Short and to the point.
That was how she'd described herself to me when she was my client.
Kate. A little woman, always dressed in a shell suit and top, three hoop earrings per ear, a baby in her arms. Blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail, face scraped clean of makeup, all the high hopes with which she'd left school at the age of 16 gone in the intervening five years.
She'd been my client because her husband had left her. I'd been the lucky advisor who got to reorganise her debts, maybe buy her some time. Then she dropped out of sight, and I moved onto another job.
I was pleasantly surprised to see her in the uniform of a local estate agents, walking through the shopping centre, holding her daughter by the hand. The bairn was in the red and white checked dress of a local infant school. Her mum looked well. The piercings were still there in each ear, the hoops replaced by plain studs. There was a small Monroe piercing in her top lip, and several rings on her fingers, although none to suggest she was married.
We chatted, and she introduced me to Alice ('I called her Alicia when I was younger but now we shorten it to Alice'). We talked about work, and mutual acquaintances. She checked her watch, explained about Alice's swimming class. I suggested a drink some time, and gave her my mobile number.
Move on. I'm in the office next day, writing a letter. The phone pings. A message from her. A photo message. Her face, looking into the lens of the camera phone, smiling. A text note 'so you remember who I am' A text back; 'I wouldn't forget'.
More texts over the next few days. A little flirting. Comments from me about the need for her to refresh some parts of my memory about her. A picture message of a leg in tracksuit pants. 'I used to live in these'. The same leg in high heels, bare, with an ankle chain. 'How I live now'. A text picture of my bed, a double, one set of pillows; 'How I live now'. A picture of her third finger, left hand; 'the white ring has tanned over now'
We agreed to meet for a drink; I would collect her from her house and we'd walk to the village and its circuit of three pubs.
So I arrived at the house. Gray brick, mid terraced, in a small council estate. I arrived as Alice was walking to a car with an older man she called granddad. When Alice waved at me he smiled. A test passed, perhaps.
Kate was wearing a towelling dressing gown, her hair in a towel. On her feet, incongruous but sexy, were leopard skin mules. The heels added to her height, but not by that much.
She had her full jewellery on. Hoops in each ear, three to each ear, with the bottom one on each side carrying a small pearl. A gold chain around her neck, and around her ankle. A toe ring on her left foot, second toe. Did she shower in her jewellery?
Inside the door she took the towel off her head; Hre hair was dry, and styled. Odd. So why the towel? She gestured at the dressing gown.
"I couldn't decide what to wear.' I returned the smile she gave me; hers a little perturbed, mine more quizzical.
"You choose what you wear; I want you to be comfortable."
