Jill Mansell - Mixed doubles

Another really kind. Two really kinds, thought Dulcie, and one selfish bitch.

The children fought over the Coke and guzzled it down, while the woman waggled her pop-socked feet, making the most of five minutes’ rest.

Dulcie watched the brass players shake spit out of their trumpets and ready themselves for the next carol.

‘I know this one,’ exclaimed the girl next to her on the seat, swinging her legs in excitement.

‘It’s "Silent Night". We sing it at playgroup. I’m nearly four,’ she informed Dulcie proudly.

‘We’re having a navitivy play next week and I’m an angel.’

‘Really?’ said Dulcie. ‘That’s brilliant. I’ve always wanted to be an angel.’

The girl jumped off her seat and stood in front of Dulcie. ‘I’ll sing it for you,’ she announced, eyes shining. ‘Si-lent night, Ho-ly night, All is calm, All is bright ...’

Not to be outdone, her brother joined in, his clear, true soprano ringing out in the cold night as he guided his young sister’s reedy warble through the second and third verses.

Dulcie had to swallow hard as he soared into the descant; she’d always had a weakness for descants. She watched the two of them singing their hearts out and felt her bottom lip begin to quiver. What in heaven’s name was the matter with her today?

. . sleep in heavenly pee-eace, sle-ep in heavenly peace,’ concluded Robbie and his sister, romping home well ahead of the band.

Dulcie plastered a bright smile on to her face and applauded. ‘That was terrific. Thank you!’

‘Couple of show-offs,’ said their mother with a grin. ‘Guess what Father Christmas is bringing me,’ chirruped her daughter, ‘a Barbie and a bicycle.’

‘With stabilisers,’ Robbie interjected brutally. ‘My bike won’t have stabilisers.’

‘And he’s bringing it on his sleigh and the reindeers are going to help him get it into our chimney.’

Robbie was looking superior, as if he was itching to tell his sister Father Christmas didn’t exist.

Noticing this, their mother forced her feet back into her too-tight shoes and stood up.

‘Right, you two, we’ve got a bus to catch. And Robbie, sshh.’ Ruffling her son’s hair and raising her eyebrows in mock despair, she said to Dulcie, ‘Have you got any?’

Children, presumably. Not buses, Dulcie decided. She shook her head.

‘No, ‘I haven’t.’

‘Lucky you,’ said the woman, plainly not meaning it. She smiled. ‘Thanks again for the Coke.

‘Bye. Merry Christmas.’

For the second time that evening, shoppers gave Dulcie’s bench a seriously wide berth. They glanced out of the corners of their eyes at the woman sitting on it and hurried past determined not to get involved.

Dulcie saw them and didn’t care. She carried on sobbing, unable to help herself. She didn’t know why it was happening, she just knew she couldn’t hold it in a minute longer.

Tears streamed unstoppably down Dulcie’s icy cheeks. They ran down her neck and soaked into her black polo-necked sweater. She searched blindly in her coat pockets for a tissue and pulled out something soft and knitted instead.

Dulcie stared at what she saw. That was it; she’d really hit rock bottom now. You couldn’t sink much lower than shoplifting Father Christmas mittens from BabyGap.

‘Honestly, it’s a bit much,’ hissed an irritated middle-aged woman to her friend. ‘1 mean, why doesn’t somebody do something about her? That’s what we pay our taxes for, isn’t it?’

‘It’s all care-in-the-community these days,’ tut-tutted her friend, ‘but what good does it do them?

‘I bet she’d far rather be in a nice psychiatric hospital than out in public like this.’

‘Poor thing.’ The first woman’s voice softened. ‘You can’t help feeling sorry for her.’

Her friend chivvied her along. ‘Come on, Jean, don’t get involved. I told Edward we’d be home by nine.’

Bibi, who had overheard this conversation, glanced briefly over her shoulder to see who the two women were talking about.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw it was Dulcie.

Dulcie, in turn, thought she was hallucinating when she looked up and saw, through a haze of tears, Bibi standing two feet in front of her.

Chapter 52

But Bibi was definitely real. Recalling the last time they had faced each other — the night of Patrick’s fortieth birthday, the night she had managed ... oh God ... to ruin Bibi’s life — Dulcie covered her face and flinched away.

‘Dulcie, whatever’s happened?’

Bibi’s voice, when it came, was gentle. She crouched down in front of Dulcie and peeled away one of her hands.

Dulcie kept the other one clamped over her eyes.

‘Sweetheart, you can’t sit here like this. Tell me what’s wrong.’

Between gulps and shuddering sobs, Dulcie muttered something under her breath.

Bibi leaned closer.

‘What was that?’

‘I s-s-stole something from B-B-BabyGap,’ whispered Dulcie. She pushed the mittens, by this time soggy with tears, into Bibi’s hands. ‘I d-didn’t mean to. It w-was an accident.’

‘Oh, Dulcie, of course it was an accident! You’d never do anything like that on purpose.’ Bibi shook her head, her forehead creased with concern. ‘Did they call the police? Were you arrested?

Darling, don’t cry, we’ll tell them you aren’t the shoplifting type.’

Dulcie couldn’t imagine for the life of her why Bibi was being so nice. She wiped her streaming nose on her sleeve and said weakly, ‘I wasn’t caught. Nobody saw me do it. ‘I found them in my pocket just now. Have you got a tissue?’

Bibi never went anywhere without her Handy Andies. She unzipped her bag and gave Dulcie the whole packet.

‘But if you weren’t caught,’ she frowned, ‘why are you crying?’

‘I don’t know.’ Dulcie blew her nose and shrugged. ‘I’m j-just miserable. I’ve made a complete and utter balls-up of everything. Dammit, I’m a walking j j jinx.’

‘If you were jinxed,’ said Bibi, trying to cheer her up, ‘you’d have been caught pinching those mittens. There, you see? You weren’t, were you? That’s something to be grateful for, for a start.’

It didn’t work.

‘But what am ‘I going to do?’ sniffed Dulcie. ‘It’s too late to go back and pay for them now.

Everywhere’s shutting.’

Bibi peered at the damp price ticket. All this fuss over six pounds fifty.

‘I could pop in there tomorrow,’ she offered, ‘explain what happened and give them the money.

Or you could send them a cheque.’

Dulcie wiped her mascara-stained eyes and sighed. ‘Okay, I’ll do that.’

Bibi straightened up.

‘And are you just going to carry on sitting there,’ she eyed the pile of carriers from Casa Pupo, Jolly’s, Janet Reger and Diablo, ‘like an upmarket bag lady?’

‘I’ll go home in a minute.’

‘Or we could stop off at Leander’s if you like.’

Dulcie looked up at her, astounded.

‘You mean go for a drink? What, both of us ... together?’ Bibi smiled.

‘Well, we could sit at opposite ends of the bar if you preferred, but I think you need to talk to someone about whatever’s troubling you.’ She paused, then bent down to pick up Dulcie’s bags.

‘And now we’ve broken. the ice ...’

Leander’s wine bar was dimly lit and not too busy. It also had plenty of tables tucked away in secluded corners where bedraggled, mascara-stained women could hide without frightening the other customers.

Bibi beamed at the waiter and ordered vodka and tonics, then turned to Dulcie.

‘They still do that amazing white chocolate ice cream. How about it?’

Dulcie shook her head. She was too depressed to eat ice cream.