Page 58 of Someone Else's Shoes
Her eyes are actually closed when Joel puts his arm around her and pulls her into him. He smells of a delicious aniseedy aftershave she hasn’t come across before, and warm, clean skin. No man other than Phil has put his arms around her like this, not since they first got together. She stiffens initially, but then it feels so nice to be held, so reassuring, that she slowly softens and lets her head come to rest on his shoulder.Can I just stay like this for ever?she thinks.
‘I’m here for you, babe,’ he says softly, into her ear.
‘Sorry,’ she says, wiping at her eyes. ‘Stupid, isn’t it? I should be able to handle this stuff.’
‘Nah. It’s not easy. You’re my friend. I don’t like seeing you this low.’
She turns to face him. His lips are inches from hers. His eyes are soft, unreadable.Are we friends?she thinks. His eyes search hers. Something gives inside her. It is a moment that seems to last several years. She stands abruptly. ‘So … shall I get the next round?’
He is leaning back in his chair when she returns. She feels awkward as she walks towards him, as if she has exposed too much of herself. But he smiles as she approaches.
‘I’ve had a thought,’ he says.
‘Okay,’ she says.
‘You know what you need?’
She takes a sip of her drink. She realizes she is definitely drunk.
‘Boxing.’
‘What?’
‘Boxing. It’s about energy, Sam. Mental strength as well as physical. You need to look more assertive to deal with thatprick. You need to look like nobody is going to mess with you. You’re walking with your head down just now. Like he’s knocked all the stuffing out of you. You need to get your mojo back. Can you throw a punch?’
She finds she is laughing. ‘I have no idea. Probably not.’
‘Tomorrow night. Come to the gym. Don’t look at me like that – there’s loads of women do it. They love it. You can pretend the punchbag is Simon’s face. I tell you, when I’ve had a bad day at work I just head down there, put some gloves on, anddoof doof doof doof.’ He mimics throwing punches at speed. ‘An hour later I feelgreat.’
But that would mean wearing tight gym clothes in front of you, she thinks. It would mean being sweaty and wearing no makeup. Being hopeless at something while you watch. She remembers suddenly how she’d felt at the awful gym, the yummy mummies making her feel lardy and invisible. ‘I don’t th–’
He puts his hand over hers and clasps it. His is warm and solid. ‘C’mon. You’ll enjoy it. I promise.’
There is something about his smile that removes the word ‘no’ from her vocabulary. She gazes at him.
‘Trust me?’
The words stall in her mouth.
‘Okay,’ she says, when she can speak again.
He leans back, takes a swig of his drink. ‘It’s a date. Seven o’clock. I’ll text you the details.’
19
Over the next two days Nisha thinks constantly about the shoes. She wonders whether they were ever returned to the now-closed gym. She wonders whether the woman who took them did it deliberately. She wonders whether you can legitimately ask the police to investigate a theft when you’re wearing the nasty black shoes that belonged to the person who took yours. When she is not thinking about the shoes she is wondering at the oddness of Carl, and if it’s one of those things you see clearly only when you’re at a distance. He was always a little particular about what she wore – clothes were routinely ‘too matronly’, ‘too whorish’ or sometimes ‘make you look fat’. He didn’t like her in flat shoes as they made her legs look ‘dumpy’. She had always assumed it was because he wanted her to look as nice as possible. But was there something about the clothes themselves that had made him want them so dramatically? Some strange fetish? Anything seems possible, these days. Or did he just want them for Charlotte? Had they become some kind of symbol? She remembers, queasily, how he had insisted on her wearing the shoes on the day he gave them to her, the way he seemed to be unusually turned on by the sight of them. And this thought makes her feel so uncomfortable that she pushes it away.
Jasmine is on lates so Nisha mostly works alone and she is relieved: things have started to feel a little tricky in the apartment. Some days the space actually seems to shrink, so that the three of them are forever in each other’s way, arguing over bathroom time or inching round each other in thekitchen as they try to get to the fridge or kettle. Jasmine has taken on extra ironing and the hallway is narrowed by even more piles of laundry in huge woven plastic holdalls. Her usual good humour is fraying at the edges under the pressure of it all and the exhaustion. Grace, meanwhile, is furious with Nisha all the time for taking up space in her room. She understands it, but the eye-rolling and heavy sighs are becoming a little hard to bear cheerfully. At least when she and Jasmine are on different shifts there is a good chunk of each day when she can just be herself, when there is no need for her to put on a cheery, accommodating smile she doesn’t feel. And she rarely does.
What has happened to the damn shoes? The thought spools and reels in her head as the hours pass. She has to find them: the sooner she gets them back the sooner she can get her money from Carl, leave the tiny apartment and start reclaiming her life. She is sure Ray has worked out that something is going on. On yesterday’s call he had been super-quiet and finally said he’d thought she and Dad would be home by now. She’d had to make up some nonsense about Carl having to deal with an unexpected piece of business, and although she’d sounded convincing, Ray is too sensitive to be fobbed off for long. ‘I just need to see you, Mom,’ he said, at the end of the call, and a huge lump landed in her throat that took several minutes to swallow.
‘I know, darling. Me too. It won’t be long, I promise.’
In her lunch break she heads to the bin area and, standing by the window where she is sure she can still reach the hotel Wi-Fi, she smokes a cigarette and calls Magda.
‘Mrs Cantor! You didn’t answer any of my messages? Are you okay? I’ve been so worried.’ In the background Nisha can hear the whine of pneumatic spanners as they separate wheels from car bodies.
‘I’ve been busy. Look, I need to ask you something. Do you have any idea why Carl would want my shoes?’
