The Vintage Cinema Club. Jane Linfoot
Читать онлайн книгу.
was onto her as he arrived. ‘That’s your fifteenth swear word this morning.’
Dida bristled. ‘You’re counting well for someone who was barely awake enough to eat their Weetabix. Remind me what you’re doing on this trip?’
Eric gave a shrug as he clambered into the front seat, and pulled out an earphone. ‘How should I know, you were the one who was supposed to read the letter.’
Eye roll and head shake to that one. Dida hurled her bag and the lunch boxes onto the seat, then flung open the back door, and shouldered Lolly onto her booster.
Lolly’s squawk of protest left Dida’s ears ringing. ‘Hey mind my wings…’
‘Isn’t that tiara a bit ornate for school?’ Dida grimaced at the Barbie pink crystal clusters as she clicked Lolly’s seatbelt into place and made a dash for the driver’s seat.
Her daughter’s withering stare flagged up the stupidity of the question.
‘Hills and caves.’ Eric sent her a grin as she pushed the key into the ignition.
‘What…?’ Sometimes this boy was so random.
‘Hills and caves, that’s what we’re going to see.’ He fished a crumpled bit of paper out of his bag. ‘The impact of tourism on the physical landscape around Castleton. Remember?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Not entirely.
Dida swung the car around on the gravel drive, then, as it slid between the gateposts, she braked, flipped down her sun visor mirror, and whipped a lippy out of the door pocket. Regardless of how late they were, her first and last rule of the morning was never to leave home without lippy. While Marilyn Munroe said “Give a girl the right shoes and she will conquer the world”, Dida put her faith in lipstick. In her experience you couldn’t underestimate the power of a perfectly applied pout. Not so much of the perfect this morning, but it would have to do. This morning she needed every bit of help she could get. Pursing her mouth onto the red slick of Mac Ruby Woo, she flicked the sun visor back up, then glanced into the rear view mirror, for her second affirmation of the day – a flash of the front facade of Alport Towers. That glimpse of tall sash windows, the mellow coursed stone, and the gently carved parapet, never failed to fill her chest with warmth. This house gave her both a direction and an identity, and this one fleeting snapshot, caught in the mirror each time she left home, reminded her why she was carrying on, and somehow rebalanced her. Today more than most she needed that view, to remind her why she was still here, when Aidie was such a bastard.
She drew in a long breath, and then she nosed the car out through the monumental gateposts, and out onto the main street of Alport. She’d scoop up Luce at school, and head off to Izzy’s to discuss the sale of the cinema. And together, they’d work out a fight strategy.
One lamp post later, Lolly was onto the next thing. ‘Mum, can I have a falabella?’
Dida accelerated through the village, momentarily blocking the thought of the local speed vigilantes, twitching their lace curtains. ‘What the hell’s a falabella?’
‘Sixteen swear words.’ Eric’s triumphant cry morphed to a whine. ‘If she’s having a falabella, I’m definitely having Black Ops…and a new pair of Vans.’
‘No one’s having a bloody falabella, okay?’ Whatever it was, Dida wasn’t about to buy one. Full stop.
‘Seventeen…and it’s not even half past seven. You may be heading for a swear record here.’
Dida took a deep breath, counted to ten, and reached to push on the stereo. She wasn’t used to being under fire from Eric. She viewed the weekdays as ceasefire time. Hopefully Radio One might shut them up. Calvin Harris, she could cope with. As for lyrics about falling in love and lying cheats…
Talking of Aidie, there was something niggling her which she needed to get onto as soon as she had a minute. So many of the names of the women Aidie saw were full of V’s, and they all sounded vaguely similar. Logged on her spread sheet like some Soviet birth register, they were bound to become a blur. She’d have checked it last night if she hadn’t been so preoccupied, but thinking about it this morning, she had a feeling she might have seen one of the names before. Not that there was anything for her to worry about, it was completely feasible for two women in Lithuania to have the same name. But one area where Aidie was completely reliable, was that he always dated a different woman every time – that was his trademark thing – and she derived some strange kind of security from knowing that he wasn’t deviating from the norm.
Dida zoomed through the lights on amber, slowing down as she turned along Derwent Street. Snatching a sideways glance, and checking out the shop windows of Vintage at the Cinema gave her a thrill every time, but this morning the monster For Sale sign hanging high on the wall above the door turned her heart to ice.
‘What the hell…?’ Three shops further along the road she jumped on the brakes, and the car behind screeched to a halt inches from her back windscreen. The spray tan shop had changed overnight. Yesterday it was a plain shop front albeit one that was adorned with tacky ads for fast bronzing. Now there was brown paper on the windows, but, way, way worse, was the sign that said Heart your retro home? Watch this space!.
‘You need to learn more swear words Mum, Miss Raymond in English says repeating yourself is a sign your brain is stagnating.’
‘Thanks Eric, I’ll bear that in mind.’ Ball ache bastard fucking assholes to Miss Raymond. And ditto to whoever was taking over the tanning shop with what looked like more competition, right under their noses. That was all they needed, as if they didn’t have enough problems already.
Lolly piped up from the back. ‘A falabella would stop my brain smating.’
‘Definitely not proven, Lolly.’ Dida banged the car into first gear, and with a squeal of tyres that left the passing postman on the pavement open mouthed, they roared off in the direction of High Hills School.
Somewhere along the line, preferably later rather than sooner, Dida was going to have to find out for herself what a sodding falabella was.
Thursday Morning, 5th June
LUCE, DIDA & IZZY
At Izzy’s house
It sounds like a plan
‘Brace yourself for fighting talk, I hope Izzy’s got the coffee on.’ Luce took a deep breath, as Dida swung the car into Albert Street, and pulled up next to an ornate lamp post. Luce and Dida got out of the car, turned in at the smart grey gate, and picked their way along the neat herringbone brick path. The lofty Victorian semi’s, with their tight plots, and steep patches of garden were popular for divorcees, offering lots of space at half the price of the more desirable family areas. Izzy’s mum had landed here years ago, along with her four kids, and this was where they’d stuck.
Knocking on the door, they watched Izzy’s shadow approach through the frosted glass. The number eight, cut out on the fanlight etching, impressed Luce whenever she came here, with its clean modern lines, but then Izzy’s whole place was like that. It was so obvious that Izzy’s absent mum was a whizz at interior design. What’s more, Luce never failed to be amazed that Izzy managed to have so many of the rooms full of junk in the course of her renovations, without appearing to make a mess of anything except herself.
‘How’s you? Half past eight, and already painting I see.’ Luce, bobbing towards Izzy’s ear, got a blast of candy-sweet scent from her hair. Air kissing might be frowned on, but for today it was the only way to avoid the paint smears on Izzy’s cheeks.
‘Pretty pink geraniums.’ Dida said, strangely quiet this morning, stroked the petals in the planter, as if she was on remote control.
Izzy stood by the open door, ushering