Out Late with Friends and Regrets (16 page)

Ba finally sat on the bed, took off her shoe and nursed her stockinged foot, rocking in pain.
      
                            

“You got my bloody
corns
, you bastard,” she moaned.

Fin could now take in her attacker’s appearance: tall, and heavily built, but not actually fat; and she would have had quite a sweet face when not contorted in anger or pain. She wore a blue tunic with white piping over navy trousers, which suggested an occupation in the caring professions.

“OK,” said Fin, suddenly aware of her own semi-nudity. Thank the Lord she’d had the sense to keep her underwear on.

“So do you think you can settle down for a moment so we can sort this out?” she demanded. Trembling from reaction, the adrenalin had also given her voice an unaccustomed forcefulness.

Ba sat heavily on the edge of the bed, and Fin began to dress.

Ba raised her eyes. There was real hurt in them, as she said quietly, “This is
my
house, and
my
girl-friend. You, you’re well out of order. You got no right –” and then she turned to Cecilia, who stood wide-eyed, with her back pressed up against the wardrobe, “and as for you, you rotten tart…”

Yes, indeed, Ba.
 
Precisely.
 

Fin noticed that Ba seemed to be holding back tears with some difficulty, and was unexpectedly filled with a rush of sympathy. She drew up the chair and sat on it in front of her.

“Now listen to me,” she said. “Are you listening?”

Ba nodded, biting her lip.

“Your girl-friend actually helped me out of a jam. I got stuck at this party and couldn’t drive home because I’d had a few drinks. Cecilia said I could stay the night, if I didn’t mind sharing. As you just saw, I wasn’t even fully undressed, for God’s sake.
Nothing happened
. It was all
perfectly innocent
,” insisted Fin.

Desperate situations need desperate measures, but this last fabrication sounded utterly ludicrous to Fin herself, such an old chestnut of a denial that it almost invited disbelieving derision. Ba turned slowly again to look at Cecilia, as if seeking corroboration. Fin looked over Ba’s head and glared at Cecilia, hard and meaningfully. Cecilia was unable to meet her gaze, and dropped her eyes. I should think so too, you ratbag, thought Fin.

“Yes, that was it,” said Cecilia, a little unconvincingly, Fin thought. But Ba gave a sigh, and nodded. It seemed she was ready to buy it.

“Now why don’t we all sit in the lounge,” Fin suggested – she didn’t want them talking behind her back – “and we could have a cup of tea.”

It was not the most relaxing cuppa she had ever enjoyed, but the conversation remained safe, if a little sporadic. Ba was indeed a care assistant, and had just come off night shift, earlier than usual as it happened. Fin wondered if she worked in the same nursing home as the one where the glamorous deejay Des/Desiree was employed by day. No apologies were offered for the assault, and Fin was certainly not intent on pushing the matter. She worked on giving the impression that she was a mature student, and that Cecilia and she knew each other from being on the same course. It might make the story more believable.

Cecilia barely spoke, and Ba just about responded to Fin’s small-talk, though briefly, and without appearing to be fully engaged. However, time was getting on, and as Fin made preparatory leaving noises, she was surprised when Ba stood, and offered her hand to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Fin,” she said gruffly, with apparent sincerity.

Goodbyes were exchanged, unadorned by the usual anticipations of further contact, and Fin rushed down the stairs to the front door.

The morning air was sharp, with only the first hint of dust in it, and she took a long lungful as she scanned the street for a taxi.

The journey home was plagued by Sunday roadworks complete with contraflow, and an ill-tempered cloudburst. Fin was pushed to get the cottage in presentation order for the first couple, who seemed interested; the fact she hadn’t had time to put on the chillout music at subliminally low volume had evidently not affected the viewing. Then a family, then a man on his own, then two women.

“Oh, Helen, I just adore it! I
really
want this cottage!”

“It’s interesting, Jess, but there’s a lot to consider. We’ve still other houses to see.”

Fin smiled to herself. Helen was obviously trying to rein in Jess’s open enthusiasm, and retain a respectable objectivity. They were retired schoolteachers, and Fin wondered about them, taking in Helen’s sharp slacks and abrupt haircut, and Jess’s body language whenever she addressed her companion. Fin would never have thought of Cantlesham as being somewhere lesbians might live, though statistically it must have a few. Of course, she was just as guilty of making assumptions as any reactionary member of Joe Public, and the Misses Smith and Mathison could just as well be friends who had decided to live out their retirement in companionable shared accommodation.
 
Miss Smith’s parting handshake was long and warm, and Fin wondered how she might react to a meaningful wink.
 
Daft thought.

She sighed as she closed the door, deciding to put her feet up for ten minutes before checking the callminder and e-mails. She poured a generous glass of Shiraz, threw the show cushions off her favourite chair and sank into its softness.

It was dark by the time she came to, and chilly.
 
She fumbled for the glass, took a sizeable swig, and trudged off to bed. Unable to raise the energy even to undress, she trod off her shoes and crawled under the duvet.

During the week that followed. Fin had to depend quite a bit on Margaret’s goodwill to cover for her in the shop when househunters couldn’t or wouldn’t take an evening slot, and Fin noticed that her employee was becoming less communicative, and looking more anxious. She might even now be looking for a new job, Fin thought. Another worry…

Ellie left a message, finally lifted on Monday evening, hoping she had enjoyed the date, and expressing eagerness to hear all the details. Fin left one in return, telling Ellie she’d be in touch to tell her about it later in the week. She really didn’t feel like going over it right now, and realised that
 
although she still liked Ellie a lot, her confidence in her had been somewhat shaken by Saturday’s events. There was a second, unexpected message, from Rachel. She told Fin it had been lovely to meet her, and that she should drop in any time she happened to be in Harford.
 
She had asked friends to look out for flats for sale, and would let her know if anyone came up with anything. If Fin wanted to spend a weekend
 
househunting sometime, she would be welcome to stay over, if she didn’t mind taking the family as she found them.
 
Rachel’s kindness cheered her up, and she had a quick browse on the internet to see what was available in Harford. It looked increasingly likely that her choice would be limited, but what the hell.
 
Fate would sort it out.

The week rushed by. The shop was perversely busy, when a slack period would actually have been quite helpful. The viewings began to merge into one another, and it became more difficult to remember the faces, apart from those of the most promising or obnoxious; just like customers at the shop, really. Fin had to work at maintaining the spontaneity of her sales pitch, to prevent it from becoming mechanical or lazy.
  

Fin still hadn’t called Ellie back, and felt obliged to ring on Sunday morning in response to a second voicemail.

“God, Fin, what time do you call this? It’s the middle of the bloody night!”

“For your information, Ellie, it’s pushing eleven.”

Ellie groaned.

“It’s the latest I could leave it, Ellie, I’ve got viewings coming out of my ears, and the next one’s at half past.”

“OK, OK, so how did you get on? I’ve been dying to know.”

Fin had rehearsed the way she was going to relate the story: keeping it humorous, refraining from actually laying blame at Ellie’s door, but implying in as subtle a way as possible that things could easily have turned quite nasty.

Ellie got the message. She sounded subdued, embarrassed, even, though it occurred to Fin that the fact Ellie was only just awake might possibly have something to do with it.

“Oh, God. I’m really sorry, Fin. I honestly didn’t know the girl was a freak. She’s quite new on the course – only switched from biology to anthropology this term, and she isn’t a student with a one hundred percent attendance record at lectures, by a long chalk.
 
Always quiet and shy, too. She seemed quite friendly and sweet when she cornered me last Friday and asked whether I could advise her on the best way to meet nice gay women and girls.”

“So you said you knew this idiot from Cantlesham who would be only too grateful for a chance of some experience, and willing to spend a small fortune on vile cocktails!”

“Oh, don’t. Yes, I told her you’d be coming in from Cantlesham for drinks with friends earlier, but I did
not
tell her you were new to the scene; I wouldn’t do that unless I knew the person really well. I didn’t envisage you jumping into bed with her.”

“Jumping-
bloody
hell, Ellie! You want a major kick up the arse.”

“Yeah, well, fair do. Tell you what, I’ll treat you to dinner next time you’re in – can you manage this week-end at all?”

“’Fraid not. Busy trying to market my des. res. for the foreseeable. But I’ll certainly take you up on the offer when I get a chance to trawl the city for a suitable place to live. I’m hoping against hope that selling won’t take too long – I can’t do much until I get a buyer.”

“Isn’t it a bitch? There was a lovely flat in my block up for sale recently, but it went under offer just before we met. Typical!”

“I’ll get something. Rachel said she’d keep an eye open for me – oh, I forgot to say, aren’t they lovely?”

“Rachel and Dave, you mean? Yes, they’re the best. The sort of people that give straights a good name.”

“Not just them, though; I met some great people at the party: social work crowd, Trish and Jackie, Hamish and Doc, Archer…”

“And lots more still to meet. You’re going to fit right in, kid.”

“Aw, shucks…”

“They all seemed to like you.”

“Yes, I’m sure that was all they talked about when I’d gone.”

“Oh, listen to Miss Needy. Actually, darling, I could name several of the crowd who said, quite unprompted, what a lovely girl you were. Satisfied?”

“OK, I’ll take your word for it! Look, Ellie, I’ve got to go. Speak to you again soon.”

“You take care of yourself, Fin.’Bye.”

“’Bye Ellie.”

Margaret had said nothing in the way of a reaction to Fin’s proposition all week. There was simply no percentage in hassling her; she seemed troubled enough as it was, and Fin knew her well enough not to show impatience. By the week-end, however, she recognised that it was almost certain that Margaret would turn down the offer to go full-time as manager. She would tell Fin that her Peter didn’t like the idea, thus sharing with him responsibility for the refusal. Fin reflected wryly that she was hardly in any position to criticise Margaret for being too heavily influenced by her husband. She would simply have to bite the bullet and commute four days a week. It would take over two hours in the rush-hour, depending whereabouts in the city she ended up.
 
She had just taken it too much for granted that her source of income would always be a short drive away. Perhaps she could, after all, sell the business eventually; another possibility. Surely she could secure a job that paid enough to keep her, or further develop the hitherto modest internet side of things?
 
But her business sense told her to hang on to her assets until other things were settled. She would see Margaret before opening on Monday, and reassure her that although she was still moving house, the situation at the shop would remain the same.