The Men in her Life

face. Except one. On paper, he was absolutely perfect: several inches taller than her; honest enough to say that he had only just given up smoking and was finding it tough, which led Holly to believe that he certainly had the occasional puff of someone else’s, if not his own packet of ten. Under profession, he had put ‘writer (not rich and famous)’ which she thought was rather sweet, if potentially a little mean. He loved all the movies she had loved recently. It was the words ‘Tarantino, but I have my hands over my eyes at the nasty bits’ that really won her over. Holly was almost in love. Feeling excited and nervous, she slowly drew back the form she had been using to cover the photos, praying that the face on this snapshot was unbearded. It was. She gasped as she found herself staring into the familiar eyes of her client Jeff.
    Barbara looked round. Holly put her face in her hands.
    Of all the worst, humiliating things she had thought might happen, she had never envisaged the possibility of finding someone she knew. Holly stifled a horrified scream as her mind worked through the logistics and she realized that even worse than this worst thing was the idea that someone she knew, particularly one of her clients, might find her form in this desperate place.
    ‘It’s no good,’ she said, standing up, ‘I’m just not up for this.’
    ‘Too much in one day, I know the feeling, believe me,’ Barbara chimed. ‘We’re open till eight, you know, and Saturday mornings...’
    ‘No, I mean, I just don’t think this approach is going to be right for me,’ Holly said.
    ‘No? If you like I can make the choices for you. Sometimes it works better that way, and we’re always getting new people. I’ll give you a call, shall I, just as soon as...’
    ‘No. You don’t understand. I want out,’ Holly interrupted.
    ‘Have a think about it. I won’t put your profile into the files just yet if you’d prefer...’
    ‘Oh God, just shut up and give me back my bloody form, will you?’
    ‘Oh well,’ said Barbara, suddenly losing her cheery good nature, ‘if that’s what you want.’
    ‘It is.’ Suddenly Holly saw why it would have been better to take the you’ve-been-very-kind-but approach. It was too late now.
    ‘Seems such a waste of four hundred pounds,’ said Barbara with a smirk.

    The front door was difficult to open because of the pile of post behind it. Clare pushed hard, a space big enough to allow Tom through. He stepped over the envelopes into the hall and shouted ‘Daddy?’ and Clare’s spirits plummeted. She had told him on the train that Joss would not be there when they got back, but he had not believed her. Every time Tom enquired where Joss was, or what he was doing, she asked herself how she could be denying this little boy his father. She had always criticized her mother for neglecting her, and now she was doing the same, except worse because she was lying to Tom constantly now, pretending that things were the same when for him they were about to be very different. They would work something out, she told herself. They would find a way. But the more she reassured herself, the less confident she became.
    It was bill season. The electricity was not too bad because it was summer, but the phone bill was more than twice as big as it had ever been. Calls to Ella, Clare thought. But there had only been one or two. Their long conversation about what had happened between her and Joss had been at Philippa’s expense from the Hampstead house and was too recent to appear on a bill. It had been a frustrating call. She had found it difficult to know what Ella thought. Part of her had been expecting enthusiastic approval, but all Ella would say was ‘it’s up to you, Mum,’ in a resigned voice. They had promised to write to each other.
    Clare turned to the itemized listing. The same number appeared again and again, and it was a number she did not recognize. She would have to make a list of things to discuss with Joss. If she did not then he would direct their conversation and he was useless at detail, pretending a kind of artistic impatience with trivia. She was about to put the bills on the kitchen table when she saw the envelope with her name written on it.
    It was just one piece of paper and his sloping handwriting covered it neatly, leaving approximately an inch frame all round. Her initial reaction was to wonder whether it had just come out like that, or whether this perfectly centred