Cold Shoulder by Lynda La Plante Page B

pitiful attempt at styling limited her choice — the back was so short where the scar was still visible — but the salon made a reasonable job, taking the back and sides even shorter and the front into a low fringe, like a twenties crop, which accentuated her cheekbones, while the highlights gave body to her thin hair. She was by no means transformed into a beauty: her nose was crooked, flattish from where it must have been broken, and the white jagged scar on the left side of her face remained. Nevertheless a new, more confident, Lorraine was emerging.
    Rosie was astonished and full of admiration as Lorraine presented herself, and Jake was equally complimentary in a back-handed way. He had whistled, then said, ‘Honey, you must have been a cracker!’
    Rosie became a little envious. Nothing she could do to her frizzy mop would ever change her much — and it rankled that Lorraine could have an expensive haircut, yet not pay a cent towards the rent. Money was short, and Rosie’s salary plus her benefits was hardly enough to keep herself, never mind two.
    It also irritated Rosie that although she went to AA regularly, Lorraine made excuses to stay in the apartment and read. Eventually she made it clear that she was not a charity, and it was time Lorraine got off her ass…
    But Lorraine was scared to leave the safety of the apartment. Even Jake’s presence was comforting. He was always so dependable and calming. She still made no mention of her hidden stash: it was her only security and it meant that she could, if she wanted, go on a whopper of a binge. The idea of drinking remained an avenue of escape for her but she no longer woke up with booze on her mind. Far from it: some days she relished the simple pleasure of waking up and knowing where she was. But that was soon replaced by fear — fear of being let loose and alone.
    Lorraine never hinted at her inner turmoil. To Rosie and Jake she appeared confident and composed. She was meticulously clean, often taking two or three showers a day, scrubbing her body until it felt raw. She examined her teeth and gazed at her face in the mirror, studied her scars, as if she was trying to find out who she was, where she had been the past six years.
    She drank bottled water all day and ate so well that her skin took on a freshness and her fingernails grew. She sat for hours polishing and filing them, totally preoccupied with herself. She never did any housework, looking on as Rosie changed sheets and went alone to the laundromat. Not once did Lorraine cook or wash up; she ate whatever Rosie banged down in front of her, and ignored the heavy hints about outstaying her welcome.
    Finally, Rosie turned to Jake. She wanted him to ask Lorraine to leave.
    ‘I thought you liked her?’ he mused.
    ‘I did, I do, but she just
takes
from me, Jake. And I’m not just talking about money. She uses all my hot water, all my things, and now she doesn’t even talk to me, never says thank-you, just sits looking at herself, cleaning herself. Sometimes she reminds me of my goddamned cat. She’s got to leave, she’s driving me nuts!’
    Jake came round when he knew Rosie was out. He tapped on the screen door and let himself in. Lorraine was sitting by the window, reading. She looked up, acknowledged him, then returned to her book. ‘We got to have a little chat,’ Jake said, sitting on the sofa. Lorraine didn’t look up. He crossed his fat legs. ‘I know you’re maybe scared of leaving here, you feel safe, feel like you’re getting back to some kind of normality. But it’s an unreal normality, Lorraine. This is Rosie’s home, and she’s broke — caring for you and herself…’
    Lorraine snapped the book shut. ‘Okay. I’ll leave.’
    ‘You don’t have to do that — but you got to get a job, put some money into the housekeeping, help out around the place. Then, when you’ve found your feet, maybe you can get a place of your own.’
    Lorraine stared at her manicured fingers and