Chapter 10
I wake up Monday morning feeling guilty after eating pizza. This is new for me. What triggered it was the sight of the takeaway box with its lid still flipped open. All the clues were there – the skid marks of tomato topping and crust crumbs.
I’d celebrated after spending yesterday afternoon with the book club. We’d gone to the garden centre for lunch. It was the fourteenth of April – exactly two months since Lenny and I split.
I still miss the shape of him in bed. Each morning, I reach out for his warmth and am met by cold sheets that dwarf me. I need to continue filling the gap he’s left: make my life as full as Bella’s with her work, her friends, her health regime.
I suggested setting up a book review blog for Kath, Nora and Pauline. Now and again they talked about how they missed using the computer skills they acquired in their jobs. This was the perfect solution. They keep up-to-date. I keep busy. We finally settled on a name: Vintage Views.Excitement bubbled as we decided the blog, as well as reviews, could include posts on subjects they were interested in that were connected to books. And friends of theirs could write guest posts.
Nora would contribute reviews of movies that had been adapted from novels. She’s always secretly fancied being a cinema critic. Former nurse Kath was interested in stories that dealt with mental health.
‘And I’m keen to review any book, film or television programme that’s even remotely linked to Benedict Cumberbatch,’ said Pauline, which led to us all confessing our celebrity crushes. I’ve agreed to meet them in the pub after work tomorrow to get started on the website, since they are too keen to wait until the weekend. Over recent months, without even realising it, the book club has made me feel as if I’m more on the inside of something than out. It’s a place away from work where I also feel like I fit in. Yesterday afternoon I didn’t think once about my failed romance or my makeover. It was just me being me like before. Hence the pizza.
And now, instead of seeing the new sleeker me, I suddenly feel big. Before starting my new health programme, I never felt like that about my body or thought much about anyone’s physicality. Whilst I found Lenny attractive, it wasn’t his figure that registered first. It was always the eyes. How they made me laugh. How they made me feel like an attractive woman in a way I didn’t feel embarrassed about. It’s hard to look back now and realise it must have been different for him. Eventually he’d stopped seeing me, the person inside. Instead he saw someone who didn’t suit the glittering life to which he aspired; a home bird who’d offered him a refuge from the scariness of striking out as an adult, on his own, and wasn’t needed anymore.
To make up for my slip – that’s what I’m calling the pizza – I get off the bus early and walk an extra mile to the office. Plus I take a brave step and call into a hairdresser’s near work during my lunch. They’ve had a cancellation at four thirty and if I can leave that early will be able to fit me in for highlights. Blonde streaks will mark another benchmark along the way to a new me who doesn’t need anyone else to make her life complete.
Except the hairdresser straightens my hair as well. I can’t help gasping when she’s finished. She gives a low whistle. ‘Just look at who’s been hiding under all that brown frizz. You look like a cover girl.’
I can’t take my eyes away from the mirror. I feel big-headed thinking it, but it’s true. I wouldn’t look out of place in one of Bella’s fashion magazines.
The hairdresser gives me a glass of prosecco and sells me a pair of straighteners. Out of politeness, I sip for five minutes and then hurry out, arriving at the retirement home just in time. My friends are meeting in the reception area before we all walk down to the pub. I stand outside nervously.
After a deep breath, I push open the door and step in. Kath stares. She walks over. The others join us.
‘Your hair looks terrific and so much longer without the curls,’ says Nora. ‘You look like a young Lauren Bacall.’
Pauline shakes her head. ‘You’d make a great undercover agent. I mean, that’s some transformation.’
Kath says nothing. She understands that I don’t want a fuss. To my relief, as we walk the short distance to the Frog and Duck, talk moves from me to Vintage Views and the best look for the front page banner. Nora fancies a pink background with flowers. Kath favours a pragmatic look. Pauline insists photos of our faces across the top would look best and we say we’re not taking mug shots.
We find a table in the corner and Kath pats the head of a golden retriever sitting nearby. A jazz CD plays in the background. It’s seven o’clock and a handful of business people nurse drinks. I head to the bar for our usual crisps and gin and tonics. This time I get served straightaway and the barman keeps me talking and then offers to carry my tray.
‘We need to order the food,’ says Kath. ‘If I eat too late I’ll be up all night.’
The others murmur their agreement and we scan the menus. I’m getting used to looking for the healthiest option instead of what I really want. Normally, I’d enjoy fish and chips with buttered white bread and mushy peas. Instead I order the superfood salad that contains spinach, quinoa and lean chicken breast. I mumble something about having a high cholesterol level.
Lately I’m finding life’s easier with the occasional small lie.
When I get up to fetch napkins and cutlery, plus table sauces for the waning taste buds of my friends, the barman appears at my side and strikes up another conversation about the weather. The movies. Food. A whole gamut of things. He even laughs at one of my jokes.
When I make my excuses as the book club members stare our way, the barman delves into his pocket and pulls out a paper napkin with writing on it. He passes it to me.
‘Here’s my number. We could catch a movie or eat out. Whatever you want.’
Before I can reply, he disappears. As I hand out the cutlery, the others want to know exactly what he gave me.
‘His phone number,’ I say, in disbelief.
Dinner arrives and when we’re finished, I take a few headshots. Even if we don’t use them in the banner, as Pauline suggested, they will prove useful for the individual profile pages. Then I take a few candid photos of the group as they sit chatting, just as practise. I scroll through them and really like one of the casual group shots.
‘Look at this. It’s perfect for the banner.’ I pass around my phone.
The photo captures all their different personalities but in a natural, uncontrived way. With Nora, she has her fur coat draped around her shoulders and is sporting immaculate make-up. Animal lover Kath is talking to the golden retriever. Pauline’s glasses perch on the end of her nose and she studies the menu as if reading a police report. They look happy. Relaxed.
‘What do you think?’ I ask. ‘Wait. Let me put it through a sepia filter. That will give the shot a real vintage feel.’
I fiddle with my phone for a few moments and then pass it around once more.
‘We look like movie stars snapped by the paparazzi,’ says Nora and beams.
I ask the dog’s owner if she minds us using the shot. She gives me her business card and says she’d be delighted, and asks could I send her the link for the blog when it’s ready so that she can take a look? Then we talk through the rest of the website’s design features. I promise to get it all up and running by the weekend, and on Sunday will set up a Twitter account and show them how to use it.
At the end of the night, everyone gives me a hug. The book club members’ enthusiasm feels better than a sugar rush. And I didn’t think once about Lenny. In fact, that rather nice barman asked me out. I won’t ring him, of course. I don’t feel as if my inside matches the new outside yet. He might be disappointed.
‘You should believe more in yourself,’ says Bella, who’s exhausted after an afternoon pampering a hen party. We’re both in our pyjamas, on the sofa with Flossie. ‘The blonde hair brightens your whole demeanour. It’s a tip I give to clients who want to refresh their look. The final piece of the jigsaw is to make an ap
pointment for contact lenses. And, I’ve been thinking—’
‘How about we concentrate on you for a moment,’ I say. ‘You’ve been so supportive and encouraging. I wish I could give something back.’
‘But you do, Violet.’ Bella sits more upright. Her tone softens and her eyes crinkle around the corners, eyes as green as her healthy diet. ‘You and all the clients I help. That’s the thing about empowerment – it’s contagious. Empowering you empowers me. There’s nothing better than opening someone’s eyes to the fact that they came into this world alone and at some level that’s how they should remain – without relying on another human being.’ She ruffles the top of Flossie’s head. ‘We leave this world on our own, too, so shouldn’t we be able to face the middle bit without the interference of others? Isn’t that the goal? To get stronger as a… as a spirit, between the start and finish points? I’m not saying don’t form a strong bond with people or fall in love, but don’t look to anyone else to validate who you are. We are here to maximise our own journey. That’s what I think, anyway.’ Her eyes shine with the passion of someone who’s got complete confidence in their beliefs.
She does make sense. Lenny, Beatrix, Kath, Farah… if I don’t agree with them in my heart, none of their opinions should matter. Bella does like a project. I’ve worked that out. I’m her latest one. It’s flattering that she thinks I’m worth it after the way Lenny made me feel. And she’s renewed my faith in the concept of women supporting each other.
‘The flirty barman should prove to you there’s more than one way you can hit Lenny and Beatrix where it hurts.’
I sip my drink. Is hurting them what I really want to do? Revenge? Payback? In the past, I didn’t think those words were for me, but lately I’m not so sure.
‘The icing on the cake for Thoth’s party night,’ continues Bella, ‘is that not only do you turn up looking fabulous, but on your arm is the perfect date.’ She leans forward and whispers, ‘Casey Wilde.’
‘Me? And Wilde? That’s a joke, right?’
Bella’s expression doesn’t flinch.
‘As if that would be possible. Apart from anything else, Beatrix has probably already got him hooked.’
‘She may still not know his true gender. Lenny has to be careful. From what you say he’s already taken a big enough risk by giving her a sneak peek. You can find out Casey’s email address. Arrange to meet. You have lots in common that you can talk about.’ Bella sits straighter and rubs her hands together. ‘For starters, you’ve read his book – from what you’ve said about that Gary, authors love to have their egos massaged.’
Would a man like him really be interested in me? Lenny made it clear he thought Wilde was something of a womaniser.
‘You’re any man’s type, believe me, the way you look,’ says Bella as if she can read my mind.
‘It would certainly be a coup if I could persuade him to sign with Thoth. Felicity would be over the moon and Beatrix…’
‘…would be furious.’ A smile crosses Bella’s lips.
Nervous questions pinch my stomach. What if Casey and I did meet up? What if we did get along?
Bella squeezes my arm. ‘You’ve got four weeks to look even more amazing and land the most exciting science fiction author this year. It will be Violet Vaughan people are talking about, not Beatrix Bingham. Sassy. Invincible. Powerful. No one will be able to touch you then.’
2001
Yesterday Mrs Warham’s calendar said Friday the fourth of October, so today must be Saturday the fifth. One good thing about Mum’s job is that she doesn’t have to work on the weekend. Her boss isn’t quite as yukky as she first thought. Apparently Ryan lost a sister a few years ago, so he knows how Mum feels. It’s funny how adults say people get lost when they die because we know that they’ve gone to heaven.
Mum’s eyes are still red most mornings and she sleeps a lot. It’s nearly lunch time and Mum hasn’t got up. I made myself cornflakes and orange juice for breakfast. I took some up to Mum. She didn’t open her eyes and told me to watch telly. She was just feeling tired. She’d be down later.
Yesterday Alice cornered me in the playground and wanted to know about Uncle Kevin’s funeral. Her brother said it won’t be for ages because all the bodies are in pieces and no one knows who is who. She wants to know if he’ll be burnt or buried. Her brother said Uncle Kevin would just be dust now, mixed up with everybody else.
Thank you, Mrs Warham, for walking past and sending Alice to the headmistress.
I stand in the garden and breathe in grassy smells. Mr Jones next door is very neat and has mowed his lawn, even though the summer is over. That’s what I’m going to be like when I’m older. The sun is doing its best to cheer things up, but angry-looking clouds keep covering its smile. I wear my fleece. Zips are fiddly and I’m glad it pulls over my head. It’s purple like my glasses. Like my name. Like Ribena, my favourite drink.
Our fence is broken, which feels like an invitation to sneak into Applegrove Wood. I haven’t done that yet because Mum says I mustn’t enter alone. But dog walkers pass through it, so it can’t be dangerous. I look back at the house. Mum’s curtains are still drawn. It won’t hurt to have just a little run around. I wish I had a friend to play with at weekends. I’ve tried hard to find one at after school club but it’s so noisy and everyone already knows everyone else. Mia, whose mum gave me chocolate, is nice. We’ve done jigsaws together and she stuck her tongue out at a boy who made fun of my glasses. But Mia is very popular and there aren’t many children on my street apart from a two-year-old who is always crying and a teenager who scowled at me for no reason.
I hope to miss out the teenage years. Teenagers always listen to music. Maybe they think it sounds better than real life. Lately, I can understand that.
I walk up to the fence and squash myself between the two broken slats. Seconds later I’m on the other side, under the shade of a tree. I love conker trees. Their leaves are boring, but their prickly green cases contain the shiniest, smoothest jewels. I pick one up and squeeze the hard green shell, being careful not to scratch my hands.
‘Do you want me to show you how to easily open that?’ says a voice.
I look up. A boy stands next to me. His hair is the same brown colour as Uncle Kevin’s, but it’s tied back in a ponytail. He’s wearing a jumper that looks as if it’s been knitted by a gran. His trainers are really dirty. I like his smile. And, unlike Alice, he sounds kind.
‘Put it on the floor and stand on it really gently,’ he says. ‘Squish your foot from side to side and it should burst open without breaking the conker inside.’
I do as he says and then bend down and prise open the cracked case. There are two small conkers inside, like twins in a mummy’s tummy, but not identical. One is bigger than the other.
‘One each. My name’s Violet,’ I say, feeling my face heat up.
‘I’m Flint. Want to play catch?’ He tags me on the shoulder and starts running. I put the conkers in my fleece pocket and follow as fast as I can, darting around tree trunks and jumping over piles of twigs. He trips over and I catch up.
‘You okay?’ I say, in between breaths.
With grazed knees, he stands up and laughs. ‘You got lucky. I fell over some roots.’ Flint’s still wearing summer shorts.
‘Are you allowed to play out here often?’
‘Mum lets me and my brothers and sisters do what we want. We don’t even go to school. She teaches us at home.’
I gasp. ‘Now you’re the lucky one.’
‘We also get to wear what we want. And choose our own food. I had biscuits for breakfast.’
Sounds like he is lying, doesn’t it? But I believe him. Mum lets me stay up later than usual right now. She switches the telly on. We eat in front of it. I get to watch programmes I’m not usually allowed to. One was called… what was it? No Rules Kids – about parents who let their children do whatever they want. Like Flint. They can make their own meals. Decide when they want to go to bed. It sounds great.
I’d never have to see Alice again. Or eat carrots. I could stay up until midnight.
‘My turn to catch you,’ says Flint.
I start running. Piles of leaves squelch under my feet and mud flicks up against my legs. I couldn’t find a pair of trousers to wear. Mum hasn’t done the washing all week. So I’m in a summer skirt with ankle socks but it doesn’t matter. I’m nice and warm in my fleece. We come to a really big trunk with a treehouse in the branches. Its roof has a hole in it and a grey squirrel stands next to it. Its tail twitches. The house’s wooden sides are a bit lopsided and covered in moss and bird poo. There’s a ladder going up to it. Me and Flint look at each other. He starts to climb. I follow.
We sit inside on the floor. Perhaps this place can be our secret. Mine and Flint’s.
‘Awesome,’ he says. ‘My brothers and sisters will never find me here.’
‘Are you trying to hide from them? I’d love to be part of a big family.’
‘Be careful what you wish for, my granny always says. My brothers are cool. My two sisters can be annoying. I guess they are all okay but sometimes it gets too noisy. I haven’t got my own room so there is nowhere to go and just read. I love books.’
‘Me too. Maybe… maybe we could both read here. I’m reading Fantastic Mr Fox at the moment.’
‘That’s an awesome story. The farmers are so mean.’
We talk about clever Mr Fox and I tell Flint about Charlotte’s Web. He says he likes spiders and will ask his mum to get the book from the library.
I shiver. The sun has disappeared and the woods are chocolate cake dark. I tell Flint that perhaps I should head home. Mum might be up.
We run to the bottom of my garden. My chest relaxes as I see that Mum’s curtains are still closed.
Flint waves and I push my way through the fence. Humming, I reach into my fleece pocket and hold onto the two conkers as I go inside.
Knowing You Page 8
