A Random Act of Kindness. Sophie Jenkins

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ last of my stock on my practically bare stall so that I’d have the funds to resupply, but the lack of choice is putting people off.

      Gratifyingly, a few people recognise me from the article in the Camden New Journal and sympathise about the fire, but not enough to buy anything. I get them to write their contact details in my client book before they go.

      I lean on the counter and watch the constant shifting tide of people flow past as I listen enviously to David Westwood’s sales patter above the noise, lifting my face to the warm sun, whiling away the time thinking up a patter of my own.

      And then, suddenly, the mysterious lull occurs and the market is quiet again.

      Mick has a theory that any lulls in conversation in a pub or restaurant occur at ten to or ten past the hour, so I check the time. Sure enough, it’s ten minutes past five and I feel a sudden fond urge to ring him and tell him. I’m just getting out my phone, when David casts his shadow over me.

      ‘That was crazy,’ he says, pushing up the sleeves of his black T-shirt, his mood buoyant. He’s grinning, high on success, and looks up at my rails. ‘How did you get on?’

      ‘Fine,’ I tell him, grinning back. I don’t want to ruin his mood.

      Most people would take this statement at face value and I assume he has, too, because he strolls back around to his side. Then he returns with a single blue acrylic panel and holds it up to the light for me to look through.

      ‘This is what the constellation of Leo looks like,’ he says.

      As I lean over the counter to look, chin in hand, I can feel his warmth radiating through his black T-shirt.

      ‘Yeah?’ I squint at it, trying hard to make something of the random holes. How the ancients got a lion out of that, I’ll never know. David’s tanned thumb is holding the Perspex, and I look at the pale crescent of his nail. ‘Nice!’

      ‘This is the tail, see?’ he says, slowly tracing the shape of a lion to the rump, down a leg, along the back and up the neck to the mane and the muzzle and the chest.

      Our faces are so close that I can smell him, clean and fresh, even on this hot day in the dusty city. I swallow so hard my throat squeaks. ‘So that’s Leo,’ I say hoarsely, the holes leaking sunbeams along my finger.

      ‘This particular lion has golden fur. It makes it fearless and indestructible.’ He shifts his face a little to look at me and he’s still holding up the Perspex, its blue colour deepening his eyes and shading his face. ‘You’ll be okay,’ he says seriously.

      Without warning, I feel as if I’m going to cry. I’m nodding agreement, pressing my lips together to stop the trembling. ‘Yeah, I know.’

      He straightens before I do. ‘Anyway,’ he says. ‘That’s Leo.’

      When he goes back to his stall I feel as if the earth has shifted underneath me. To ground myself, I do what I was intending to do a few minutes before. I call Mick.

      ‘Hey, Doll,’ he says in his rich, soft voice.

      I can hear music in the background and I know he’s home.

      ‘When did you get back?’

      ‘This morning. I got a lift with Roscoe.’

      Roscoe’s a member of the band. ‘That’s good,’ I say wistfully, staring at the glow of the sun through the canvas roof.

      ‘I was going to call you. What are you doing tomorrow?’ he asks.

      I smile. ‘Nothing.’

      He chuckles softly. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. Let’s make a day of it and go—’

      ‘Oh!’ I interrupt him quickly, suddenly remembering about Dinah. ‘Actually, I am doing something! I’m meeting a woman about a business proposition. But that’s not until the afternoon, anyway.’

      ‘Ah, hell, Fern. Can’t you do it another time?’

      Through the corner of my eye I can see David’s legs outstretched on the cobbles, his polished shoes gleaming, and I lower my voice. ‘Well – not really, no, Mick. It’s business. How about we make it Tuesday?’

      The volume of the music increases. What time is this to be partying?

      ‘I’ll get back to you, Doll,’ he said and hangs up.

      I laugh merrily once he’s gone, in case David’s listening and thinks my love life is as much of a failure as my business. ‘Bye!’ Damn. I’m a Leo. I’m fearless and indestructible, I tell myself firmly, putting my phone away.

      Utilitarian glamour – that’s the look I’m going for as I head to Dinah’s for tea. Dinah’s house is in Netherhall Gardens, a quiet, residential part of Hampstead with large, impressive red-brick houses, architectural plants and electronic gates. I’m thinking of reminding her about the first time we met. The way I look at it, the first time was chance, the second time was a coincidence, but I feel in my optimistic heart that this third meeting is meant to be.

      Dinah’s house has a brown wooden gate and a crazy-paving path leading to the front door. I ring the bell and she opens the door immediately as if she’s been standing behind it waiting for me to arrive. She greets me graciously, posing with one arm on the doorframe and looking very Coco Chanel in a little cream silk shift dress accessorised with a cascade of faux pearls. Her dyed black hair is curling slightly around her sharp jawline; her lipstick is bright scarlet.

      She, of course, is scrutinising me in turn. I’ve dressed very carefully for this business meeting in a navy shirtwaister with square shoulders and a narrow belt. I’m posing, too. I’ve rolled back my fringe from my face, very Forties, and with my peach blusher and red lipstick I look as healthy as a land girl. Dinah beckons me in and we bond immediately over a familiar subject.

      ‘I like your look,’ she says approvingly. ‘Although you gave me a start when I first saw you with that suitcase. There was all that dreadful rattling noise and it unsettled me. I’m a person who’s very susceptible to noise.’

      ‘Sorry. It’s a cheap case and one of the wheels is coming off.’

      ‘Oh,’ she says, spreading her hands, ‘and there’s a hole in my handbag; it’s come unstitched!’

      There’s something in the way that we’ve just swapped stories of our shoddy goods that makes us both laugh.

      ‘It’s being repaired now,’ she adds gravely, ‘at the Handbag Clinic.’

      ‘Good. I’m afraid there’s no hope for my suitcase. I’m going to have it put down.’

      She nods seriously. ‘Put out of its misery; yes. I think that’s best – it looked a sorry thing.’ Her mood brightens. ‘First of all, before we have tea I want to show you something that you’ll appreciate as a curator of fashion. Come. Always one must put pleasure before business.’

      We climb an oak spiral staircase, which leads up to the first floor.

      Dinah takes me into a windowless dressing room with mirrored wardrobes on all three СКАЧАТЬ