calves peeping out from her karate suit: smooth brown skin against white cotton. Each toenail was round and pink, a shimmering shell. Lilly looked down at her own legs. Red indentations from her socks made perfect circles around each hairy shin. A plaster peeled away from her ankle.
Lilly wondered if she could ever look like her friend.
‘Fine feathers make fine birds,’ her mum used to say but Lilly never seemed to have enough time to keep up with the preening.
‘How’s life on the domestic front line?’ asked Lilly.
‘Bonkers,’ said Penny. ‘We’ve got a new boy coming at the weekend.’
‘How many’s that now?’
‘Four. Two come for respite care one weekend a month, and Rachel comes every Thursday.’
‘Is she still traumatised?’
Penny see-sawed her hands. ‘It has got better, but I’m still stripping and washing the beds till Saturday.’
‘Have I ever told you how much I admire you?’ asked Lilly.
‘Only twice a week.’
The sensei called them to the dojo and they began their stretching.
‘I should do something like you,’ said Lilly.
Penny stamped hard with her left foot and punched with her right. ‘You don’t have time.’
‘But all I do now is commercial stuff. I don’t make a difference to anyone’s life.’
‘Oh, Lilly, stop beating yourself up. Everyone has to make a living.’
Lilly kicked out and grunted hard.
‘I just wish I could do something to help those that need it most.’
‘We can’t help everyone,’ said Penny. ‘And frankly there are a lot of people who should jolly well help themselves.’
The sensei clapped his hands. ‘Ladies, you may spar.’
The two friends turned to one another and bowed deeply in respect. Then they proceeded to kick the shit out of each other.
Lilly plotted the rest of her evening with precision and relish. Sam was at his dad’s, torturing the new baby, so she would bathe at length and make the most of the unopened basket of Jo Malone oils that Jack had bought for her birthday. At the time she’d thought it a ludicrous extravagance, but she had to admit they were so much better than the cheap crap she usually picked up in the supermarket. She would paint her toes a glamorous shade of crimson and then cook herself a feast. Steak Béarnaise. Blood oozing from the meat into the eggy sauce, the tang of tarragon vinegar piercing its unctuous blandness.
She would not give a moment’s thought to Anna Duraku.
When the bath was run, she lit a candle and sank into the oily heat until only her nostrils cleared the surface. Bliss.
Ring ring. The phone. She’d ignore it.
Ring ring. Worse than the phone, it was the bloody doorbell. Who the hell could it be? Jack was still mad at her for going down to the station and had gone out for a drink with an old mate who’d quit the force to open a dry-cleaners’.
Lilly pulled a towel around herself and padded downstairs.
Ring ring.
‘Keep your hair on, will you,’ she shouted, and yanked at the door handle. After three firm tugs the door opened a few inches.
‘You need a new frame.’
It was Milo, his breath white against the cold.
Lilly dripped and blinked. ‘How do you know where I live?’
‘Everyone knows everything in this village.’
Milo looked her up and down. From her ragged toenails to the towel barely covering her arse and back down to the pool of water gathering on the floor below her.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I needed to speak to you about Anna.’
Lilly cringed with embarrassment and ran for the stairs.
In her bedroom she threw open her wardrobe doors in search of her good jeans. They were snug at her hips but not at her thighs, and the style magazine Penny passed on each week had declared them the hottest jeans of the season. Lilly had found a bargain pair in TK Maxx and they looked great with a black V-neck jumper. She scraped her wet hair into a knot at the base of her skull. No time for makeup, maybe just a slick of mascara. At least she smelled
Lilly wondered if she could ever look like her friend.
‘Fine feathers make fine birds,’ her mum used to say but Lilly never seemed to have enough time to keep up with the preening.
‘How’s life on the domestic front line?’ asked Lilly.
‘Bonkers,’ said Penny. ‘We’ve got a new boy coming at the weekend.’
‘How many’s that now?’
‘Four. Two come for respite care one weekend a month, and Rachel comes every Thursday.’
‘Is she still traumatised?’
Penny see-sawed her hands. ‘It has got better, but I’m still stripping and washing the beds till Saturday.’
‘Have I ever told you how much I admire you?’ asked Lilly.
‘Only twice a week.’
The sensei called them to the dojo and they began their stretching.
‘I should do something like you,’ said Lilly.
Penny stamped hard with her left foot and punched with her right. ‘You don’t have time.’
‘But all I do now is commercial stuff. I don’t make a difference to anyone’s life.’
‘Oh, Lilly, stop beating yourself up. Everyone has to make a living.’
Lilly kicked out and grunted hard.
‘I just wish I could do something to help those that need it most.’
‘We can’t help everyone,’ said Penny. ‘And frankly there are a lot of people who should jolly well help themselves.’
The sensei clapped his hands. ‘Ladies, you may spar.’
The two friends turned to one another and bowed deeply in respect. Then they proceeded to kick the shit out of each other.
Lilly plotted the rest of her evening with precision and relish. Sam was at his dad’s, torturing the new baby, so she would bathe at length and make the most of the unopened basket of Jo Malone oils that Jack had bought for her birthday. At the time she’d thought it a ludicrous extravagance, but she had to admit they were so much better than the cheap crap she usually picked up in the supermarket. She would paint her toes a glamorous shade of crimson and then cook herself a feast. Steak Béarnaise. Blood oozing from the meat into the eggy sauce, the tang of tarragon vinegar piercing its unctuous blandness.
She would not give a moment’s thought to Anna Duraku.
When the bath was run, she lit a candle and sank into the oily heat until only her nostrils cleared the surface. Bliss.
Ring ring. The phone. She’d ignore it.
Ring ring. Worse than the phone, it was the bloody doorbell. Who the hell could it be? Jack was still mad at her for going down to the station and had gone out for a drink with an old mate who’d quit the force to open a dry-cleaners’.
Lilly pulled a towel around herself and padded downstairs.
Ring ring.
‘Keep your hair on, will you,’ she shouted, and yanked at the door handle. After three firm tugs the door opened a few inches.
‘You need a new frame.’
It was Milo, his breath white against the cold.
Lilly dripped and blinked. ‘How do you know where I live?’
‘Everyone knows everything in this village.’
Milo looked her up and down. From her ragged toenails to the towel barely covering her arse and back down to the pool of water gathering on the floor below her.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I needed to speak to you about Anna.’
Lilly cringed with embarrassment and ran for the stairs.
In her bedroom she threw open her wardrobe doors in search of her good jeans. They were snug at her hips but not at her thighs, and the style magazine Penny passed on each week had declared them the hottest jeans of the season. Lilly had found a bargain pair in TK Maxx and they looked great with a black V-neck jumper. She scraped her wet hair into a knot at the base of her skull. No time for makeup, maybe just a slick of mascara. At least she smelled
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