Hungry For Revenge (2 page)

“You look good girl,” Sandy purred. “Kim
Kardashian’s body double.”

“Thanks Sandy. You’re looking great too after
all that power walking. I’d say you could be Nicole Kidman’s
double.”

“I’d take her bank balance any day, but not
the fame. How could we go shopping at Westfield Stratford
otherwise?”

“True, but if you had Kidman’s money it would
be strictly Bond Street my friend.”

Nat would accompany her strictly for eye
candy purposes although he thought this was the start of the
romance. Bulging biceps stretching his white Ralph Lauren polo
shirt to breaking point above blue skinny jeans, Nat complemented
her perfectly.

Joanna strode into the expansive back garden
of Alice’s house on Nat’s arm feeling the biggest rush ever as
heads turned and conversations stopped.

They looked like a celebrity couple, feeling
like Angelina must when stepping out with Brad, Joanna milked all
the praise, ego massaged beyond her wildest expectations.

Gary Billings still didn’t remember her from
school but this time he paid Joanna more attention than before,
much to the disgust of his latest Barbie lookalike in micro-mini
and six-inch white stilettos.

Gary, now the youth team coach at West Ham,
even invited her to a game, making a point of asking her to come
without Nat. She giggled, promising to bring Sandy.

The Cronies were uncharacteristically
friendly. A couple even gave Joanna their business cards. She took
them and tore them up in front of them.

But where was Katie? Officially, The Cronies
claimed she was in New York on business but consensus was that her
cocaine habit was now so bad she was in rehab. Crack and heroine
was mentioned too.

Joanna left the barbecue still basking in the
congratulations. The only dampener was that Katie hadn’t shown.

Nat pleaded with Joanna to end the perfect
evening with an overnight stay, but she was in no mood for
meaningless sex.

She pecked his cheek, thanked him and shooed
him away like the naughty youngster she saw him as.

“At least you had a great night, Jo,” Sandy
chirped the next day. “Don’t worry that Katie didn’t show, she’s
bound to have heard of your new fabulous size from The
Cronies.”

“Yes, but I wanted the satisfaction of her
seeing the new me in person. No one recognised me when I arrived.
Not even Alice. Having Nat along helped too. We pretended we were
an item.”

“Glad you’re not. A dog, like all the rest.
Stay clear of pretty boys, especially that one.”

Joanna felt energised. No longer feeling
fatigued by the slightest exertion and embarrassed when meeting
people, she decided to give back through charity work. It might
even help her find a husband too, she thought.

The Red Cross looked as good a cause as any.
Joanna decided to help on the soup runs in central London, giving
out food, cigarettes and drinks to homeless people whilst Red Cross
personnel gave basic medical care.

She quickly derived immense satisfaction from
the soup runs and even built up friendships with the appreciative
recipients. Not all homeless people come from deprived, abusive
backgrounds, she learned.

There was Basil who once worked on graphics
on a Star Wars movie at Elstree Studios but lost the will to work
and live normally because so many of his friends and family died
around him in a short time.

Gordon used to run a successful printing firm
but with the advance of technology the business collapsed and so
did his marriage. He found solace in drink, which spiraled out of
control that led to living on the streets.

Joanna befriended the talkative ones best.
Some wanted to tell their whole life stories as soon as she
introduced herself, but the majority were reticent.

Most took what was on offer but refused to
engage with the volunteers, ashamed of their homelessness which
Joanna respected.

Sandy suddenly stopped coming round and
ringing. There was always an excuse, sometimes ridiculous; taking
Louis to football, working late, ironing the curtains, painting the
skirting boards, washing the dog… Joanna got tired of not getting
her texts responded to and Sandy always allowing her phone to go to
voicemail. When Sandy allowed the memory on her voicemail box to
fill that’s when it looked all over. Her landline was supposedly
not in service either. Joanna suspected she had simply changed
it.

Nat said he hadn’t seen her for ages.

Wondering what she had done to deserve such a
brush off, the next month Joanna went round to Sandy’s end of
terrace house in Bow one night. Sandy opened the door slightly,
evidently not in the mood for pleasantries.

“Have I said or done something to upset you
Sandy because you seem to have terminated our friendship without
letting me know why.”

“No, I’ve just been very, very busy. Sorry
Jo, but I’ve got to go.”

Without waiting for a response, Sandy slammed
the door. Joanna had glimpsed a man moving across the hallway. She
walked to a window at the back of the house. Sandy was in a
passionate embrace with someone Joanna knew well.

She returned to the front door, ringing the
bell repeatedly until Sandy opened it ajar again.

“What do you want?”

“Is there something you’re not telling me
Sandy? I think I deserve an explanation. After all we’ve been
through together, it’s the least you can do. ”

The door was forced open wide. It was Nat,
looking embarrassed and apologetic. Standing behind Sandy, he
mouthed: “I’m so sorry.”

“What’s going on Sandy?”

“Well if you didn’t want him, why let him go
to waste?”

Joanna walked away crying. She wasn’t
jealous, more angry at Sandy’s deceit. Nat wasn’t faultless either,
ruining a friendship that stretched back years.

I thought Sandy was better than that. Bitch.
Well, at least she was right about Nat’s immaturity.

They never spoke again. Nat immediately got
himself transferred to another building.

For months Joanna kept busy with the weekly
soup runs. One night she spotted an incredibly skinny woman she
hadn’t seen before puffing heavily on a cigarette, dry, cracked
lips trembling. Her once thick, auburn hair was prematurely grey
and wispy. Finger tips stained from chain-smoking, she shivered
even though it was not particularly cold, probably from drug
withdrawal symptoms.

Under her grubby denim jacket her sweatshirt
evidently hadn’t been washed for a while either. She was a complete
mess. Cheekbones protruding under pallid skin, Joanna felt really
sorry for her.

“Would you like a sandwich and some tea?”

“Yes, please.”

“Cigarettes?”

“Thanks.”

“Haven’t seen you before.”

“I’ve come from King’s Cross. It’s getting
too rough there. Too many psychos.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be okay here. I’m
Jo.”

Joanna had learned not to ask their names.
They often didn’t want to tell. Curiously, this one did.

“I’m Katie. I used to be a banker at World
Finance until drugs got the better of me but nobody believes
me.”

“Don’t worry, I believe you.”

Then Joanna reached into her Red Cross food
bag.

“Apple pie Katie? They are Mr.
Kipling’s.”