Nomance (11 page)

Spring. Yes, another
one. And like every year before, Serena was in raptures as she made
her regular appearance at
Romance
.

‘Oh Carla,
the
blossom!
’

Carla just knew she had
come direct from a haircut that very morning, and this haircut,
much like the previous twelve months, had left her unchanged in
every way. Hence that ineffably self-satisfied smile. Serena’s
ineffably self-satisfied smile was something else about her which
had survived all-devouring time. Except . . .

Serena’s ineffably
self-satisfied smile congealed now and slid off her face, like half
a pound of jellied eels.

Carla was smiling back
at her!

‘Yes, it is a wonderful
day,’ Carla cried. ‘Absolutely stupendous. It’s the sort of day
when you’re just glad to be alive, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is,’ Serena
said, sounding like a vacuum cleaner powering down.

Carla had always
suspected that her own misery and hopelessness was one of the
constants of Serena’s life. Serena liked life to be constant, even
if it meant Carla had to die unhappy and alone. If Carla didn’t,
then Serena would have to rely on her fifty quid haircut and the
blossom in spring to bolster her illusion of immortality against
the onslaught of all-consuming time.

So, as Carla had
anticipated, Serena immediately went on the offensive. ‘Sounds to
me like someone’s in love,’ she trilled.

‘Well yes, man has
recently entered my life,’ Carla chirped back.

Serena’s frigid smile
widened. ‘Tall, dark and handsome no doubt.’

‘Well . . . is the Pope
a Catholic?’

Try as she might,
Serena could not interpret this as a negative reply. Instead, she
went with the spirit of the thing and laughed. Carla had never
heard Serena laugh before. ‘And does he have a good job, like the
Pope?’

‘Well, apart from being
tall, dark and handsome, he’s a partner in a law firm. He’s based
out in Houslow, as it happens.’ Carla could see Serena trying not
to swallow this, so she crammed a bit more down her scrawny neck.
‘His name is David, David Chudhury. Do you know him? I only ask
because he specialises in divorce.’

Serena glared at her.
This rare display of genuine emotion lasted less than a second
before Serena was smiling again. But nonetheless, Carla’s heart
leapt in triumph.

‘No, my lawyer is based
in New York,’ Serena said, like this was a crashing platitude. ‘I
often visit there, you see . . . But you didn’t meet David in New
York did you? Because that would be
such
a coincidence.’

‘No, we didn’t meet in
New York. It’s difficult for him to get away.’

Serena pounced. ‘Oh
dear, he’s not married is he?’

‘Yes he is,’ Carla
countered without hesitation, having prepared for this question
‘But they’re splitting up.’

‘Splitting up? Dear,
they all say that.’

‘His wife moved out
quite some time ago. It’s been almost two years now. Actually, it’s
a laugh – a scream, really, but she’s moved next door. So, you
could say a wall has risen up between them.’

Serena acknowledged the
joke with the fleeting ghost of a smile. ‘I’m very happy for you,
Carla dear, but I’d better hurry off now, I’m due in Knightsbridge
at twelve.’

‘Shame, I’ve got some
gorgeous irises in. They came yesterday.’

‘I do love irises, but,
what I want today is – ’ Here it came now and Carla readied herself
for it – Serena’s monthly comprehensive statement of what she
thought of Carla and her shop. The statement she had been making
for years. ‘A can of flyspray, please.’

‘
A can of
flyspray
?’ Carla sang. ‘Well, I do believe there’s a can with
your name on it around here somewhere. A reserve vintage, so to
speak.’ She chuckled to herself as she squatted down behind the
counter. ‘Lets see.’

Serena’s countenance
went cold at this insolence and she turned to one side to study a
row of miniature roses on a nearby shelf.

Carla started shifting
around the tin pots and pans she had put underneath the counter –
just to provide good sound effects. The clashing noise soon had
Serena’s temple throbbing. Oh, she was such a sensitive
creature!

All at once, Carla
stopped.

Serena turned.

Carla had positioned
herself so that her eyes alone appeared over the counter. Like a
hippo submerged in a muddy African river.

From this vantage she
could stare right up Serena’s nose.

It didn’t
look
like a dud.

‘Carla!’

‘Ready for a
surprise?’

‘I beg your
pardon?’

Carla reared up from
behind the counter and banged a can of flyspray down on top of it.
Serena gawped. Carla had sellotaped a slip of paper to the can, on
which she had written Serena’s name. And then, out of sheer
exuberance, she had drawn a few orbiting flies.

‘This is
Lily of the
Valley
, Serena. I tell you, it sells like hot cakes. My first
batch was ripped off the shelves in a week. I couldn’t believe it.
But anyway, I’ve kept a can back so that you can give it a
whirl.’

‘
Pine
Fresh
.’

‘Yes, yes, I know you
swear by
Pine Fresh
, but
Lily of the Valley
is the up
and coming thing. It’s got the full endorsement of my very best,
most discriminating customer – Rupert Nodes. He should know,
Serena. He’s an undertaker.’

Serena fixed her with
steely eyed determination. ‘
Pine Fresh
.’

Carla heaved a sigh.
‘Here you are then,’ She took a can of Pine Fresh from under the
counter without even having to bend down.

‘How much?’

‘Tell you what, this
can’s for free, in gratitude for all your many years of faithful
custom. But if I were you, I’d get used to
Lily of the
Valley
. See, I talk to Eric, the leading flyspray salesman in
West London, and the word is
Pine Fresh
has had its
day.’

Serena listened to
this, and then opened her purse, took out three pounds and placed
them on the counter. ‘Keep the change, Carla.’ She put the can of
pine fresh in her handbag, straightened its straps on her shoulder,
checked the lapels of her coat and was all set to go. Yet for
seconds and seconds and seconds nothing else happened. For some
reason Serena was still there. Carla gave her a quizzical look, at
which Serena’s eyes dropped down to the note with her name on it
attached to the can of
Lily of the Valley
.

‘You’re going to take
my name off that, aren’t you?’ Serena asked.

‘Yes, straightaway,’
Carla assured her, as if she were already in a flurry to get the
job done. Meanwhile, she didn’t move a muscle.

Serena didn’t move a
muscle either.

At last, Carla picked
the can up with some reluctance and said, ‘I’ll go get the
scissors.’ She began to edge away from the counter.

‘Goodbye then,’ Serena
said, hesitated, then turned and went to the door. But as she
opened it, she glanced back and caught Carla about to put the can
under the counter again. Carla shoved the can under one arm and
began to root around in an exaggerated fashion.

‘Scissors, scissors,
scissors,’ she yodelled, ‘where did you go to after I finished my
toenails?’ She stopped theatrically. ‘I know! Gwynne’s taken them
upstairs to cut his hair.’ She turned to Serena and grinned. ‘I’ll
just call him.’ But she stopped dead, her face alight with
inspiration. ‘Hey, Serena!’ She was excited now. ‘I’ve just
thought! Gwynne’s got pretty nifty at cutting his own hair now.
What do you say? He could give you a trim . . . and it’ll only cost
you a fiver too.’ Not waiting for Serena’s reply, she turned to the
door behind her and hollered into the house. ‘Gwynne!’

Serena fled.

Thirteen
:
Airgun Wedding

Manhattan glinted like
old silver in the winter sunshine.

Carla and David dawdled
to a stop on the sidewalk and David turned to her, his head framed
by
Macey’s
sparkling window display.

‘Well, Babe, I’ll see
you at
Treski’s
,’ he said with a knowing smile.

‘Don’t be late, I’ll be
starving by then.’ Snow flakes began to fill the air between the
tower blocks that sailed above them. Carla drew her fur coat more
tightly around her shoulders. Suddenly, wildly, madly, David was
holding her, his warm lips so very, very close to hers, and then .
. . the shattering slam of the front door shook the whole city to
its foundations.

She woke with a painful
start and found herself at home in bed.

As always, whenever she
woke at night, she seemed to catch
Romance
in the act of
sucking the life out of her, like a vampire. She lay there,
helpless, as her youth slipped away – nothing more than a fading
dream. She was locked in the grip of an utter hopelessness and she
almost cried out in her despair. As so often before.

Then she remembered –
David was real. A real dream man.

Damn, it was almost too
good to be true!

And not only was he a
real dream man -- he was fighting for her in court!

True, he was
supposed
to be Juliet lawyer,.because Juliet was contesting
Carla’s claim to the child. But
really
, and a bit secretly
too, he on
her
side. And Philip’s side too, because Philip
was his old friend. And apart from being dishy beyond words, David
was a fantastic lawyer. He assured her that he was extraordinarly
confident about losing Juliet’s case. And even if he hadn’t been a
fantatic lawyer, Carla could see for herself that Juliet had begun
to show all the signs of an incipient nervous breakdown, and the
way she ranted and raved in front of the judge wasn’t doing her any
favours.

Oh yes indeed, the
transformation of Juliet from a haughty metropolitan middle class
type – the very species who patronised
Romance
so
insufferably – into a hollow-eyed female loon was a memory Carla
would long cherish. But the real star of the show was, of course,
David himself. He was putting up a magnificent-looking fight for
her rights in the case. Such a contrast to Philip, who was actually
Juliet’s husband. Oh, it was sickening how he attended to her every
little need in court, putting on a show like he shared her pain and
whispering to her, ‘Strong, Jules, be strong.’

David could never be
such a two-faced shit to his wife. He didn’t pretend that he liked
her when he hated her really. No, he was unflinchingly cutting her
out of his life. That was a real man. He was a tower of strength
and she’d had no trouble pouring her heart out to him . . Well,
he’d asked her to, because the more he knew about her, he said, the
better he could tip-toe around any area in her life that was best
kept quiet about in court.

In return, he had
revealed his own past with devastating honesty.

He admitted that some
years before he had entered into an arranged marriage, simply to
please his aged mother. His parents were from the Punjab and were
very conservative. Well, as he should have foreseen, the marriage
to Angit hadn’t worked. Perhaps they should never have moved into
his mother’s house in Hounslow. Angit couldn’t tolerate his
mother’s overbearing manner. As a compromise, David had added an
annex to the house – a granny flat – so they could all have their
own space. But what happened was, after yet another dreadful
screaming match, Angit was the one who moved into the granny flat,
not his mother. David spotted his opportunity, and had the
connecting door walled up. From that day on, he took it as read
that Angit and he were separated. With a smile breaking out on his
sensitive, rakishly handsome face, he told Carla that in a couple
of months he could start divorce proceedings. Indeed, in telling
his story he seemed rather amused by everything that had happened
to his marriage.

Before she could stop
herself, Carla had asked whether there was anyone else in his life
now.

‘Maybe,’ he said in a
low voice that was full of dark, wondrous hints.

Carla had oscillated
between hope and despair ever since. Their meetings were bliss,
their partings hell. Carla was sure that, despite his brave front,
David had been so hurt he was afraid to show his real feelings. She
almost trembled in her bed now as she recalled her resolve to
declare her love soon. There wasn’t much time, the court
proceedings would be over by the end of the month. She would win
and Philip would pay up the money, as agreed. After that, she would
sell Romance and with the proceeds from the sale, and Philip’s
bribe, she would have enough capital to begin again.

To that end, she had
asked David to look over different franchise contracts and assess
them for her. He was going to give her his report tomorrow. Perhaps
that would be her best opportunity – or maybe she was being too
hasty. And yet, after the court case, every connection between them
would be severed.

Oh, the notion was
crushing. No! She had to tell him what she felt today . . .

Just then, a muffled
bump from downstairs interrupted her tremulous meditations.

Carla strained her
ears. She caught something like a voice, and then another. Half
fearful and half eager, she slipped out of bed and picked up the
extra-powerful air rifle – one of Gwynne’s – which she kept propped
against the dressing table – and, having loaded this and pumped it
up to maximum strength, she left the room and crept downstairs in
the dark.

Light was shining from
under the kitchen door at the end of the hallway. She could hear
two voices now and although she recognised the more stupid-sounding
one as Gwynne’s, she nevertheless stalked up to the door like she
was going to burst through and kill someone.