Sheila
had supplied Nancy with a couple of twenties for spending, but was loathe to
break into one so early. She snuck into Millie’s room to see if she could find
change. Photographs, lace curtains and a parma-violet counterpane roused an
urge to mess the place up. On the dresser next to the bed, Nancy spotted
Millie’s slimline black purse. In the next room, studio laughter prickled the
air. Nancy unfastened the clasp and leafed through to find four tenners. She
unzipped the card holder and rummaged through the top pouch. She found several
store cards and a passport sized photograph of Millie and Bernadette cheek to
cheek. Bernadette might have been Nancy’s age at the time and quite pretty in a
sappy sort of way. Bernadette had seized Millie in a garroting sort of embrace
that brought an inner repugnance.
Nancy’s
fingers found their way back to the tenners. Would Millie notice? Nancy
reckoned not, but at that moment, Nancy got the notion her hands had grown
large and grubby. If she took the tenner, Nancy could never be let into a
secret. The passport-sized photo prodded at her. They loved each other; it was
obvious. Nancy wanted to tear the photo up. Instead, she closed Millie’s purse
and left it on the bedside table without taking anything.
Nancy
made a quiet exit through the back door. Not knowing what else to do, she ambled
to the off-license at the top of Stafford Hill. Coke and crisps and change for
a twenty. No vodka, no gin. The man behind the counter, Nancy was certain,
would have refused to sell liquor to this minor.
Nancy
perched herself upon a bench eating crisps. Sitting outside had become a big
feature of her life – park benches, bus stations, whatever. Outside was
preferable to what home might have in store: one of Sheila’s boyfriends watching
the box, socked feet on the coffee table supping brown ale; Sheila holding one
of her Ann Summer parties and getting pissed, Sheila in hangover mode or Sheila
in a bipolar rage. ‘Where you goin’, Nance?’ ‘Out.’ Always ‘out.’
Nancy
glanced across and noticed a boy of about fifteen leaning against the shop
front. His skinny frame had yet to fill out his sweatshirt. His lanky features
didn’t come together too bad if not for his over-gelled hair. ‘Hi,’ he uttered.
Nancy
turned away.
‘Ain’t
seen you here before.’
Nancy
was used to this and felt no compunction in not answering. The coke-supper was
undeterred. From the corner of her eye, she watched him approach. ‘I already have a boyfriend,’ Nancy lied as he
roosted himself upon the arm beside her.
His
not-quite-broken voice quivered. ‘Well, that’s just gutted me!’
Thankfully
the dusk concealed her blush. ‘I’m only here for a couple of weeks anyway, so
just save it, won’t you?’
Another
quiver. ‘Stop it, you’re sending bubbles up me nose!’
‘Are
you always this rude to strangers?’
Gelled
Hair sensed her irony. ‘I dunno. I should take some lessons from you, Crisp Hoarder.’
Nancy
proffered the bag. He took one.
‘So
what’s your name?’
‘Nancy.’
‘That’s
a bit old fashioned, isn’t it?’
‘My
mum didn’t think so.’
‘I’m
just ribbing you. My name’s Mark. I always come here.’
‘Well,
that’s good to know.’
‘Always
pleased to serve.’
Nancy
grabbed another crisp as Mark swigged his coke. A green Smart Car turned a corner.
Nancy scrunched her crisp packet. The driver’s window framed Millie’s tall head.
Why did she insist upon that pageboy haircut? Nancy cast her sights onto the
littered slabs as the engine cut outside the shops.
‘It’s weird Mrs. Clements.’ Mark commented.
‘It’s weird Mrs. Clements.’ Mark commented.
