She strolled once again down the wide thoroughfare heading for town, once again her captors evaded, her friend, her rock, once again providing an escape from her Husband, and his family and their outdated Victorian ideas, the table legs discretely covered whilst he shags anything in a skirt, including a Kilt these days, without censure, while she must perforce remains pure, a virtual virgin despite the sons she bore in the days when she and he shared a bed, her soft soled trainers padded near silently contrasting her trademark stilettos worn for newspapers and TV.
In the early days she had he shoes carefully styled to look like high heels but with little rise to keep her down to his vertically challenged level whilst he used built up shoes but when he started openly shagging the bitch with a face like Red Rum she gave up, he was a short arsed little runt while she was a long legged beauty, she had told him, deal with it.
She had been expected at Pig features latest musical, Dogs or something, certainly the cast were dogs and the star someone he had been shagging for ages, Pig features that is not her husband, he would have some very important meeting then he would get the sleeper train stopped at Peterborough and shag horse features to the rhythm of the rail joints till they got to Kings Cross.
It was on a sleeping Car train in the early and exciting days when they had made love as it swayed through the curves and at the time of climax he had shouted the wrong name fortissimo, she still remembered the humiliation, he did not even try to apologise; Bastard.
She came up by the station towards the Hospital where she sometimes grabbed a coffee with the staff and the all night cafe where she met the ordinary people, the druggies and hoes, and cabbies people who lived on less than he spent on shoes in a year, the place she kept her feet on the ground, ear to the ground, fitted in.
Her clothing was unremarkable but to the working girls the quality stood out a mile, this was not Chinese fakes sold as knock off, this was Versace or Armani with the labels cut out, two hundred pound trainers doctored to look like Tesco's own brand, it fooled the muggers but the girls dreamed of designer gear, dreamed of marrying Mister right, some bloke what was loaded and would only want a shag every blue moon,
And so their worlds coexisted, everyone knew who she was and supposed there was security just round the corner and they would be dead before they could even start to steal her hand bag and she believed she was, for a few hours, one of them. She had become part of the scenery, she bought a coffee, her short back skirt, black and white top and red quilted jacket attracted attention but despite the beret and glasses, or perhaps because of it she remained resolutely her, iconic.
The occasional drunk would try to make conversation but a quick word from a local would send him fleeing before he could enquire the price of a short time or worse, and she would listen to the locals telling her what they thought she wanted to hear, and into this, her secure world, she would escape when the stifling atmosphere at home became too much..
She had come to know, or so she thought, a group of working girls, with typical Cockney bravado, despite the fact none came from even fifty miles of Bow Bells they made light of their lot, complaining of poor benefit payments which meant they could not stay home and afford expensive clothes and drugs, claiming the payments did not cover food and heat, covering up that some had children, in bed alone, locked in their apartments, while they worked the streets. She spoke to them she supposed as equals but one fateful day all this changed,
Three of them sat round a table Rose Clarissa and she, they spoke of their customers, all sun bronzed six foot plus Australians, freshly showered and perfumed, from the way she heard it and wistfully said "It all seems very Romantic."
"Romantic my arse," said Rose forgetting herself,
"You want to fucking try it,"
"Lying there, being shagged by some stinking overweight travelling salesman,"
"Watching the tops of buses pass by, hearing the street noise, waiting for him to finish,"
"Lying or sitting waiting for the next hoping the maid has not let a total nutter in,"
"Then the message to hurry there are three waiting, they pass in the doorway, you don't have time to get a wash or even take a piss, no fag or leisurely shower no fucking romance,"
She paused,
"If you want to be one of us you do my shift one night, over the bookies, not the street obviously just an hour, not six, and then you will know about the romance, till then don't pretend, you ain't qualified."
Rose rose from he table and left.
"You ain't fucking qualified"
Rose repeated to herself as she, tears trickling down her cheeks.
She shrank her world collapsing, her retreat gone.
Suddenly there was no respect for her, yet from when she had first been associated with Him there had been respect, love, hatred, jealousy perhaps but respect.
But now suddenly one woman's honesty had stripped that away, she saw she was an outsider, in an alien environment and wished she could reclaim the lost fraternity, rewind the last few minutes, but she knew the damage was done, perhaps it was only she who realised but she knew it was over.
She used the phone and shortly a large discrete grey saloon driven by a large discrete grey chauffeur appeared.
She finished her coffee and strode out into the night, the bravado and panache of a film star returned but it was all a front, inside she was crying.
The saloon returned her to the rear of the house and she returned to her apartment, the chauffeur plugged in an electrical lead to pre heat the engine, meaning it was required again soon and would otherwise cool down or need to be kept running to the annoyance of those trying to sleep, and to Him with his environmentalist credentials, no matter that it only did eight miles per gallon at best.
She worried about what Rose said all week, shopping in Cannes, she was thinking about a dingy London street, watching La Boheme with his friends her mind wandered to a street girl selling herself to pay the rent, doing things no wife would do.
She would have gladly done this and more for him in the early days, when he claimed to love her and she had truly loved him, but, from Gossip overheard the horse faced one habitually ran through the full catalogue of those things no wife would demean herself by doing, and she guessed they were probably doing it right now.
She thought of her fine friends from the Polo Club, serving Officers, "Servicing Officers," snatched moments behind a tree between Chukkas, in the horsebox, the time she thought he had caught them as they cowered in a horsebox only to have to watch, well hear horse features service him, as they both chose the same spot for philandering.
By accident or design her officer friends had been drafted away, he had contacts in all the right places, and now the officers were so young, and their girlfriends were a different generation, she an old married lady, did they fancy her or fancy screwing His lady, it bothered her.
She strolled once again down the wide thoroughfare heading for town, once again her captors evaded, her friend, her rock, once again providing an escape from her Husband, and his family and their outdated Victorian ideas, her soft soled trainers padded near silently contrasting her trademark stilettos worn for newspapers and TV.
She knew what she needed to do to call their bluff, if she showed she was up for it, game for a laugh, they would accept her surely, and if they took her upon the offer everyone knew her and she would just have a chat to the punter, and he would get her autograph and go away happy, yes that was how it would be.
The girls were there Rose, Clarissa, Jane, Ileana, sitting at a table, she bought her coffee, they remained seated, no movement to give up a seat for her, she sensed the coldness.
"Come to take me up on the offer then," laughed Rose.
"Yes" she said quietly.
"I told you she would," sad Clarissa
"I said she was one of us, she would same as we have to"
"Look, it was a wind up" said Rose
"No said Clarissa, I cleared it with Mrs James, and our friend can do an hour or so in place of us if we want, long as we hang around.
"I start at ten," said Rose "Shall we?"
She nodded, they arrived at quarter to, it was quiet, trade built up as the pubs started to shut, one girl was working, two young men waited,
"Hi" said Rose," this is my friend Angie, Clarissa had a word with you."
