surprised?’
‘Well, no. Not really. I suppose,’ said Ruby unhappily. ‘I just hoped . . .’
‘Hoped what? That he was going to fall on his knees and propose marriage to you ?’Vi snorted and carried on signing programmes for the adoring stage-door johnnies clustered all around her. ‘Honey – it’s just fun. That’s what you should treat it as.’
Fun.
But it wasn’t fun to Ruby. She’d fallen for the bastard.
‘And listen,’ said Vi, lowering her voice, ‘if you want them to marry you, here’s what you do. Choose an ugly one, not a looker. Keep your legs together. Act the nervous virgin and you might, just might , get one of the really big boys up the aisle.’
Cornelius came over. He was holding a programme. ‘I don’t suppose you’d sign this for me?’ he asked Ruby in his beautiful, cut-glass voice. His blue eyes looked slightly wary.
‘I ought to tell you to roll it up and stuff it straight up your arse,’ she returned.
‘I’m sorry if I hurt you. I was trying to be honest. I want to see you again.’
Ruby said nothing for a long moment. Then she said: ‘What’s her name, your wife?’
‘Ruby – darling . . .’
‘Don’t “darling” me. Tell me her name.’
‘Vanessa.’
‘And what’s she look like?’
‘Nothing like you.’
‘It was a shock, you know.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘This can’t go anywhere.’
‘I know. Still, I want to see you again.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Fuck off.’ And walked away.
He was back the night after that, and the night after that, and again on Saturday, drawing the eyes of every woman around him like he always did.
‘You may as well talk to him,’ said Vi. ‘You’ve had a miserable face on ever since you threw him over. What’s the sense in making yourself sad like this?’
‘But he’s married .’
‘So what?’Vi shrugged. ‘Some of mine have been married too. They don’t expect too much and they treat you like royalty. You get all the good stuff, the gifts and the fun, while poor bloody wifey gets the dirty socks and the bad moods.’
Ruby thought about that. She’d take bets that Vanessa didn’t wash socks, but she understood what Vi was saying and it even made sense. She should treat the whole thing lightly, not behave like a love-struck schoolgirl. Vi did well with furs and jewels from her married admirers; enjoyed the fun, left the rest of it to the wife. And maybe Vi had it right.
‘Am I forgiven yet?’ he asked, coming back again with the programme to sign. She took out a pencil and scrawled her name across the front cover. Then she smiled. All right, he was a practised charmer. Probably a philanderer, too. But she could play this game. It might even be fun, just like Vi said it was.
‘I’ll never ask anything about your wife again,’ she said. ‘Not ever. OK?’
‘OK,’ he said, and she put her hand on his arm and he led her away to the waiting taxi. Ruby forgot all about her promised meeting with Betsy.
Betsy was at home, upstairs, that same evening. She and Mum had made fairy cakes, and Betsy had taken a plateful of the delicacies upstairs and placed them on her bedside table with a warm pot of tea and two of Mum’s best china cups, all ready for nine o’clock when Ruby was going to call round.
She sat there, buffing her nails, until nine thirty. She ate one of the fairy cakes at a quarter to ten. At ten o’clock her mum poked her head round the door.
‘Ruby not coming?’ she asked.
Betsy shrugged like it was of no importance at all, but hurt and resentment and jealousy burned in her like hot, acidic bile. Ruby would be with Vi, of course, laughing, drinking, living the high life while she, Betsy, sat here like a fool, patiently waiting.
‘It doesn’t look like it,’ she said, slipping a hand under the cosy to feel the pot. It was stone-cold.
‘She must have forgotten,’ said Mum, coming in and sitting on the bed.
How could she have forgotten? This was important . Betsy
‘Well, no. Not really. I suppose,’ said Ruby unhappily. ‘I just hoped . . .’
‘Hoped what? That he was going to fall on his knees and propose marriage to you ?’Vi snorted and carried on signing programmes for the adoring stage-door johnnies clustered all around her. ‘Honey – it’s just fun. That’s what you should treat it as.’
Fun.
But it wasn’t fun to Ruby. She’d fallen for the bastard.
‘And listen,’ said Vi, lowering her voice, ‘if you want them to marry you, here’s what you do. Choose an ugly one, not a looker. Keep your legs together. Act the nervous virgin and you might, just might , get one of the really big boys up the aisle.’
Cornelius came over. He was holding a programme. ‘I don’t suppose you’d sign this for me?’ he asked Ruby in his beautiful, cut-glass voice. His blue eyes looked slightly wary.
‘I ought to tell you to roll it up and stuff it straight up your arse,’ she returned.
‘I’m sorry if I hurt you. I was trying to be honest. I want to see you again.’
Ruby said nothing for a long moment. Then she said: ‘What’s her name, your wife?’
‘Ruby – darling . . .’
‘Don’t “darling” me. Tell me her name.’
‘Vanessa.’
‘And what’s she look like?’
‘Nothing like you.’
‘It was a shock, you know.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘This can’t go anywhere.’
‘I know. Still, I want to see you again.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Fuck off.’ And walked away.
He was back the night after that, and the night after that, and again on Saturday, drawing the eyes of every woman around him like he always did.
‘You may as well talk to him,’ said Vi. ‘You’ve had a miserable face on ever since you threw him over. What’s the sense in making yourself sad like this?’
‘But he’s married .’
‘So what?’Vi shrugged. ‘Some of mine have been married too. They don’t expect too much and they treat you like royalty. You get all the good stuff, the gifts and the fun, while poor bloody wifey gets the dirty socks and the bad moods.’
Ruby thought about that. She’d take bets that Vanessa didn’t wash socks, but she understood what Vi was saying and it even made sense. She should treat the whole thing lightly, not behave like a love-struck schoolgirl. Vi did well with furs and jewels from her married admirers; enjoyed the fun, left the rest of it to the wife. And maybe Vi had it right.
‘Am I forgiven yet?’ he asked, coming back again with the programme to sign. She took out a pencil and scrawled her name across the front cover. Then she smiled. All right, he was a practised charmer. Probably a philanderer, too. But she could play this game. It might even be fun, just like Vi said it was.
‘I’ll never ask anything about your wife again,’ she said. ‘Not ever. OK?’
‘OK,’ he said, and she put her hand on his arm and he led her away to the waiting taxi. Ruby forgot all about her promised meeting with Betsy.
Betsy was at home, upstairs, that same evening. She and Mum had made fairy cakes, and Betsy had taken a plateful of the delicacies upstairs and placed them on her bedside table with a warm pot of tea and two of Mum’s best china cups, all ready for nine o’clock when Ruby was going to call round.
She sat there, buffing her nails, until nine thirty. She ate one of the fairy cakes at a quarter to ten. At ten o’clock her mum poked her head round the door.
‘Ruby not coming?’ she asked.
Betsy shrugged like it was of no importance at all, but hurt and resentment and jealousy burned in her like hot, acidic bile. Ruby would be with Vi, of course, laughing, drinking, living the high life while she, Betsy, sat here like a fool, patiently waiting.
‘It doesn’t look like it,’ she said, slipping a hand under the cosy to feel the pot. It was stone-cold.
‘She must have forgotten,’ said Mum, coming in and sitting on the bed.
How could she have forgotten? This was important . Betsy
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