there’s a sniff of a customer.
He tells her that he’s divorced with two grown-up children. Abi tries to work out how old he is. Shewould probably put him in his mid-forties because he has a few lines round his eyes, but not yet deep valleys either side of his mouth. She can’t imagine that he would have been a teenage dad, so with a twenty- and a twenty-two-year-old she would put him at forty-five at the youngest. It’s hard to tell if his hair is greying because he has it cropped very short, presumably because it was thinning or receding. It suits him. The severe haircut forces people – women anyway – to concentrate on his eyes, which are an icy blue and which, against a background of tanned skin, remind Abi of a wolf’s. He’s definitely aware of the fact that he’s attractive and he plays his role as the local heartthrob to perfection. From about eleven o’clock onwards the shop is full of designer-clad
Primrose Hill mothers with their designer-clad preschool offspring hanging on his every word. Their kids run riot in the tiny children’s section and it’s Abi’s job to keep an eye on them while he flirts away.
‘It’s good for custom,’ he says laughing when she accuses him of being a Lothario. And he’s right. Almost all of the mums buy something, as if that might fool anyone into thinking that the real reason they have come in is for the books. The place is a hotbed of seething hormones all day. It’s like living in a Jackie Collins novel. Abi is relieved that Richard doesn’t try his twinkle on her. Or at least that, when he does, he gets the message pretty quickly that she’s not up for playing.
‘I can’t believe you’re old enough to have a daughter who’s about to go off to university,’ he had said in the first hour they worked together.
Abi smiled. ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.’
Richard acted affronted. ‘I mean it. You look great.’
‘Well, I’ll accept the compliment, but I should tell you I don’t respond well to flattery. I have a state-of-the-art bullshit detector built in.’
‘Oh, thank god,’ Richard said, laughing. ‘One less person to have to flirt with. It’s exhausting.’
She decides that he’s funny. After each of the blushing ladies leaves, convinced that his attentions are all hers, he gives Abi the lowdown on their life – most have rich absent husbands, many are trophy wives; all exterior and no substance. One is frustrated that her husband is rich but not famous, so while he can buy her whatever she wants he can’t get her into the pages of
OK!
. Another told Richard outright when her husband was going to be away and that she would leave the back door open for him after the children were in bed.
‘You didn’t!’ Abi asks, horrified.
‘I’ll never tell,’ he says archly, which makes her laugh. It’s fun and the day goes by before she’s even noticed what the time is. When she leaves him locking up for the night, she finds herself looking forward to Thursday.
Cleo is already home when Abi gets there, having apparently skipped the gym, and she’s sitting in thekitchen with Jon sipping a glass of what looks like champagne. She’s looking very pleased with herself. In fact, she looks better than Abi has seen her since she arrived. She looks happy, waving her glass around as she talks animatedly. The stress, always present in her face, seems to be gone.
‘Get a glass and then you can toast me,’ she says when Abi stops by on her way upstairs to change.
‘Why? What’s happened? Quick,’ Abi says. She can never wait to be told good news.
‘She’s got a new agent,’ Jon says.
‘That’s fantastic.’ Abi gives Cleo a hug, and Cleo’s in such a good mood that she hugs her back. Not the usual slightly stiff hug of someone you don’t really know very well, but a warmer, softer version. It feels nice. Her hair smells of coconut and mint. When she was young, it always smelt like bubblegum, as did Abi’s, courtesy of
He tells her that he’s divorced with two grown-up children. Abi tries to work out how old he is. Shewould probably put him in his mid-forties because he has a few lines round his eyes, but not yet deep valleys either side of his mouth. She can’t imagine that he would have been a teenage dad, so with a twenty- and a twenty-two-year-old she would put him at forty-five at the youngest. It’s hard to tell if his hair is greying because he has it cropped very short, presumably because it was thinning or receding. It suits him. The severe haircut forces people – women anyway – to concentrate on his eyes, which are an icy blue and which, against a background of tanned skin, remind Abi of a wolf’s. He’s definitely aware of the fact that he’s attractive and he plays his role as the local heartthrob to perfection. From about eleven o’clock onwards the shop is full of designer-clad
Primrose Hill mothers with their designer-clad preschool offspring hanging on his every word. Their kids run riot in the tiny children’s section and it’s Abi’s job to keep an eye on them while he flirts away.
‘It’s good for custom,’ he says laughing when she accuses him of being a Lothario. And he’s right. Almost all of the mums buy something, as if that might fool anyone into thinking that the real reason they have come in is for the books. The place is a hotbed of seething hormones all day. It’s like living in a Jackie Collins novel. Abi is relieved that Richard doesn’t try his twinkle on her. Or at least that, when he does, he gets the message pretty quickly that she’s not up for playing.
‘I can’t believe you’re old enough to have a daughter who’s about to go off to university,’ he had said in the first hour they worked together.
Abi smiled. ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.’
Richard acted affronted. ‘I mean it. You look great.’
‘Well, I’ll accept the compliment, but I should tell you I don’t respond well to flattery. I have a state-of-the-art bullshit detector built in.’
‘Oh, thank god,’ Richard said, laughing. ‘One less person to have to flirt with. It’s exhausting.’
She decides that he’s funny. After each of the blushing ladies leaves, convinced that his attentions are all hers, he gives Abi the lowdown on their life – most have rich absent husbands, many are trophy wives; all exterior and no substance. One is frustrated that her husband is rich but not famous, so while he can buy her whatever she wants he can’t get her into the pages of
OK!
. Another told Richard outright when her husband was going to be away and that she would leave the back door open for him after the children were in bed.
‘You didn’t!’ Abi asks, horrified.
‘I’ll never tell,’ he says archly, which makes her laugh. It’s fun and the day goes by before she’s even noticed what the time is. When she leaves him locking up for the night, she finds herself looking forward to Thursday.
Cleo is already home when Abi gets there, having apparently skipped the gym, and she’s sitting in thekitchen with Jon sipping a glass of what looks like champagne. She’s looking very pleased with herself. In fact, she looks better than Abi has seen her since she arrived. She looks happy, waving her glass around as she talks animatedly. The stress, always present in her face, seems to be gone.
‘Get a glass and then you can toast me,’ she says when Abi stops by on her way upstairs to change.
‘Why? What’s happened? Quick,’ Abi says. She can never wait to be told good news.
‘She’s got a new agent,’ Jon says.
‘That’s fantastic.’ Abi gives Cleo a hug, and Cleo’s in such a good mood that she hugs her back. Not the usual slightly stiff hug of someone you don’t really know very well, but a warmer, softer version. It feels nice. Her hair smells of coconut and mint. When she was young, it always smelt like bubblegum, as did Abi’s, courtesy of
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