Page 32 of Knowing You
He’s so easy to talk to – is that because of him or the drink?
‘Yes, I style women’s hair. I was also brought up by a single mother and two older sisters. As for your other questions…’ He grinned. ‘You know, Beatrix only wanted to know one thing when I told her.’
‘Enlighten me.’ Even I’m impressed by how together I sound.
‘She asked what I thought of her hair and angled for a reduced price cut at the salon.’
‘Do you want to give up the hairdressing and eventually become a full-time writer?’
‘No. For a start, I could never do that to my staff. Over the years, they’ve become friends and depend on their employment with me.’
‘I bet your mum wouldn’t want you to, either. Imagine getting free haircuts for life.’
‘Hardly. Despite my objections, she’s always insisted on paying. Mum’s no freeloader. My dad developed cancer soon after I was born. He died within a month of being diagnosed and had no life insurance. Mum had three children to provide for and held down two jobs for as long as I can remember.’
I pause for a moment and give this news the time it deserves to sink in. I sip my drink, before I reply, feeling able to share with Casey what I rarely share with anyone.
‘I’m sorry to hear about your dad. Our backgrounds aren’t dissimilar. My mum worked several jobs too. My dad was never on the scene. Even when my Uncle Kevin died and left us a load of money, she didn’t touch it for years. She saw it as blood money. He was in finance and died doing his job.’
‘What happened?’
Normally I avoid the subject. People either don’t know what to say or try to find out if he’d been a jumper.
‘He died in The World Trade Centre attacks.’
Casey squeezes my hand. For someone who crafts words day in, day out, he knows when not to use them.
We talk more about our childhoods. How we both developed a love of reading. He wants to know why, like most editors, I don’t write. I ask what turns him on about science fiction. The evening passes so quickly it’s as if it’s a book I can’t put down. We order bar snacks. I pick at olives and crisps. The style of music changes.
Casey grabs my hand. ‘I love soul music.’
‘But—’
Before I know it, we are facing each other on the square dance floor, if you can call it that. Really it’s just a space at the back, between the toilets and bar. It means that everyone moves very close together. Normally I’d feel self-conscious, but for some reason I don’t. The women around me twist their bodies, drop to the floor and spring up, they curve their arms in the air and sing along as the chorus plays. Moving my feet side to side has always been a winning formula. Casey grabs my hand and swirls me. I grin and nearly lose my balance. He slips one arm around my back. It’s almost as if he can sense I’ve not had much practise.
Then suddenly the alcohol hits me. I feel more unsteady and my mouth feels as if I’ve eaten a handful of crackers. I make my excuses, telling him about the Sunday book club and how, tomorrow, I’ll be setting up the website and Twitter account.
‘Good luck with it,’ he says as we step outside. It’s quieter now, more like my usual Saturday nights. ‘How about we do this again? I don’t feel you’ve worked hard enough to sell me Felicity as an editor,’ he says in that mischievous gingerbread latte voice.
‘Felicity sells herself.’
‘Have you shown her my manuscript?’
I shake my head. ‘I wouldn’t want to get her hopes up if your agent decides not to formally let her read it.’
‘Maybe I’ll mention Thoth to him. See what he says.’
‘Don’t mention me though, will you? It’s best that he contacts Felicity,’ I say quickly.
He looks down at me. ‘I can’t make you out, Vi. Something just doesn’t add up.’
I feel different again. Purple. Frumpy. ‘What do you mean?’ Perhaps he’s discovered that the person he’s looking at isn’t really me. That underneath I’m the woman Lenny thought was boring in bed; the woman he felt he could cheat on and take for granted.
‘I don’t know, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. There’s nothing I like more than a puzzle – and a beautiful one at that.’
I look away.
‘And that’s what I’m talking about,’ he says and with his hand gently guides my chin back to face him. ‘A woman like you can’t be unaware of her good looks – and yet you genuinely seem to doubt yours.’ My pulse speeds up. ‘It’s a mystery I’d love to unravel. So, I propose we get together again – how about it? You and me? Let’s make it a date.’
