‘That’s very kind of you, thanks.’
‘I’d have sent an invitation for two if I’d known you were coming on your own. You could have brought someone with you.’
‘There’s no one I could have brought. I thought . . .’ She paused and said no more.
‘Thought what, luv?’
‘Nothing.’ There were tears in the girl’s eyes.
Alice realised that she’d thought she’d be coming with Cormac. The poor thing was almost certainly in love with him – he chose to dance past at that moment with Andrea in his arms, clearly more impressed with beauty than brains, stupid lad. ‘Would you mind helping me make everyone a cup of tea, luv?’
Vicky jumped to her feet with alacrity, obviously glad to be rescued from her lonely chair.
In the kitchen, Cora was finishing washing a mountain of dishes. ‘I’ve just put that urn thing on to make a cup of tea,’ she said when she saw Alice.
‘Thanks, Cora. I was about to do the same thing
meself. I think I’ll use them cardboard cups, save more washing.’ Alice and Vicky began to spread the cups into rows.
‘I’ve sent Billy out to buy some sugar ’case we run short.’
Cora looked very smart in a tweed costume with a white jumper underneath. Her hair had been set that morning in the Stanley Road Lacey’s. That shoplifting incident, dreadful though it was at the time, had done her the world of good, brought her to her senses. She was much more friendly nowadays, almost human.
‘I was wondering,’ Cora said, ‘if you’ll be leaving the carpets behind when you move. We’ve carpets of our own, naturally,’ she added hurriedly, ‘all fitted, but it seems daft to take them up and cut them down.’
‘I’m leaving all the fixtures and fittings, curtains included.’ Alice sighed. She was dreading leaving Amber Street, but circumstances and her children were forcing her out. The circumstances were that the salons were making a mint, not just from hairdressing, but she was the only stockist in Bootle of Lacey’s of Liverpool products and they sold like hot cakes. She had never been so flush, yet nearly every one of her neighbours had to struggle to keep their heads above water, which made her feel dead uncomfortable.
As for the children, they’d been nagging her to buy a place of her own for years: Southport, or near the sands, Ainsdale or Formby way. When they were little she’d taken for granted she knew better than her kids, but since they’d grown up they seemed to think they knew better than
her
. Perhaps it was only natural. After all, she’d constantly tried to rearrange her dad’s life, much to the chagrin of Bernadette.
It reminded her for the umpteenth time that she hadn’t seen much of her friend since Danny died. There
remained a stiffness between them. Bernadette was at the wedding, naturally, a pale, rather sad figure, surprisingly old, Alice thought when she’d come into the church with the children. This was the first big occasion that she’d attended as a widow.
‘Excuse me, Vicky. I won’t be a minute.’ Impulsively, Alice went back into the reception. Bernadette was standing with a group, yet somehow looking very much alone, watching Ian and Ruth dance together. Alice was struck by how closely seventeen-year-old Ian resembled his father. Tall and lithe, he had the same appealingly wicked smile. She touched Bernadette’s hand. ‘He’s going to be a heartbreaker one of these days, just like me dad.’
‘I think he already is. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad one that he looks so much like Danny.’ Bernadette gave a rueful smile. ‘It means I’m reminded of him a hundred times a day.’
‘I reckon it’s good.’
‘I suppose so.’
They looked at each other. Alice wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m sorry, Bernie.’
‘For what?’
‘For barging in when me dad was ill, trying to take control, insisting he see a doctor.’
‘You only had his best interests at heart, luv. Trouble was it wasn’t what Danny wanted. Perhaps I should have been a bit more tactful meself.’
Alice linked her friend’s arm. ‘Why don’t we go to the pictures next week? We can have a meal beforehand.
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
is on at the Forum. I’ve been dying to see it for ages.’
‘So’ve I.’ There was an expression of relief on Bernadette’s face. ‘I’d love that. Ally. I’ll pop in the salon and we’ll arrange a time.’
‘Come to tea tomorrer and we can do it then. Bring Ian and Ruth, except they’d probably find it dead boring. None of me grandchildren want to come to tea any more, not even Bonnie and she’s only nine. I’ll be glad when our Maeve has her baby and I’ll have a little ’un again.’
Sheffield in January! Anywhere in January when it was snowing hard and freezing cold made you yearn to be somewhere else, like the South of France.
Or Spain.
Orla thought about Dominic Reilly, living in Barcelona. He’d married the girlfriend he’d said wasn’t as beautiful as she was – it had been on the front page of all the papers. As soon as she could afford it she’d go on holiday to Spain. Perhaps Mam would come with her. She didn’t fancy going on her own. In fact, she was fed up to the bloody teeth with being on her own and couldn’t wait for April when Cormac had announced the company would go through a sort of minor relaunch and she would be working permanently in St Helens. A lot depended on how well the press campaign went with that model. If it went well, there would be no more need for her to roam the country, thank the Lord.
She trudged through the slush towards the hotel. At least it had a more-or-less decent lounge and she could sit in comfort until it was time to go to bed in an icy room with icy sheets.
The hotel also had a bar. By the end of the evening other reps would arrive, some of whom she’d be bound to know and she’d have people to talk to, make her laugh.
What a lousy day! The weather was vile, the street lamps a depressing sickly yellow, the traffic horrendous, and her car was parked miles away. Even worse, half the
places she’d called in, mainly chemists, had refused to see her, even the ones where she’d made a prior appointment: people were off with colds and flu, and they were too busy.
She was beginning to hate this job. This wasn’t adventure. It was no longer the least bit exciting. Maybe she was a bit run down because she seemed to have lost all her initial enthusiasm.
The hotel at last! The usual seedy establishment that looked as if it hadn’t seen a lick of paint in years. Lots of plastic flowers and oatmeal paintwork. Orla hung her heavy trenchcoat on a rack in the hall. Underneath, she wore a smart black suit which no one had seen all day because this was the first chance she’d had to remove the mac. She went into the empty lounge with her briefcase. There was no fire, but an elderly radiator emitted moderate heat. The bar was in the corner and there was no one behind the tiny counter. Orla rang the bell, a woman appeared and she ordered a whisky.
‘Sit down and I’ll bring it over.’
‘Ta.’ Orla chose the armchair closest to the radiator and tucked her legs against it. The woman brought the whisky. As soon as she’d gone, Orla drank it in a single gulp. She felt in the briefcase for the half-bottle she’d bought on impulse on her walk back, the first time she’d ever done such a thing, but tonight, for some reason, she felt exceptionally depressed, what with the weather and a completely wasted day.
Refilling the glass, she drank the contents, slower now, before filling up the glass again. She wasn’t trying to avoid the bar prices, just the embarrassment of reordering so quickly.
It had become a habit, starting off the evening with a couple of whiskies. They helped her forget about the present and think about the future, which looked
particularly rosy when she’d had a few drinks, though she’d never had three before in such a short space of time. She drained the glass, closed her eyes and felt a pleasant warmth swill round her stomach, which reminded her how empty it was because she’d forgotten to have dinner. She’d eaten nothing since she’d left another hotel that morning – where had it been? Rotherham.
‘Good evening.’
Her eyes shot open to find the sombre figure of Louis Bernet staring down at her. He wore a grey suit and a very white shirt that contrasted agreeably with his brown skin and smooth black hair. This was the second time they’d met since the night in London when she’d had dinner with Lulu and Gareth. On the last occasion they’d chatted amicably, only about trivial things. He wasn’t as unfriendly as he had first seemed, more reserved, a bit shy.
‘Hello.’ She tried to smile.
He nodded at her empty glass. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘Yes, ta.’ Another drink wouldn’t hurt. Not tonight, when she felt so unusually miserable.
‘Whisky?’
‘Please.’ He’d remembered what she drank, her ‘tipple’, as Grandad used to say. He went over to the bar and for some reason Orla’s eyes filled with tears. It must be thinking about Grandad, which made her think of Bernadette, Mam, her sisters, her children. And Micky.
Bootle seemed worlds away from this cold, crummy hotel. In Pearl Street there’d be a roaring fire in the grate, the telly would be on, the kids would be home from work desperate for their tea – and Caitlin Reilly, or whatever her name was now, would be bustling in and out of Orla’s kitchen getting food ready.
Jaysus! ‘What am I doing here?’ Orla asked herself. ‘Why did I leave?’ At that moment. Pearl Street with her husband and children seemed the most desirable place on earth. ‘I must be mad. I’m searching for rainbows, but you can only
see
a rainbow. You can’t touch it.’
Louis Bernet returned with the drinks. He sat in the armchair next to hers. ‘We seem to be the first here.’
Orla nodded and pulled herself together. She reminded herself that she was with a devastatingly attractive man. The first minute she’d set eyes on him, she’d sensed a magnetism about him. Now they were alone together and it was her opportunity to . . . to do what?
To make eyes at him over the whisky, flutter her lashes, lick her lips and pretend she was a scarlet woman? Except she wasn’t a scarlet woman. She was Orla Lavin from Bootle, married, with four children whom she badly missed.
‘What company do you work for?’ Louis asked. He had the faintest of French accents. ‘I didn’t ask the time we met before.’
‘Lacey’s of Liverpool. It’s my brother’s firm. We make cosmetics. As from April, I’ll have me own office back home. Would you like some samples? You can give them to your wife.’
‘I haven’t got a wife. Do you have a husband?’
‘Sort of.’ Orla paused. ‘We’re separated.’
‘He must be mad, this husband, allowing himself to be separated from a woman like you.’ His narrow lips twisted in a smile.
Orla forgot the house in Pearl Street and its occupants. She traced the rim of her glass with her finger as she’d once seen an actress do in a film, someone like Ava Gardner or Elizabeth Taylor. ‘I’m not very nice,’ she said seductively. ‘That’s why me and me husband parted.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘It’s true.’
‘You seem exceptionally nice to me.’ He moved his legs so that their knees were touching.
Orla’s flesh felt as if it was on fire. A pulse throbbed in her throat. She was trying to think of an answer, when Louis said, ‘Have you eaten yet?’
‘I forgot to eat.’
‘Would you join me for dinner here?’
‘They serve meals?’
He shrugged and spread his hands, a very foreign gesture. ‘Not very good meals, but edible. There aren’t any restaurants nearby and it’s too awful a night to go searching for one.’
‘In that case I’ll be pleased to join you for dinner.’
Louis was right. The meal was just about edible: badly cooked lamb, very dry roast potatoes, frozen peas. He ordered a bottle of wine to make the food go down more smoothly.
On top of the whisky, it also made Orla more than a little light-headed. She began to see the romance of the situation: two virtual strangers, stranded in a third-rate hotel, snow whipping against the windows. All that was needed was some haunting music.
During the meal he told her about himself. He’d been born in a little village north of Paris. His parents had a smallholding. The village was very dull, nothing ever happened. He’d been taken on by a local engineering firm to train as a draughtsman. At twenty-one, he’d gone to work in Paris. He kissed his fingers and threw the kiss into the air. ‘Ah, Paris!’ He pronounced it Paree. ‘Paris is
très
beautiful. Very, very beautiful. And so full of life. It has everything a man – or woman – can possibly want.’
‘I’d love to go there,’ Orla breathed.
His brown eyes smiled into hers. ‘I’ll show it to you if you like.’
‘I
would
like.’
‘In the spring?’
She felt dizzy. ‘Yes, in the spring.’ She’d never met anyone like him before. He seemed so grown-up and sophisticated compared with the other men she’d known, particularly Micky, who was a child by comparison.
No one else had come into the dining room by the time they finished the meal. They returned to the lounge where an elderly couple had bagged their armchairs by the radiator. Otherwise the room was empty. The other reps must have wisely stayed in town and found bars with a bit more life in them. The clock showed half past nine – the last few hours had raced by.
Louis took her elbow. ‘Would you like another drink?’
‘A whisky and soda,’ she replied, though she’d already drunk far too much. ‘Just a little one.’ She swayed and almost fell into an armchair.
‘One more drink and I think we should go to bed.’ He regarded her challengingly, eyebrows raised.
‘If you say so,’ she said demurely. Every nerve in her body felt alive. She couldn’t possibly sleep on her own after tonight. A memory returned, of the night in a Bootle entry when she’d first made love with Micky. She had the same feeling now, of wanting to be touched all over, but this time by Louis Bernet.
Orla quickly drank the whisky. Louis held out his hand and helped her to her feet. She wondered if he felt the same pounding excitement as she did. She could hardly stand and it wasn’t all to do with the amount of alcohol she’d drunk.
Her room was on the third floor. They took the lift,
where they kissed for the first time and Orla felt a rush of raw desire when she felt him pressed against her.