hadn’t planned to.’
He looked at the shop address. ‘You’re hardly the back of beyond,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fun! Do it! It’s a two-day show! Just open up later tomorrow.’
‘I could call Jodie –’
Rick hadn’t a clue who Jodie was. ‘Great idea! Call Jodie.’
And Vita stood and let a barrage of thoughts scramble around. A drink. A night out. Freedom. Something new. Handsome boy with lovely teeth. Better discounts. And perhaps – just perhaps – fun.
‘I’ll phone Jodie,’ she said.
Rick nodded. There was a lovely pub in Muswell Hill that he knew. He’d take her there, perhaps. They’d start off at the exhibitors’ post-show drinks, and then end up at the John Baird, a pleasant stroll away in Muswell Hill. And then – well. Whatever. The drink would be nice – he liked her, she was pretty in a slightly careless way, her fringe a little too long, her top just verging on old enough to have gone a little shapeless but still promising nice breasts beneath, cropped jeans that were cool, perhaps a little incongruous for the show but still made her bum look good, sandals that would have looked better if she’d painted her toenails. But it was all natural, there seemed no artifice, no act at all and he liked that. He never really understood the attraction of power-dressed women. And of all the women who’d come to his stand that morning, Vita was the youngest by at least two decades.
She wasn’t quite sure how to slope away. ‘Bye and thanks.’
‘I’ll meet you in the main entrance at six – that’s where the drinks are.’
She nodded.
‘Phone Jodie,’ he said.
‘I’m going to.’
She did. Jodie was fine about it. And then Vita wondered if she should tell Tim. And then she thought why should she? And then she remembered the times when he’d spontaneously decided to stay over after some show or some meeting and how his phone would be off, off all evening and the following morning, how he’d look bleary and slightly self-conscious when he returned. A lingering whiff of stale booze. Times gone by she’d dwell and fret but right now, she’s sidestepping the memory, chanting, Tim Gone – Bye! as she wanders from stand to stand.
At lunch-time, she took a walk to Muswell Hill, buying a small travel pack from Boots, wondering what to do about a room. And then she felt embarrassed, ridiculous. What if the drinks were boring? What if she felt uncomfortable? What if he forgot? What if he didn’t really mean it? What if, actually, Rick was a prick with all this Ted in a Bed stuff. And talking of ants in pants – she hadn’t a spare pair on her. Was there somewhere in Muswell Hill she could buy pants? The charming high street with its boutiques and organic food stores and artisan bakeries and aspirational homewares stores – would she be able to find simple white knickers?
No. Stop it.
She turned her gaze downwards and walked on, looking at the pavement, having to suddenly skirt around a man lying prostrate who turned out not to be drunk but to be painting tiny jewel-like designs on the splodges of old, dried-out chewing gum. How very Muswell Hill. How very un-Wynford. The shops, the pedestrians, the cars, the buggies, the kids in their bedecked Crocs – everything rather alarmingly hip and gorgeous. These weren’t just yummy mummies – these folk were direct from the pages of the Boden catalogue. In comparison, Vita, provincial at best, downright dowdy at worst. Suddenly she felt tipped right out onto the ledge of her comfort zone.
No. No staying the night.
For goodness’ sake, she said to herself, trains run late and indulging in taxis to and from the stations would still be cheaper than a hotel room. And Jodie, who’d be expecting to work now? Vita would simply swap the Saturday with her, therefore avoid having to pay her extra. And Rick? It was probably just client relations and there’d be all the other new stockists of Teds in Beds and Bugs in Rugs at the drinks.
A text arrived from Tim asking how it was going.
And that’s when a litany of his nights out, nights away, disappearing acts, hit her like a freak downpour. And suddenly, in the sunshine and warmth and busy brightness of North London, for the first time she didn’t allow the memories to soak her and chill her to the bone. Instead, she said to herself, Vita! You shall go to the ball! Do something different. Just see what life may have in store for you – you never know, you might really enjoy yourself.
To bolster her resolve, she sent a text to both Candy and Michelle.
Bloke at show asked me for drink!!!
There. She’d done it. They’d kill her if she opted out now. She sensed them in the background, jumping for joy. She anticipated the barrage of What what what????!!!! and Go girl!!! texts. And when they arrived on her phone she smiled and switched it off and felt happy to be all on her own, feeling her way. Now she was liking her time in a new place, a sunny day, out and about in Muswell Hill with the pedestrians who bustled that little bit more than at home, cars that took a few more liberties, people noticeably trendier, younger, more savvy. The energy was more lively than at home, and yet somehow more anonymous too. And that was a good thing. People weren’t unfriendly, they were just in their own bubbles. City versus market town, Vita supposed. She’d never trade her home patch for this – but it was nice to be a visitor because you were welcomed without actually being noticed. Vita could blend and partake and no one really acknowledged her; thus she could relax and enjoy the novelty of it all. Returning to the show, she checked her phone quickly. A deluge of hyper-enthusiastic texts from Michelle and Candy. And another from Tim, asking again how it was going. Great! was all she needed to say to that. Then she switched off her phone, and went inside to browse and chat amongst the stands with a confident smile and her stapler and instincts at the ready.
North London
Rick and Vita started off sipping complimentary white wine and talking shop. He’d left his stall and gone to find her, finally tracking her down at the Heaven Scent stand, sniffing candles.
‘Loo cleaner with top notes of joss sticks?’ He peered over her shoulder.
She didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’d say it’s more bubble gum underscored with grass cuttings.’
He took the candle from her and made a show of inhaling with eyes closed as if it was fine wine. Actually, Vita wasn’t far off the mark.
‘I’m going to be in the foyer in twenty minutes,’ he said. ‘I like to get there promptly and take advantage of the free booze. I shall be the bloke in the corner, who’s decanted warm white wine on the irritating side of sweet into a pint pot. I shall pilfer you one too.’
When she located him, however, she was pleased to find him holding two wineglasses of chilled, quite decent white. He chinked her glass and she wasn’t sure what to say so she took a steadying glug, conscious that he was looking at her intently. She knew if she described the sensation she experienced, Michelle would say butterflies and Candy would call it a frisson. Whatever it was, it was giving her a buzz and she felt lively, chatty and chuffed.
‘Had a good show today?’
Vita nodded. ‘Excellent,’ she said, looking around for nibbles to balance the booze, the adrenalin; but complimentary canapés were apparently beyond the sponsors’ budget. ‘It’s been great. Loads of ideas.’
‘Orders?
