‘Libby?’ There was some sort of music in the background and the low murmur of voices.
‘Hey,’ she started, feeling her elation dip slightly, but soldiered on. ‘Listen, I had to tell you. I’m so excited. I got this grant from the …’
‘Hey, loverboy.’ Libby heard the voice of another woman over the music on the line and she froze mid-sentence. ‘We’ve still got some unfinished business over here. You ready?’
Loverboy?Loverboy? It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday. What was Jamie doing somewhere with loud music and women that called himloverboyat this time of day?
‘Lib,’ Jamie sounded distant, distracted. No wonder, if he had some sultry woman with him. The weird thing was Libby thought she could almost recognise the voice. Was it somebody from the hospital? Her leaden feet took her over to the sofa and she sat down heavily. It was like somebody had taken a knitting needle to her balloon of happiness and she was watching it slowly deflate. ‘I’m sorry but this really isn’t a good time. I’m …’ the pause that ensued was long and incredibly awkward, ‘I’m just in the middle of something. Can I call back later?’
‘I have a show later,’ she said dully, staring down at her painted toenails. Just as she had managed to perfect the technique, her stripper days were almost over. She’d work this one weekend – she owed that much to Steve – but then, other than coaching the girls, she was gone. Her rent, fees, nursery, food – all of it would be covered by the grant.
‘Oh … right, yeah, okay.’ He didn’t sound annoyed by the fact she was going on stage again. She hadn’t danced properly since she’d been ill. Steve had just asked her to train the other girls, and other than a couple of short dances at the beginning of the night she was told to stay away from the actual performing for a few weeks. She’d convinced him to let her come back this weekend.
At first he’d remained resistant but a couple of days ago he phoned out of the blue and asked her if she still wanted to work a full shift. It was a relief. Rosie needed new shoes and her winter outfits would be too small by the time the weather got colder, so Libby could do with the tips. So yes, she’d been relieved; but she’d also been worried about what Jamie would think. Bloody hell, she’d been worried that she’dupsetthe bugger. Not much chance of that. It didn’t sound like he gave the first shit about what she did.
Why was she phoning him anyway? Nothing had really changed. True, she now had a better way of supporting herself, but that didn’t alter the fact that her relationship with Jamie had put his career in jeopardy and would continue to do so. Her mouth pressed into a thin line and her chin tilted up. Why should she suddenly feel good enough for Jamie just because she didn’t have to strip for a living? She wasn’t ashamed of how she’d earned her money. Maybe she wasn’t earning the prizes and trophies she had for her dance and gymnastics anymore, but she was still bloody good at what she did.
‘Right,’ she responded, her voice flat and her knuckles aching where she was gripping the phone.
‘Look, Lib, I’ve really got to go. I’ll see you soon, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she whispered, but he’d already rung off.
*****
Rosie was so wrapped up in her plans to see Beauty that she thankfully didn’t notice the change in her mother. On the bus Libby gave her the iPhone and Rosie played on a numbers app whilst her mother sat opposite and simply stared out of the window. She re-ran conversations she’d had with Jamie, the affection they’d shared, all the amazing sex – trying to work out how she got it all so wrong. Gothimso wrong. Her chest felt tight and there was a heavy weight in her stomach. Usually she found it a real pain to starve herself before a performance, but today it was easy. The very idea of food made her feel physically ill.
Her thoughts then moved to the last few years and how lonely she’d been. If she didn’t have the comparison between that and her time with Jamie she wouldn’t feel so devastated. Everything now seemed a struggle. It was like she was working her way through a thick fug of misery. Her eyes felt unnaturally dry, as if she was forgetting to blink enough, and there was a vague ringing in her ears, which made sounds seem very far away.
When she arrived at her parents’ house they were strangely upbeat. Her mum couldn’t stop smiling, which, if Libby had been functioning on any sort of normal level, she would have thought was weird: Rita Penny had been almost as upset as Libby was over the break-up with Jamie.
After settling Rosie, Libby threw all her stuff into a bag and, like a zombie, made her way out. Her mum was fussing that Libby would be late, something she had never normally worried about before, but Libby was too far gone to notice that either. She would usually arrive at the club in the afternoon to rehearse with the girls, but Steve had insisted they didn’t need her to come in early today. So now, what with the fug she seemed to be pushing through, she was late.
She stared at her phone for the entire tube ride, oblivious to the people jostling her on either side and the cat-calls of the drunken Saturday night crowd around her. But however much she stared at the screen it remained blank. No texts, no phone calls, nothing. She rubbed her chest absently. Her heart actually felt like it hurt.
As she pushed through the double doors into the large foyer of the club, Barry surged forward to intercept her, steering her away from the entrance to the main room.
‘What the … ?’ she asked as she was herded down the corridor towards the dressing room.
‘No time to scope the atmos tonight, Lib,’ Barry said, his tone firm and his large hand on her back guiding her forward. ‘The girls are all waiting for you, and you know you shouldn’t keep Claire waiting.’ Libby was about to complain but she allowed the fug to settle over her again and walked forward towards the excited feminine chatter. If she was going to perform she knew she needed to snap out of this – one wrong step, jump or spring and she could do herself some serious damage.
‘You’re here!’
Libby blinked as she was descended upon by at least five over-excited strippers. Yes, these women were affectionate, but a massive group hug on her arrival, nearly knocking her out with the force of their combined perfume, was not the norm. Just when Libby thought she might suffocate, Claire fought her way through the semi-clad bodies and grabbed Libby’s hands to pull her to one of the make-up chairs. Tara picked up Libby’s bag and two sets of hands pushed her down to sitting.
‘Bloody hell,’ Claire said as she tipped Libby’s head back. ‘You look like total crap. What have you been doing to yourself?’ Libby pressed her lips together and tried to fight back the stinging behind her eyes but it was no use, a tear escaped. ‘Bugger,’ Claire muttered, scanning Libby’s face with concern, then turning to the women around her. ‘Right, move out, bitches,’ she snapped. ‘Give Libby some goddamn room – go and get your outfits sorted, we’ve only got half an hour.’
Libby’s mouth dropped open as she listened to Claire. Now she realised why she’d recognised that voice on the phone earlier, although her brain had refused to compute so big a betrayal. Claire ignored her shocked expression and knelt down in front of her, gathering both her hands in her own.
‘Libby, gorgeous, do you trust me?’ she asked softly.
‘It was you,’ Libby whispered, and Claire’s brows drew together.
‘What do you mean, hun?’
‘It … it was you. I heard you.’
‘You’re not making any sense,’ Claire told her, giving her hands a firm shake.
