Three Things About Elsie(23)

‘How far back did you go?’ Cheryl gave up on my ears and searched for a parting instead.

Ronnie took a while to answer. He always did. It was as though he needed to enjoy the taste of his own opinion for a while, before he was willing to let it go. ‘As far back as I needed to,’ he said.

‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’ Not-Cheryl spoke to the mirror. ‘I know my great-grandma used to live in Prestatyn, but everyone lost touch.’

I was certain Ronnie moved again, because when I looked up, his reflection seemed closer. ‘It’s amazing what you can find out with a little research. You can trace anyone you like if you’re determined enough.’ He smiled. ‘Even great-grandmas who used to live in Prestatyn.’

‘Do you think so?’ said the girl.

‘Anyone is traceable.’ He stood and brushed down his jacket. ‘I think you’ll find there are no hiding places left in this world any more.’

As he spoke, he looked at me. I was worried they could hear me breathing. I was worried Cheryl would ask if I was all right, and why I’d gone so pale, and if I’d like a glass of water. But no one said anything. Ronnie slipped through the door and back into the lounge, the girl swept away all traces of him from the floor, and Cheryl pulled a towel from a shelf and wrapped it around my shoulders and said, ‘Shall we get you sorted out, then?’

I didn’t say anything. I sat there and tried to concentrate on the radio, but it wasn’t playing a song I wanted to hear. I listened to Not-Cheryl talking about her great-grandma in Prestatyn, and Cheryl pretending to be interested. I listened to the click of the scissors and the whir of the hairdryer, and the sound of water running in a sink. I tried to make these noises cover up my thinking, but all they did was make it louder.

When I went to pay, I tried to take my mind off things, and I looked at the tattoo on Cheryl’s wrist whilst she was searching for change in the till.

‘It’s a lovely name,’ I said. ‘Alice. I had an aunt called Alice a long time ago.’

When I spoke, she dropped the coins on the floor. It took her an age to collect them all, but when she had, she stood back up again and looked me right in the eye for the first time.

‘Thank you so much, Miss Claybourne,’ she said.

‘You’re very welcome, Cheryl,’ I said back. Although I wasn’t even sure what it was she was welcome to.

After I’d left the hairdressers, I went to the little shop near the main gates. I thought I might have a look around. Treat myself. I knew Ronnie wouldn’t be in there, because Miss Bissell allowed him to go to the supermarket all by himself. I’d seen him. Walking across the courtyard, weighed down by carrier bags. Although what he finds to buy in there, I couldn’t tell you. I thought perhaps Jack or Elsie might be around, though, and we’d all be able to walk back to my flat together.

It was empty, as it happened. Just the man behind the counter, who doesn’t look up when he’s serving you, let alone when you walk in. I used to try and pass the time of day, but then I noticed he wears those little headphones in his ears, and half the time he isn’t even listening.

‘I’m just having a browse,’ I shouted, when I walked in. ‘Don’t mind me.’

And he didn’t.

I did my best, but it’s difficult to browse in a shop that small. There’s only so long you can stare at a loaf of bread. Qwick Stop, it’s called. I’ve had it out with Miss Bissell on many an occasion, but she says it’s out of her remit. I don’t really know what a remit is exactly, but you can guarantee if Miss Bissell has one, it stretches as far as she damn well wants it to. The shop is all primary colours and bright lights, although it still looks tired, like it needs a good bottoming. It sells basics. Aisles full of milk and bread, and lavatory paper. They have a freezer packed with ready meals and ice cream, and a little display of cakes and biscuits. I studied the display for as long as I could, before the man started peering round the till. In the end, I plumped for the Battenberg. It’s nice to have a bit of cake in, just in case you have an unexpected visitor, and you can’t go wrong with a Battenberg. Although I did think I might still have one unopened in a tin somewhere.

When I went to pay, the man had taken his earphones out, but he still shouted, ‘One pound seventy-four pence.’ I shouted, ‘Thank you,’ back again. I was putting the change in my purse when I said, ‘Would you like me to go round and give everything the once-over?’ He stared at me.

‘Would you like me to give the shelves a clean?’ I said.

‘We have a cleaner, thank you.’

‘You don’t have to pay me,’ I said. ‘I’m free now, as luck would have it. I could soon get started.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said.

I was about to point out a few things to him, and explain how necessary it actually was, when the girl with the plait came in. She wasn’t wearing her uniform, but she was wrapped into a scarf and wearing a coat that was at least two sizes too big for her.

‘Are you looking for me?’ I said.

She frowned and shook her head, and put three bars of chocolate on the counter.

‘Hungry?’ said the man. He didn’t shout this time.

‘I just fancied something sweet,’ she said.

I smiled at her. ‘I’ve just bought a lovely Battenberg. Why don’t you come over. I could put the kettle on. Cut you a slice?’