Read Online Love Your Enemies by Nicola Barker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicola Barker
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argument, sitting in an alcove, and over towards the door a pensioner who was reading a late edition of the Evening Standard . Someone had put some money into the juke box,which was playing ‘Suspicious Minds’. Jane imagined that it might have been the male half of the young couple.
As her eyes sped across the page, Jane thought for a moment about her boyfriend Mitch and Stephanie’s boyfriend Chris. She wondered what they were doing. Maybe they were watching the football on television, or maybe they were playing snooker.
The pub’s doors swung open. Everybody turned towards them. Jane had earlier been engaged in a heated debate with herself about how to react when the doors opened. Initially she had decided that it was best if she ignored the various comings and goings around her. She had endeavoured to create the impression of calculated indifference, preoccupation, oblivion. Later, however, she had decided that it might be appropriate to look up fleetingly from her book towards the door so that people who might be looking at her would know immediately that the only reason for her continuing presence in the pub was the fact that she was waiting for someone. She was expecting someone. It made her feel less vulnerable, also less approachable.
On this occasion she was glad that she had looked up. Stephanie stood in the doorway, looking ruffled and indecisive. Jane waved at her and smiled. Stephanie caught her eye, smiled back, relieved, then pointed her finger towards the bar. Jane nodded. Stephanie then pointed a finger towards Jane’s drink. Jane shook her head and placed a prim, flat hand over the top of her glass. Stephanie walked to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic.
Jane watched her, at last relaxing in the pub’s worn, red velvet environs, putting down her book and leaning back in her chair. She watched Stephanie as she waited for her drink and then paid for it. Stephanie was still wearing her uniform – she worked in John Lewis, the Oxford Street branch – and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She looked young for twenty-four. Jane thought it must be the way that she had tiedback her hair. As Stephanie approached her Jane said ironically, ‘I’m surprised the barman served you, Steph, you don’t look eighteen with your hair tied back like that.’
Stephanie put her spirits glass down and squeezed in between the table and the seat. As she sat down she touched her hair with a free hand and looked unnecessarily self-conscious, then said, ‘I think the barman’d serve a large squirrel if it appeared at the counter and asked for a pint of lager. He doesn’t look too discriminating.’
Jane shrugged. Stephanie pointed towards Jane’s book. ‘Jilly Cooper. Good?’
Jane picked up the book and put it into her bag. ‘Something to read. It’s not like you to be late.’
Stephanie frowned, ‘I know. I’ve had a bit of a strange day. Sorry.’
Jane raised her eyebrows, professionally interested. ‘Busy?’
Stephanie shrugged. ‘Not too bad. You?’
Jane shook her head. ‘So so.’
They both picked up their drinks and took a sip. On returning her glass to the table Stephanie put her hands to the back of her head and pulled her hairband out. She then shook free her hair which fell about her shoulders in semi-curls. Jane watched her as she did this and couldn’t help thinking that Stephanie was looking particularly well, strangely spruce, as though she had just had a shower, an odd post-swimming clean-washed look. She sniffed the air for a trace of chlorine but could smell none. ‘You haven’t been swimming, have you? Marshall Street pool?’
Stephanie looked guilty, ‘No. Well, yes. Well, I had a shower, that’s all.’
Jane frowned. ‘Where’s your towel? Why did you have a shower? That’s odd. Are you wearing any make-up? Why did you have a shower?’
Stephanie looked overwhelmed, ‘I … I needed a shower. I hired a towel.’
Jane began to pull a fastidious
As her eyes sped across the page, Jane thought for a moment about her boyfriend Mitch and Stephanie’s boyfriend Chris. She wondered what they were doing. Maybe they were watching the football on television, or maybe they were playing snooker.
The pub’s doors swung open. Everybody turned towards them. Jane had earlier been engaged in a heated debate with herself about how to react when the doors opened. Initially she had decided that it was best if she ignored the various comings and goings around her. She had endeavoured to create the impression of calculated indifference, preoccupation, oblivion. Later, however, she had decided that it might be appropriate to look up fleetingly from her book towards the door so that people who might be looking at her would know immediately that the only reason for her continuing presence in the pub was the fact that she was waiting for someone. She was expecting someone. It made her feel less vulnerable, also less approachable.
On this occasion she was glad that she had looked up. Stephanie stood in the doorway, looking ruffled and indecisive. Jane waved at her and smiled. Stephanie caught her eye, smiled back, relieved, then pointed her finger towards the bar. Jane nodded. Stephanie then pointed a finger towards Jane’s drink. Jane shook her head and placed a prim, flat hand over the top of her glass. Stephanie walked to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic.
Jane watched her, at last relaxing in the pub’s worn, red velvet environs, putting down her book and leaning back in her chair. She watched Stephanie as she waited for her drink and then paid for it. Stephanie was still wearing her uniform – she worked in John Lewis, the Oxford Street branch – and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She looked young for twenty-four. Jane thought it must be the way that she had tiedback her hair. As Stephanie approached her Jane said ironically, ‘I’m surprised the barman served you, Steph, you don’t look eighteen with your hair tied back like that.’
Stephanie put her spirits glass down and squeezed in between the table and the seat. As she sat down she touched her hair with a free hand and looked unnecessarily self-conscious, then said, ‘I think the barman’d serve a large squirrel if it appeared at the counter and asked for a pint of lager. He doesn’t look too discriminating.’
Jane shrugged. Stephanie pointed towards Jane’s book. ‘Jilly Cooper. Good?’
Jane picked up the book and put it into her bag. ‘Something to read. It’s not like you to be late.’
Stephanie frowned, ‘I know. I’ve had a bit of a strange day. Sorry.’
Jane raised her eyebrows, professionally interested. ‘Busy?’
Stephanie shrugged. ‘Not too bad. You?’
Jane shook her head. ‘So so.’
They both picked up their drinks and took a sip. On returning her glass to the table Stephanie put her hands to the back of her head and pulled her hairband out. She then shook free her hair which fell about her shoulders in semi-curls. Jane watched her as she did this and couldn’t help thinking that Stephanie was looking particularly well, strangely spruce, as though she had just had a shower, an odd post-swimming clean-washed look. She sniffed the air for a trace of chlorine but could smell none. ‘You haven’t been swimming, have you? Marshall Street pool?’
Stephanie looked guilty, ‘No. Well, yes. Well, I had a shower, that’s all.’
Jane frowned. ‘Where’s your towel? Why did you have a shower? That’s odd. Are you wearing any make-up? Why did you have a shower?’
Stephanie looked overwhelmed, ‘I … I needed a shower. I hired a towel.’
Jane began to pull a fastidious
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