Good Bad Woman. Elizabeth Woodcraft
and felt the curves beneath her dress all the way down my body. She moved her arms up round my neck, sliding her hands into my hair, pulling my mouth closer into hers.
As we drew apart she smiled at me. She licked her lips. ‘I feel like a stranger in paradise,’ she said. ‘You’re a good kisser.’
‘It takes two to tango,’ I said.
‘I’ve always been fond of dancing,’ she murmured, and pulled my head down.
After five minutes or perhaps ten she looked at her watch. ‘Oh God, I’ve got to go back on.’
‘What time do you finish?’ I asked and then remembered my mother. ‘I’d like to see you after, go for a drink, invite you home with me, but my mother is staying. She came up to do Christmas shopping.’
‘Don’t talk to me about Christmas,’ she said. ‘It’s OK, I’d like to invite you home with me, but I can’t.’
‘Another time,’ we said together.
I took out my wallet and gave her my card, writing my home number on the back. I wrote her number on the reverse of another and slid it back into my wallet.
She walked slowly on to the stage for her last set. She sang ‘One Fine Day’ in her soft, husky voice of honeyed gold. And I thought that I certainly wanted her for my girl.
As the room erupted with whooping and cheering, Margo was gazing at the back of the room. I turned and saw Saskia.
And she did look remarkable. She was wearing my grey shirt, which looked stained and crumpled, and, I noticed with some concern, torn along one of the sleeves. Her hair was flat, which made her look subdued, crushed. The bruising on her face wasn’t so visible. But her expression as she stood staring into the room was bleak and desperate.
I stood up abruptly and pushed my chair back. I was torn between staying to applaud and smile at Margo and going to speak to Saskia. I patted my wallet which contained Margo’s phone number and turned towards the back of the club.
The crowd seemed to have swollen. Everyone was on their feet now, clapping and whistling, stamping their approval, pressing towards the stage. I pushed my way to the back, stepping on toes, knocking elbows, shouting, ‘Sorry, excuse me, sorry, sorry, excuse me.’ When I got to the back of the room, Saskia was gone.
I went through to the small lobby and out into the street. It was narrow and dark, lined with cars. There was no sign of her. I walked round to the side of the building and looked down the alley, which was lit by a solitary light, beaming over the fire doors that Margo and I had come out of an hour before. She wasn’t there. I walked back to the front of the club and stood looking round for two minutes.
Had she seen me? Had she come to see me? How would she know I would be there?
The door to the club banged open and people began to spill out on to the street. Lena came over to me. ‘What are you doing out here, sweetie? But more importantly, tell me about Margo. Shall I make my own way home, or can we journey together?’
‘I have no plans,’ I said. ‘Let’s find the car.’
At half past seven there was a tap on my bedroom door. ‘Cup of tea?’ my mum said brightly and came into the room.
I had been dreaming. I rarely dream of the people I want to but in this one I’d been dancing with Margo, moving slowly round to a sensual rhythm, holding her in my arms, feeling the softness of her body, smelling the sweet rose perfume and cigarette smoke in her hair.
I sat up crossly. ‘Mum, I didn’t get in till three o’clock.’
‘You said we had to get to Columbia Road early to miss the crowds.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t say the middle of the night.’
‘Ah, now, talking of the middle of the night, before I forget, about midnight a friend of yours rang. I can’t remember if she said her name. Ssss –’
‘Saskia?’
‘Mmmm, perhaps. I’m sure she told me, and I was going to write it down, but she said there was no message. I told her where you were anyway.’
‘And did you know where I was?’
‘I heard you talking on the phone to Lena. If you said “the Queen of Sheba” once, you must have said it ten times during the conversation. Did she find you?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘in a manner of speaking.’ I yawned. My throat was raw and my head was not happy. I didn’t know if that was the alcohol or the black eye. I tried to remember how much I had had to drink the night before. I’d had too much to drive and there had been the very scary experience of Lena driving us home, meandering slowly through the streets of the City. ‘I’m better when I’ve got my glasses on,’ she had said.
‘Drink your tea, it’s getting cold,’ my mother reminded me.
I sat up obediently.
‘Now there is something I wanted to talk to you about,’ she said, settling herself on the edge of my bed. I moved over to make room for her.
I waited.
‘Have you heard of Dr Henry?’
‘That name rings a bell,’ I said.
‘He said he’d ring you.’
‘Oh yes,’ I said, ‘he has rung me. I tried to ring him back. Is he a friend of yours?’
‘Well …’ My mother smiled coyly. ‘In a funny sort of way, I suppose he is. I met him at a drinks do at Audrey’s a month or so ago.’ Audrey was my mother’s oldest friend, from her schooldays. ‘I know in this day and age a woman ought to be able to simply ring a man and ask him to the theatre, but I’ve never felt happy doing that. So I found a sort of excuse.’
‘What do you mean? What kind of a doctor is he?’
‘He’s a surgeon, a plastic surgeon.’
‘So, what, you’ve been ringing him up asking about thigh reduction? I thought you were proud of your firm thighs. I thought it was the one thing I had to thank you for.’
‘Don’t be unnecessary, Frankie. No, it was a nose job, actually.’
‘You don’t need a nose job. You’ve got a really nice nose.’
‘Well, it wasn’t for me,’ she said slowly, looking at my face.
I started to laugh. My mother wanted me to have a nose job because she fancied the doctor.
‘It doesn’t have to be a nose job, I just thought you might like that,’ she said. ‘It could be collagen in your lips, that would be nice. Or possibly,’ she hesitated, ‘breast enhancement.’
‘For God’s sake, Mother.’
‘I’d pay.’
‘Mum, are you desperate or what? I can’t tell you how shocked I am. You are going to ring this man and tell him very clearly that I love my nose and all those body parts you mentioned, and I want none of them changed.’
‘I wonder if he does things with black eyes,’ she murmured.
‘Mother! I am very happy with my body and I don’t even want a sniff of a plastic surgeon in my life. If you want to go out with him, ask him, just ask him. Or at least have the decency to go under the surgeon’s knife yourself.’
‘He is very attractive,’ she said.
We drove silently to Columbia Road and I made her buy me bagels and coffee for breakfast.