Impossible to forget, p.10
Impossible To Forget, page 10
She was relieved to feel, however, that Mandy was different. The relaxation of her body beneath Angie’s hands was palpable. Despite her initial reluctance, it quickly became apparent that Mandy was going to submit herself entirely. Angie loved this part of her job, knowing that she had spoken to a part of someone that had, until then, been locked away; that she had released something inside them that even they didn’t know was there.
She worked steadily, keeping up a commentary on what she was doing so that Mandy could relax still further into the treatment. By the time Angie had finished she knew both that some good had been done and that Mandy would be booking another appointment. By the time she struck the singing bowl again to signal the end of the treatment, Mandy was almost purring.
‘Now,’ whispered Angie, ‘you just stay there for a few moments whilst you recentre yourself. I’ll just be over there.’
Ideally, she would have a separate treatment room where she could leave the client to recover, but this was a one-bedroom flat and she wasn’t about to give up her own inner sanctum to her clients. As it was, the treatment bed was set up in the middle of the lounge and she tried to disguise this by keeping her personal detritus to a minimum (no mean feat for Angie), and with the strategic use of throws.
Mandy came back to herself relatively quickly, and then sat up and wrapped her arms tightly around her torso as if defending herself from whatever power had just taken hold of her.
‘How was the treatment?’ asked Angie. ‘Were you aware of anything that you don’t normally feel, not that that’s necessary, but sometimes clients do say . . .’ She stopped talking. She needed to catch herself before she did this – lead her clients down a path that would allow them to criticise her – but this time there was nothing to worry about. Mandy was gushing.
‘That was amazing,’ she said breathlessly, her eyes shining. ‘I don’t know how to describe it. It was like I felt really warm, right here.’ She pointed enthusiastically at her core. ‘And then really cold. And my legs kept tingling. Is that normal, tingling legs? I practically melted into the table. I’m sorry I was so jumpy beforehand. I just had no idea what to expect but that . . . that was wonderful.’
Angie beamed, but she wasn’t about to get lost in the praise. This was a business. She had to keep her focus. ‘And so, shall we book you in for next week? Maybe we can move forward to me placing my hands on you, through your clothes I mean,’ she added cautiously, but there was no need. Mandy was nodding vigorously as if she would be happy to be treated stark naked if that was what Angie suggested.
Money changed hands, an appointment fixed for the following week and Mandy appeared to float down the stairs and out into the street beyond, closing the door gently behind her. Another satisfied customer.
Angie began to redress the treatment bed for her next client. There were just the two today, but Mrs Meehan had been coming for a while and always booked a double session. The three appointments were enough to just about keep the wolf from the door. She was going to have to find something else, though. Living hand to mouth like this was manageable, but she had no savings and no way of improving her lot. She had been one step away from the street before, but she wasn’t risking that happening again – not if she could help it.
17
Jax was coming to visit and there was a lightness in Angie’s chest that threatened to bubble out into gleeful giggles and whoops, which wasn’t that convenient in a holistic treatment room. It had been more than three months since she had last seen him, and six months the time before that. Theirs wasn’t what you might call a conventional relationship. Living at opposite ends of the country and in an impecunious state for much of the time meant that days spent together were rare and precious. But they did what they could and so far, it seemed to be working out okay.
Angie had never been in love, and she was reluctant to label her feelings for Jax in these terms. Her life had shown her that love was for the weak, for those who lacked imagination, for misguided seekers of the ‘happy ever after’. None of these terms could be applied to her. Being dependent on another person had never worked out that well for her. The last time it had happened she had been ten and the person had been her mother, but she had quickly discovered that she was much better off fending for herself. If she didn’t rely on anyone else then no one could let her down. And no one could hurt her, either. She’d been hurt enough. She wasn’t open for any more heartache.
But Jax was great. He made her laugh, and she fancied the bones of him. Like her, he wasn’t interested in commitment. They had talked it through at various points in their relationship and concluded that they were both singing from the same hymn sheet as far as that was concerned. Commitment was bourgeois and unnecessary, but they were happy to carry on as they were for the time being in an uncommitted but monogamous relationship.
She busied herself cleaning the flat, which felt mildly ironic, given the squalid conditions where they had first met and spent time together. It was different now, though, and if she had a flat, she might as well do what she could to make it welcoming.
She ran a cloth around the basin and heard herself humming ‘Things Can Only Get Better’. The wretched tune had been stuck in her head forever, and even though the election had taken place over a week ago with Labour romping home to victory, not least, no doubt, because the theme tune was stuck in heads across the nation, she couldn’t seem to shift it. It was driving her nuts.
She looked around the flat and nodded to herself in satisfaction. Everything was ready. She had no client bookings for the next twenty-four hours, the fridge was full and the bed was clean. There was nothing to do but spend time enjoying each other’s company. It was going to be a perfect weekend.
Jax was hitching up to Yorkshire and so his ETA was a little vague, but he had rung her from a phone box on the A61 just outside Leeds and so, assuming he could pick up a lift for the last stretch without too much bother, she wouldn’t have much longer to wait. She was struggling to settle to anything, though. If she’d had a television, she could have turned it on for some mindless tea-time drivel, but the third-hand set she had borrowed from a friend had finally given up the ghost. It now sat in the corner of her lounge, hidden beneath a tie-dyed scarf, and was currently serving as a plant stand.
Her fluttery brain turned an unexpected cartwheel towards Leon. He once told her that he’d pick up his saxophone in moments of nervous tension and lose himself in his music. Angie had always envied him that escape. She wondered idly if he still did that or whether Becky had put paid to it.
She hadn’t seen him for ages. Their lives had headed off in opposite directions after he’d met Becky. He was married now. Married! She and Maggie had been invited to the wedding and they had gone as each other’s plus one. It had all felt very grown up and middle class to her and she couldn’t quite believe it was happening, or that her friend had chosen to marry Becky. Leon had seemed radiantly happy and so Angie had had to conclude that she was missing something about his bride. There had been precious few meetings since that first dinner party – Becky’s doing, she imagined – and so Angie hadn’t had a chance to review her initial opinion of her; but Becky clearly made Leon happy and that would have to be enough. In the Christmas card that had as usual arrived promptly at the beginning of December, written in the neat girlish script Angie had come to recognise, it said that they had had a baby – a boy. Leon had a son! This had been such a surprise that Angie had shouted out loud when she read the news. It made her sad, though, that Leon hadn’t thought to tell them that Becky was even pregnant. There had been a time when she and Maggie would have been top of the list, but days turn into weeks, months and finally years and you can lose the habit of keeping in touch.
She wasn’t surprised by Leon’s tumble into conventional life. If any of them was going to do the two-point-four children thing, then she supposed it was going to be Leon, although she had never quite given up on the hope that he would eventually drop it all for the smoky Blues clubs of New Orleans. Never say never.
But Leon and his sax were of no use to her now. She needed to find something to do to pass the time whilst she waited for Jax to arrive. Perhaps she could do some meditation. That might help calm her down. But just as she settled herself cross-legged on the sofa, there was a knock at the door. He was here, and faster than she had thought. He must have picked up the last lift easily.
She bounced up, heart drumming, and raced down the stairs to answer the front door, ready to hurl herself into Jax’s arms, but as the door swung open she saw that it wasn’t him but Tiger standing on the doorstep. Every fibre of her being sagged in disappointment.
‘Surprise!’ he beamed, but then his smile slipped as he took in her expression. ‘Well, that’s a great welcome, I must say,’ he added.
Angie managed a small smile. ‘Hi, Tiger,’ she said.
‘Well, you could look the tiniest bit pleased to see me,’ he said. ‘Can I come in?’
Angie desperately wanted to say no. Jax would be here any time now and everything was ready for him. The very last thing she needed was Tiger playing gooseberry.
‘It’s not that convenient right now,’ she managed. ‘I mean, if I’d known you were coming . . .’
Tiger looked a little taken aback, but ploughed on regardless. ‘Oh, you know me,’ he said. ‘There’s never a plan. I just go where the wind blows me.’
Well, the wind could blow him right back to where he’d come from, Angie thought. ‘Yes, but I’ve got someone coming to stay. They’ll be arriving any minute now. In fact, I thought you were them.’
‘Even better,’ said Tiger as he pushed her gently to one side and began to climb the stairs. ‘The more the merrier. We can have a little party. I’ve got some great weed. Hid it in . . . Well, you don’t need to know where I hid it, but Customs didn’t find it.’
Angie sighed, took a long look down the street to see if Jax was anywhere on the horizon – he wasn’t – and then set off up the stairs after Tiger.
‘And there’s no need to worry about me. I don’t need much. I can kip on the sofa. I won’t get in your way and I promise not to be too dazzling for your friend.’
This would be the moment to tell Tiger that rather than the girlfriend he seemed to assume was coming to stay, Jax was very much all man and Tiger would not be welcome whether he was on the sofa or not, but somehow the words stayed locked in her throat. What would be the point? She knew from past experience that there would be no shifting Tiger, not tonight at any rate. And he was one of her oldest friends. She couldn’t just kick him out on the street, not when he had only just arrived.
Tiger dumped his rucksack on the floor in the middle of the room and flopped down on the sofa so that the length of him took up every inch. He was grubby and in serious need of a close encounter with plenty of hot water and soap, but other than that he looked well. According to a hastily scribbled postcard, he had turned thirty in a yurt somewhere in the Atlas Mountains, but to look at him Angie thought you would probably still place him in his mid-twenties. His body was tanned and athletic-looking and his face glowed with health. That must be what a life with no worries did for you.
‘Beer?’ he asked expectantly. ‘As in, any chance of a . . . ?’
Angie sighed and took a bottle from the fridge. She passed it to him, and he flicked off the top with his thumbnail and took an appreciative swig.
‘Ahhh. That’s better,’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking forward to that.’
Angie was tempted to comment that there were plenty of other places to buy beer between wherever he had come from and her flat, but Tiger was Tiger. He was just acting true to form and she had never objected to his behaviour before, so it hardly seemed fair to start now.
‘So, how’ve you been?’ he asked her. ‘Still here, I see. It’s a nice little place.’
Angie shrugged. ‘It suits me,’ she said. ‘But listen, Tiger. I really do have someone coming tonight and so if you could, you know, kind of make yourself scarce for a bit that would be great. The pub down the road is all right.’
If she could get him out until closing time at eleven o’clock then at least she and Jax would get a bit of time to themselves.
A smirk spread across Tiger’s face. ‘Like that, is it? You haven’t gone and got yourself a bloke whilst I’ve been gone?’
Angie rolled her eyes as if she couldn’t have cared less, but inside her she could feel a tell-tale heat building. She hoped she didn’t blush. Tiger would never let her live it down. They had always been as one on the subject of relationships, neither of them feeling the need to find a partner in the traditional way of things. Sex had been something that had just happened, like them watching a film together or sharing a sunset. Fun, but with no emotional engagement. But now she had Jax, which not only altered the dynamic between her and Tiger, but almost felt like a betrayal of their unspoken agreement to float through life without commitment.
‘Life goes on,’ she said. ‘I don’t just sit around the place waiting for you to get back, you know.’
‘Does that mean sex is off the agenda?’ he asked. ‘That’s a bit of a bugger. I was looking forward to that almost as much as the beer.’
‘God, you’re such a charmer. And just because we might have done that in the past doesn’t mean it’s on the cards now.’ She meant her voice to be light, but actually she could hear an uncharacteristic barb in her words.
Tiger clearly heard it too, as he put his palms out to her. ‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. I was joking. Of course, I don’t expect. I wouldn’t . . .’
Angie nodded reluctantly. ‘I know. It’s just . . . Well, I like this bloke, Jax, it feels different to the others, kind of special, you know?’ It sounded so cheesy, even to her.
‘Is he some form of demigod?’ Tiger asked. ‘Or has he put you under a spell? You going all soppy over a bloke! Who are you and what have you done with the real Angie Osborne?’
‘Don’t be such a dick, Tiger,’ she said. ‘He’s nice, that’s all. And the whole world doesn’t revolve around you, you know. Stuff happens whilst you’re busy floating about the planet without a care.’
Tiger’s face fell and Angie wondered whether she might have gone too far, but then he rallied.
‘Well. I’m chuffed for you,’ he said. ‘I really am. It’s about time you found someone special.’
He wrinkled his nose in a way that reminded her of when he was eighteen, and the tension that had settled on them dissipated. Resigned to what would be, Angie helped herself to one of the beers from the fridge and sat down on top of him.
18
They were just into their third beer each when the doorbell rang again. By that time, Angie had almost forgotten that she had been waiting for Jax and her first response to the bell was a mild irritation that someone was disturbing them. And then she remembered.
She got up hastily, flattening her hair with her palms and rearranging her clothes.
‘Do I look okay?’ she asked Tiger.
‘You look hot!’ he replied. And then, ‘I don’t mean hot as in too warm. I mean hot as in . . .’
Angie nodded. ‘I got it. Thanks. Could you, er . . . ?’ She cocked her head at his prone position.
‘Oh, yeah. Don’t want to look as if I live here. Might give your man the wrong impression. What’s his name, anyway?’
‘I told you. Jax,’ Angie said.
‘Jax? Isn’t that a girl’s name?’ said Tiger as he levered himself into a sitting position.
‘It’s short for Jackson,’ replied Angie. ‘And could you do something with those?’ she added, nodding at the empty bottles as she flew towards the stairs.
‘Yeah. Right,’ said Tiger vaguely.
At the front door, Angie gave herself a second to compose herself. She sucked her lips in and took a deep breath, which she released slowly as her head cleared. Then she opened the door.
She had forgotten how sexy she found Jax. Well, not forgotten exactly, but he still made her head and her stomach spin a little when she first saw him. He was taller than her but not tall, and his nut-brown hair hung around his shoulders in soft spirals. He had those eyes that look like melted chocolate, too. It was his eyes that did for her every time. Come-to-bed eyes, he’d once told her they were, the cocky so-and-so.
‘Oh God, it’s so good to see you. I thought you’d never get here. It’s been like torture waiting for you.’
He opened his arms and she fell into him, his arms closing around her and squeezing her tight. She could smell the cut-grass scent of outside on his jacket, and beneath that, his own earthy aroma.
‘Hi, baby,’ he said. ‘You missed me then?’
Angie nodded into his shoulder and stood, enjoying his physical presence until he gently pushed her away from him.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sorry. Come in, come in. But an old mate from my travelling days has just turned up unannounced. He does this from time to time. His timing is awful. I’m really sorry but I’ll get rid of him tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ said Jax, disappointment thick in his voice.
‘I know. It’s a bummer, but he’s only just got back to the UK and he’s got nowhere to go. I’ll sort it, though. I promise.’
Jax sighed, a slightly impatient sound tinged with irritation, but he didn’t complain as he followed her up the stairs to the flat.
