A Vision of Loveliness - By Louise Levene Page 0,1

as drinkers on all sides sniffed disapprovingly. The landlord’s face flickered a warning and the double act closed down, concentrating on their scrounged gins. Too bloody cold to go looking for another pub.

There were actually some very nice pubs in fucking Streatham. Proper pubs with saloon bars and carpet.

The smelly old woman had started up again.

‘I sa-a-a-aid: You-wouldn’t-like-to-buy-me-a-Drink, would you, duckie?’

Tony had fought his way through the bar and was signalling for Jane to join him at the door. She grabbed her coat from under the bench and slid the handbag down the side of her carrier, taking care not to crush her new outfit. The owner’s name would be inside somewhere. She could sort it out tomorrow lunchtime.

‘A drink, duckie.’

The woman kept her money in an old Oxo tin which she was now banging up and down on the table. The pub had only been open since half five but there were already four sticky dead glasses crowded in front of her next to the half-finished Evening News crossword and the tin ashtray was full. The Edwardian drawl had become loud and shrill, rising above the chinking hum of the bar.

‘Drink. Deah.’

Jane stood up to go, lifting her carrier clear of the glasses as she sidled out from behind the table, her knees hobbled by the heavy little stools and snagging her already laddered stockings. The old woman lurched out of her seat and grabbed Jane by the sleeve of her sweater.

‘The least you can do is buy me a Drink.’

She turned to address the room but the room kept its head down, afraid she might start on them. She rubbed Jane’s sleeve between her twisted yellow fingers.

‘Crocodile and cash-meah but she can’t find the price of a gin. Mean little Bitch.’

Tony had been waiting for Jane by the entrance but the tide of fresh drinkers washing into the bar had forced him outside. His puzzled face appeared round the door.

‘I’m sorry. My friend’s waiting.’

Jane inched towards the exit, carrier bag on one arm, coat on the other. Men made a show of making room – ‘Let the little lady through’, ‘Not going are you, girlie?’ – but actually edged even closer, brushing against her body as she passed. She felt helping hands at her waist, on the small of her back, the inevitable pat on the backside.

‘I’m sorry. I thought you were right behind me. Meet someone you knew?’

‘Some woman wanted me to buy her a drink. Never seen her in my life. She was drunk. Do you often go in there?’

‘It has a lot of Atmosphere,’ said Tony, apologetically, as he helped her on with her coat. ‘Augustus John used to drink in there.’

Did they really. What difference did that make? It was still a horrible pub.

‘You sure you won’t change your mind and have a bite to eat?’

Not on your life. If that was his idea of a nice pub she dreaded to think what the meal would be like. Foreign probably.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t. Aunt Doreen has tea on the table at seven. I’ll be lucky if I make it. It’s nearly half six.’

‘Another night?’

Oh God. How to make him stop? Crew-cut, fifty-shilling suit, nylon shirt, body odour. Did she have to spell it out? She’d only agreed to ‘one quick drink’ as a thank you. Without Tony she wouldn’t have the precious contents of her carrier bag: a Hardy Amies cashmere and wool dogtooth-check costume. Buy the best suit you can afford. Tony worked in the accounts department at the Savile Row boutique and told her that they were selling off that season’s samples and misfits at an invitation-only sale on Friday lunchtime. Jane had got there on the dot with £10 from her post office savings. Hardy Amies suits retailed for nearly thirty guineas – six weeks’ wages – and she wasn’t sure what kind of discount she’d get. In the end the pricing was up to Tony who let her have it for a fiver.

She had spotted her suit straight away: short, exquisitely draped jacket, real horn buttons, pencil-slim skirt with a nice deep wrap at the back. She tried it on in the back room filled with half-naked size-ten salesgirls and under-buyers looking for a bargain. There was a really nice violet dress and coatee as well but she couldn’t afford both and the black and tan dogtooth was more of a classic. The house fitter wouldn’t leave off about Jane’s stock-size figure. Not a single alteration. Jane could hardly wait