Sometimes, I was really good at fooling myself.
36
I always switched my phone off while I was visiting Mother, wanting to give her my undivided attention. As I left that evening, and walked down the avenue to the road, I reached for it and switched it on. There were the usual messages from the agency confirming shifts I’d already agreed to, and a missed call. I wasn’t too surprised to see it was from Mother’s solicitor, Jason Brooks. Although there was no longer any need for his services, he kept in touch and offered me advice – whether I wanted to take it, or not.
But he was a nice man, and probably the nearest to family I had, so I returned the call as I walked slowly along. ‘Hi, it’s Lissa,’ I said when it was answered.
‘Lissa, thanks for getting back to me. Are you at work?’
‘No, I was visiting Mum.’
‘Ah, right. I called in myself last week. I thought she looked well.’
‘She doesn’t change very much really.’ I stopped at the end of the avenue and leaned against the trunk of a sycamore tree. It wasn’t unusual for Brooks to ring me, but there was something in his voice that said this was more than a mere courtesy call. ‘How’re things?’
‘Good, good. Listen, I was wondering if you were free for lunch sometime?’
Lunch? Now, this was unusual. We’d had several meetings over the years, all were held in his office. I might have had a biscuit with a cup of instant coffee but that was about as far as it went. I had no worries his intentions weren’t honourable. He was happily married to a stunningly beautiful woman, and I, well, I was just me. ‘Lunch sounds great. I’m free tomorrow if that’s any good.’
‘Tomorrow… hang on… yes, that would suit perfectly. How about The Ivy in Bath, around one thirty?’
‘Sounds lovely. I’ll see you then.’
‘Excellent.’
When he hung up, I stayed leaning against the tree, tapping my phone against my chin. I had no idea why the solicitor would want to see me. I also had no idea where The Ivy in Bath was, but that, at least, the internet could throw some light on.
The Ivy, on Milsom Street in Bath, was the kind of restaurant people like me didn’t go to. By that I meant people with an extremely limited wardrobe. I pored over the photographs on their website: intricate plasterwork, chandeliers, comfortable-looking leather seats, white linen-covered tables laid with silver and fancy glasses. Not a place to wear my best chinos and T.
I didn’t even have my pretty silver bracelet to add a bit of a shine to an outfit. I wondered what Theo had done with it. If he had guessed it was mine and had seen me lurking, he hadn’t approached me about it. Desperate as I was, I wasn’t stupid enough to go knocking on his door to confess my crime. Stupidity – it was a crime in my book.
I lay awake worrying about what to wear. As if I were heading off on a hot date with a gorgeous man. At least I assumed this is what that would feel like. I’d never been on a date, hot or otherwise. Although I had grown comfortable with my body as it was, it didn’t stop me remembering the cruel taunts of my childhood. My nose was still big, my mouth too wide. And if men looked at me, I knew what they were thinking and never gave them the chance to get the words out. It had nothing to do with trust. Not all men were like my father. Bigamists. Liars. Cheaters. Destroyers of dreams.
In the morning, I stood and investigated my small wardrobe. Perhaps I was expecting the fairy godmother to have made an appearance overnight. If she had, she must have given up in despair. My rags were still rags. But I wasn’t meeting Jason till one thirty. I had time.
At nine, I was outside a charity shop on Walcot Street. It was one of my favourites. Although I rarely bought anything, I was on friendly terms with the manager, a woman of indeterminate age with a head of hair that was very obviously a wig, especially on days when she had, by accident or design, put it on back to front. She usually swathed her body in what looked to be garments she was unable to sell. They didn’t fit her short rotund body, but she wore so many, the smaller, shorter pieces overlayed with wider baggier ones, that she was respectably if bizarrely covered. Despite her eccentric style, she had a good eye, and I’d seen her pick out an item for a customer that suited perfectly.
She was pinning a mixture of coats to an outside rail with an extended window pole when I arrived. I waited till she’d finished before offering a greeting. ‘Hiya, Maggie.’
‘Lissa, what’s bringing you out so early?’
‘Desperation.’ Throwing myself on her mercy seemed like a good plan. ‘I’m being taken for lunch to The Ivy today and have nothing to wear that doesn’t make me look like Orphan Annie.’
She reached up and adjusted her wig. It was still backwards; her adjustment didn’t make any difference and my fingers itched to grab it and twirl it around. I resisted. This was my favourite shop and I didn’t want to lose it. Plus, I genuinely liked her, despite or maybe because she didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of her. ‘Can you help me?’
‘I suppose you have less than a fiver to spend on it,’ she said.
She knew me so well. ‘I could stretch to ten at a push.’
‘Ten.’ She sighed, shook her head, and turned to disappear into the bowels of her shop.
It was narrow, but it stretched back a long way, with each section jammed to overfill with clothes of every type. Customers were allowed to explore but it was a little like looking through the woods for a tree. Maggie had every item inventoried in her head under that crazy daft wig. If there was something suitable there for me, she’d find it.
She was back a short while later, her hands filled with a tumble of material. She dropped it on the countertop and pulled it apart. Three dresses came from the tangle. Dresses! The last time I’d worn one was as a student nurse before trousers and tunics became the standard uniform. Unlike that white uniform, these were floral and twee, and not something I’d have chosen.
‘Try them on,’ Maggie said as if she’d read my mind. ‘You might be surprised.’
There was a tiny changing room. Small as I was, my elbows banged off the sides as I pulled off my T-shirt and slipped the least gaudy of the three she’d chosen over my head. I had to drag the curtain back and step outside before I could see myself in the full-length mirror. My smile was automatic. Maggie was right. I was surprised. Pale blue with tiny darker blue flowers, it was gathered at the waist and gave my stick-insect figure some shape. ‘This is perfect.’
‘It suits you,’ she said. ‘It’s fourteen quid but I can let you have it for ten.’
‘Deal.’ I took it off, dressed and joined her at the counter. ‘Here you go.’ I handed over a ten-pound note.
‘You have a good time,’ she said, and waved me off to go and deal with another early-bird customer.
It was only one twenty when I arrived outside The Ivy. Too early, as usual. Jason would be on time; he was that kind of man. I had a choice – stand in the doorway looking desperate or cross the street to Waterstones and look at books. The second seemed the better option and was a pleasant way to spend the time. It also allowed me to keep an eye on the front of The Ivy. When I saw Jason arrive, I gave him a minute to sit, put the book I was flicking through back on the shelf and left.