carefully dusted all the surfaces. Then she waxed and polished the wooden tables that stood by each sofa, and passed a duster over the glass of the framed watercolours on either side of the fireplace, and over the shining mirrors, and straightened the rugs. She stood back to admire her work. Then she stepped forward again to tidy the pile of magazines lying on one of the tables – the
Law Society Gazette, Tatler
and
The Economist.
No need to do the bathroom – she had done that last night. Tomorrow night she would hoover and clean her bedroom. She washed her hands in the kitchen and gently rubbed hand cream into them; she always remembered to push back her cuticles with the soft edge of a towel when she did this. Then she putwhat little washing she had into the washing machine and set it off. In the morning she would hang it on the clothes rack which was left standing in the kitchen during the day. Rachel never hung clothing over radiators.
When she had finished in the kitchen, she fetched her briefcase from the hallway and went to her bedroom to do some work at her word processor. At ten she switched off her desk lamp and went back to the kitchen to make herself a cup of Ovaltine. She listened to
The World Tonight
as she drank it, flicking through the back of
The Times
to see if there was anything worth watching on television. When she saw that there wasn’t, she washed her mug, switched off the radio, and went to the bathroom to take off what little make-up she wore and clean her teeth.
In bed, she switched on her clock radio to
The Financial World Tonight
, and opened her book at the place where she had stopped reading the night before.
When she at last switched off her bedside light, Rachel fell quickly asleep, her arms curved protectively around her breast, her legs tucked in.
In her Brixton flat, Felicity lay back on a cushion with her eyes closed. The Guns N’ Roses tape that Vince had put on was competing with the sound of ‘Buffalo Soldier’ from the Rastafarians’ flat next door.
‘Come on,’ said Vince, ‘try it.’ He leant over, his long hair touching Felicity’s cheek as he spoke. Felicity shook her head and did not open her eyes. ‘Go on,’ urged Vince, ‘it’s good.’
‘No,’ said Felicity firmly. She opened her eyes to look at him as she said this, then closed them again. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘I’ve had half that joint and I’m not doing anything else.’
‘It’s not a joint – that’s so old-fashioned. It’s a spliff. You call it a spliff.’
‘Call it what you like,’ said Felicity. ‘That’s all I want. I’m getting up in time tomorrow. And you’re going home.’
‘Oh, Fliss, baby …’ Vince slid his hand quickly inside her bra and tried to kiss her.
‘I meant it.’ Felicity’s voice was muffled. She tried, not very hard, to remove his hand.
‘Why, Fliss? Come on, you’ve done everything else I’ve suggested, and liked it.’
‘That was sex,’ replied Felicity. She took his hand out and stood up. ‘And anyway, I’ve made some resolutions. I’m going to get this place really cleaned up’ – she stared around through the haze of smoke at the dirty carpet, the tatty curtains, the sagging sofa, the empty glasses and cans, the pile of videos and dog-eared paperbacks stacked on a wooden shelf balanced on bricks – ‘and I’m going to get my life together. No more drugs, not so much drinking – and you can go home tonight.’
Vince, lying back against the split cushions with their stained batik covers, legacies of some hippy era, rocked one knee from side to side and laughed.
‘I think you must come out with this stuff once a week just to make yourself feel better.’ He took a deep drag of what remained of the joint smouldering in the ashtray. ‘Fliss, you’re always making resolutions. None of them come to anything. Why don’t you just sit back down here and try some of this?’
‘I told you, Vince,’ she replied, as he reached up
Law Society Gazette, Tatler
and
The Economist.
No need to do the bathroom – she had done that last night. Tomorrow night she would hoover and clean her bedroom. She washed her hands in the kitchen and gently rubbed hand cream into them; she always remembered to push back her cuticles with the soft edge of a towel when she did this. Then she putwhat little washing she had into the washing machine and set it off. In the morning she would hang it on the clothes rack which was left standing in the kitchen during the day. Rachel never hung clothing over radiators.
When she had finished in the kitchen, she fetched her briefcase from the hallway and went to her bedroom to do some work at her word processor. At ten she switched off her desk lamp and went back to the kitchen to make herself a cup of Ovaltine. She listened to
The World Tonight
as she drank it, flicking through the back of
The Times
to see if there was anything worth watching on television. When she saw that there wasn’t, she washed her mug, switched off the radio, and went to the bathroom to take off what little make-up she wore and clean her teeth.
In bed, she switched on her clock radio to
The Financial World Tonight
, and opened her book at the place where she had stopped reading the night before.
When she at last switched off her bedside light, Rachel fell quickly asleep, her arms curved protectively around her breast, her legs tucked in.
In her Brixton flat, Felicity lay back on a cushion with her eyes closed. The Guns N’ Roses tape that Vince had put on was competing with the sound of ‘Buffalo Soldier’ from the Rastafarians’ flat next door.
‘Come on,’ said Vince, ‘try it.’ He leant over, his long hair touching Felicity’s cheek as he spoke. Felicity shook her head and did not open her eyes. ‘Go on,’ urged Vince, ‘it’s good.’
‘No,’ said Felicity firmly. She opened her eyes to look at him as she said this, then closed them again. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘I’ve had half that joint and I’m not doing anything else.’
‘It’s not a joint – that’s so old-fashioned. It’s a spliff. You call it a spliff.’
‘Call it what you like,’ said Felicity. ‘That’s all I want. I’m getting up in time tomorrow. And you’re going home.’
‘Oh, Fliss, baby …’ Vince slid his hand quickly inside her bra and tried to kiss her.
‘I meant it.’ Felicity’s voice was muffled. She tried, not very hard, to remove his hand.
‘Why, Fliss? Come on, you’ve done everything else I’ve suggested, and liked it.’
‘That was sex,’ replied Felicity. She took his hand out and stood up. ‘And anyway, I’ve made some resolutions. I’m going to get this place really cleaned up’ – she stared around through the haze of smoke at the dirty carpet, the tatty curtains, the sagging sofa, the empty glasses and cans, the pile of videos and dog-eared paperbacks stacked on a wooden shelf balanced on bricks – ‘and I’m going to get my life together. No more drugs, not so much drinking – and you can go home tonight.’
Vince, lying back against the split cushions with their stained batik covers, legacies of some hippy era, rocked one knee from side to side and laughed.
‘I think you must come out with this stuff once a week just to make yourself feel better.’ He took a deep drag of what remained of the joint smouldering in the ashtray. ‘Fliss, you’re always making resolutions. None of them come to anything. Why don’t you just sit back down here and try some of this?’
‘I told you, Vince,’ she replied, as he reached up
Similar Books
