‘He’s married, you know,’ she said eventually.
Barbara very much doubted that she’d still be around to hear Matt Monro sing, so she thought she may as well have as much fun as she could. She looked at Audrey and laughed, immediately and scornfully.
‘To who?’ she said. ‘I’ll kill her.’ And she laughed again, just to show how unconcerned she was by Audrey’s news.
‘He’s married,’ said Audrey insistently. ‘To Joan. I’ve met her. He’s been married a long time. Kids and everything. They’re not even kids any more. The lad is sixteen and his daughter’s at nursing college.’
‘Well,’ said Barbara, ‘he can’t be doing a very good job of bringing them up. He hasn’t spent a night away from home for two years.’
‘Home?’ said Audrey. ‘You live together?’
‘Oh, it’s not as bad as it looks,’ said Barbara. ‘We’re supposed to be getting married next June. Although obviously if what you’re saying is true, he’s got some sorting out to do first.’ And she laughed for a third time, and shook her head at the preposterousness of it all. Valentine! Married! With kiddies!
‘Have you met these “children”?’
‘Well,’ said Audrey, ‘no.’ A tiny worm of doubt had crept in, Barbara noted with satisfaction. ‘But I’ve talked to Joan about them. Sidney and I have two teenagers of our own.’
‘Ah,’ said Barbara. ‘Talking. We can all talk. I could pop fifteen children out, talking to you now. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop …’
Fifteen children meant way too many pops, she now realized. She’d seem insane if she kept going, so she stopped.
‘Five anyway,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Talking’s not the same as seeing, is it?’
‘Are you saying that Joan made them up?’
‘To be honest, I think this Joan might be made up.’
‘How can she be made up? I met her!’
‘Yes, but you know what they’re like. Sometimes they want an evening out without us, if you know what I mean. It’s harmless enough. Well, I think so.’
‘You’re saying that Joan was some sort of …’
‘No, no. He just wanted some company. I was probably at the pictures or somewhere.’
‘She wasn’t a young woman,’ said Audrey.
‘Well, that’s quite sweet, that he wanted to spend an evening with someone of his own age.’
Audrey contemplated the elaborate fraud that had been perpetrated on her and shook her head.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘What an odd thing to do.’
Sidney and Valentine came back to the table, friends again.
‘I should introduce you two properly,’ said Valentine. ‘Audrey, this is Barbara. She works in my office and she’s nuts about Matt Monro. So when Joan fell ill this afternoon …’
Sidney’s wife looked at her, confused and then outraged.
‘Nice to meet you, Audrey,’ said Barbara, and she went to get her coat.
There had been a strange enjoyment in the few minutes she’d spent talking to Audrey because they’d allowed her to appear in a comedy sketch that she’d written herself, on the spot. It had been a half-decent performance too, she thought, considering the thinness of the material. But then the adrenalin left her body, and as she queued for the cloakroom, she felt as blue as she’d ever been in London. Since her conversation with Marjorie, she had been telling herself that her choice was clear, if dismal: she could work behind cosmetics counters, or she could pick up men like Valentine Laws, in the hope that they would take her somewhere a few inches closer to where she wanted to be. But she had picked up a man like Valentine Laws, and she’d ended up feeling cheap and foolish, and she would be back behind the cosmetics counter the following day anyway. She wanted to cry. She certainly wanted to go home. She’d had enough. She would go home and marry a man who owned carpet shops, and she would bear his children, and he would take other women to nightclubs, and she would get old and die and hope for better luck next time around.
And on the way out of the Talk of the Town, she met Brian.
She nearly bumped into him as she was walking up the stairs to the entrance. He said hello, and she told him to bugger off, and he looked startled.
‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
‘No,’ she said, and she was glad that she didn’t. He clearly hadn’t been worth remembering. He was handsome enough, and he was wearing what looked like a very expensive suit, but he was even older than Valentine Laws. Everything about him was untrustworthy.
‘We met at the first night of that Arthur Askey film you were in.’
‘I’ve never been in any film.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Sorry. You’re not Sabrina, are you?’
‘No, I’m bloody not bloody Sabrina. Bloody Sabrina is bloody years older than me. And yes, she comes from the same place, and yes, she’s got a big bust. But if any of you ever looked above a woman’s neck, you might learn to tell us apart.’