11
The next morning, Polly was working alone – Donna having taken time off. Taking a large pair of scissors to one of the boxes just delivered, she pulled out a bright and wacky range of spring/summer girls’ clothing. This was the part of her job that she enjoyed the most, because it was like opening Christmas presents. As she lifted each item out, she gave it a shake to loosen any wrinkles. Gorgeous. And they smelled so beautifully clean and fresh. Next she’d get them onto hangers and run the steam iron over those still creased. Right, better get a move on before the mid-morning rush . Sitting back on her heels, she admired her pile of new clothes, knowing she’d have to juggle the stock to make room.
Even though Polly sold to the well-heeled in Clifton, she also catered for the strapped-for-cash and struggling mothers who liked their children to look good too. For them, she kept a rail of secondhand clothes near the back of the shop so customers could come and sell back clothes outgrown, and that way those on smaller incomes could still kit their kids out in colourful designer gear. She bought and sold many of Rowan’s clothes this way, somehow making up for the wealth that her mother tried to foist on her.
Wonder what Suze will have to say at elevenses on Friday , she thought as she whistled away, ironing those clothes which needed it.
On occasion Polly would carry out small alterations, or customise clothes for Rowan and a few select customers. Donna – who now lived in the flat above – did most afternoons, and was often handy for other times as well, being prepared to be accommodating, in exchange for which Suze charged her less-than-Clifton rents. Polly’s spirits were high as she once more thought how lucky she was to work with such beautiful things. In between sorting, custom was brisk, and even Jazz from local band Jango popped by to see how she was doing with her turning his jacket punk with zips, appliquéd slogans and carefully designed tears. ‘Cool,’ he said, as she showed him her progress, trying it on as she worked on pinning alterations.
‘It’ll be ready for your gig next week,’ she assured him, pins clasped between her teeth like tiny pirate swords.
‘Thanks, man,’ came his cheerful response.
In no time at all, Donna had arrived for her shift, breezing in through the door.
‘Hey, babes,’ she said.
‘Hey.’
Polly thought Donna was rather scrumptious, what with her plump curves, red lipstick and black beautifully cropped hair. But Donna kept referring to herself as “a fat cow”.
‘Donna, you’re not!’
‘Am too.’
She had a string of boyfriends she acquired like pets, from The Hatchet or The Invisible Circus nights (when she liked to dress up in saucy burlesque gear). For her day job, she wore tight ’50s-inspired vintage dresses or flouncy numbers from their adult range. Today, she was a vision of brightness in a dress with large sunflowers, matching her sunny disposition. Polly would have loved to stop and chat, but she was meeting Vanessa in the Honey Pot Café in about five minutes.
‘How’d it go?’
Polly looked blank.
‘You know,’ Donna gave her a conspiratorial nod. ‘with this Max fella? That good, eh? You’re blushin’. You heard anything from him, like? Are you gonna see him or what? Get a move on, girl, or he’ll get snapped up. YOLO, Poll. YOLO.’
‘I didn’t tell you about him. How did you even know about Max?’
‘Not from you, that’s for sure. Talk about keeping it to yourself! Innit ’bout time you got back out there? Honestly, I’d never know nuffin’ if it weren’t for bumping into your mate Mel down at the Fini.’
Blabber mouth Mel.
‘Oh, so she told you, did she…? She had no right to. Oh, look, I’ve no time to tell you about it now. I’ll fill you in tomorrow. Will that do?’
‘You better had. ’Cos I ain’t letting you off the hook that easy, mind.’ Donna had her hands on her hips. ‘But – hang on – you can quickly tell me this. Are you or are you not gonna see him?’
Polly gave her an enigmatic smile. ‘Gotta dash, Don.’
‘Poll? Did you ring him? Did he ring you? Text? What? C’mon, I’m dying for the lowdown.’
‘S’laters.’ Polly collected her bag and stopped at the door. ‘Oh, and…’ she waved her arm in the general direction of the rails ‘…be a doll. New girls’ dresses, over there, and if you look hard, you’ll find a couple of women’s in your size, too.’
‘Goodee.’
‘So please finish pricing them up, for me, yeah?’
Polly opened the door.
‘Oi. Full lowdown when you gets back, mind, innit.’
Polly blew her a kiss as she closed the door behind her.
Vanessa was sitting in the window nursing a cappuccino when Polly arrived, slightly out of breath. ‘Sorry,’ she said. It was then that Polly recognised the man standing at the counter waiting to be served. Max. It’s Max. What’s he doing here? She felt an urge to turn tail and run, but, ‘What would you like to drink?’ Vanessa was saying.
‘Umm…’ Polly was still transfixed by the sight of Max. She had not expected him to be here, especially after last night. God, what must he have thought about her emails – and then text messages? She blushed just thinking about it. ‘Latte, thanks,’ she said in an almost squeak.
‘And a latte for Polly here,’ called Vanessa. Max turned, making Polly’s heart do a lurch – because – oh, there were no two ways about it – she absolutely did fancy him. But what must he be thinking after her stupid messages?
‘Right you are,’ he said, not particularly looking at her but not ignoring her, either. Oh gawd.
The café door creaked open as that actress/paramedic from earlier entered, squeezing past a couple of women waiting to be served. Spotting Vanessa, she sashayed over.
‘Ah, Sarah,’ Vanessa said in greeting. ‘This is Polly. You two haven’t met, but you remember I told you all about her?’
She did? Flustered, Polly could only stare blankly at both women.
‘Hi,’ said Sarah, who then also called to Max, ‘make mine a tea. There’s a love.’
He nodded as she took her seat, removing her coat to reveal that she was still wearing her paramedic’s uniform underneath. They must be filming today as well.
Even though Sarah’s brown hair was tied in bunches, she managed to exude matter-of-factness with a touch of cute. She’d unzipped her overall just enough to show the curve of fantastic breasts, which Polly couldn’t help staring at, wondering if they were real. Luckily Sarah didn’t notice Polly’s peering. Or perhaps she was so used to people admiring her boobs that she didn’t react anymore. She gave Polly a slow smile.
‘Been filming,’ she said to one and all.
‘Ah. I thought so,’ said Polly. ‘Only I saw you yesterday, you know…’ Sarah looked puzzled. ‘Filming in Canynge Crescent?’
‘Of course.’ Sarah gave Polly what could only be described as a once-over.
Quickly, Polly added, ‘You can’t move in Clifton for film crews, can you, Vanessa? Everywhere.’
‘Right. I guess not.’ Sarah turned to Vanessa, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘How’s tricks?’
‘Good, good, all good,’ she answered. ‘Thanks for agreeing to take part in our little film, lovey. So good of you.’
Sarah flourished off a blue polka dot scarf. ‘That’s what mates are for, aren’t they?’
‘Sarah and I go way back,’ Vanessa explained to Polly. ‘Max too. Don’t we, Max?’ as he joined them, squeezing into the seat next to Polly, who soon became acutely aware of his knee just touching hers.
Every single hair on her arms must be standing to attention, she reckoned.
‘Yes, we three know each other very well,’ he said, handing out the drinks from the tray.
‘Sugar?’ he asked Polly, who immediately reddened, inwardly cursing her Scottish genes.
‘No. Thanks,’ she answered, turning her attention back to Vanessa, who’d been watching their exchange with a positive smirk on her face. Oh no, he’s not told her about my messages from last night, has he?
‘Well, Polly, Sarah here – is single too – although I can’t think why she hasn’t been snapped up…’
Polly shot Vanessa a look. Is she implying it’s no wonder I’m on my own?
‘It does to keep one’s options open,’ said Sarah, giving Max a wink.
‘If you say so.’
Polly saw Max start, and thought she noticed Sarah move as if she’d kicked him under the table. They exchanged a glance, which Polly couldn’t quite fathom.
‘So, what’s going to happen is that we’re going to film Sarah doing a spot at an open-mic comedy night… A little bird tells me you do comedy too, Polly.’
‘Uh?’ Who on earth told her that? Not on your nelly! Not after the one and only time when she’d somehow thought she’d be good at it but hadn’t been and, to the delight of the audience and the annoyance of the host, had thrown up on her shoes. ‘I do the odd poetry slam rather than stand-up, Vanessa.’
‘Well, well, they’re practically the same thing, aren’t they?’ she said, waving her hand about as if a mere trifle. ‘Only I thought we could get you two girls to perform at one of those student comedy nights and, you know, film the audience clapping away. Show that you’re sparky up-for-it girls, etcetera.’
‘I’m sorry, Vanessa, but I will absolutely not perform in front of students. Those days in back rooms of pubs are long gone. And, in any case, I’ve moved on from all that,’ said Sarah.
Polly hoped her stomach wasn’t going to start rumbling. Where was the lunch she’d been promised? Ooh. And there was Max’s knee again. She began to feel all hot and bothered and wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see smoke rising up from beneath the table.
‘Sweetie,’ Sarah continued in a more conciliatory tone, ‘I don’t mind being interviewed, and I’m sure you could show some behind-the-scenes filming of Emergency , but no stand-up.’ She placed her herbal teabag in the saucer and took a sip from the cup.
‘That’s a shame,’ said Vanessa, giving Sarah a sideways look. ‘Hmm. Okay, well, never mind. We’ll do you instead, Polly.’
‘I really only do the occasional poetry slam or open-mic night. Not comedy,’ said Polly, glad that Sarah had given her an out.
‘Poetry it is then.’ Vanessa sat back with a job done air. ‘Although it isn’t very rock ‘n’ roll. Still, I guess it will have to do.’
Polly was so distracted by the presence of Max that she found herself saying Yes, that would be fine . If she could have kicked herself, she would have.
Finally they got around to ordering food, and a night for the filming was agreed upon. Vanessa and Sarah chatted about various people they knew in the industry, and just as the food arrived, Max rose to his feet.
‘Gotta shoot,’ he said and then, turning to Polly, added, ‘Bye,’ and gave her a big fat grin.
Once he’d departed and Vanessa had popped to the loo, Sarah leant forward and said, ‘He so fancies you.’
‘No. He doesn’t, does he? Do you really think he does?’
‘Christ yeah. My advice is to go for it. He’s a right sex machine, that one,’ she said. ‘Hung like a donkey too, darling!’ And she burst out laughing.
Polly walked back up The Arcade to her shop. She had to collect her things before going home. But he only said Bye, didn’t he? Nothing else. What did that mean? Bye. Was that Bye, I’ll never speak to you again? Or Bye, I’ll be in touch soon? What did Sarah mean? Does Max really fancy me, or was Sarah kidding? How does Sarah know he’s a sex machine? Hearsay? Or is there history there? God, and talk about direct! That Sarah’s a right one.
Donna must have popped out for a sandwich as the “Back in Ten Minutes” sign was on the door. She unlocked her shop only to be followed in by a woman with a recycled orange basket over her arm. Maybe it was just a general Bye and he didn’t even get my text and email. Don’t be daft, of course he did.
‘How much is this cute nightlight?’ asked the woman, holding a lamp which projected dancing wood nymphs onto a wall.
He might not have received the emails yet. But surely he would have received the text messages?
‘The nightlight…?’ said the woman.
‘What do you think?’ said Polly, not fully aware she asked her question out loud.
‘Shouldn’t you know the price? The ones over there are ￡24.99,’ the woman said, clearly trying to be helpful.
‘Oh, sorry.’ Polly focused on her customer. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Hmm? Oh. Yes, of course. All ears.’
‘What would you think if you bumped into a man, a man who you thought you might like… might fancy even… and he doesn’t say anything to you except Bye. Complete with a knowing kind of smile. What would you think?’ She peered at the woman.
‘I don’t know, dear. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just have the nightlight.’
‘Yes, of course. Sorry. That’ll be ￡24.99.’
She rang up the money and gave the woman her change. As she was leaving the shop, the woman turned and said, ‘It sounds to me like he’s interested.’
Polly looked up from writing down the sale in her book. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘I do.’ The woman smiled at her. ‘Good luck.’
I think I’m going to need it after last night .