Miss Wrong and Mr Right(16)

‘Um yeah, you did… ‘

Nicky gave me a puzzled look as to why I was suddenly not enthusiastic about Tuppence Halfpenny.

Tuppence pulled her face into what she must have thought was an appropriate smile. The wind whipped round, rattling rain on their umbrella. A couple of stray photographers emerged from an awning over the road and took a few shots, and she turned to face the flashes, her pale skin shimmering.

‘Jamie, I can’t get this dress wet. It’s vintage,’ she said moving closer to him.

‘And it’s a beautiful dress honey,’ said Nicky. ‘How do you two know each other?’ I looked at Tuppence, then realised Nicky was talking about me and Jamie. There was a pause and we both laughed.

‘Believe it or not Natalie and I were once engaged to be married,’ said Jamie. Tuppence’s nostrils flared and she looked me up and down, I self-consciously smoothed down my hair. Nicky burst out laughing.

‘She went as far as leaving me at the altar…’

There was a silence.

‘What? Seriously? You’re not joking?’ said Nicky looking between me and Jamie. I gulped trying to gain my composure.

‘It was all a very long time ago, and I’m happy to see that you’ve found someone else Jamie… Are you two...?’

‘We are lovers, yes,’ said Tuppence icily. ‘And Jamie is producing my new show.’

‘I loved your Burlesque Kicks show at the Garrick Theatre,’ said Nicky. ‘Where’s your new one going to be?’

‘There,’ said Tuppence, pointing with a thin lace glove. We both stupidly followed her finger.

‘The Palladium?’ asked Nicky.

‘No. There,’ repeated Tuppence rolling her eyes. She was pointing at the building over the road, which sat dark and swathed in tarpaulin.

‘But that’s the Old Library, it’s been closed for years,’ I said.

‘Jamie’s company has just leased it as a pop-up burlesque venue. I’m his first show,’ said Tuppence putting her hand to his chest. A taxi came roaring up to the pavement. Jamie opened the door. Tuppence murmured goodbye over a slender shoulder and slid in. Jamie closed the door.

‘Wow. You’re opening a theatre opposite?’ I said.

‘Yeah. Well, a pop-up venue, you know it’s more temporary,’ clarified Jamie.

‘I know what a pop-up venue is,’ I snapped.

‘What’s it going to be called?’ asked Nicky.

‘The Big O,’ grinned Jamie. My mouth was still open when he got in the other side and the taxi drove off. We watched the tail lights as they moved off into the rain.

‘The Big O,’ said Nicky. She turned to me. ‘Nat, I have like a million questions…’

She was interrupted by a journalist from the Guardian who came out of the entrance to ask if he could do some fact checking.

‘Nat, stay where you are, I’ll be back, with drinks…’

She went inside. I stared across the road at the Old Library, dark and shrouded in faded plastic. Without thinking about the rain pouring down, I went off into the dark street.





A lonely salmon





The rain continued to pour as I made my way home. Most of Soho had retreated to shelter under the shop and restaurant awnings dotted along the street, and the pavements were crowded with smokers and drinkers. I was close to crying and didn’t want anyone to see me, so I put my head down and walked in the road. The volume of rain had swamped the drains, and they were overflowing, grey water frothing up to join the flow, zooming along almost as high as the kerb. I walked against the current, the force of the water spilling up and over my shoes, spraying against my legs and soaking the bottom of my skirt. In my orange blouse I was a very wet air hostess, or for a better metaphor, a lonely salmon, swimming against the tide.

When I reached my building I rummaged in my bag for my security card and scanned it on the gate. It opened with a buzz and a click, and I hurried through the communal garden to my front door. Wind whipped the rain against my face as I found my key, slipped it into the lock, and went inside.





The temperature had dropped, and my flat was cold. Shivering, I flicked on the light, went to the tiny airing cupboard and turned on the central heating. There were clicks and clanks and a whoomph as it went into action. The dust from the unused boiler burnt off, filling the hall with a dry stale smell. I dropped my handbag on the floor and leant down to pull off my shoe, shrieking when I saw I had picked up a used condom from the road river. It was milky white and had been nestling inside under the arch of my foot. I recoiled and dropped the shoe. The condom fell out, and sat lying bent over on itself on the bristles of the mat. I started to cry; tears poured down my face and I felt alone, and ugly. All I could bring home from my day was a disgusting used condom.