privilege?’
‘Two grand all in.’
‘For one weekend? Good God . So your work must be going well, then. What are you doing?’
‘Nothing you’d approve of,’ she replied cheerfully.
‘Still temping?’
‘Well … the agency hasn’t got much at the moment, so to make ends meet I’ve started doing some evening work.’
‘Of what sort?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘Well, it’s just talking to people over the phone …’
‘What people?’
‘Male people,’ she replied. She pulled the pencil out of her hair and down it fell with an almost audible swish … ‘Men.’
‘You talk to men on the phone? What for? Is it market research of some kind?’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘It’s because they’re rather lonely and a bit … sad, really …’
The penny dropped. ‘Oh my God – you’re doing telephone sex. Please don’t tell me you’re doing telephone sex,’ I said, wondering, as I often do, how the same ingredients could have produced Cassie and me. It’s not so much that we’re like chalk and cheese, and in any case I’ve always thought that chalk and cheese – especially Cheshire cheese – aren’t that dissimilar – from a distance. No, with us it was more a case of chalk and coal.
‘Well … I prefer to call it “adult phone entertainment”.’
‘You can call it what you like, it’s still … sleazy , Cassie.’
‘Not really,’ she said amiably. ‘I only talk to the men after all – I call myself “Jade” – and it doesn’t take that long. The average call only lasts six minutes, you know – I can knit while I do it – although some of them want to talk about some pretty unusual things and …’
‘Spare me the details. I don’t know how you can!’ I added crossly.
‘Well,’ she said evenly – Cassie rarely takes offence – ‘I can because I’m not a prude, and because I have a very active imagination: and to me it’s all part of life’s rich tapestry,’ she added airily. ‘More important, I can make a hundred and fifty pounds in an hour.’
In late June, Jenny got in touch and invited me over for tea on Sunday. Her little girl had been born a fortnight late, ten days before, so this was the first opportunity for us to see each other with our babies.
I fed Milly, put her in her sling with a pink sun hat on her head and set off on foot for Hesketh Gardens on the other side of the Goldhawk Road. Within a couple of minutes Milly had been lulled to sleep by my walking and by the warmth of the day, her head flopping forward like a wilting rose. Panicking that she couldn’t breathe, I kept trying to tip it back, but down it would droop again, so I gently cradled it with my left hand. Wimbledon was on and as I walked along I could hear the thwack of tennis balls floating out of open windows, then bursts of loud applause, like sudden rain.
Jenny had a basement flat at the far end of her street. I went down the iron steps. A burglar alarm winked at me, the windows were cross-hatched with bars, and there were large stickers on the door with stern injunctions to deter hawkers and junk mail. There was also a large ‘Neighbourhood Watch’ sign.
I pressed the bell and after a moment heard a bolt being drawn back, then the turning of a key and finally the sound of the chain being taken off.
‘Your security’s tight,’ I said as Jenny opened the door. ‘It’s like Fort Knox around here!’
‘Well … the area’s a little bit … rough. And being in a basement flat … alone, with a baby …’
‘Of course – you can’t be too careful.’
‘Anyway.’ She smiled. ‘Come in. Let me see her …’ I lifted off Milly’s hat. ‘She’s utterly adorable.’
I felt a burst of maternal pride. ‘Thanks.’
I followed Jenny down the narrow hall into the small sitting room, where a Moses basket was lying in the middle of the sofa. I peeped inside. Jenny’s baby was lying on her back, her hands up, in that ‘I surrender’ pose that babies adopt.
‘Two grand all in.’
‘For one weekend? Good God . So your work must be going well, then. What are you doing?’
‘Nothing you’d approve of,’ she replied cheerfully.
‘Still temping?’
‘Well … the agency hasn’t got much at the moment, so to make ends meet I’ve started doing some evening work.’
‘Of what sort?’ I asked suspiciously.
‘Well, it’s just talking to people over the phone …’
‘What people?’
‘Male people,’ she replied. She pulled the pencil out of her hair and down it fell with an almost audible swish … ‘Men.’
‘You talk to men on the phone? What for? Is it market research of some kind?’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘It’s because they’re rather lonely and a bit … sad, really …’
The penny dropped. ‘Oh my God – you’re doing telephone sex. Please don’t tell me you’re doing telephone sex,’ I said, wondering, as I often do, how the same ingredients could have produced Cassie and me. It’s not so much that we’re like chalk and cheese, and in any case I’ve always thought that chalk and cheese – especially Cheshire cheese – aren’t that dissimilar – from a distance. No, with us it was more a case of chalk and coal.
‘Well … I prefer to call it “adult phone entertainment”.’
‘You can call it what you like, it’s still … sleazy , Cassie.’
‘Not really,’ she said amiably. ‘I only talk to the men after all – I call myself “Jade” – and it doesn’t take that long. The average call only lasts six minutes, you know – I can knit while I do it – although some of them want to talk about some pretty unusual things and …’
‘Spare me the details. I don’t know how you can!’ I added crossly.
‘Well,’ she said evenly – Cassie rarely takes offence – ‘I can because I’m not a prude, and because I have a very active imagination: and to me it’s all part of life’s rich tapestry,’ she added airily. ‘More important, I can make a hundred and fifty pounds in an hour.’
In late June, Jenny got in touch and invited me over for tea on Sunday. Her little girl had been born a fortnight late, ten days before, so this was the first opportunity for us to see each other with our babies.
I fed Milly, put her in her sling with a pink sun hat on her head and set off on foot for Hesketh Gardens on the other side of the Goldhawk Road. Within a couple of minutes Milly had been lulled to sleep by my walking and by the warmth of the day, her head flopping forward like a wilting rose. Panicking that she couldn’t breathe, I kept trying to tip it back, but down it would droop again, so I gently cradled it with my left hand. Wimbledon was on and as I walked along I could hear the thwack of tennis balls floating out of open windows, then bursts of loud applause, like sudden rain.
Jenny had a basement flat at the far end of her street. I went down the iron steps. A burglar alarm winked at me, the windows were cross-hatched with bars, and there were large stickers on the door with stern injunctions to deter hawkers and junk mail. There was also a large ‘Neighbourhood Watch’ sign.
I pressed the bell and after a moment heard a bolt being drawn back, then the turning of a key and finally the sound of the chain being taken off.
‘Your security’s tight,’ I said as Jenny opened the door. ‘It’s like Fort Knox around here!’
‘Well … the area’s a little bit … rough. And being in a basement flat … alone, with a baby …’
‘Of course – you can’t be too careful.’
‘Anyway.’ She smiled. ‘Come in. Let me see her …’ I lifted off Milly’s hat. ‘She’s utterly adorable.’
I felt a burst of maternal pride. ‘Thanks.’
I followed Jenny down the narrow hall into the small sitting room, where a Moses basket was lying in the middle of the sofa. I peeped inside. Jenny’s baby was lying on her back, her hands up, in that ‘I surrender’ pose that babies adopt.
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