she looked up and saw, through a haze of tears, Bibi standing two feet in front of her.
Chapter 52
But Bibi was definitely real. Recalling the last time they had faced each other — the night of Patrick’s fortieth birthday, the night she had managed ... oh God ... to ruin Bibi’s life — Dulcie covered her face and flinched away.
‘Dulcie, whatever
’s happened?’
Bibi’s voice, when it came, was gentle. She crouched down in front of Dulcie and peeled away one of her hands.
Dulcie kept the other one clamped over her eyes.
‘Sweetheart, you can’t sit here like this. Tell me what’s wrong.’
Between gulps and shuddering sobs, Dulcie muttered something under her breath.
Bibi leaned closer.
‘What was that?’
‘I s-s-stole something from B-B-BabyGap,’ whispered Dulcie. She pushed the mittens, by this time soggy with tears, into Bibi’s hands. ‘I d-didn’t mean to. It w-was an accident.’
‘Oh, Dulcie, of course it was an accident! You’d never do anything like that on purpose.’ Bibi shook her head, her forehead creased with concern. ‘Did they call the police? Were you arrested?
Darling, don’t cry, we’ll tell them you aren’t the shoplifting type.’
Dulcie couldn’t imagine for the life of her why Bibi was being so nice. She wiped her streaming nose on her sleeve and said weakly, ‘I wasn’t caught. Nobody saw me do it. ‘I found them in my pocket just now. Have you got a tissue?’
Bibi never went anywhere without her Handy Andies. She unzipped her bag and gave Dulcie the whole packet.
‘But if you weren’t caught,’ she frowned, ‘why are you crying?’
‘I don’t know.’ Dulcie blew her nose and shrugged. ‘I’m j-just miserable. I’ve made a complete and utter balls-up of everything. Dammit, I’m a walking j j jinx.’
‘If you were jinxed,’ said Bibi, trying to cheer her up, ‘you’d have been caught pinching those mittens. There, you see? You weren’t, were you? That’s something to be grateful for, for a start.’
It didn’t work.
‘But what am ‘I going to do?’ sniffed Dulcie. ‘It’s too late to go back and pay for them now.
Everywhere’s shutting.’
Bibi peered at the damp price ticket. All this fuss over six pounds fifty.
‘I could pop in there tomorrow,’ she offered, ‘explain what happened and give them the money.
Or you could send them a cheque.’
Dulcie wiped her mascara-stained eyes and sighed. ‘Okay, I’ll do that.’
Bibi straightened up.
‘And are you just going to carry on sitting there,’ she eyed the pile of carriers from Casa Pupo, Jolly’s, Janet Reger and Diablo, ‘like an upmarket bag lady?’
‘I’ll go home in a minute.’
‘Or we could stop off at Leander’s if you like.’
Dulcie looked up at her, astounded.
‘You mean go for a drink? What, both of us ... together?’ Bibi smiled.
‘Well, we could sit at opposite ends of the bar if you preferred, but I think you need to talk to someone about whatever’s troubling you.’ She paused, then bent down to pick up Dulcie’s bags.
‘And now we’ve broken. the ice ...’
Leander’s wine bar was dimly lit and not too busy. It also had plenty of tables tucked away in secluded corners where bedraggled, mascara-stained women could hide without frightening the other customers.
Bibi beamed at the waiter and ordered vodka and tonics, then turned to Dulcie.
‘They still do that amazing white chocolate ice cream. How about it?’
Dulcie shook her head. She was too depressed to eat ice cream.
‘No thanks, just a drink’s fine.’
‘You used to have both,’ chided Bibi. ‘Always. Darling, you were the queen of ice cream! Come on, just have a little bowl...’
Every time she thought she’d stopped crying, Dulcie started again. She was getting through Bibi’s Handy Andies at a rate of knots.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blubbed, ‘it’s because you’re being kind. ‘I still can’t believe you’re even speaking to me.’
Bibi’s expression softened. She and Dulcie had always been so fond of each other. She gave her daughter-in-law’s icy fingers a squeeze.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said simply.
More tears dripped down Dulcie’s cheeks.
‘Oh, Bibi, I’ve missed you too. I’m so, so sorry about James. I didn’t mean to—’
‘I know you didn’t. You meant well.’ Bibi patted her hand reassuringly. ‘It was a good plan; it just didn’t quite come off.’
The young waiter brought their drinks and a bowl of the famous ice cream for Dulcie. She smiled damply and thanked him. This had been one of her and Bibi’s favourite pit stops during their shopping blitzes, and he had remembered she liked extra wafers and extra-extra roasted almonds.
Unless of course it’s Bibi’s face he remembers and he’s getting me muddled up with someone else .. .
‘I expect you come here with Claire now,’ she said bravely, to prove to Bibi how civilised she could be.
‘No.’ Bibi looked surprised.
‘But ... the two of you do go shopping together. I saw you, that ... er, time outside your house.’
‘Oh, we went once.’ Bibi nodded, remembering. ‘Patrick had mentioned you and ‘I used to shop together so Claire offered to go with me. That was all.’
Dulcie was intrigued by the lack of detail. Bibi was to gossip what Joan Rivers was to face lifts.
So intrigued she forgot to cry, Dulcie took a mouthful of ice cream instead and said, ‘And?’
Bibi sighed.
‘Oh Lord, I’m supposed to be impartial.’
‘Don’t be impartial, it’s boring.’ Dulcie loaded one of the wafers with ice cream and decided she was hungry after all. ‘Tell me why you only went shopping with her once.’
‘Oh, it was a disaster.’ Bibi came clean. ‘I did my best, Dulcie, really ‘I did, but what can you do with a girl whose idea of splashing out is two pairs of tights and a navy cardigan from Littlewoods?’
Dulcie gazed at her, speechless with pleasure.
‘She’s very keen on value for money,’ Bibi went on, ‘and comfortable clothes that won’t fall apart after five minutes. And she likes to decide in advance exactly what she needs to buy, because it saves time.’
‘Saves time ...’ Dulcie echoed faintly.
‘I’ve never met anyone so efficient.’ Bibi shook her head and looked sorrowful. ‘The whole trip lasted ninety-five minutes.’
‘Good grief.’
‘She’s a lovely girl,’ Bibi added hastily, ‘don’t get me wrong. Absolutely charming.’
‘Just not shopping-compatible.’ Dulcie nodded to show she understood, valiantly forcing herself not to say anything bitchy.
‘That’s it. We might not be shopping-compatible but she’s still terribly nice.’
‘Oh yes, ‘I know what you mean. Terribly, terribly nice.’
‘Mmm.’
‘For example, that amazingly ugly man over there with the huge wart on the end of his nose makes me want to start telling Quasimodo jokes,’ said Dulcie, ‘but if Claire was here now, I just know she’d say, "Oh, I didn’t even notice that massive wart, ‘I was just thinking what lovely kind eyes he has." ‘
‘She would,’ said Bibi solemnly. ‘She certainly would. Claire was the one, actually, who told me that you hadn’t meant to split me and James up. She said ‘I should make things up with you, heal the—’
‘Oh please!’ wailed Dulcie. ‘Pass the sick bag. I’ve heard enough about Saint jolly-nice Claire for one night.’
Bibi watched Dulcie – now well on the road to recovery – scrape her bowl.
‘More ice cream? More vodka?’
‘Yes please.’
‘Feeling better?’
Dulcie nodded.
‘I was so jealous,’ she admitted shamefacedly, ‘when I saw the two of you together.’
‘It was nothing. Just a one-morning stand,’ said Bibi with a grin.
‘Still, Patrick seems happy enough with her.’
Bibi attracted the attention of their waiter. When she’d reordered, she shrugged.
‘That’s men for you. Talk about going from one extreme to the other
.’
Was this a compliment or not? Dulcie was still trying to puzzle it out when Bibi went on casually, ‘I mean, look at James. One minute he’s with me, the next he’s having a fling with some mini-skirted blonde in her twenties.’
Dulcie squirmed, her skin prickling with guilt.
‘Oh God.’
‘Doesn’t matter. It didn’t last long anyway.’
‘How do you know?’
‘He’s living in the flat above Margaret Taylor, in Devenish House.’ Bibi managed a slight smile.
‘She’s kept me up to date with his ... er ... comings and goings.’
More guilt, a great tidal wave of the stuff this time. ‘I did this, thought Dulcie. It’s all my fault.
‘Do you still miss him terribly?’ Her voice was small. Bibi said nothing for a moment. She studied her immaculately polished nails. Then she nodded.
‘Yes.’
‘But ... have you tried contacting him? I mean, have you seen him at all?’ Dulcie persisted.
‘Of course ‘I haven’t.’ Bibi’s eyes were full of pain but she spoke with dignity. ‘What would be the point of that? Dulcie, I didn’t end it. James was the one who dumped me.’
But there were a million other things to talk about. The conversation moved on. Unhappily for Dulcie it didn’t take long to get around to Liam McPherson.
‘Anyway,’ said Bibi when they had finished discussing Pru and Eddie’s wedding, ‘while we’re on the subject of perfect men, what happened to that dishy tennis pro of yours?’ She lowered her voice. ‘And what was all this I heard about you expecting a baby?’
Dulcie swallowed hard. She wasn’t proud of that little piece of deception. God, she did some stupid things sometimes.
Bibi was looking at her with a mixture of concern and sympathy.
‘We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, darling. But sometimes it helps.’ She paused then said delicately, ‘Was it a miscarriage, or did you ...?’
‘I wasn’t pregnant. ‘I just pretended to be,’ Dulcie confessed with a sigh. What the hell, she may as well admit everything. Bibi knew her well enough; she wasn’t likely to be too shocked by the depths to which her errant daughter-in-law was capable of sinking.
