Читать книгу Envy - Amanda Robson, Amanda Robson - Страница 11

I look out of the window. It is still raining. I am still in Mouse’s flat. Still playing chess. Or at least Mouse is playing. I’m pretending to, but not really concentrating. I am thinking about you, Faye. About wanting to be like you. A better version of myself.

For you look like the woman I might have been, if I’d had a solid start in life. The day I first saw you, walking past my flat, after you had turned in to the school playground I sat on the sofa in my musty home, and yet again studied my mother’s photograph, now creased and faded with time. I found myself staring at the once fine lines of her face, knowing that many years ago she must have looked like you. I glanced at my chubby face in the mirror, and knew that I could look like you too, one day, if I wasn’t so overweight.

Inspired by your glamour, my first step to improve my looks was a visit to the local Oxfam shop. As soon as I walked in the scent of stale clothing assaulted me. The shop assistant was paler than pale. Frizzy brown hair. Pinprick eyes. Looking bored and sorry for herself, as if she would rather be doling out food in Africa, or building pot-bellied children a new schoolhouse.

I began to flick through the racks of clothes. What had happened to the people who used to wear them? Where were they now? Alive only in other people’s memories? I stroked a jaded green party frock and tried to imagine the party it went to. A tea dance in an upmarket hotel. A young girl waltzing with her partner, looking into his eyes wistfully.

I looked across at the row of tweed sports jackets, imagining the elderly men who used to wear them, oppressed by the reminder that the father I never knew has probably died too.

I rummaged through the mixed racks. There was nothing I liked. I sighed inside. Even though I hardly had any money, I wanted to treat myself to something special.

Giving up on the racks, I began to walk around the edge of the shop, looking at the wall displays. Second-hand books. Antique wine glasses too small for modern life. Greetings cards, I didn’t have anyone to send to.

Then I turned the corner and came across handbags and shoes; rummaging to try and find something right. Too big. Too small. Too frumpy. I finally found a pair of suede boots: trendy and grungy. I pulled my trainers off and thrust my feet into them. One glance and I knew I’d buy them. But my feet would be so much more attractive than the rest of me, and I knew I needed to start work on everywhere else.

‘Are you all right, Erica?’ Mouse asks, grey-brown eyes darkening. ‘Are you playing chess, or are you sitting looking out of the window and daydreaming?’

I squirm in my seat. ‘I’m thinking about chess of course,’ I lie.

Mouse grins. My stomach twists. Mouse has a lovable grin.

‘I can tell you’re not concentrating because you are giving away pieces too easily. If you were concentrating properly I think you would win.’ There is a pause. ‘It’s your turn now; show me what you’ve got.’

I grin back at him. ‘OK then.’ I deliberate for a while and then move my knight to take one of his pawns.

‘Not too bad, I suppose.’

He starts to plan his next move. I begin to daydream again. I’m going to be slim, and beautiful. Like you, Faye. I have started a diet. And a few weeks ago I went jogging for the first time. Fifty paces walking slowly. Fifty paces walking fast. Fifty paces jogging. Twice around Marble Hill Park.

Because I’ve not been able to follow you today, Faye, I’m imagining your movements in my head. Monday. Legs, Bums, and Tums. Stomach crunches galore at the Anytime Leisure Club. If I had enough money I would join a club like that.

‘Checkmate,’ Mouse announces. ‘I’ve beaten you for the third time today.’

Mouse is grinning at me, dimple playing to the left of his broad mouth. Mouse with his pondering personality that slows the movement of his face.

The alarm on my watch beeps. Twenty-five past three. In five minutes I’ll watch you walk past again.