Anywhere's Better Than Here (12 page)

‘‘What time?'' Gerry looked at his watch. ‘‘It's nearly half past two now. Shall we say half seven?''

Laurie nodded. ‘‘Where? Not outside my flat. Obviously.''

‘‘No, obviously.'' He thought for a moment. ‘‘How about outside the Art Centre cinema.''

‘‘What's on?''

‘‘Who knows, there'll be something though. Something arty that'll fit in with our wandering notions.''

‘‘Cool.'' She turned towards the door. ‘‘I'd better get going then and buy something to wear.'' What she'd actually manage to get for twenty quid was beyond her, but she wasn't about to ask Gerry for more.

‘‘Of course.''

He took her coat out of the hall cupboard and helped her into it. He smoothed his hands across her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her. Laurie collapsed into him as he pulled her in and kissed her. Her closed eyes saw nothing but a velvet purple. Pleasant moments passed then she disengaged herself and took a deep breath.

‘‘Nice,'' she said as she turned the snib on the lock and stepped out into the stairway. She paused for a second and nodded in the direction of downstairs.

‘‘Cheerio Gerry,'' she said in loud voice. ‘‘That was amazing. I'll see you later.'' She winked at him and he shut the door, grinning.

It was still teeth shatteringly cold when Laurie walked out into the street but she wasn't bothered much by it. The heat in her body was radiating outwards nicely. She set off for a second hand clothes shop she'd sometimes been into when she was a student. The thought of raking through rack after rack of slightly smelly nylon items didn't fill her with joy, but she felt like wearing a dress tonight and knew she wouldn't be able to afford one from the shopping centre.

The streets were quiet; presumably most people were working or sensibly staying in the warm. She knew she should be grateful to Gerry for the money and for the evening out, but she couldn't work up much enthusiasm for the actual act of shopping.

She passed a shop window covered with handwritten ads for all sorts of services and places to rent. She stopped short and reversed. How much could she realistically afford for a place to live? She couldn't go on living with Ed after Christmas – even in the event of him suggesting she stay on as a flatmate. She could see it happening; the two of them living in exactly the same manner as they did at the moment. Although now, she supposed, Ed had started college and was getting a life of his own. Perhaps Ed might be glad if she left, there might not be a scene at all. For all she knew he was sitting somewhere right now, with some girl that Laurie had never met, eating pizza silently. He would be much happier without her and she was foolish to think he didn't know that. She started to brighten up. Everything would be fine, he'd be relieved, he wouldn't cry or beg or offer to change in small or huge ways. She wouldn't feel like a heartless murderer.

She looked more closely at the signs. She really would need to get something, somewhere, sorted out pronto. It wasn't like she was going to move in with Gerry. Although maybe something could develop there. At the very least she could stay with Gerry for a few nights, maybe even weeks, until she got a new place organised. But still, better to get the ball rolling.

Studio apartment. No pets, DSS, students, smokers, children. Byrecroft Road.

Call 07973786534 after 6. £500 pcm
.

Sounded good, but way too expensive. Maybe she'd have to think about a flat share. She groaned. It would be like living as a student again and it wasn't as if she could bully or harass flatmates to clean the kitchen and there'd be nobody bringing her a cup of tea again. Maybe ever again. Maybe she'd die alone choking on dog food while children pissed on her front door.

 

Lovely sunny room available in gorgeous West End flat. Potential flat mate must be vegan or at least vegetarian. £300 pcm would be great, but could be negotiated with the right person.

 

Sounded nice, but possibly very tedious. She leaned forward and looked more closely at the decorated card. It had flowers drawn all around the borders and a squiggly vine woven through the flowers. She scrutinised the vine which actually seemed to be lettering. What did it say? It was hard to read because of being done in a faint green colour and also because it seemed to have been designed that way. Suddenly it came together. It read:

 

the Great Perfection within me honours the Great Perfection within you.

 

‘‘Eugh!'' Laurie exclaimed, stepping back in shock and startling an old lady walking past. The look on Laurie's face must have piqued the woman's interest as she stepped forward and scanned the window for what had shocked Laurie. Seeing nothing she turned to Laurie puzzled.

‘‘What is it, Hen?''

‘‘Oh,'' Laurie shook her head. ‘‘I saw something I wasn't expecting in the window.''

‘‘Oh, whit was it?'' The woman looked concerned. ‘‘Ah've seen some fair dodgy things in shop windies in ma time, ah'll tell ye.''

‘‘It wasn't exactly dodgy.'' Laurie knew she'd sound ridiculous. ‘‘It was sort of …'' she pointed at the window. ‘‘Like, religious.''

She expected the woman to shake her head at her in disgust, but the woman wrinkled her nose and said, ‘‘Ah've seen adverts in there for,'' she sniffed and looked around herself, ‘‘sexual services.'' She drew out the the ex in sexual for longer than it really needed. Laurie thought of snakes.

Laurie and the woman shook their heads at each other.

‘‘What's the world coming to, eh?'' said Laurie.

‘‘Ah ken.'' The woman kept shaking her head. It was starting to look like she had a tic or something.

‘‘Where is it?''

Laurie pointed at the card in the window. The woman moved up to the glass and peered in.

‘‘Mmmh,'' she tapped her finger on the glass. ‘‘Hippies.''

Laurie nodded.

The woman turned to her. ‘‘Hippies and Prozzies. Bloody Hell.'' She smiled brightly. ‘‘Anyway. Happy Christmas, love.''

The woman waved and sped off along the street. She should stop underestimating the elderly, some of them were faster than you'd expect.

Laurie couldn't be bothered looking at any other signs. She set off again.

***

The shop was a dark little place down an alley. It smelled of patchouli, inevitably, and also something earthier: damp and fertile, like compost or school classrooms. Laurie wrinkled her nose. She wasn't into fashion foraging and hated the self-satisfied looks that bin-rakers gave each other when they ferreted out a designer vintage piece. Piece! Ridiculous, describing clothes as if they were art. Piece of nonsense more like. It was over priced when it was new, and certainly over-priced now that it was second hand. Wankers.

What Laurie really needed was a little dress, a cocktail dress. Maybe black. Definitely black. Not too short, but she did want to look more sexy and sophisticated than Gerry had so far seen her. The problem was that Laurie had no idea what her look was. She wasn't trendy or classic or anything. When she went shopping she always tried to get things she'd get use out of but she never managed to get anything that worked with anything else.

Carole, her friend from school, was a great shopper. She always looked immaculate and put together. Once, at the end of a drunken night out, Carole had tried to impart some advice to Laurie. She told her to always buy a complete outfit and then you'd know what went with what. But Laurie had laughed at Carole's serious face and her grown up approach to shopping, even going so far as drawing other people's attention to Carole saying, ‘‘Have you met my granny? She thinks she's Coco fucking Chanel.''

Carole had laughed, but they hadn't seen much of each other afterwards.

Anyway, that had nothing to do with getting something for her date. Date! How American!

She braced herself taking one last clean breath of air, and entered the shop.

It reminded her of the shop in the kids' programme Mr Benn. All sorts of costumes hung over the sides of the garment rails that were stuffed with the usual mixture of unpleasant plastic blouses and flares and dresses that didn't fit Laurie, or probably anyone else, since the Seventies. Shapes had definitely changed since the olden days.

Laurie didn't make eye contact with any of the other customers, the last thing she needed was someone waxing lyrical about some faux Biba crap or asking her if she'd like her chakras read or some other hippy shit. She could see out of the corner of her eye that there were only two other customers and the woman that was working the till. From what she could make out with furtive glances, the shop assistant was not someone she'd be asking for style guidance from.

She was a big girl wearing a short puffball skirt over what appeared to be a leopard print catsuit. To top it off she was wearing golden gladiator sandals. She must have been frigging freezing. Mind you, most likely the catsuit was polyester and she was sweating up nicely.

Laurie flicked through the rack in front of her. Nothing. There wasn't even anything black. She moved over to the next rack where there was an over abundance of leisure suits but no little black dress. She could feel the assistant coming closer and desperately grabbed three items from the end of the rack.

Before she could ask to use the changing rooms, the assistant pointed her chubby thumb towards the back of the shop.

‘‘They're back there. I'm going out front for a fag.'' She raised an eyebrow at Laurie. ‘‘Don't nick anything.''

Laurie tried to smile at the assistant but was unable to speak due to the fact that she was suddenly struck with the notion that the assistant was, in fact, her old piano teacher, Mr Hooper. If not Mr Hooper, then definitely a man, or a very, very manly woman.

Laurie rushed to the back of the shop and pulled the swing doors shut behind her. She stood for a minute, resting her head against the glass of the changing room. Her forehead suckered on to the mirror and instantly she felt calmer. Not Mr Hooper, but surely not a woman either? What did it matter anyway? God! Who cared? If Mr Hooper wanted to dress up in hideous clothing, what was it to her? He couldn't have had a very happy life teaching piano to spoilt little brats like her who never did their practice and always lied about it. He'd irritated her mother no end by always leaving his empty Ski yoghurt pot on the piano lid.

‘‘I mean really,'' Laurie's mum used to say to Laurie's dad. ‘‘There's a bin right beside the piano. I put it there the second time Mr Hooper came. But no, no he can't be bothered to put the pot into the bin I've provided. No, he's too good, too arty to be thinking about such nonsense as manners and hygiene.'' Laurie loved it when her mother had a rant about Mr Hooper and would join in and try and persuade her to drop the piano lessons altogether. But always to no avail. For some reason her mother had it fixed in her mind that Laurie must at least reach Grade One. Laurie couldn't see it happening. Between Laurie's complete inability to master the basics contained in ‘‘Lovely Tunes for the Pianoforte'' and Mr Hooper's utter lack of interest in teaching these supposedly lovely tunes, there was really no chance of Laurie getting her certificate. Luckily for Laurie, after a few months, Mr Hooper announced a new job in Huddersfield and that was the end of that.

Perhaps Huddersfield was where Mr Hooper had discovered his inner Hilary or Harriet or whatever. But no, surely it couldn't be Mr Hooper. It was a ridiculous idea.

‘‘Pull yourself together girl,'' she told herself in the mirror, pointing a finger at her reflection. ‘‘You've got bigger fish to fry, haven't you?'' She nodded glumly. ‘‘Well get on with it then.''

She lifted the first dress off the hook where she'd hung it. It was dark blue and the upper part of it was made out of lace. It had some sort of structure built into it as if an invisible, deflating person was still wearing it.

The second dress was made out of a cotton paisley fabric and was meant to look as if it was a shirt. It had big gold buttons down the front and a little pocket on the left breast with a fake hankie poking out of the top. Hideous.

The third one was black and shiny. It was a decent length but had big shoulder pads and an oversized bow stitched on to the back. It had some potential and she couldn't face going out again so she decided to give it a try at least.

After some struggle and the always horrifying sight of herself in the mirror without clothes on, she managed to get the dress on. She'd need to remove the shoulder pads and the bow for sure, but, other than that, it was okay. She had a pair of shoes that would be alright with it. She took it off again and got her clothes back on. There was no ticket on the dress. She was going to have to ask the assistant. She stuck her head out of the swinging doors but the shop was empty. She decided to have a look around for accessories. A bag would be nice, maybe some jewellery. She found the bags in a box by the counter and flicked through them. There was nothing that immediately stood out, but there was quite a nice oversized clutch bag with a big metal clasp on it in the shape of an owl. £4. Hopefully she'd be able to afford it with the money Gerry had given her. Why did he want her to dress up? Did he see himself as a sugar daddy? No, ridiculous, she didn't think Gerry would be so grubby.

Quite naturally, as if it was an action she took frequently and inconsequentially, she folded the dress over twice into a neat, little package and popped it inside the clutch bag. She tore the price tag away from the bag and tucked it under a pile of fliers on the cash desk. She was just covering the bag with her coat as the shop door opened and picked up one of the fliers and pretended to read it.

The assistant made his/her way back to the other side of the till and smiled at Laurie. She was dressed as a woman, but it was too confusing to think about what to call her, given her massive paws and throbber of an Adam's apple.