“How d’you mean?” I say, puzzled.
“When the stupid buggers get stuck.” Jim shrugs and reaches for the half-price sign. “No matter. I’ve got to thinking of bread as a loss leader, like.”
“But it’s so yummy when it’s all fresh and new!” I say, looking along the rows of plump loaves. Suddenly I feel really sorry for them, like they haven’t been asked to dance. “I’ll buy some. Full price,” I add firmly.
“I’m about to reduce it,” Jim points out.
“I don’t care. I’ll have two big white ones and a brown one.” I march over to the bread display and pluck the loaves off the shelf.
“What are you going to do with all that bread?” says Kelly.
“Dunno. Make toast.” I hand Kelly some pound coins and she pops the three loaves into a bag, giggling.
“Jess is right, you are mad,” she says. “Shall I do your eyes now? What look do you want?”
“Customers’ll be coming in,” warns Jim. “I’m about to put the sign up.”
“I’ll just do one eye,” says Kelly, quickly reaching for a palette of eye shadows. “Then when they’ve all gone, I’ll do the other one. Close your eyes, Becky.”
She starts to brush eye shadow onto my eyelid, and I close my eyes, enjoying the brushing, tickling sensation. I’ve always adored having my makeup done.
“OK,” she says. “Now I’m doing some eyeliner. Keep still… ”
“Sign’s going up now,” comes Jim’s voice. There’s a pause — then I hear the familiar tinkling sound, and the bustle of people coming in.
“Er… don’t open your eyes yet, Becky.” Kelly sounds a bit alarmed. “I’m not sure if this has gone right… ”
“Let me see!”
I open them and grab my makeup mirror. One of my eyes is a wash of bright pink eye shadow, with shaky red eyeliner across the top lid. I look like I have some hideous eye disease.
“Kelly!”
“It said in Elle!” she says defensively, gesturing to a picture of a catwalk model. “Pink and red is in!”
“I look like a monster!” I can’t help bursting into giggles at my lopsided face. I have never looked so terrible in my life. I glance up to see if any of the customers have noticed and my laughter dies away.
Jess is coming into the shop along with the other reduced-price shoppers.
She looks so cold and hostile, a far cry from that skinny eleven-year-old waiting for the bus in the early morning. Her gaze runs dismissively over the magazines, the open makeup case, and all my makeup scattered over the counter. Then she turns away without speaking and begins to root through the basket of reduced cans.
The bustle of the shop has dwindled to nothing. I’m sure everyone knows exactly what’s been going on.
I glance at Jim, who gives me an encouraging nod.
“Er… Jess,” I begin. “I came to see you this morning. I wanted to explain… ”
“Nothing to explain.” She turns over the cans roughly, not even looking at me. “I don’t know what you’re still doing here.”
“She’s doing makeovers with me,” Kelly says loyally. “Aren’t you, Becky?”
I dart a grateful smile at her, but my attention is still fixed on Jess.
“I stayed because I want to talk to you. To… to apologize. Could I take you out to supper tonight?”
“I wouldn’t have thought I was well-dressed enough to have supper with you, Becky,” Jess says tonelessly. Her face is still and set — but now I can see the hurt underneath.
“Jess—”
“And anyway, I’m busy.” Jess dumps three battered cans on the counter, together with one that has lost its paper covering altogether and is marked at 10p. “Do you know what this is, Jim?”
“Fruit cocktail, I think.” He frowns. “But it could be carrots…”
“OK. I’ll take it.” She plonks some coins on the counter and fishes a crumpled paper carrier out of her pocket. “I don’t need a bag. Thanks.”
“Another night, then!” I say desperately. “Or lunch…”
“Becky, leave me alone.”
She strides out of the shop and I just sit there, my face tingling as though I’ve been slapped. Gradually the hush turns into whispers, which grow into full-blown chatter. I’m aware of people’s prying eyes as they come up to the counter to pay, but I’m too defeated to care.
“Are you OK, Becky?” Kelly says, touching my shoulder tentatively.
“I’ve blown it.” I drop my arms in a hopeless gesture. “You saw her.”
“She always was a stubborn little cuss.” Jim shakes his head. “Even when she was a kid. She’s her own worst enemy, that Jess. Hard on herself and hard on the rest of the world too.” He pauses, cleaning some dirt off his Stanley knife. “She could do with a sister like you, Becky.”
“Well, too bad,” Kelly says robustly. “You don’t need her! Just forget she’s your sister. Pretend she doesn’t exist!”
“Not as simple as that, though, is it?” says Jim. “Not with family. You can’t walk away so easy.”
“I don’t know.” I give a dispirited shrug. “Maybe we can. I mean, we’ve gone twenty-seven years without knowing each other… ”
“And you want to make it another twenty-seven?” Jim looks at me, suddenly stern. “Here’s the two of you. Neither of you has a sister. You could be good friends to one another.”
“It’s not my fault… ” I begin defensively, then tail off as I remember my little speech last night. “Well, it’s not all my fault… ”
“Didn’t say it was,” says Jim. He serves another two customers, then turns to me. “I’ve an idea. I know what Jess is doing tonight. In fact, I’ll be there too.”
“Really?”
“Aye. Local environmental protest meeting. Everyone’ll be there.” His eyes twinkle. “Why not come along?”
FAX MESSAGE
TO: LUKE BRANDON
APHRODITE TEMPLE HOTEL
CYPRUS
FROM: SUSAN CLEATH — STUART
6 JUNE 2003
URGENT — EMERGENCY
Luke
Becky isn’t at the flat. No one has seen her anywhere. I still can’t get through on her phone.
I’m really getting worried.
Suze
Nineteen
OK. THIS IS my chance to impress Jess. This is my chance to show her I’m not shallow and spoiled. I must not fuck this one up.
The first crucial thing is my outfit. With a frown I survey all my clothes, which I’ve strewn over the bed in the B&B room. What is the perfect environmental protest group meeting outfit? Not the leather trousers… not the glittery top… My eyes suddenly alight on a pair of combat trousers, and I pluck them from the pile.
