Woman of the Hour (27 page)

‘How hot is your vindaloo?’ Gerry asked him.

‘You like hot food?’

‘Oh yes!’

‘You have to work up to a vindaloo. Maybe a bhuna or a jalfrezi?’

‘How hot is the jalfrezi?’

‘You’ll find it hot, it has chillies in it.’

‘OK, I’ll have the chicken jalfrezi, thank you.’

We ordered a plate of starters to share and I selected two vegetarian dishes as my main.

‘Do you mind if we swerve the poppadums and naans, Liz? If they’re on the table I know I’ll eat them.’

‘Fine by me.’

The starters arrived and we both reached for the onion bhajis.

‘I loved the film but I found the rape scene difficult to watch. I mean, I know sexual dynamics were different then but even so,’ I said.

‘It was controversial even then and Hitchcock was urged to drop it, but he was determined to keep it in.’

‘I suppose a strong authoritative man who rescued a woman from her demons was seen as thrilling?’ I said.

‘He always called the film a Sex Mystery. I read a review written at the time and it described that scene as him “asserting his conjugal rights”.’

‘What a dreadful concept,’ I said.

I’ve sometimes wondered if we could do a film slot with Gerry. He knows so much about cinema and I for one would find it far more interesting than his astrology. I think we watch Gerry more for his attractive personality and his funny asides with Fizzy than for what he says in his forecasts. The waiter brought our main courses. Gerry’s jalfrezi was a hot shade of terracotta red. He looked at it with satisfaction as he tucked a napkin under his chin and asked for a second gin and tonic for us both.

‘Strange thing Amber said to me on Wednesday,’ he said.

I was spooning mattar paneer onto my plate.

‘She hinted that Julius was having difficulty getting it up.’

‘What?’

‘She said there were definite problems in that area, not at the beginning but towards the end of their relationship.’

‘Don’t you think that’s disloyal of her to tell you? Even if it’s true...’

‘But the poor love feels she’s been abandoned by him. She says she wasted three good years on him.’

‘I don’t buy in to that.’

‘Into what?’

‘The idea that you waste time on a relationship,’ I said.

Gerry’s face was starting to glisten with sweat from the hot food. He dabbed at his cheeks and forehead with his napkin.

‘I think I agree with you. However painful it was I wouldn’t wish away my time with Anwar.’

‘Is that good?’

I pointed at his plate.

‘Fiendishly hot and wonderful,’ he said.

It was late when we parted and I got the Tube home. It had been a good evening and I was tempted to get a taxi but there was a direct line from Waterloo to Chalk Farm and I couldn’t justify the expense. The woman sitting opposite me looked grey and exhausted, bundled up in a Puffa coat and wearing stained trainers. I wondered if she was a shift worker on her way home from her labours. Her lids closed and she fell asleep, her head hunched into her coat. I watched her uneasy sleep and it reminded me how privileged I was to have a prestigious well-paid job. We rattled along. Julius would hate that Amber had confided in Gerry, and even more that I had heard the gossip. It had been disloyal of her to share that but now it was colouring my thinking about him, Julius having sexual difficulties. I had assumed he was highly sexed, all part of his lust for power. At Leicester Square a group of young men crowded into the central section of our carriage. They were drunk and shouting some kind of anthem. The weary woman woke up with a start and looked over at the young men with hatred. They were oblivious to her glare. She was invisible to them.

Chalk Farm flat, 1.30 a.m.

I was deeply asleep and my landline had been ringing for a while before I surfaced. I staggered out of bed and grabbed the phone in the living room. It was Flo and she was crying.

‘Mum...’

Her frightened voice jolted me awake.

‘Darling, what is it?’

‘I’m at University College Hospital...’

‘Hospital? Oh my God, you’re hurt!’ Terror surged through me and it felt as if my heart was going to burst. ‘Oh Christ, what happened to you?’

‘Not me. I’m OK, Mum.’

‘You’re OK, what’s happened?’

‘Harriet’s hurt.’

‘Harriet? I don’t understand.’

‘Please don’t be angry.’

‘I won’t be angry. Tell me, darling.’

‘I was at the Cat and Mouse with Paige and this horrible man was leching at me and Harriet came up and...’ She started to cry harder. ‘He punched her, Mum.’

‘What!’

‘He punched her in the face and she fell and she banged her head and it’s all my fault.’ She was crying so hard now that she couldn’t speak.

I was trying to understand what she was telling me but it was so confusing, so unreal.

‘Is Harriet OK?’

‘The ambulance came. I went in the ambulance with her.’

‘Is she OK?’

‘I don’t know. We’re in A & E. Mum, please come!’

‘I’m coming, darling, I’m coming now.’

I called a taxi, flung on my clothes and was waiting on the pavement as it drew up. Time stretches out when you need to get somewhere and I was willing the driver to go faster, go faster, to run the lights. There was less traffic on the roads at that time and it’s not far from Chalk Farm to the hospital on Euston Road but that journey was an agony of time to endure. I ran through the doors into A & E and saw Flo sitting hunched on a chair watching the entrance doors, her little face a picture of dread. She flew into my arms. She finally surfaced from the longest hug.

‘Sorry I lied.’

‘Shhh now. You’re sure you’re not hurt?’

‘I’m fine, now you’re here.’

I hugged her close again.

‘Where’s Harriet?’

‘They took her to the cubicles. Her mum arrived right after I called you.’

‘Is she conscious?’

‘I think so.’

It came out piece by piece. She hadn’t been with Rosie. She’d gone to the Cat and Mouse with Paige. They hadn’t arrived till ten p.m. and their names were on the door. They’d watched the band and it was crowded, hot and noisy. Paige had been dancing with a boy and Flo went to the bar to get water for them both. A drunk sleazeball old enough to be her father had homed in on her. Harriet had suddenly appeared and stood between Flo and the man. She’d said something to the man and he’d told her to get out of his way and when she answered back he had swung at her and hit her face. Harriet banged her head on a table as she went down. Then drinks had gone flying and tables had been overturned. Flo was kneeling by Harriet and she was out cold. Paige had disappeared when the trouble broke out. An ambulance had come to the venue. Flo had sat in the back of the ambulance with Harriet. The paramedics had been kind to her.

Flo’s face was smeared and her clothes smelled of beer and cigarette smoke. She was wearing her black miniskirt but I didn’t recognise the top which was made of shiny black material with a skull on the front. She had no jacket with her.

‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

I felt no anger at all. I was filled with an overwhelming need to protect my girl and the deepest gratitude towards Harriet.

‘Come on. We’ll go and see what’s going on,’ I said.

Harriet was in one of the A & E cubicles and a woman was sitting on the side of her bed talking to a nurse. It had to be her mother – I heard her say: ‘We’d like to get her moved into a private room as soon as possible.’

Harriet’s eyes were closed. She opened them and she saw us. I had my arm around Flo’s shoulders as I needed to keep her close to my body.

‘Hello,’ she whispered.

I was scanning her face and could see a large bruise forming on her right cheek. She closed her eyes again but she was conscious, thank God she was conscious. I leaned over her bed.

‘Thank you, Harriet,’ I said.

Her eyelids flickered.

‘I’m Sophie Dodd, Harriet’s mother.’

I pulled my eyes away from Harriet’s face. I was looking at an older, more sophisticated version of Harriet, a woman with the same hooded eyelids as her daughter, but hers made her look patrician rather than sleepy.

‘Liz Lyon. Flo told me what happened. I’m so shocked, so grateful to Harriet.’ I was finding it hard to control my voice.

‘The doctor said she’s going to be OK. We’ve asked them to keep her in for a couple of nights to check for concussion or any after-effects,’ her mother said.

‘She was trying to help Flo. She did help Flo. She’s so brave and I... I can’t thank her enough.’

We said goodbye to Harriet who was drifting in and out of sleep and barely aware we were there. As we left, Sophie Dodd followed us out into the waiting area.

‘I wanted to thank
you
. Harriet’s had a tough time settling into work. She’s trying to make something of her job now and she said you’ve been very supportive.’

There was little she could have said to make me feel worse.

Chalk Farm flat, 3.15 a.m.

Finally we were back in the flat.

‘Can I sleep in your bed tonight, Mum?’ Flo said.

‘Course you can.’

She used to sleep in my bed all the time when she was little and scared of the dark. As she was getting undressed I noticed that she was wearing my best red satin bra under her top. She slipped it off and pulled on the T-shirt I handed her with a wary glance at me. Under normal circumstances this would have angered me, the idea that nothing I owned was off limits and that she felt she could help herself. I said nothing, it could not have mattered less. We got into bed and I held her close to me and her hair was sticky.

Chalk Farm flat, Saturday

We slept till lunchtime. I ran a bath for Flo with my best bath oil, she slid into the water and I left her to have a good soak. I wondered if I should call mum but she made a comment last year which still rankles with me. She had stayed with us for the weekend to prepare me for her plan to volunteer with the Voluntary Service Overseas once she retired. She had been to a workshop at VSO and they welcomed volunteers in their sixties she said. There was much work to be done in Africa and the projects that interested her ran for two years. She was sorry this meant she would see less of me and Flo if she did sign up but VSO paid for one visit back home a year. I knew she would go and I was fed up. I pointed out how little time she currently spent with Flo.

And that was when she said: ‘This isn’t about me, or
me
finding more time for Flo. You’re a good mother to your team at work but you need to put Flo first. Before you know it she’ll be all grown up and you’ll regret the lost years.’

I’d argued with her saying how else could I give Flo a good home if I didn’t work full time? But Mum was right. The hours at StoryWorld were so long and the demands so insistent.

I made us eggy bread with maple syrup. Afterwards we sat on the sofa and Flo put her feet on my lap. She plugged her earphones into her tablet and settled down to watch her favourite series. I stroked her feet. Last night had thrown things into sharp relief for me. Creating a good home for Flo and keeping her safe is what gives a purpose to my life. When I was her age there had been one girl at my school who had anorexia. She would bring a single orange in to school to eat at lunchtime and we watched as her head got larger in relation to her shrinking frame. Then she left the school and we never saw her again. But she was the exception. I had seen recent reports in the news that there was now an epidemic of eating disorders and self-harming among girls of Flo’s age. How much did I know about what my daughter was thinking and feeling? Flo has long thin feet like her dad. Should I ring Ben and tell him what had happened? She took her earphones out.

‘Paige ran away and she hasn’t even texted to see if I’m OK.’

‘True friends don’t do that,’ I said.

She chewed on her thumbnail.

‘Darling, I’d prefer it if in future you invite Paige here if you want to see her. I’d rather you didn’t go over to her house.’

‘You don’t like her, do you?’

When I thought about Paige I could feel my face hardening and my bile rising.

‘I hate it that she ran away when you were in trouble. Thank goodness Harriet was there to help you.’

‘Please don’t tell Dad.’

I gave her feet a squeeze.

‘Or Janis,’ she said.

‘I think you should tell Janis but I won’t tell Dad.’

‘Why do I need to tell Janis?’

‘Because it’s her job to be here when I can’t be and I think she needs to know what’s going on.’

*

We visited Harriet that evening. She had been moved to a private room on a different wing. She was sitting up in bed and the bruise on her cheek was darker. She was pleased to see us and pushed her hair away from her face and winced as she touched her cheek.

‘Does your cheek hurt a lot?’

‘It is sore.’

Flo had noticed the big TV on the wall.

‘Does it have Netflix?’

‘Yes, but I can’t stay awake long enough to watch anything. I wish I could come back to work on Monday but Mum is insisting we go to the country for a couple of days. I’ll take it as leave.’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ I said.

‘I want to. I don’t want to keep being off sick.’

She turned to Flo. ‘I’m dying for something to read. Does the shop downstairs have any magazines?’

‘Yes, lots.’

‘Can you get me a
Grazia
and a
Hello!
?’

She fumbled for her bag in the drawer by the bed.

‘This is my treat,’ I said, handing Flo a tenner.

We watched Flo walk out of the room.

‘I hope the police find the thug who came on to Flo and did that to you,’ I said.

‘I won’t hold my breath.’

‘How old was he?’

‘In his forties, maybe, and he was a fucking pleb!’

I had never heard Harriet swear before.

‘Thank you so much for helping Flo.’

‘I saw her by the bar and I could see she was in trouble. She couldn’t handle him.’

I shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if Harriet hadn’t intervened.