Tabitha had been out for longer than usual that morning. She came back from the shops with a grim expression and thrust the brochure towards Precious. Tabitha had seen a much larger version of the image on a poster by the entrance to the Tube and jogged over to the gallery to see what it was all about.
Young Scarlet is in the room with them. She is leaning over to look at the brochure Tabitha threw onto the floor. She puts on a superior voice and says, “If it helps, it’s a very powerful image.”
Precious looks down too. She sees herself rendered in black and white. There is little contrast between the light and shade, meaning that the whole picture, herself included, has a silvery quality. It appears to shimmer, even though the paper is matte. It looks old, like the photos of people’s grandparents she used to see on mantelpieces when she worked at clients’ houses, only the subject is different. She is sitting on her bed in her underwear, leaning back with an expression on her face that she doesn’t recognize. It is at odds with everything she thinks about herself and feels about her life. She looks scared. She has been captured at a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability, but this is the version of her that everyone will see. They will look at her and believe they know her. They will be moved by this beautiful, powerful image of a poor, fragile woman, and not realize it is a lie.
Precious recently saw a photo of Agatha Howard. She doesn’t own a computer and only uses her phone for contacting friends and family, or the occasional game of Solitaire. Neither does she have a Facebook profile or a Twitter account and she rarely uses email. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to stalk an adversary online.
It was Tabitha who had alerted her to the possibility. She had been to the pub with Crystal, and Crystal showed her a picture of Agatha Howard that she had found. Tabitha came home and showed Precious, along with an article from a village newspaper in Yorkshire that connected Agatha Howard to some local job cuts.
“She looks like a right bitch,” Tabitha said.
Precious looked at the photo of Agatha. It had been taken at a high-society function, and she was standing with a man and a woman, and others could be seen behind, milling about holding glasses of champagne.
The men were wearing dinner jackets and shining black shoes. The women were wearing dresses that reached to the floor.
Agatha Howard’s dress was black. Black is the most elegant color but also the most clandestine. It’s a color to hide behind. Agatha Howard’s hair was long and blonde. It reached to her chest, and was sleek and precise. She was very beautiful. She had high cheekbones and bright blue eyes, her face was symmetrical and she was tall and slim.
Precious found herself using her fingers to zoom in on the image. She expanded and enlarged parts of Agatha Howard’s face and body, and the faces of the people around her, as if Precious could find clues about her opponent from these close-up sections of skin and black silk; from the way she clutched her champagne flute, to the way she stood with one foot slightly in front of the other.
It was strange to see the face of the person who had caused them all so much grief. Precious couldn’t decide whether her first impression of the woman was informed just by the photo or by her knowledge of what the woman had done to them. She looked cold, withdrawn, as if everything around her was dangerous and disgusting, unclean and unkind. Precious and Tabitha were specks of dirt beneath this woman’s French-polished fingernail, to be gouged out and flicked away.
“She looks terrified,” says Precious, partly in response to Tabitha’s earlier comment.
After this, they tried a couple of times to contact Agatha Howard and arrange a face to face chat. They never received any reply.
Later, after Candy and Young Scarlet have left, Precious gets a call from her eldest son, Marcus. His girlfriend is pregnant again and Precious is eager for updates. She asks him about Nicky’s prenatal classes and plans for the birth. They speak about his work situation and the prospect of paternity leave, and they arrange a shopping trip the following weekend so Precious can buy them various essentials ahead of the birth. At first Marcus says she doesn’t need to do this, that they can afford to buy these items themselves, but Precious insists and Marcus gives in quickly.
Marcus and his girlfriend already have a daughter, Connie, which is not short for Constance but a standalone name. It is Connie on her birth certificate.
Precious makes a point of spoiling Connie. She wants her to grow up loved, never doubting that she is loved. She wants her to wear warm clothes from expensive shops that last for years rather than months, but which will be replaced regularly anyway. She wants her to go to a posh private school and make friends with posh private-school children and wear a posh little uniform Precious can tease her about when she comes home.
Tabitha has been trying to teach Precious how to knit pullovers and leggings for Connie, but so far the results have been disappointing, and Tabitha has been quickly and efficiently finishing off most of the projects on Precious’s behalf, before Precious wraps them in tissue paper and a bow and writes a little note “Love from Nanna.”
Then Marcus says, “I saw you had another interview in the paper.”
Precious stops speaking immediately. She thought neither of her sons knew of her profession. She thought they believed she still worked in a beauty salon. She was careful in those interviews. She wore a mask and did not give away personal details, except her first name. The thought of Ashley and Marcus knowing their mother is a prostitute makes her feel ill.
