Amanda Robson - Envy

‘So good to see you,’ she simpers.

My heart sinks. Mimi always simpers when she hasn’t any news. And I so wanted her to be telling me I had a new modelling contract.

‘I just thought I’d pop in and see how things were going,’ I say with a shrug of my shoulders.

‘Do sit down,’ she says gesticulating to the chair in front of her desk. I do as she requests and Georgia scrambles onto my lap.

‘What did you want to know?’ Mimi asks.

My insides tighten. It’s obvious, isn’t it? When will she send me some decent work? I’ve done reasonable work before, haven’t I? I need the Serendipity Model Agency to really, really pull their finger out. To get me the work I deserve.

‘Just wondered whether you’d heard from the estate agent yet?’ I ask, putting my head on one side in an attempt to look as nonchalant as possible.

Mimi’s eyes flicker. ‘I’m afraid it’s a no. They liked you a lot but …’ She crosses her legs and folds her arms.

I wrap my arms around Georgia and pull her towards me. ‘But what?’ I ask, smiling bravely.

‘They wanted someone a little younger.’

The words I have dreaded for so long, finally spoken. I inhale the scent of Georgia’s young skin and for a second, instead of loving her, I envy her.

‘But I’m only thirty-four for heaven’s sake,’ I splutter.

Mimi shakes her head. ‘Mid-thirties – a difficult age group to market.’

Anger incubates inside me. If I do not leave quickly it will erupt.

My smile stretches tightly. ‘Well let’s just hope something else crops up soon. I’d best be off. Time to pick Tamsin up from school.’

‘Mummy, Mummy, please can we buy sweeties first?’ Georgia asks.

Too weak to argue, I reply, ‘Yes. Yes. Of course.’

I look out of the window. It is still raining. I am still in Mouse’s flat. Still playing chess. Or at least Mouse is playing. I’m pretending to, but not really concentrating. I am thinking about you, Faye. About wanting to be like you. A better version of myself.

For you look like the woman I might have been, if I’d had a solid start in life. The day I first saw you, walking past my flat, after you had turned in to the school playground I sat on the sofa in my musty home, and yet again studied my mother’s photograph, now creased and faded with time. I found myself staring at the once fine lines of her face, knowing that many years ago she must have looked like you. I glanced at my chubby face in the mirror, and knew that I could look like you too, one day, if I wasn’t so overweight.

Inspired by your glamour, my first step to improve my looks was a visit to the local Oxfam shop. As soon as I walked in the scent of stale clothing assaulted me. The shop assistant was paler than pale. Frizzy brown hair. Pinprick eyes. Looking bored and sorry for herself, as if she would rather be doling out food in Africa, or building pot-bellied children a new schoolhouse.

I began to flick through the racks of clothes. What had happened to the people who used to wear them? Where were they now? Alive only in other people’s memories? I stroked a jaded green party frock and tried to imagine the party it went to. A tea dance in an upmarket hotel. A young girl waltzing with her partner, looking into his eyes wistfully.

I looked across at the row of tweed sports jackets, imagining the elderly men who used to wear them, oppressed by the reminder that the father I never knew has probably died too.

I rummaged through the mixed racks. There was nothing I liked. I sighed inside. Even though I hardly had any money, I wanted to treat myself to something special.

Giving up on the racks, I began to walk around the edge of the shop, looking at the wall displays. Second-hand books. Antique wine glasses too small for modern life. Greetings cards, I didn’t have anyone to send to.

Then I turned the corner and came across handbags and shoes; rummaging to try and find something right. Too big. Too small. Too frumpy. I finally found a pair of suede boots: trendy and grungy. I pulled my trainers off and thrust my feet into them. One glance and I knew I’d buy them. But my feet would be so much more attractive than the rest of me, and I knew I needed to start work on everywhere else.

‘Are you all right, Erica?’ Mouse asks, grey-brown eyes darkening. ‘Are you playing chess, or are you sitting looking out of the window and daydreaming?’

I squirm in my seat. ‘I’m thinking about chess of course,’ I lie.

Mouse grins. My stomach twists. Mouse has a lovable grin.

‘I can tell you’re not concentrating because you are giving away pieces too easily. If you were concentrating properly I think you would win.’ There is a pause. ‘It’s your turn now; show me what you’ve got.’

I grin back at him. ‘OK then.’ I deliberate for a while and then move my knight to take one of his pawns.

‘Not too bad, I suppose.’

He starts to plan his next move. I begin to daydream again. I’m going to be slim, and beautiful. Like you, Faye. I have started a diet. And a few weeks ago I went jogging for the first time. Fifty paces walking slowly. Fifty paces walking fast. Fifty paces jogging. Twice around Marble Hill Park.

Because I’ve not been able to follow you today, Faye, I’m imagining your movements in my head. Monday. Legs, Bums, and Tums. Stomach crunches galore at the Anytime Leisure Club. If I had enough money I would join a club like that.

‘Checkmate,’ Mouse announces. ‘I’ve beaten you for the third time today.’

Mouse is grinning at me, dimple playing to the left of his broad mouth. Mouse with his pondering personality that slows the movement of his face.

The alarm on my watch beeps. Twenty-five past three. In five minutes I’ll watch you walk past again.

Sitting at the dining table in our living room, the girls settled in bed.

‘How was your day?’ I ask my husband Phillip, as I watch him spooning pasta into his mouth.

‘Fine,’ he replies, without looking up.

‘Oh come on, I’m at home with the kids. Give me a break, let me hear something about your work environment,’ I say.

He looks up and frowns. ‘Are you trying to tell me you’re bored at home?’

‘Did I say that?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Not at all.’ I pause. ‘I just asked about your day.’

He leans back in his chair. He shrugs his shoulders. ‘I drove to work. Parked the car. Walked across the car park.’ He pauses and smiles. ‘And then, the really exciting bit, I fastened the top button on my coat.’

‘Did you get a good parking space?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

‘Did the buggy wheels rotate smoothly today?’ he replies.

I take a deep breath. Did I ever find quips like this interesting?

‘Is this really how you want to communicate with me this evening?’ I ask. ‘When I’ve had a problem arise that I would like to talk about?’ His eyes soften in concern. ‘For the first time, a client said I was too old for the job,’ I continue.

Repeated, the barbs of these words penetrate my mind more deeply. He leans across the table and takes my hands in his. ‘You’re still beautiful, Faye.’ There is a pause. ‘But that day was bound to arrive.’

‘So you agree?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Oh yes you did.’

Saturday morning. On my own for the weekend as Mouse has gone to see his dad. His dad’s name is Angus. Angus is tall, much taller than Mouse. Handsome, like a grey-haired Robbie Williams, with a ready smile and a rectangular face. Mouse looks a bit like him but not quite. Everything about Mouse is not quite. His problems really messed him up when he was younger, but now he is thirty, after special schooling and help from his father, he has learnt to cope with living in society. He recognises signs of emotions now. He understands how he needs to respond to comply. He has a raw honesty in his reactions that I find refreshing.