Impossible to Forget(31)
‘Now,’ whispered Angie, ‘you just stay there for a few moments whilst you recentre yourself. I’ll just be over there.’
Ideally, she would have a separate treatment room where she could leave the client to recover, but this was a one-bedroom flat and she wasn’t about to give up her own inner sanctum to her clients. As it was, the treatment bed was set up in the middle of the lounge and she tried to disguise this by keeping her personal detritus to a minimum (no mean feat for Angie), and with the strategic use of throws.
Mandy came back to herself relatively quickly, and then sat up and wrapped her arms tightly around her torso as if defending herself from whatever power had just taken hold of her.
‘How was the treatment?’ asked Angie. ‘Were you aware of anything that you don’t normally feel, not that that’s necessary, but sometimes clients do say . . .’ She stopped talking. She needed to catch herself before she did this – lead her clients down a path that would allow them to criticise her – but this time there was nothing to worry about. Mandy was gushing.
‘That was amazing,’ she said breathlessly, her eyes shining. ‘I don’t know how to describe it. It was like I felt really warm, right here.’ She pointed enthusiastically at her core. ‘And then really cold. And my legs kept tingling. Is that normal, tingling legs? I practically melted into the table. I’m sorry I was so jumpy beforehand. I just had no idea what to expect but that . . . that was wonderful.’
Angie beamed, but she wasn’t about to get lost in the praise. This was a business. She had to keep her focus. ‘And so, shall we book you in for next week? Maybe we can move forward to me placing my hands on you, through your clothes I mean,’ she added cautiously, but there was no need. Mandy was nodding vigorously as if she would be happy to be treated stark naked if that was what Angie suggested.
Money changed hands, an appointment fixed for the following week and Mandy appeared to float down the stairs and out into the street beyond, closing the door gently behind her. Another satisfied customer.
Angie began to redress the treatment bed for her next client. There were just the two today, but Mrs Meehan had been coming for a while and always booked a double session. The three appointments were enough to just about keep the wolf from the door. She was going to have to find something else, though. Living hand to mouth like this was manageable, but she had no savings and no way of improving her lot. She had been one step away from the street before, but she wasn’t risking that happening again – not if she could help it.
17
Jax was coming to visit and there was a lightness in Angie’s chest that threatened to bubble out into gleeful giggles and whoops, which wasn’t that convenient in a holistic treatment room. It had been more than three months since she had last seen him, and six months the time before that. Theirs wasn’t what you might call a conventional relationship. Living at opposite ends of the country and in an impecunious state for much of the time meant that days spent together were rare and precious. But they did what they could and so far, it seemed to be working out okay.
Angie had never been in love, and she was reluctant to label her feelings for Jax in these terms. Her life had shown her that love was for the weak, for those who lacked imagination, for misguided seekers of the ‘happy ever after’. None of these terms could be applied to her. Being dependent on another person had never worked out that well for her. The last time it had happened she had been ten and the person had been her mother, but she had quickly discovered that she was much better off fending for herself. If she didn’t rely on anyone else then no one could let her down. And no one could hurt her, either. She’d been hurt enough. She wasn’t open for any more heartache.
But Jax was great. He made her laugh, and she fancied the bones of him. Like her, he wasn’t interested in commitment. They had talked it through at various points in their relationship and concluded that they were both singing from the same hymn sheet as far as that was concerned. Commitment was bourgeois and unnecessary, but they were happy to carry on as they were for the time being in an uncommitted but monogamous relationship.
She busied herself cleaning the flat, which felt mildly ironic, given the squalid conditions where they had first met and spent time together. It was different now, though, and if she had a flat, she might as well do what she could to make it welcoming.
She ran a cloth around the basin and heard herself humming ‘Things Can Only Get Better’. The wretched tune had been stuck in her head forever, and even though the election had taken place over a week ago with Labour romping home to victory, not least, no doubt, because the theme tune was stuck in heads across the nation, she couldn’t seem to shift it. It was driving her nuts.
She looked around the flat and nodded to herself in satisfaction. Everything was ready. She had no client bookings for the next twenty-four hours, the fridge was full and the bed was clean. There was nothing to do but spend time enjoying each other’s company. It was going to be a perfect weekend.
Jax was hitching up to Yorkshire and so his ETA was a little vague, but he had rung her from a phone box on the A61 just outside Leeds and so, assuming he could pick up a lift for the last stretch without too much bother, she wouldn’t have much longer to wait. She was struggling to settle to anything, though. If she’d had a television, she could have turned it on for some mindless tea-time drivel, but the third-hand set she had borrowed from a friend had finally given up the ghost. It now sat in the corner of her lounge, hidden beneath a tie-dyed scarf, and was currently serving as a plant stand.