(perhaps a little provocatively). The woman didn’t smile back. She was youngish –
ish
– and quite pretty. Black, with scruffy, nappy, mid-length hair (pushed back from her face by an alice-band, no earrings, no make-up). Square glasses. Arty frames. Dressed like a virgin –
Or Tracy fuckin’ Chapman
Corduroy jacket, grey polo-neck…
Jeans by fuckin’ Pepe or something
Kelly coolly surveyed her body –
Hmmn…
Junk in her trunk
But no spare tyre
The woman scowled. ‘Well could you get them to move for me?’ ‘Why?’ Kelly shot back. ‘You too good to step over ‘em?’
The woman placed her hands on to her hips (Yup. She was class – smart but bolshy – and Kelly could respect that). ‘Of course not,’ she snapped, ‘I just don’t want to stand on them.’
‘They gets stood on all the time at home, mate,’ Kelly dead panned, ‘so don’t you worry yourself, okay?’
She turned her head and gazed up the road. Counted to three. Over the sound of the traffic she could hear one of the dogs growling. Yeah. Right on cue. That was Bud.
‘Excuse me.’
Kelly didn’t turn back straight away.
‘Excuse me.’
She turned and mugged surprise. ‘Man, you still there?’
‘One of your dogs just growled at me.’
‘No!’ Kelly gasped, throwing up her hands in mock-alarm (then plunging them straight back down again as she wobbled on the wall).
‘Did he really?’
‘Yeah. He did. And I’m in no mood for getting bitten, so would you ask them to sodding move, please?’
On ‘move’ Kelly threw her celery over her shoulder (finally engaging fully), pushed her hood back and pointed emphatically. ‘You know what kind of an animal that is?’
The woman folded her arms, boredly. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Well tell me.’
‘It’s a lurcher.’
Kelly nodded. ‘That’s it. A Long Dog. A workin’ dog. My dad used to go coursin’ with ‘em down on the Marshes…’
The woman looked disapproving (but only mildly). Kelly shrugged. ‘Not any more, though. We got five of ‘em at home altogether. My dad’s up in Oldham. My poor mum has to look after ‘em. Costs her a small fuckin’ fortune, it does.’
The woman surveyed the animals, coldly. ‘Well it’s pretty hard to see what she’s spending her money on.’
Kelly straightened her back –
Hoity!
– ‘It’s just old age as makes their ribs stand up like that,’ she explained patiently. ‘Soon as they eat anythin’ they shit it right out again. Only thing different is it ain’t in a can.’
As if on cue, one of the lurchers stood up, stretched stiffly, tottered (Kelly’s rival snorted, under her breath), farted (she winced), put its nose to the pavement, located a scent, and staggered off in pursuit of it. The woman immediately took her chance; leaned boldly across the second animal and shoved the gate – the second dog didn’t object – but the gate was locked.
‘Bollocks.’
Kelly’s eyebrows rose –
Get her
‘So what the hell,’ she asked smugly, ‘d’you think I’m sittin’ up here for?’
The woman didn’t answer. She pressed the intercom.
Kelly sighed, piously. ‘Intercom’s broke. They’re fixin’ it. That’s why the gates are locked.’
She pressed it again, anyway.
‘If you wanna get in you’ll need a key.’
Without warning, the woman kicked out her right foot and booted the wall with it. ‘I’m meant to be visiting somebody,’ she snarled. Then she winced as her toe registered the full impact of the attack.
‘Feel better now?’ Kelly asked, plainly delighted by this flagrant loss of composure.
The woman half-smiled to herself (embarrassed – but she was cute when she smiled). ‘No. I don’t, actually.’
The smile gradually expanded into an apologetic smirk.
‘Ring ‘em,’ Kelly offered constructively.
‘Can’t. Haven’t got my phone on me.’
Kelly removed her own phone from her pocket.
‘What’s the number?’
‘Don’t know off-hand.’
‘Oh.’
Kelly put her phone away again.
The woman glanced up, remembering her manners. ‘But thanks, anyway,’ she murmured.
Kelly graciously tipped her head, then peered over towards the Villas. There were eight of them; grand; free-standing; Victorian. For the most part converted into flats – or ‘apartments’ as the twatty local Estate Agents liked to have it.
‘You come to see that black geezer in apartment six?’ she asked.
‘Why?’ the woman rejoined staunchly. ‘Do people always visit residents the same colour as they are?’
Kelly pursed her lips. The woman removed the strap of a heavy-looking, leather satchel (the kind Kelly associated with teachers and social workers –
Yeah. That’d be right)
– from her shoulder and drew another step closer. ‘You’re one of the Broad girls, aren’t you?’ she said, her eyes slitting slightly as she gazed up at her.
Kelly
