My Fair Man. Jane Gordon
way in which her sister – and of course her mother – haunted her life and made her feel, at least in situations like this, wanting.
Curiously it was Jon who rescued her.
‘Bella has always reminded me of those Persian cats that used to feature in carpet ads. A woman whose lush beauty – vast eyes, wide, full mouth and big hair – distracts the viewer from what lies beneath: a skinny, spoilt creature of very little brain.’
Hattie, rather pleased by Jon’s unusually perceptive description of her sister, began to clear the table in preparation for the entrance of the main course. All in all, she decided when Toby smiled at her, things were going quite well.
Mamie Charter even complimented Hattie on the food, and although such dishonesty was foreign to her she smiled modestly as if in acknowledgement of her culinary skills. Clearly Mamie’s husband, who had taken centre stage at the dinner and was relating a series of elaborate stories to an enraptured (if somewhat obsequious) audience, was enjoying himself enormously. Leaning back in the Bauhaus chair, puffing on a Monte Cristo No. 4, and laughing uproariously at his own punch line – which totally baffled Hattie but reduced the rest of the table to helpless merriment – he declared it a great evening.
It was at that point, as Hattie was beginning to anticipate the departure of her guests and relishing the thought of finally kicking off her horrid high heels, that the doorbell went.
‘It’s probably Tompkins,’ said Mamie nervously to her husband.
‘Didn’t you tell him to just wait in the car?’ said her husband, an edge of savagery entering his voice as he addressed his wife.
‘I must have forgotten,’ she said meekly.
‘Well, let him bloody well wait,’ said Tom before beginning on another of his long anecdotes.
The bell rang again and Hattie got up, despite Tom and Mamie’s protestations. She made her way to the door secretly rather relieved by the interruption.
It was dark in the hallway outside the apartment door. Despite the fact that this was one of the most exclusive developments in west London, the communal areas were badly lit. At first Hattie couldn’t make out the shape of the man who stood nervously before her, although she realised at once that it could not possibly be the Charters’ poor oppressed chauffeur. Opening the door wider to let the brilliant halogen lighting from her apartment flood the hallway she gasped with a mixture of delight and shock when she finally recognised the late night caller who was standing hunched before her.
‘Jimmy!’
He didn’t move for a moment and when he did pull himself up it was clear that there was something wrong. He was hurt or ill.
‘What’s wrong, Jimmy?’ she said.
‘Help me, hinny,’ he said in an unsteady voice that indicated he was in some pain.
She moved towards him and supported him as he made his way into the flat, completely forgetting the guests who were straining to see what the commotion was all about.
‘What is it, Hattie?’ said Toby in alarm.
‘It’s Jimmy,’ said Hattie, ‘and he’s hurt. Help me, someone …’
Claire rushed forward and the two young women led him over to the pure white sofa in the corner of the living area.
Tom and Mamie Charter looked on in horror as Hattie made her way past them, her beautiful Dolce and Gabbana cream dress covered in the blood of a grubby and dishevelled stranger. Trailing behind them, and whimpering pathetically, stood a thin, nervous mongrel on the end of a length of blue rope.
‘Another eccentric relative?’ enquired Tom as he stood up to leave.
As if on cue the rest of the guests scraped back their chairs and, offering the odd furtive glance in Jimmy’s direction, made their excuses. Within minutes they had all gone, ushered out by an effusively apologetic Toby.
It was Jon who attempted to calm a furious Toby on his return from helping Tom and Mamie into their chauffeur-driven Bentley. And it was Jon who drove Hattie, Claire and Jimmy to the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital and helped to carry him into Accident and Emergency – although it pained him almost as much as Jimmy to do so.
Even at this hour and in this place they made a curious bunch, he thought, as he noticed their reflection in the plate-glass automatic doors. The tall, good-looking sophisticated man accompanied by the two young women in the bloodstained designer clothes, carrying between them the dishevelled, wounded homeless boy.
The woman behind the reception desk eyed them all sceptically.
‘Name and address?’ she commanded.
Jimmy grunted uncomprehendingly.
‘No fixed abode,’ said Jon pointedly as they stood waiting for the woman to fill in the necessary forms.
‘Well, where did you find him?’ she asked, glancing at Jimmy with evident distaste.
‘He came to my—’ Hattie began but Jon quickly intervened.
‘We just saw him lying by the road,’ he said hastily.
‘Good Samaritans,’ said the receptionist cynically to Jon before turning her attention back to Jimmy. ‘Social security number?’
‘Why are you so obsessed with names, numbers and roll calls? This man needs to see a doctor urgently,’ said Claire angrily.
‘So does everyone else here. He’ll have to wait,’ the woman replied dismissively.
They sat down on the mesh metal chairs and waited, aware that even amongst the motley collection of people gathered here – many of whom seemed to be drunk or drugged or mentally challenged in some way – Jimmy was an unwelcome outsider. The ranks of waiting patients moved apart in disgust in order to let them have more space.
‘We should have given my address,’ said Hattie anxiously as they waited.
‘I don’t think that would be a very good idea. Although I have to say I think he might have been seen sooner if he had a fixed abode,’ said Jon.
‘Well, he’ll have to come home with me after they’ve seen to him,’ said Hattie nervously.
‘You can’t be serious,’ Jon began.
‘Of course I’m serious. He can hardly go back on the street in this state. And you know they don’t keep you in hospital nowadays unless it’s terminal. Where else can he go?’
‘Some sort of hostel, Hattie. You can’t possibly take him back to your flat. Toby would go mad.’
‘Well, he can’t come back with me,’ said Claire quickly.
It became clear in the next couple of hours that Jimmy was very low down on the casualty department’s priority list. A nurse did come over and attempt to take some more details but it was obvious from the expression on her face – somewhere between exasperation and contempt – that since Jimmy’s injuries were not life-threatening he would just have to wait. Gradually the chairs began to empty as one after another the people were taken away for treatment.
It was gone four in the morning before the nurse returned with her clipboard and took Jimmy away to a curtained cubicle within the treatment area.
‘I think we should go now, Hattie,’ said Jon.
‘I can’t just leave him here, Jon.’
‘Of course you can.’
‘Can’t you imagine how awful it would be to find yourself in Jimmy’s position? No home, no life, no job, no family. And no compassion from your fellow human beings.’
‘But