Beneath the Blonde (16 page)

“Close. I’m taking Blair to Prague because the guy I’ve been life modelling for has this cousin with a travel agency …”

“Of course he does.”

Carrie ignored Saz’s sarcasm and continued, “And if I do six more free sittings for his class, that’s the rest of this term, he’ll get me a deal on three nights in Prague, central city hotel, flights, B&B, all for one hundred and fifty quid.”

“Each?”

“Both. It’s a bloody good deal. And I’ve already borrowed the fifty from Blair …”

“For her own surprise?”

“She thinks it’s for the rent.”

“Not such a bad idea.”

“I know you’re a very patient landlady, Saz. So if I come out with you today …”

“And I pay you a hundred quid.”

“Cash. Then we’ll all be happy, won’t we?”

Saz wasn’t altogether certain that Carrie’s services were quite worth one hundred; she’d been thinking more along the lines of fifty herself, but Carrie had been very helpful to her in the past and even though the rent was always late, it did come eventually—usually with a bunch of flowers or a good book. More often than not those flowers were stolen from the park down the road or the book was shoplifted, but they were gifts all the same.

Saz and Carrie headed down Charing Cross Road, chatting up street people as they went. Carrie was much better at it than Saz. For a start, she was just a far better liar. Depending on who they were talking to, she put on a variety of accents from London posh to Midwest American and told people they were looking for the Geordie girl for a selection of reasons from being a sister, cousin, aunt, to believing she might have bought a winning lottery ticket from their shop in Tottenham Court Road and finally, in desperation, claiming that they had a reward for the girl who had fought off a bunch of muggers when Carrie was getting out of a taxi in Russell Square the night before.

Words weren’t necessary, however, when Carrie and Saz entered the gardens by the Embankment. Sitting on a damp bench underneath a tree of soggy brown leaves was the boy who’d created the lump on the back of Saz’s head with his well-aimed lager can and lying along the bench, her head in his lap, was a small thin girl with cropped bright red hair,
ripped jeans, extremely old trainers—very likely the object of their search. Saz was just whispering to Carrie about the pair when the young guy looked up. He had obviously not grown any more trusting in the past twenty-four hours and within seconds he was on his feet. Whatever he thought Saz and Carrie were after, he evidently guessed it involved both himself and his girlfriend as he tugged her up and tried to pull her along behind him. Despite his efforts, however, the cheap alcohol or drug combination that had probably got her through the night before meant that her reactions were nowhere near as fast as his and, after calling her name, shaking her several times and slapping her once, he gave up and she flopped back down on the bench. He took off away from Saz and Carrie down towards Waterloo Bridge. Carrie, who’d turned red when she saw him slap the girl, had started to follow him, fury rising in her fists but Saz held her back.

“Don’t, Carrie. He was just looking out for her.”

“By smacking her around the face?”

“Wake her up, get her away from scary old us.”

“Have you forgotten how you got that bump on your head?”

“No. But he was trying to protect her then too. He obviously thinks I’m out to hurt her.”

“You’re not the one punching her in the face. Or the one who’s just run away.”

Saz shook her head. “Neither’s he. Don’t look, but he’s still there, about a hundred yards up. On the left.”

“So let’s try and get something out of this chick before he comes back with a six pack ready for bowling practice.”

Getting sense out of the thin girl, breath strong with alcohol and eyes glazed with substances somewhat stronger, took a while. Carrie managed to get her sitting up and then despatched Saz to the McDonalds on the Strand for “a couple of burgers—sane fish ones if possible”, two apple
pies and a full sugar strength Coke, in the hope that charging up her blood sugar level might also charge up a few brain cells. The girl revived enough at the smell of food to open her eyes fully, run grubby hands down her over-large jumper by way of a wash and wolf down the burgers one after the other without a pause. She drank the whole container of Coke and then burnt her mouth on the first of the apple pies. All before she’d said thank you. Which she did, after wiping her mouth very politely on the tiny paper napkin and speaking, to Saz’s surprise, with only the faintest trace of a Newcastle accent. The girl sneered when she saw Saz’s puzzled look at Carrie over her head.

“Don’t panic. I know you’re looking for me. Some of them call me Geordie but my name’s Linda, if you care to use it.” She laughed at Saz, “Not every bloody Geordie talks like they do on the telly. I talk how I want when it suits me. When it’ll get me a quick fiver. Or not. Pie?” She held her hand out for the second apple pie, cooler and safer to the lips now, “You want to know about that mad flower woman, right?”

“Yes. Please.”

Biting into the pie, warm apple goo dripping on to her fingers, the girl nodded. “Yeah, well, let’s make it quick. I’ve got a very busy afternoon.”

Saz quickly kicked Carrie before she could annoy the girl by asking just what she might be busy doing.

Linda continued, “And it’ll cost you.”

Saz reached for her wallet. “How much?”

The girl shook her head, “Not money. I don’t need your bloody money.”

She stood up and shouted down to the end of the park, “Tim! Tim!”, and the dark figure of the boy started to run towards them, head down and both fists clenched, ready to throw himself into whatever violent action was needed. Linda walked towards his flying figure, one hand out,
oblivious of the scattered food cartons she was trailing in her wake. When he got to her, she grabbed his shoulders with both hands, pulled him round and whispered fiercely into his face. After a few interjections he finally nodded and then went to sit on the neighbouring bench, fifteen feet away, never taking his eyes off Linda. She came back and sat between Saz and Carrie, wiping the last crumbs from her mouth.

“Ok. I want those.” She pointed to Carrie’s pink platform trainers. “And Tim, wants this.” She tugged on the sleeve of Saz’s pillar-box red suede jacket.

Saz stood up and shook her head. “No way, kid, I’m sorry. In the first place, the most I was going to offer you would have been maybe fifty quid. Now, as my friend’s shoes are probably worth about thirty—”

“Fifteen on sale, actually.” Carrie interrupted.

“All right, fifteen on sale. But this jacket cost far more than that and, seeing as it was a present from my sister, would also cost me my most valuable family relationship to give it up. And even if I was prepared to make that sacrifice, I certainly wouldn’t be giving it to your vicious bloody boyfriend, given the fact that I’ve still got a hell of a lump from when he smacked me in the head with a can of lager yesterday afternoon.”

The girl looked up at Saz and shrugged. “He’s my mate. He was looking out for me. But ok. Your friend can keep the shoes and I’ll just take the jacket.”

“Seventy quid, and we all keep our own clothes.”

“Keep your fucking money, I want the bloody jacket.”

The wind had picked up, bringing with it a spattering of yesterday’s unseasonal sleety rain and Carrie, turning up the collar of her own fake zebra skin coat, hissed in Saz’s ear, “For God’s sake, Saz, give her the bloody jacket. It’s fucking freezing, the poor bitch has got hardly any clothes on and it’s not even winter yet. And Cassie’s never going to know.”

Saz looked from Carrie’s angry face to the pinched, thin little thing trying not to look as if she was shivering as she sat on the bench. And then Saz reluctantly handed over her jacket. The sharp spits of rain pierced Saz’s thin cotton jumper, chilling her in five seconds flat, and she demanded that Carrie sit close beside her on the bench to keep her warm.

The girl nodded in approval, running her small, scratched hands over the red-dyed animal skin. “This is bloody nice though. I’d not be happy to lose it either.”

She hugged herself into the jacket and turned to face Saz. “Ok. Let’s be quick about it, Tim and me have a full agenda today. Your woman, right? What do you want her for?”

“The recipient of the flowers doesn’t like roses.”

“Fair enough. Ok, I don’t know her name but she’s been coming down here, down to Soho Square and a few other places on and off most of the summer.”

“What time of day?”

“Well, if she’s got a job, it isn’t in an office.”

“Not the right sort of clothes?” Carrie asked.

Linda looked pityingly at Carrie. “When was the last time you had an office job? They wear what they like these days. No, it’s the hours she keeps. Doesn’t just pop into the square for forty-five minutes at lunchtime.”

Saz thought she’d better move things on before Linda annoyed Carrie any more, “When did you first meet her?”

“Three months ago must have been, it was hot then. She comes up to me, big bunch of flowers and seventy quid in her hand. Offers me the twenty to take the flowers and give the fifty to the cab man. He’s the one who told you to find me, yeah?”

Saz nodded and Linda continued. “Ok, so I take the flowers, give him the cash and me and Tim get to go to the pictures that afternoon. Popcorn, hotdog, the lot. Just like the tourists. Easy. Then a couple more times the same
thing. Twenty quid for me, fifty for the bike and a big bunch of yellow roses. One time I didn’t bother handing over the roses though. Tim and me went and stopped at this B&B in Kennington for a couple of nights. It was brilliant—we watched TV in bed for three days, had big fry-up breakfasts and then just used up all those little tea and coffee sachets in the daytime. Don’t know why they complain about living in B&Bs, those families.”

Saz frowned, “Yeah, well, maybe it’s different when you’ve got four kids in the same room with you. Anything else? That’s not a huge amount of info for a bloody good jacket.”

“That’s all I know. We don’t exactly go for a drink and a chat. She offers the money, I take it.”

“She didn’t say anything else?”

“Listen, I wasn’t doing it because I needed a new friend.”

“When did you last see her?”

“Last week, maybe the week before. Not so much since it’s turned cold. They go back indoors in the cold.”

“They?”

“Yeah, daytime homeless. Part-timers. Nutters, Tim reckons. Got homes of their own but don’t like being in them. So they stay out long as it’s warm. Makes them feel they know people, you know, got friends.”

“Did she ever say anything about who the flowers were for?”

“That singer, right?”

“Yes.”

“I told you. Just here’s your money and here’s the cab money and here’s the flowers. The basics. Nothing else.”

“No reason?”

“What, like happy birthday or something?” Linda shook her head, “It’d be a hell of a lot of birthdays, wouldn’t it? She told me about the flowers though. Gets them from all over.”

“Steals them?”

“Nah. Bought they are. Like ten from one place and another ten from another place. Buys them all up separate, then gets them put into a bouquet at some other flower shop.”

“You don’t know where?”

Linda shook her head. “Look, she gave me the money, I took it. I didn’t ask where she buys the bloody flowers from. I don’t care.”

“Any idea why she chose you?”

“’Cos I’m so fucking cute?”

Saz elicited as detailed a physical description as Linda could manage, pretty much tying in with Ben’s. Though where Ben had assumed late twenties, early thirties, Linda just damned Saz with, “Kind of middle-aged. Like you, I reckon. Your age.”

But she concurred with Ben’s description of a tall slim woman, faded freckled skin contrasting with her dark hair. The description complete, Saz handed Linda twenty pounds anyway and her mobile number. The wind had turned and was driving the spitting rain into their faces along with the sour smell of train brakes from Hungerford Bridge. Linda took the money and called Tim over who came trotting up like a well-behaved puppy. They ran out of the gardens together, hand in hand like little children. Saz remarked to Carrie as they paced themselves against the wind back up to Soho, that was probably because they still were little children.

Back in Old Compton Street, Saz asked Carrie to keep an eye on Linda, maybe visit her sometime in the next week and see if she had remembered anything more about the woman, ask if she’d seen her at all in the intervening period. She handed her mobile over, telling Carrie that both Ben and Linda had the number and that it was therefore to be
used for incoming calls only. Carrie agreed, kissed her goodbye as they left American Retro and had already started dialling Blair before she hit Charing Cross Road. Saz met Molly long enough to pick up her bag from her, drink two very strong espressos and share a piece of sticky chocolate and carrot cake and several long and equally sticky goodbye kisses. Then leaving Molly, she shouldered her bag to walk down to Leicester Square tube. She was just trying to get herself and the bag through the unaccommodating ticket barrier when a familiar loud laugh made her turn. It was Linda and Tim, arms around each other, jumping over the barrier, and past the two overweight and under-motivated guards. Linda looked elated but still cold and thin in her big holey jumper, Tim looked fantastic in Saz’s red suede jacket.

Once, when Gaelene was fourteen, she came back to the area with her parents for the May holidays. It was cold already, the wind saline sharp off the sea, slamming the car doors for them as they got out. After tea and chat Gaelene left her parents talking to the friends who had moved into their house and wandered outside in her old front garden, walked down the wide, even streets, turning corners without thinking until, just a short distance later (though it had once been a long walk for the thin legs of a six-year-old) she was standing outside Shona’s house. At the back door she just managed to stop herself from walking right in, unannounced, no informing knock, just like in the old days. Shona’s mother let her in with a smile and a hug. Remarried and remothered, she was playing housewife for the day, and a plate of hot fresh scones were sitting on the table waiting for Shona to come back from her Saturday job at the dairy. In fact, Shona’s mum said, Shona was already half an hour late. Maybe Gaelene should just pop down to the dairy to find her?