My Fair Man. Jane Gordon
Jimmy finally emerged with a waffle towel wrapped round his waist.
There was about him, the two women suddenly realised, an extraordinary beauty. There were, of course, physical indications of the life he led. A series of tattoos covered various regions of his body – girls’ names entwined in hearts on both arms, a dagger in the centre of his chest and, across his back, a prowling tiger. And there were a number of vivid scars and bruises gained, Hattie guessed, during his time on the streets.
Hattie had noticed his eyes right from the start but the rest of his features had been obscured beneath grime and facial hair. With his dreadlocks shampooed and slicked back from his brow, and his chin clean-shaven it was as if one man had gone into the power shower and another had come out.
‘My God,’ whispered Claire breathlessly, her interest suddenly and dramatically aroused.
And if the beauty and sensitivity of his face was a surprise, exposed at last beneath the dirt and hair, his body was, well, a revelation.
Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that now he was holding himself upright – rather than crouching down as he had been when they had first seen him – and was no longer swaddled in the thick layers of filthy clothes that now lay, in a horrid heap, on the bathroom floor, destined only for the rubbish bin.
Hattie and Claire looked as blankly at him as he had looked at them when they had first disturbed him in his own mean quarters on the streets. As if it were now they who were inferior creatures, not him.
The silence was broken by a long laugh from Claire.
‘Hattie, do you remember what you said that night with Jon? You said that you believed that all men were born equal. Well, you were wrong and Jon was right. Some men are born more equal than others. But not Jon or Toby …’
Jimmy suddenly became self-conscious and crouched down again to reclaim his old clothes.
‘Oh, don’t put those back on,’ said Claire. ‘You can wear something of Toby’s, can’t he, Hattie?’
Hattie went upstairs and retrieved a white Paul Smith T-shirt, some Calvin Klein Y-fronts and a pair of Toby’s button-fly jeans, and handed them to Jimmy, who moved back into the bathroom to get dressed.
‘I really don’t think our task is going to be too difficult,’ said Claire confidently when Jimmy was out of earshot. ‘I mean, what was it the bet said: “make him a man of worth”? I think that most women would count him that after a simple bath. Just as long as he didn’t open his mouth to reveal those teeth.’
Hattie was quiet for a moment as she took in the flushed face of her friend. It would be just like Claire to mess this whole thing up by bringing sex into the equation.
‘I think you’ll find that we will need a great deal more than soap and water to help Jimmy achieve his potential,’ she said curtly.
‘Oh Hattie, don’t be so prim. In the right clothes, with the right props, with a few very cosmetic changes we could pull off this bet tomorrow. He’s bloody perfect,’ said Claire with a wistful smile.
‘But he is lost, Claire. Can’t you see that? I think he has had a very limited education and if he is to be more than a gigolo or a bloody rent boy he can’t just rely on his looks.’
At this point Jimmy came out of the bathroom dressed in Toby’s clothes. They were too small – Hattie hadn’t realised how tall he was – so that the jeans were far too short and the T-shirt was strained around Jimmy’s unexpectedly muscular body. But the effect, despite the tightness of the clothes (or perhaps because of the tightness of the clothes) was devastating.
‘We’ll have to take him shopping,’ said Claire in wonderment, ‘and he’ll need a good haircut and some radical dentistry …’
The two women continued to appraise him as they all made their way down to the kitchen, Claire making some mental notes on how she might – with her renowned taste and styling skills – effect a transformation.
‘We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll try and clear some space in my diary and make some appointments. I know this wonderful cosmetic dental surgeon just round the corner from Harrods. He’s done them all …’ she named a couple of celebrities, taking command in a way that slightly irritated Hattie.
‘That is, if Jimmy agrees to go along with all this,’ Hattie said, glancing across at Jimmy who was beginning to look more at ease – at home even – in her flat.
‘Will you help me with my research, Jimmy?’ she asked.
‘Aye, man, why not?’ he said as he opened the fridge and surveyed the contents. ‘Where d’ya keep the brown sauce?’
Hattie and Claire spent most of that Sunday afternoon making lists and notes on how Jimmy’s makeover would best be achieved. First of all he had to have somewhere to live. Hattie knew that his continued presence in her flat would agitate and alienate Toby – who had still not returned home – but she was unwillingly to allow Claire to take him back to her own cramped mews house. She wanted to be in control of what happened to Jimmy because she was a little suspicious of the motives of her friend, whose values were not always her own.
They agreed that if they were going to win Jon’s bet they would have to be prepared to invest some of their own money in the project. Hattie agreed to put up half the figure wagered – £2500 – to cover the initial costs of buying clothes and making the cosmetic changes Claire deemed necessary.
But to win the bet it wasn’t enough to have his hair cut, his teeth straightened and to buy him new clothes. If Jimmy were to fit in with Jon’s definition of ‘a man of worth’ he was going to have to be able to make some sort of living. And whilst Jimmy himself was eager to continue selling the Big Issue on his pitch near the Opera House – ‘so I can pay my way a bit, like’ – Hattie wanted more for him.
Rather more, in fact, than Claire, who was even now hooting with laughter as she tried to understand Jimmy’s Geordie idioms.
‘Haddaway, man?’ Claire said in mocking imitation of Jimmy’s pronunciation of his favourite phrase. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’
He was clearly shocked by her language. In fact, Hattie had already discovered, he never resorted to using the guttural expletives that commonly punctuated Claire’s conversation. The worst words in his albeit limited vocabulary were ‘shite’ and ‘bugger’.
There was, as Hattie had hoped and suspected, something rather dignified about the man Jon would dismiss as worthless.
‘“Haddaway, man”,’ said Hattie, ‘means “Get away with you” or “Would you ever?” Am I right Jimmy?’
He looked across at her gratefully. She had become an interpreter for him in this strange new world. For he found the language of these women totally incomprehensible. He was fascinated by Claire’s transatlantic accent – and rather disappointed to discover that it was Canadian – but she spoke so fast that he found it difficult to keep up with her words. In fact there was little about either of the women that Jimmy understood. The women in his own life – those in his vast dysfunctional family – were very different creatures and whilst he was at times mesmerised by the attention of two such attractive and confident females, he didn’t trust them.
He was sufficiently worldly, though, to realise that going along with Hattie’s research could be of benefit to him even if, along the way, he had to endure their mocking patronage. And if he had to choose one of them as his protector, then it would be Hattie, even if it meant staying in this odd place and accepting the disapproval and contempt of her man. So he agreed to their plans, and to staying on in her flat.
When Claire departed for home late that afternoon Hattie set about creating Jimmy his own area within the vast living space. Although their home was the height