Good Bad Woman. Elizabeth Woodcraft

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СКАЧАТЬ blonde streaks put in, to highlight the brown or something.’ I flicked my fringe back.

      ‘Well, it’s lovely to see you,’ she said. ‘It’s like coming home.’

      At my flat I ran a bath in my small white bathroom and found some green herbal essence which filled the room with something vaguely related to the smell of fields and trees as I poured it under the running tap. I put out two giant blue towels and an old clean shirt of mine and left her to it. In the kitchen I made coffee and took some apple strudel out of the freezer to put into the microwave on Saskia’s reappearance.

      I rang chambers and told Gavin I’d be in later.

      ‘You’ve got a couple of messages,’ he said. ‘Can you please ring Dr Henry. And someone called Hayman or Wayman rang – I can’t read this, Jenna wrote it, she’s a lovely girl, but her handwriting’s shocking – anyway, I think it says it’s not urgent and they’ll ring back.’

      ‘Who is Dr Henry?’ I asked.

      ‘I thought you knew,’ he said. ‘She said he’d ring you at home, he has your number.’

      ‘Who did?’

      ‘The secretary. I thought it was personal.’ He gave me Dr Henry’s number again, reminded me of my appeal papers and rang off.

      I dialled the number. ‘Dr Henry’s surgery,’ an efficient female voice said.

      ‘Is Dr Henry there?’ I could hear Saskia singing something folky in the bath.

      ‘I am afraid Dr Henry is in consultation at this moment. Could I ask you to call back later?’

      ‘Well, no,’ I said. ‘Dr Henry appears to be trying to contact me.’

      ‘What is this concerning?’ The thin voice was guarded.

      ‘I have no idea. My name is Frances Richmond.’

      ‘Oh, Miss Richmond,’ her tone was concerned, caring, ‘I’m afraid Dr Henry is so busy right now, but I’ll say that you called. I know that the doctor is very anxious to speak with you.’

      I thanked her and put the phone down as Saskia came in, smelling sweet and looking much better than I ever did in my grey denim shirt. Her blonde hair stood up in wet spikes.

      ‘Frankie, that was a life-saver. Mmm, something smells wonderful.’ She sat down at the kitchen table as I poured coffee into two cups. The autumn sun cut through the French doors. Outside two late pink roses swayed in the wind. Saskia looked like a battered angel as her hair dried into soft pale layers.

      The microwave pinged and I took out the strudel. I cut slices and put them on my blue and yellow Italian plates. ‘Now,’ I said, pulling out a chair, ‘we are going to do some serious talking.’

      She nibbled her strudel.

      ‘First of all,’ I began, ‘where do those bruises come from?’

      She picked up her cup and ran her fingers across the blue-painted rim. She took a mouthful of coffee. ‘Heaven.’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Well …’

      The phone rang in the living room.

      ‘Frankie! You’re in! I was going to leave a message on your machine.’

      ‘Lena, I’m a bit busy at the moment. Can I call you back?’

      ‘Well, actually, sweetie, you can’t – that’s what I’m ringing about. I’m just off for three days to Paris.’

      ‘Paris!’ I turned to raise my eyebrows at Saskia, to see her disappearing into the hall.

      ‘Saskia!’ I called and heard the front door click.

      ‘Frankie? Frankie?’

      ‘Look, Lena, I’ve got to go.’

      ‘I’m ringing just to say I’m going to Paris with Sophie.’

      ‘With Sophie? My God. I thought you two weren’t talking to each other.’ I stretched the cord of the phone as far as I could and looked out of the large bay window. I banged on the glass as I saw Saskia heading towards Stoke Newington High Street.

      ‘She rang last night after I spoke to you and said she was exhausted and –’

      ‘Lena, I’ve got to go.’

      ‘You’re not upset, are you?’

      ‘No, no, have a lovely time, send me a postcard. Bye bye.’

      ‘It means I shan’t be able to make the film.’

      ‘No problem. Bye.’

      ‘OK. Bye. I’m sorry. Bye.’

      I slammed down the phone and ran out of the house. At the corner of the road there was no sign of Saskia but a 149 bus was sailing majestically towards Dalston. ‘Shit,’ I said and turned back to the flat. ‘Shit,’ I said again as I realised I was locked out.

THREE

       Thursday Afternoon – Chambers

      ‘You look a bit cold, Frankie,’ Gavin said, as I walked into chambers an hour later. ‘You should have come out in a coat.’

      ‘I should have come out with my handbag, keys and wallet and then I wouldn’t have had to walk most of the way and been frozen half to death,’ I said stiffly. I had found a pound in my jacket pocket but I’d had to get off the bus at Liverpool Street. I had come into chambers because I kept a spare set of house keys in the drawer of my desk. I know most people have a good friend or neighbour who looks after a spare set of keys for moments such as this, but Lena lived in Finsbury Park, which was too far away, and I didn’t know my neighbours very well.

      There had been attempts, by my neighbours, when I first moved in to the flat. The woman who lived in the top flat invited me to a make-up party. It was shortly after my split with Kay, and I thought I could buy my way back to attractiveness and social success through cosmetic products. As it turned out, I spent the evening feeling bleak and out of place and signed a cheque for £27.50 for two small bottles of something green for my complexion. I hadn’t spoken to them since.

      I felt I could do with something green for my complexion now, particularly my nose, which I knew was red and glowing.

      I thought that was the reason for Gavin’s stunned look. ‘I didn’t know you were coming in, so Marcus is having a con in your office.’ He was apologetic. ‘He’s, eh, he’s only just gone in.’

      I groaned. Marcus was famous for his two-hour conferences with clients.

      ‘Think of it this way,’ Gavin said, ‘he’s a sad bloke and it’s the only social life СКАЧАТЬ