‘I probably will, but to be honest I’m so busy and it all takes time. No, not that bubble-gum pink Henry, it’s much too “Barbie” – try this fuchsia. But no shoulder pads, okay?’
‘Okay. And do you press 1471 afterwards?’
‘Of course, but it always says that the number’s been withheld.’
‘Hmm,’ he murmured, ‘that’s significant.’
‘I know it is. It’s beginning to bother me,’ I added as we passed through Separates on our way to Eveningwear to the sound of synthesised ‘Jingle Bells’. ‘But until they say something malicious or threatening it’s rather hard to complain.’
‘Perhaps it’s Ed?’ Henry suggested as he surreptitiously fingered a taffeta ball gown.
‘I doubt it. It’s not his style. In any case he doesn’t even have my new number – we’ve been on total non-speakers since our split.’
‘I still think you should check.’
‘But how? I can hardly ring him up and say, “Hi Ed, this is Rose. I was just wondering if you’ve been making nuisance phone calls to me lately.” Anyway, I know it’s not him.’
‘Have you fallen out with anyone lately?’ Henry asked.
‘Not that I can think of, although…I did have a bit of a run in with a mad woman on my phone-in the other week.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I heard her. I must say she sounded a bit of a brute.’
‘And she’s convinced I advised her husband to leave her; she said I’d be “sorry,” so maybe it’s her. Though God knows how she got my number.’
‘That’s the trouble with what you do,’ Henry said as he held a pink feather boa under his stubbled chin, ‘you get some weird people contacting you.’
‘I know. Now I think you’d look lovely in this,’ I went on as I pulled out a black bias-cut silk satin dress. ‘Ooh, and it’s got thirty per cent off!’
‘Really?’ he said.
‘Yeah, shall we give it a whirl?’ He nodded enthusiastically and we headed off to the fitting room.
‘That’s not your size Madam,’ said the sales assistant peremptorily, ‘it’s a twenty, I’d say you’re a ten.’
‘But I like things nice and loose. My husband will be coming into the cubicle with me,’ I added briskly, ‘as he always likes to see what I buy.’
We pulled the curtain shut and Henry quickly undressed. Then he strapped on a pair of silicone-jelly breasts he’d got from Transformation, and struggled into the dress. As I did up the zip he looked at his reflection and sighed with happiness.
‘Oh yes!’ he said, turning this way and that, ‘it’s just so…me.’ He looked like a gorilla in a ball gown. That hairy back! ‘What accessories should I wear?’
‘A velvet scarf maybe, or some pearls. Or better still, a choker, to cover your Adam’s apple. And you’ll need some black tights, sixty denier at least unless you’re prepared to shave.’
‘Can’t I have fishnets?’
‘No, Henry. Too tarty.’
‘Really?’ He looked disappointed.
‘Yes, really. Your mother would be horrified.’
‘That’s true.’
He bought a sparkly handbag and then we went down to cosmetics on the ground floor.
‘Were the Beaumont Society helpful?’ I enquired sotto voce as we perused the make-up.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘they were great. They told me how to avoid being “read” when I go out.’
‘You’re not planning to wear this stuff in public are you?’ I whispered.
‘Not at work, no; I might get the hem caught in my tank. But, who knows,’ he breathed, ‘when I’m on leave, if I’m feeling daring, I might.’
‘But you’re six foot one Henry!’
‘So are you!’
‘But I’m feminine.’
‘Well you’re not the only one!’
‘Now, your skin-tone is fair,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘I think you’ll need this Leichner extra-thick foundation to hide the five o’clock shadow and of course translucent powder – pressed or loose? Coral lipstick, rather than red, would suit you for that English Rose look, and eye-liner should be navy not black. We’d better get you a good pair of tweezers too while we’re here and something to minimise those pores.’
‘Christ, you’re right,’ he said, as he peered, horrified, into an adjacent mirror. ‘They’re the size of a grapefruit’s. And I need a wig and some scent.’
‘I think you should go for something really feminine, like Ô de Lancôme or Femme.’
We emerged from the store two hours later with six large carrier bags, Henry beaming from ear to ear.
‘You’ll look ravishing in that lot,’ I said as he hailed a cab. ‘Really gorgeous.’
‘Gosh thanks, Rose. You’re a real sport.’
‘My pleasure,’ I said, as he gave me a hug, and it was. As I walked down Oxford Street in the milling crowds I realised that I’d loved going shopping with Henry whereas with Ed it was always a trial. Not because he didn’t like doing it but because he’d always try and beat people down. If something cost eighty quid he’d knock them down to sixty; if it was fifteen he’d try and get it for ten. ‘What’s the best price you can give me?’ he’d ask while I’d blush and look the other way. He once bargained ninety pounds off a fridge-freezer.
‘Why do you bother?’ I’d said.
‘Because it’s fun, that’s why. It gives me this adrenaline rush.’
But I knew that that was a lie. The real reason was because Ed’s family were incredibly hard-up and there was never any cash. His dad had been foreman at a builder’s yard, but he’d died from asbestosis when Ed was eight. Ed’s mother didn’t get the government compensation for ten years and there was often barely enough to eat. That kind of start in life leaves an indelible mark, so I knew where Ed was coming from. But the fact that he was one of five children was one of the things that drew me to him; although, well, it’s rather sad really, because he hardly ever sees them these days. Only his mother and one sister, Ruth, came to our wedding; as for the others, they’ve drifted apart. For example, Ed hasn’t seen his youngest brother, Jon, for six years; they fell out badly, over money, I think. Nevertheless, Jon still sent us a lovely alabaster lamp for our wedding, even though Ed hadn’t invited him. It made me feel terribly sad. Anyway, I liked Ed’s mother, and the thought of her looking after all those children, on her own, and working full-time fills me with total awe. Whereas some stupid women well, it’s too pathetic, they can’t even cope with one…
Now, as I sat on the number thirty-six a woman came and sat in front of me with her little girl who was about two and a half, maybe three. The bus was full so the child sat on her lap, encircled by her arms like a hoop. And as I looked at them I felt the old, old pang and thought, my mother never held me like that…
I always try and distract myself at bad moments, so I got out my Daily Post. There was the photo of Bev and Trev on the masthead and inside a big, two page spread. It was headed ‘LABRACADABRA!’ and there were pictures of them at home, ‘Clever Trevor’ – dressed in his red Helping Paw coat – drawing the curtains and bringing in the milk. There was a shot of him getting the washing out of the