Angela turns over in bed. She wishes now that she had not opened the window in the middle of the night. The noise of the traffic is disturbing her. It is raining and the water splashing off the tyres makes a low swishing noise. She is replaying in her head the conversation she had with Jenny, another waitress at the restaurant.
When she’d come on duty that day, Jenny had handed her the sketch of Edward. Angela had been puzzled as to how Jenny should have come by it.
‘An ol’ bloke asked me to give it to you. He’d got sort of a hunched back and he walked with a stick.’
‘That’s a bit rude, calling him a hunchback.’ Angela had felt suddenly defensive of Edward. ‘He is a human being you know.’
‘Sor-ry. For Christ’s sake, I was only trying to help.’ She’d turned away. ‘Take your own messages in future.’
Angela grabbed her arm. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Just tell me what happened, please. Was he angry?’
‘No.’ Jenny looked at her strangely. ‘Why should he be? He was fine, pleasant as pie. He came in, had a coffee and a sandwich, then he asked me to give you that.’
She nodded at the sketch that Angela had refolded, ‘I told him you’d just arrived but he said he couldn’t wait.’
Throughout her shift, Angela puzzled over the return of the sketch. She examined the paper to see if he’d written a note, nothing. Did it mean he wanted to carry on or not?
She leans out of bed, eyes still closed, and picks up the clock from the floor. It is 12:30. She is supposed to meet him at 1 p.m.
‘Shit, shit, shit! I was going to be early today in case he turned up. Jesus!’ She sits on the edge of her bed and drags her hair to the top of her head, drawing it back from her forehead. She observes herself in the mirror. The black dye is fading. She’ll have to give it another rinse … when she’s got time.
She picks up an ethnic-style skirt from the floor and steps into it. On the back of the chair is a woolly jumper, with a tee shirt still inside. She slips it over her head and quickly peruses herself in the mirror. The jumper, which she got from Oxfam, has become matted and all the colours have blurred together. The sleeves have also shrunk. She tugs at them but to no avail. She grabs her bag and slips her feet into her unlaced boots.
Angela has just missed her bus. She knows what her gran would say if she could see her now. ‘If you’d done those laces up properly, you could have run for the bus.’
She grits her teeth. Why do bus drivers have to be so nasty? He’d seen her, waited until the last minute and then driven off.
A blind man at the bus stop moves forward. He can hear a bus and sure enough, around the corner comes a green one. When they reach the next set of traffic lights, one car has run into another. The car behind has only slightly dented the bumper of the car in front but the drivers are arguing in the middle of the road as if it’s a major incident. The bus driver leans his elbows on the steering wheel and watches the performance. Should she get off and walk? She is not going to mess it up this time. She will do whatever he wants: be naked, bring him a box of chocolates every week, anything to keep him sweet.
Angela can hear her gran’s voice again,
‘If you had water in your head, there’d be steam coming out your ears.’
Why does everything go wrong when she’s in a hurry? She gets off the bus and runs as fast as she can in her unlaced boots, still gritting her teeth.
Her watch says 1:10 p.m. ‘Please Edward, be there.’ She comes round the corner. He is not waiting outside the door. She slows down. Shit! What if she’s missed him, but what if he never intended to come? She leans against the door trying to get her breath. It’s then that she sees him, thank God. He is standing in the middle of the small curved footbridge that crosses the river and he is looking down into the water.
She walks over and stands by his side. ‘I’m really sorry I’m late.’
He looks up and, to her surprise, she sees his face soften.
Angela groans and puts her head in her hands, ‘I’ve no excuse. I slept in. Woke up at 12.30. Jumped out of bed, threw some clothes on and came straight here. And of course, I had to miss a bus, and when I did get one, there was a traffic jam. So that’s why I’m so bloody late.’ She stops for breath.
‘Yes, you do look a little dishevelled.’ He looks her up and down. ‘Tell me, what are you late for?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I didn’t know we’d arranged to meet today.’
He is looking down into the water, but she can see just the corner of his mouth twitching.
‘Good job I interpreted your weird message correctly then, eh?’
He looks up and laughs, ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’
‘Yes, you do.’ Angela bows her head and realises how at ease she feels with this man, ‘Thanks for waiting.’
‘For what?’
‘Oh, shut up.’ She nudges his shoulder, and they stand looking down into the water. Under the road-bridge further up, some ducks are feeding on chunks of white bread.
‘Do you still want me to,’ Angela pauses, ‘I mean, get undressed too?’
He searches her face and then shrugs, ‘What do you think?’
‘That’s right,’ she laughs. ‘Play it back into my court. Well if that’s what it takes, then I’ll go along with it.’
He nods. ‘It really means that much, me modelling for you?’
‘Christ, how many times do I have to tell you? And besides,’ she bites the inside of her cheek. ‘Bastard-features said something to me the other day that got me thinking.’
‘Who?’
‘Alex. He said, or words to the effect, that if you really want to draw someone well, you also have to learn to be a model. Not that I don’t think he’s got ulterior motives,’ she mutters.
‘And me? Do you think I’ve got ulterior motives?’
‘No, of course not. Why should you?’
He laughs, as though in disbelief, ‘I suppose it’s escaped your notice that I also happen to be a man.’
‘You know what I mean,’ she says crossly, ‘You’re not a creep like him.’
‘So, on that note, shall we go in and get started, or shall we see if we can get a coffee on the front and discuss the matter further?’