Cold Shoulder by Lynda La Plante Page A

out the clamp stitches. The wound had healed well, but he was doubtful about his prowess as a hairdresser. Lorraine had almost a crew-cut at the back of her head and crown while the front was long and jagged. It gave her an almost boyish look, and she made them laugh when she tied a ribbon around the front strands to keep them from flopping in her eyes. She read a lot, magazines at first, because even flicking through the newspapers gave her a headache but gradually she began to plough her way through Rosie’s spartan collection of bodice-ripping blockbusters.
    She kept the money stashed beneath the mattress. Sometimes she had qualms of guilt when Rosie paid for everything, but didn’t know how she could hand out money if Rosie believed she was broke. Afraid of being questioned too closely about its source, she decided against mentioning it. And Jake made no reference to it either.
    Four days later, she saw a way round it. When Rosie returned from work, Lorraine presented her with fifty dollars. ‘You can be proud of me, Rosie. I went over to my friend, then to a pawnbroker’s. Here, this is for you. I sold off my things.’ Rosie had no idea that Lorraine had never left the apartment, but she did remark that it was time they discussed the sleeping arrangements. She assured Lorraine she didn’t want her to leave, it was just that Rosie needed a good night’s sleep in her own bed. That night, Lorraine moved back onto the sofa.
    Months had passed since Lorraine had last touched alcohol, had been stone cold sober; it was six weeks since the attack. Curled up on the uncomfortable sofa, she began to plan what she should do next. On the positive side, she was sober. She had no craving, yet, but would it develop as she regained her strength?
    Money she had, almost three hundred dollars. It seemed like a fortune, but she knew it wouldn’t last long. She wanted to move on, but the question was, where to? And what would she do? Two more days and it became obvious, not just to Rosie but to herself, that she could no longer hide out in the small apartment. Rosie was already hinting that the fifty dollars had been swallowed up in groceries.
    Lorraine felt incapable of making major plans for her future; it was the immediate that occupied her. Marooned in the apartment she watched a lot of TV and could follow the murder inquiry. The news showed an artist’s impression of the woman seen in the blue Sedan, which she found almost amusing; it bore no resemblance to herself, and Lorraine felt no guilt in not making further contact. The police were making inquiries in all the cab ranks, trying to trace if anyone answering the blonde woman’s description had hired a cab that afternoon. They had drawn a blank at all the hospital emergency departments. It seemed no one had seen either the woman or the deceased’s blue Sedan on the day of his murder. Lorraine’s phone call was becoming more and more important to the investigation.
    Jake, now a frequent visitor, was disturbed by her inertia. In an attempt to motivate her, he suggested that, if she was interested, his friend could do something for her teeth. They needed treatment badly, and the missing tooth didn’t help her looks. If she could find thirty dollars or so, he said, she could get it capped.
    ‘Know a laid-off dentist, too, do you, Jake?’
    Jake laughed, but she was right — his friend was AA and only just starting to rebuild his practice.
    Lorraine spent four days in agony, but the end result was two front teeth capped, all her cavities filled, her gums cleaned and the rest of her teeth bleached. Her mouth was swollen and sore, but the exercise had been a success. She used the lie about selling off her belongings again, and paid the thirty dollars. She also gave Rosie another twenty, adding that now she had nothing more to sell or pawn. Rosie believed her: Lorraine was a good liar.
    She went to the local hair salon to have her hair streaked, cut and blown dry. Jake’s