Out Late with Friends and Regrets (8 page)

“Oh, mine too, just listen!” and Ellie must have put the phone down to the tabletop, as Fiona heard a staccato rapping.
 

“Well, thanks for that, it’s great to hear from you, and I’d love us to meet, Ellie,”
 
said Fiona, so fluently and fast she surprised herself.

“Good,” responded the voice, “good start.
 
Well, first of all, do you live in town?”

“What town?”

“Harford.”
   

“No, but I can drive in.
 
When, and where?”

“Would half eight on Saturday suit you?” asked Ellie.

“Sure.”

“D’you know Jetsam’s?”

“Actually, I don’t know Harford much at all, except for Woodside, where friends of mine live.
 
The Hillfort Shopping Centre and the Bridge Street multi-storey are about it, I’m afraid. I don’t have a satnav – I’ve never needed one, but I seem to remember the one-ways are a nightmare.”

“Too right.
 
OK then, Jetsam’s is in Bramerton Street, right by the university – dump the car in the NCP, cross over into Dixon Street and keep heading for the river. It’s left at the war memorial and Jetsam’s is right there, just past the big old printworks sign on the gateways.
 
You can’t miss it,” said Ellie.

“Is it- a gay club?”

“Harford doesn’t have a gay club as such – well, there’s a grubby little bar near the river that some of the guys use as a pick-up joint, but that’s just a dive.
 
Jetsam’s is the nearest thing – most of the college crowd go there, and anyone a bit bohemian or different.
 
That includes us rainbow ravers, of course!”

“Sounds great!”

“You get a lot of people-watchers from all walks of life in there, too.
 
Be prepared for live theatre, darling!
 
The clientele is a real mixture, to say the least.”

“I can’t wait.
 
Any particular table?
 
Or at the bar, or where?”

“Ah, now.
 
It’s on three floors – a huge print works in the old days.
 
The basement’s a disco – very noisy; we’d better meet on the ground floor.
 
We’ll get a quiet table away from the jukebox and be able to talk, OK?”

Ellie sounded as if she were about to ring off.

“Ellie – how will we know each other?
 
Should I wear a green carnation, or something?”

Ellie chuckled.
 
“No, tell you what, carry a copy of the Big Issue.
 
No.
 
No, don’t.
 
Just sit somewhere and I’ll find you.
 
A little challenge for me.
 
Got to go, darling, my other phone’s ringing.
 
Saturday, then.
 
’Bye!”
 

And that was it; the first step.

Saturday didn’t come.
 
Well, it did, of course, eventually, as Saturdays tend to, but it was a grindingly slow week.

“I don’t imagine for a minute that I’ll find a life partner in Ellie,” she told Rosemary on the phone, “but she sounds as if she could make a few introductions – oh Rosie, I’m so excited!”

“Well just be careful, won’t you, Fee?” said Rosemary, “This Ellie sounds OK, but keep your head, all right?”

“If that’s code for ‘Don’t get drunk and do something really stupid,’ I promise I’ll do my best,” Fiona assured her.

Thinking of the few quiet bars and restaurants in Cantlesham, she formed an exotic picture of Jetsam’s in her mind’s eye.
 
Fishing out the Harford A to Z, she looked up Bramerton Street and studied the map, trying to suck pictures from the grids and symbols.
 
Yes, that little stump of a turning off the street must be the gateway into the yard of the former printworks that Ellie had mentioned.

She booked a room at a B&B in Dixon Street, so she could have a lie-in on the Sunday morning. Then, some thought must be given to her appearance. What did an aspiring lesbian wear to make a good first impression? Smart casual, she decided, with boots for a little extra height. She would try the new girl at Cantlesham Cutz, ask for a shorter, edgier hairstyle. And dye it red, why not. Red hair was in her genes after all; she just hadn’t been lucky enough to inherit it. No bag, except the holdall she would drop off at the B&B on her way.
 
She preferred pockets, anyway, and there was a nifty little pouch for her phone in the lining of her jacket.

Jetsam’s was busy, even at this early hour.
 
The décor appeared to have been kept deliberately industrial and basic, with a metal staircase to one side, and the bar forming a long rectangle beside it.
 
There were oversized pipes and conduits across the ceiling, and the tables were topped with the same patterned pressed steel as the treads of the stairs.
 
Black and yellow safety tape here and there added a little colour to the uncompromising grey and silver scheme.

The customers, however, had apparently been rummaging in the dressing-up box, and paraded by in a mad carnival of colour.
 
A young man with an Eton crop and banana-yellow trousers caught her eye; a girl in shocking pink with a red overskirt chatted with a companion in acid-green satin, and a youth in a multicoloured patchwork kilt passed in front of her as she strolled up to the bar.
 
Suddenly Fiona felt suburban and ordinary.
 
The whole place seemed to be shifting like a kaleidoscope, people moving up and down the walkways between tables, stopping, talking, laughing, drinking.
 
How on earth was Ellie going to make contact with this lot going on?
 
She ordered a whisky to damp down her fluttery stomach, and stood at the bar for a while watching the show, absorbing the atmosphere and listening to the animated babble of a hundred or so voices, all sounding excited and all striving to be heard.

She watched two women effusively greeting one another in the aisle at the far corner, and wondered if they were straight or gay.
 
The willowy brunette stood over six feet tall in her stilettos, wearing a tight purple evening dress, her face immaculately made up to a doll-like prettiness.
 
The other was honey-skinned, but clearly had some Afro-Caribbean ancestry; her close-cropped hair was dyed an unfeasible golden yellow, and huge earring hoops jiggled as her laughter revealed a wide gap between her front teeth.
 
The big lips were painted a startling metallic scarlet.
 
No, these two couldn’t be lesbians – too girly by half.
 
Although the one with the big ear hoops
was
wearing baggy combat trousers tucked into calf-length DMs, and sported a khaki vest with a diamanté motif, creating a pleasantly eccentric effect. The brunette suddenly gazed upwards and clasped her hand to her chest in a dramatic gesture.
 
Fiona smiled, noticing the adam’s apple in profile.
 
Wow.

She glanced at her watch.
 
Twenty to nine.
 
What now? Sit at a table and wait to be found?
 
She scanned the place, looking for someone who might be Ellie. What would she be like?
 
The voice was very county, horsey almost, and Fiona’s mental picture of her was distinctly at odds with even the more conventionally-dressed patrons of this melting-pot of a place.
 
Taking a
 
deep breath, her second drink in hand, she decided to move through the mêlée and make a circuit; it would feel less awkward than sitting and waiting.
 
She shuffled slowly through the throng, glancing at each table, a half-smile on her face in readiness.
 

Of course, Ellie might not come.
 
Or she may have been held up; she sounded a very busy character.
 
What if there had been an accident on the way?
 
Oh, shut up, Fiona, she thought, just go round the once, then sit down and wait; plenty to look at, after all.

From behind, a hand landed on her shoulder, and squeezed it.

“Fiona!” Exclaimed Ellie’s voice.
 
About 50p’s worth of Famous Grouse slopped over the rim of the glass as Fiona jerked with surprise, tension exaggerating her reaction.
 
Turning, she found herself looking into a pair of espresso-dark eyes, and a dazzling smile.
 
The shock was profound.
 
It was the golden woman in the baggy pants.

“Hi, Ellie,” she returned, trying not to look as thrown as she felt.
 
In fact, it was hard not to smile back in the face of that high-voltage grin.
 
She added quickly, “Hey, you
are
good! What if it hadn’t been me?”

“I would have apologised charmingly and chatted you up, of course!” replied Ellie, “ No, I was pretty certain you were Fiona; body language, y’know.
 
Hey! You look absolutely
great
, by the way.
 
Now, I’d like you to meet my friend Desiree … Desiree, this is Fiona …”

Fiona put out her hand to shake, but Desiree, quite beautiful in close-up, embraced her and kissed the air either side of her head.

“Well, hel-
lo
,
 
Fiona,” said Desiree in a breathy tenor drawl, sounding all the more odd for the strong Glasgow accent, “so how long has
this
been gaun oan, huh?”

“You cheeky baggage,” chided Ellie, “we’ve only just met, as well you know.
 
A beautiful friendship potentially, if you don’t bollox it up before it starts.”

Desiree slipped an arm around Fiona’s waist and drew her close.

“You listen tae yer Auntie, hen,” offered Desiree, “Ye need tae know that this is an awfy naughty lady yir getting’ yersel involved wi, she’s already went an’ broke mair hearts than Jinky Johnstone’s goal record. An’ its ma opinion, by the way, that yir wa-a-ay too guid fur her, an’ that’s the truth.”

Fiona laughed, as Ellie countered, “God, Desiree, you old tart, I
was
going to invite you to have a drink with us, but now you can just bugger off.”

“
Such
a lady,” sighed Desiree, rolling her eyes.
 
“A wee brandy wid be fine, thank ye dear.”
 
Amused as she was, Fiona was a little concerned that the evening might turn into a fascinating but generally counter-productive threesome, but Desiree glanced at her watch and exclaimed, “Oh, ma Goad, late-a-fuckin’-’gain, pardon ma French, ladies, but ah need tae go.
 
See yez later!”
 
and was gone.

“Come on, let’s get a table,” smiled Ellie, “you must be suffering from a bit of culture shock, eh?”

“Amazed, I admit.
 
Desiree’s quite a character, isn’t he, er, she … oh, help me out, Ellie, what’s the protocol?”

“When she’s here working, it’s always she.
 
She’s a DJ downstairs in the disco, and does the karaoke with her partner, George.
 
Her alter ego, Des, works in a care home – helluva nice guy.
 
So, what are you drinking?”

“I’ve just had a brace of Grouse to steady my nerves, but I think I’d better tone it down a bit.”

“Good.
 
You’ll be OK with the house red – it’s usually a very gluggable Oz.”
    

“Fine.
 
But let me buy them.”

“Next time. Don’t worry, I’ll remind you!” They found a table, and Ellie fetched the refreshments.

And then it was the two of them, across the table.
 
Ellie began.

“So, I’m not what you expected, presumably.”
 

“Lesson one,” Fiona admitted with a laugh, “has to be about not expecting the blinking obvious.
 
I can’t
tell
you what I thought you were going to look like!”