Rescuing Rose (14 page)

'I think I'm getting nuisance phone calls, ' I said to Henry as we walked around the Windsmoor concession in Debenhams the following Saturday. 'How about this?' I held up a stretch lace, high-necked blouse. He cocked his head to one side.

'I'd prefer a scoop neckline, ' he said.

'Not advisable—you've got a hairy chest. ' I showed him a red crushed velvet jacket—size twenty. 'This take your fancy?' He shook his head.

'So what happens with these calls?' he asked as I riffled through a rack of large frocks. 'Do they speak to you?'

'No they don't. All I hear is heavy breathing. '

'Oh, nasty. So what do you do?'

'I do what I advise my readers to do. I don't speak to them, or try and engage them in conversation, and I don't blow a whistle down the phone. I simply wait a few seconds, say absolutely nothing, then quietly put down the phone. They want you to react Henry—that's why they do it; so it's much better to spoil their fun. Eventually the tiny-minded wankers realise that they're wasting their time and they stop. '

'How many calls have there been so far?'

'I've had four in the last two weeks. It's not that many but it's unnerving and it makes me feel jumpy about answering the phone. How about this?' I held up a blue floral skirt the size of a windbreak. He pulled a face.

'Too chintzy. Well if it carries on, then complain. '

'I probably will, but to be honest I'm so busy and it all takes time. No, not that bubble-gum pink, Henry, it's much too "Barbie"—try this fuchsia. But no shoulder pads, okay?'

'Okay. And do you press 1471 afterwards?'

'Of course, but it always says that the number's been withheld. '

'Hmm, ' he murmured, 'that's significant. '

'I know it is. It's beginning to bother me, ' I added as we passed through Separates on our way to Eveningwear to the sound of synthesised 'Jingle Bells'. 'But until they say something malicious or threatening it's rather hard to complain. '

'Perhaps it's Ed?' Henry suggested as he surreptitiously fingered a taffeta ball gown.

'I doubt it. It's not his style. In any case he doesn't even have my new number—we've been on total non-speakers since our split. '

'I still think you should check. '

'But how? I can hardly ring him up and say, "Hi Ed, this is Rose. I was just wondering if you've been making nuisance phone calls to me lately. " Anyway, I
know
it's not him. '

'Have you fallen out with anyone lately?' Henry asked.

'Not that I can think of, although… I I did have a bit of a run in with a mad woman on my phone-in the other week. '

'I know, ' he said. 'I heard her. I must say she sounded a bit of a brute. '

'And she's convinced I advised her husband to leave her; she said I'd be "sorry, " so maybe it's her. Though God knows how she got my number. '

'That's the trouble with what you do, ' Henry said as he held a pink feather boa under his stubbled chin, 'you get some
weird
people contacting you. '

'I know. Now I think you'd look lovely in this, ' I went on as I pulled out a black bias-cut silk satin dress. 'Ooh, and it's got twenty per cent off!'

'Really?' he said.

'Yeah, shall we give it a whirl?' He nodded enthusiastically and we headed off to the fitting room.

'That's not your size, Madam, ' said the sales assistant peremptorily, 'it's a twenty, I'd say you're a ten. '

'But I like things nice and loose. My husband will be coming into the cubicle with me, ' I added briskly, 'as he always likes to see what I buy. '

We pulled the curtain shut and Henry quickly undressed. Then he strapped on a pair of silicone-jelly breasts he'd got from Transformation, and struggled into the dress. As I did up the zip he looked at his reflection and sighed with happiness.

'Oh yes!' he said, turning this way and that, 'it's just so… me. ' He looked like a gorilla in a ball gown. That hairy back! 'What accessories should I wear?'

'A velvet scarf maybe, or some pearls. Or better still, a choker, to cover your Adam's apple. And you'll need some black tights, sixty denier at least unless you're prepared to shave. '

'Can't I have fishnets?'

'No, Henry. Too tarty. '

'Really?' He looked disappointed.

'Yes, really. Your mother would be horrified. '

'That's true. '

He bought a sparkly handbag and then we went down to cosmetics on the ground floor.

'Were the Beaumont Society helpful?' I enquired
sotto voce
as we perused the make-up.

'Yes, ' he said, 'they were great. They told me how to avoid being "read" when I go out. '

'You're not planning to wear this stuff in public are you?' I whispered.

'Not at work, no; I might get the hem caught in my tank. But, who knows, ' he breathed, 'when I'm on leave, if I'm feeling daring, I might. '

'But you're six foot one, Henry!'

'So are you!'

'But I'm feminine. '

'Well you're not the only one!'

'Now, your skin-tone is fair, ' I said, changing the subject. 'I think you'll need this Leichner extra-thick foundation to hide the five o'clock shadow and of course translucent powder— pressed or loose? Coral lipstick, rather than red, would suit you for that English Rose look, and eye-liner should be navy not black. We'd better get you a good pair of tweezers too while we're here and something to minimise those pores. '

'Christ, you're right, ' he said, as he peered, horrified, into an adjacent mirror. 'They're the size of grapefruits. And I need a wig and some scent. '

'I think you should go for something really feminine, like O de Lancome or Femme. '

We emerged from the store two hours later with six large carrier bags, Henry beaming from ear to ear.

'You'll look ravishing in that lot, ' I said as he hailed a cab. 'Really gorgeous. '

'Gosh thanks, Rose. You're a real sport. '

'My pleasure, ' I said, as he gave me a hug, and it was. As I walked down Oxford Street in the milling crowds I realised that I'd loved going shopping with Henry whereas with Ed it was always a trial. Not because he didn't like doing it but because he'd always try and beat people down. If something cost eighty quid he'd knock them down to sixty; if it was fifteen he'd try and get it for ten. 'What's the best price you can give me?' he'd ask while I'd blush and look the other way. He once bargained ninety pounds off a fridge-freezer.

'Why do you bother?' I'd said.

'Because it's fun, that's why. It gives me this adrenaline rush. '

But I knew that that was a lie. The real reason was because Ed's family were incredibly hard-up and there was never any cash. His dad had been foreman at a builder's yard, but he'd died from asbestosis when Ed was eight. Ed's mother didn't get the government compensation for ten years and there was often barely enough to eat. That kind of start in life leaves an indelible mark, so I knew where Ed was coming from. But the fact that he was one of five children was one of the things that drew me to him; although, well, it's rather sad really, because he hardly ever sees them these days. Only his mother and one sister, Ruth, came to our wedding; as for the others, they've drifted apart. For example, Ed hasn't seen his youngest brother, Jon, for six years; they fell out badly, over money, I think. Nevertheless, Jon still sent us a lovely alabaster lamp for our wedding, even though Ed hadn't invited him. It made me feel terribly sad. Anyway, I liked Ed's mother, and the thought of her looking after all those children, on her own,
and
working full-time fills me with total awe. Whereas some stupid women well, it's too pathetic, they can't even cope with
one
…

Now, as I sat on the number thirty-six, a woman came and sat in front of me with her little girl who was about two and a half, maybe three. The bus was full so the child sat on her lap, encircled by her arms like a hoop. And as I looked at them I felt the old, old pang and thought,
my
mother never held me like that…

I always try and distract myself at bad moments, so I got out my
Daily Post
. There was the photo of Bev and Trev on the masthead and inside a big, two page spread. It was headed 'LABRACADABRA!' and there were pictures of them at home, 'Clever Trevor'—dressed in his red Helping Paw coat— drawing the curtains and bringing in the milk. There was a shot of him getting the washing out of the machine and passing 'Tragic Bev' the pegs while she hung up the clothes. There they were in Sainsbury's, at the check-out, with Trevor handing over Bev's purse. Finally there was a shot of them both at the cashpoint, Trev getting out the money with his teeth. 'Trevor's much more than my canine carer, ' Bev was quoted as saying, 'he's saved my life. '

I realised now, how modest Beverley had been in describing herself to me as a 'PE teacher'. She'd been so much more than that. Yes, she'd taught games at a girls' school, the article explained, but she'd also been an outstanding sportswoman in her own right. As an eighteen-year-old she'd been county tennis champion, and in her mid-twenties, as a middle distance runner, she'd won silver in the Commonwealth games. After retiring from the track she'd taken up women's hockey and had played for the national side. She'd been selected to play for England at the Sydney Olympics but her injury had shattered that dream. Her accident had left her 'suicidal' and 'devastated' until Trevor transformed her life. 'He's my hero, ' she said. 'We adore each other. Without him I just couldn't go on. ' It was touching stuff and at the bottom was the number for Helping Paw.

When I got home Theo was in the kitchen, cooking. I could hear him singing to himself. Repelled by the thought of him spying on my neighbours dressed in a floral nightie, I decided to give him a wide berth. And I was just taking off my coat when I glanced at the half-moon telephone table and saw a pile of unopened post. There were my first utilities bills, a cashmere brochure and an Oxfam Christmas catalogue. Underneath, in a white plastic cover was some magazine or other, it looked like
Newsweek
or
Time
. I turned it over and saw that it wasn't either of those: it was
Astronomy Now
magazine.
Oh
.

'Hello, Rose, ' Theo called out suddenly.

'Oh. Hi!'
Astronomy Now
? But that didn't explain the Janet Reger nightie did it?

'Had a good day?' he enquired politely as I went into the kitchen.

'Er, yes. I've been shopping with a… friend. You've got some post, you know. '

He wiped his hands, ripped the cover off the magazine, glanced at it, then put it down.
Star Clusters in Close-Up
! announced the headline and beneath,
Magellanic Clouds and Nebulae
!

'
Astronomy Now
?' I said with studied casualness. 'I've never seen that before. May I look at it?'

'Course you can. I get
Sky and Telescope
too. '

'So you're interested in… astronomy then?' I said feebly as I glanced at an article about the Leonid meteor showers.

'It's my passion, ' he replied as he got out a knife. 'I've been mad on it since I was a boy, I—' Suddenly his mobile rang. Or rather it didn't ring; it played 'Would you like to swing on a star, carry moonbeams home in ajar?' He took the call, but it was clearly an awkward conversation for his throat became blotched and red.

'Hi. Yes. I'm okay, ' he said slightly tersely. 'Yes. Fine. That'd be grand. Whatever you want. Yes. Yes. I'll drop the keys off at your office on Monday. No, I don't want to come to the house. Sorry about that, ' he said with fake brightness as he put his phone back in his pocket, 'where were we?'

'Astronomy. '

'Oh yes. It's my… passion, ' he said as he sliced a courgette with a trembling hand.

'So do have your own telescope then?' I enquired innocently.

'Yes. It's in my room. You can have a look at it if you like. '

'Ooh, no, no, no, I wouldn't do that. I mean, I wouldn't go in your room. '

'That's okay. I don't mind if you do—I've nothing to hide. It's a three-inch refracting telescope rather than one of the more modern reflectors, but the optics are really good. It has a magnification of 150, ' he added proudly as he got out a frying pan. 'It belonged to my granddad—he used to run the Leeds observatory—it's old but it's excellent. ' He opened the fridge and took out a beer. 'I feel like a drink. How about you?' I felt guilty about having mistrusted him so I nodded.

'Thanks. That'd be nice. So where do you do your… star-watching?' I asked as he got down two glasses.

'The best place is Norfolk—I used to go there with my grandparents. You can do it in London, but you have to choose your spot carefully because the sky-glow's so bad. '

'The sky-glow?'

'The light pollution. That awful tangerine glare. I'm involved with the Campaign for Dark Skies, ' he went on as he poured out my beer. 'We ask local councils to install star-friendly street lighting which throws the light down, where it's needed, not up. It's tragic that people living in cities don't get to see the night sky—they miss so much. I mean just look up, ' he said suddenly. He switched off the light, plunging us into darkness, and I peered up through the conservatory roof. Through the glass I could see five, no… eight stars twinkling dimly against the inky night and a sliver of silvery moon. 'City folk miss so much, ' he repeated as I craned my neck. 'How often do they see the Milky Way and the Pleiades, Orion's belt, or the Plough? You don't even need a telescope to be an amateur astronomer. You can see so much just with your eyes. '

'So that's why you didn't want me to complain about the street lamps?' I suggested.

'Yes, that's right. ' And that explained why Theo went out when it was dry and clear, not when it was wet. 'Actually this area's not too bad for observation, ' he continued as he turned on the light and the stars vanished, 'which is why I like living here. That little park at the end of the road is quite good for example. '

'Holland Gardens?'

'Yes. I've taken my scope there a couple of times. There are no tall buildings around it so you get a big piece of sky, and I've a filter which cuts out the glare. And my friend Mark has a large garden so sometimes I go round there. I ring him and say "Are you up for it?"' he added. 'That's what we amateur astronomers say. It's our little in-joke. Are you up for it?' He shook his head and laughed. So he wasn't the Milky Bar kid after all—he was the Milky
Way
kid.