“What a godsend!” Sam spat.
“Amen,” Mark sighed.
“Only too happy to oblige,” Iris grunted firmly and bustled into place beside Mark.
The rest of the event proceeded without hitch. Mark and Sam spent their honeymoon decorating their new flat on the estate, and Iris went back home with Peggy.
HE WENT FOR ANOTHER COFFEE. IT MUST BE A DIFFERENT GIRL SERVING this time, he thought, she’s looking at me with renewed horror. There was still half an hour before Sam’s lunch break. The waitress held his cup under the coffee nozzle and it rattled against the steaming grill in the counter.
“And some ginger snaps,” he said.
“You look like a Red Indian,” she breathed.
She was a pretty girl, but wore too much blusher, he thought. An urn must ruin the complexion.
“How?” he asked.
“Are you a skinhead? National Front?”
“No. Where’s my ginger snaps?”
“You must get a lot of stick.”
“It comes with the territory. For Red Indians.”
“It must do. Eight-five pence.” He felt for the change. She added, “Sod it. Have it on the house. I could stare at you all day. You’re like Terminator II and the Bayeux Tapestry rolled into one.”
He went back to sit among the watching frocks. His eyes were tired again. He hadn’t even seen Terminator II. A headache was starting up. That’s what you get for thinking about your wedding day. He caught sight of the waitress, collecting cups, crumpling chocolate wrappers, observing him.
Women react strangely to me. I’ve only noticed it the last couple of years. They must always have done, but something made me realise. What?
Oh, I remember what it was. My head-on collision with heterosexuality. You remember, Tony. You were there. You were driving.
I thought, because I didn’t notice them, they never noticed me. The child’s solipsism. When Sally was younger and wanted to stay in the bath, she’d drape her flannel over her face and go invisible. But we could still see her.
You forced me to come out a second time, Tony. You drove me to it. Literally.
That was a sick joke.
She’s still watching.
He finished his ginger snaps, rubbed his eyes again and got crumbs in them, making them worse.
A hangover on my wedding day, not unusual for a groom. Except I spent my stag night alone, in the new flat, with a bottle of whiskey. You couldn’t come out to play. The one time it was publicly sanctioned and we fucked it up. You should have got me pissed, driven me to the back of beyond, stripped me naked, tied me to a lamppost in the dark, shot arrows at me and left me there. Then you were supposed to come back and get me to the church on time.
But you didn’t, Tony, did you? You’d already given me away.
He left a ginger snap to bulge slowly in his half-finished coffee, and a tip for the waitress.
Sam was furious when he showed up early.
THREE
LOOK AT HIM, WAITING THERE. NOT AN OUNCE OF SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS, standing next to the knickers. He’s scaring custom away. I could let him wait all day, Sam realised. What would he do then? Would he give up? Look slightly baffled, be vaguely upset, turn and stroke some lace, examine sizes, prices, pretend he was a customer, a transvestite? How far can I push his patience, his utter passivity?
Women were slipping past him as if he were another dummy, or a lizard in camouflage, blending with the foliage, stock-still and itching to blink his tender eyes.
Those eyes flickered now across the shop. Sam gripped the till corners and the thought crossed her mind once more. He can hear everything I’m thinking.
But that’s rubbish. We’re still married, aren’t we? I’ve no reason to believe that.
She steadied her gaze on the black Perspex Christmas tree beside the till. It was roped in junk jewellery, glistening with earrings. Sam let the jagged anger draw back, filled her mind instead with lettuce-fresh thoughts, determined to be relaxed for her lunch hour. The crossness abated. She had found her exit. I make myself a Gothic heroine; stonewall myself into the bowels of my own black castle. And I make my own way out. When it suits me.
“What’s this stack of voids doing?”
Her hand flashed out to grasp tatters of till roll off the counter.
“Who’s done all these?”
She looked at Tracey, who was new and currently making a pig’s ear of wrapping somebody’s goods. Tracey was biting Sellotape.
“It was me,” she mumbled. “I made a few mistakes on someone’s Access. I’ll sort them out when we get a moment.”
Sam scattered them. “You’ll do them now. Otherwise you’ll forget and I’ll have hell balancing the till tonight.”
The supervisor pushed past the new employee on her way to the staff rom and Tracey had a stabbing moment of guilt over that Access bill she hadn’t filled in properly.
Would Sam find out and make her pay?
“I DON’T WANT TO WAIT LONG TO EAT,” SAM WARNED HIM AS THEY HIT the busy street. He was dawdling behind her.
“Where then?”
“Was Sally all right at school?”
“She always is these days.” He sniffed. “Takes it in her stride.”
Sally had had a hard time at the beginning of school. The kids were so noisy, everything was so small. Mark remembered the face she pulled on the first morning, confronted by all the worn miniature furniture. She looked stung, as if patronised. Mark wanted to explain to her: It’s not a joke, love. This is where you begin to be catered for. Your Local Education Authority takes pains to shoehorn you from this point on; starting with this desk and this chair, horizons to suit your current size. Later there’ll be free school dinners, field trips, exams, then either a student grant or a flat of your own. Sally had turned up her nose, burst into tears.
Mark said, “She’s all settled in now.”
“She’s going to do well at school.” Sam paused at the street corner, overwhelmed momentarily in the oncoming traffic. Shoppers made their way forwards by brandishing laden carrier bags before
