Dot (Araminta Hall)

he’d expected Simon’s definition of a ‘cracker’ to be: blonde and brassy, slightly plump, too much make-up and a skirt which should have continued for another few inches. Her feet looked uncomfortable squeezed into high heels and her scarlet nails flicked nervously round her throat.
    Tony sat at the bar and ordered a pint from Simon, who was as puffed up as a rooster, luxuriating in the wonder of having provided this specimen for the village. His clients were far from disappointed as well, leaning over the bar as they told jokes and asked questions. Tony thought of his own real cracker at home and felt like a heavy duvet had been wrapped around his head.
    Alice had cooked an indeterminable stew and he ran upstairs to kiss Dot before eating. His daughter was lying on her back, her arms flung above her head, her head turned lazily to the side, her lips a perfect pout and her ginger hair fluffed against her pillow. She stirred when he kissed her fat cheek and for a moment he willed her to wake up so he could hold her in his arms.
    ‘I met a really nice woman today, on the swings on the green,’ Alice said as they started to eat. Clarice was watching TV in the sitting room and the sound of condensed voices drifted through. ‘She’s got a daughter called Mavis who’s the same age as Dot. She runs some playgroup or something at the village hall and she asked me to go.’
    The gravy was pallid and weak and making Tony feel sick. ‘Are you going to?’
    ‘Yes, I think so.’
    He felt annoyed at this. ‘I’ve been telling you to do something like that for ages.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘It’d do you good to get out and meet a few other mothers.’
    ‘Yes.’ Alice was still eating; she never seemed to taste what she cooked. Tony wondered how she would appear to a group of mothers. He stabbed a piece of meat. When you got down to it, she had no real idea what life was about.
    Donna from work tried to persuade him to go to a bar in town with them all, but he couldn’t see the point and got on to the bus like a good husband. The Hare and Hound twinkled welcomingly as he rounded the corner. If you were going to be the sort of man who went to the pub then it seemed crazy not to go on a Friday night. It was warm and noisy inside, busier than usual, which Tony presumed must be the new barmaid. He raised his hand in greeting to a few people and sat at what was becoming his usual stool at the bar, opening up his copy of The Times to see if he could finish the crossword.
    ‘What can I get you?’
    Tony looked up and saw the new barmaid. ‘Pint of Guinness, please.’
    He watched her pull it badly, the white head too big and spilling over the side. Her hand was shaking as she put it down and Simon bumped into her as he reached up for the nuts, making her trip, and the pint flowed over the bar on to Tony’s legs.
    ‘Oh shit, I’m so sorry,’ she said.
    Tony caught her eye and saw tears sprinkled at the corners. ‘It’s fine, don’t be silly.’ He dabbed at the beer and his trousers with a bar towel. ‘I don’t think anyone else saw anyway.’
    She smiled. ‘Thanks. I’ll get you another.’
    The second was as bad as the first, but she didn’t spill it this time. ‘We haven’t been introduced yet,’ said Tony, holding out his hand over the bar, ‘you were pretty monopolised last night. Anyway, I’m Tony.’ Her hand was soft.
    ‘Silver.’
    ‘Silver?’
    ‘Yeah, I know, stupid, right?’
    ‘I wouldn’t say stupid, just unusual.’
    ‘Well, if you ever met my mother you’d understand why.’
    ‘You should be on stage with a name like that. What’s your surname?’
    She laughed. ‘Sharpe.’
    ‘Christ.’ He laughed as well. ‘I can definitely see that on a poster: Silver Sharpe.’
    She tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘No posters for me, thanks.’
    Tony watched her work her way round the bar, her nervousness evident with each customer. There was something unlikely about her which didn’t fit the way she looked, as if she was inhabiting the wrong skin or maybe just uneasy in it.
    He spent the weekend at home, playing with Dot, chatting to Alice, being polite to Clarice. It was all fine unless he was on his own, when he would sometimes be overtaken by the sensation that the ground was swaying beneath him and his life was falling down a hole. He found it almost impossible to be present in anything more than body, watching himself interacting with this beautiful woman and child, marvelling