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Authors: Louise Levene
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looking at them saucily over the rim of her glass, making them wait.
‘Anyway. The man trying to sell him the wallet says, “It’s made from elephant’s foreskin .” ’
She said it in a shocked stage whisper and the bar was already yelping with laughter. There were four men and two other women, older. The men wore tweed jackets or blazers, the women smart weekend clothes and just-set hair.
‘“Well, I’m sorry,” says the chap, “but fifty quid’s still a lot of money just for a wallet.” “Ah, yes,” says the other man, “but if you rub it, it turns into a suitcase.” ’
Mayhem. One of the women – black and white striped suit and hair the colour of bottled orange juice – had a laugh like an air-raid warning.
‘Trust Dickie to teach a girl a story like that.’
The girl seemed very pleased with the success of her joke and had another taste of her gin. One of the men – handsome, curly dark hair, mid thirties – moved in to offer her a cigarette from a smart silver case. She took it and leaned forward to find the flame. It was beautiful to watch her raising her eyes to his as she sucked the cigarette alight. Jane knew how to do this (she’d practised in the bedroom mirror when everyone was out) but she’d never actually dared put it to use. The girl looked so sexy doing it. It wasn’t a trick to waste on any old Tony.
Jane edged closer to the laughing group. The girl saw her first and smiled expectantly at the mousey little person in the funny grey coat but it was the dark man who spoke.
‘Hello, young lady. You looking for someone?’
It was like being on stage. They had all turned to look at her. She stammered over her lines: ‘I think, I think one of you might have lost a handbag.’ She pulled it free of the carrier. ‘I found it yesterday.’
The girl’s eyes lit up. They were bright blue. Lobelia blue.
‘You absolute darling !’ She could say something like that and not sound stupid. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever see it again. At last I can powder my nose.’
She was wearing quite a bit of make-up, Jane reckoned – powder; rouge; eye pencil; mascara; lipstick – but it didn’t look tarty, just brighter somehow. Her nose didn’t seem to want powdering but she slipped down off the stool and put her arm through Jane’s and whisked her up the wide staircase to the Ladies’. It didn’t have a sign saying Ladies or WC or anything, just a silhouette of Alice in Wonderland on the door. There was a knave of hearts on the Gents’.
It was lovely inside. All mirrors and armchairs and big boxes of tissues and cotton wool and hairspray and tidy piles of hand towels embroidered with pale-blue oyster shells and a wonderful slot machine that gave squirts of different scent for a shilling.
‘It was really super of you to bring it back. Luckily I had a spare set of keys but it was still a huge pain. However did you track me down?’
She sank down on to one of the little chairs and reached into the bag for her compact. She didn’t even look to see if the money was there. Jane sat down beside her and peeped at herself in the mirror.
‘Just lucky really. There was your photograph and some Carpenter’s matches inside. I thought I’d come here first. I only work round the corner and I didn’t fancy going back to that pub.’
The girl pulled a face – a pretty face, but a face.
‘Not your local then? Don’t blame you. Anyway I can’t thank you enough. You’re an absolute darling. Take your coat off now you’re here. You must stay and have a drink. What a divine coat and skirt!’ Oh my dear, ‘coat-and-skirt’. Get her. Lady Muck.
She examined Jane with her head on one side as if sizing up the mismatch between head and body.
‘You really ought to wear your hair up.’
‘It only falls down.’
‘Not if you backcomb a bit underneath and then pin it right. Come here.’
She took the pack of hairpins out of the crocodile bag and, without even asking, began to twist
‘Anyway. The man trying to sell him the wallet says, “It’s made from elephant’s foreskin .” ’
She said it in a shocked stage whisper and the bar was already yelping with laughter. There were four men and two other women, older. The men wore tweed jackets or blazers, the women smart weekend clothes and just-set hair.
‘“Well, I’m sorry,” says the chap, “but fifty quid’s still a lot of money just for a wallet.” “Ah, yes,” says the other man, “but if you rub it, it turns into a suitcase.” ’
Mayhem. One of the women – black and white striped suit and hair the colour of bottled orange juice – had a laugh like an air-raid warning.
‘Trust Dickie to teach a girl a story like that.’
The girl seemed very pleased with the success of her joke and had another taste of her gin. One of the men – handsome, curly dark hair, mid thirties – moved in to offer her a cigarette from a smart silver case. She took it and leaned forward to find the flame. It was beautiful to watch her raising her eyes to his as she sucked the cigarette alight. Jane knew how to do this (she’d practised in the bedroom mirror when everyone was out) but she’d never actually dared put it to use. The girl looked so sexy doing it. It wasn’t a trick to waste on any old Tony.
Jane edged closer to the laughing group. The girl saw her first and smiled expectantly at the mousey little person in the funny grey coat but it was the dark man who spoke.
‘Hello, young lady. You looking for someone?’
It was like being on stage. They had all turned to look at her. She stammered over her lines: ‘I think, I think one of you might have lost a handbag.’ She pulled it free of the carrier. ‘I found it yesterday.’
The girl’s eyes lit up. They were bright blue. Lobelia blue.
‘You absolute darling !’ She could say something like that and not sound stupid. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever see it again. At last I can powder my nose.’
She was wearing quite a bit of make-up, Jane reckoned – powder; rouge; eye pencil; mascara; lipstick – but it didn’t look tarty, just brighter somehow. Her nose didn’t seem to want powdering but she slipped down off the stool and put her arm through Jane’s and whisked her up the wide staircase to the Ladies’. It didn’t have a sign saying Ladies or WC or anything, just a silhouette of Alice in Wonderland on the door. There was a knave of hearts on the Gents’.
It was lovely inside. All mirrors and armchairs and big boxes of tissues and cotton wool and hairspray and tidy piles of hand towels embroidered with pale-blue oyster shells and a wonderful slot machine that gave squirts of different scent for a shilling.
‘It was really super of you to bring it back. Luckily I had a spare set of keys but it was still a huge pain. However did you track me down?’
She sank down on to one of the little chairs and reached into the bag for her compact. She didn’t even look to see if the money was there. Jane sat down beside her and peeped at herself in the mirror.
‘Just lucky really. There was your photograph and some Carpenter’s matches inside. I thought I’d come here first. I only work round the corner and I didn’t fancy going back to that pub.’
The girl pulled a face – a pretty face, but a face.
‘Not your local then? Don’t blame you. Anyway I can’t thank you enough. You’re an absolute darling. Take your coat off now you’re here. You must stay and have a drink. What a divine coat and skirt!’ Oh my dear, ‘coat-and-skirt’. Get her. Lady Muck.
She examined Jane with her head on one side as if sizing up the mismatch between head and body.
‘You really ought to wear your hair up.’
‘It only falls down.’
‘Not if you backcomb a bit underneath and then pin it right. Come here.’
She took the pack of hairpins out of the crocodile bag and, without even asking, began to twist
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