No one had ever stayed the night in Rita’s bedsit before. Although Billy had once thought she’d had someone there. She hoped he hadn’t heard her talking to Henry.
The bathroom was empty, and Rita checked the bolt was securely in place before removing her skirt and jumper. The smell of Lily’s minty mouthwash hung in the air. Rita wiped at the steamy mirror and saw her lips were now stained a faint pink. The rosy red lipstick practically chewed off. The beans on toast had devoured the last of it. The waves had dropped too, Rita noticed with dismay. She pulled a pink polyester nightie over her head and looked carefully to see if her breasts could be seen. She should have shaved her legs. It wasn’t something she cared to do, and it seemed pretty pointless to shave them in the winter. It would seem rather silly to keep her tights on to go to bed but if she didn’t, Henry would see her in all her hairiness glory.
‘Oh dear,’ she groaned.
Rita wondered if she’d ever be able to leave the bathroom. Hairy legs and the shape of her breasts through a nightie had never been something she needed to concern herself with before. It was such a small problem in the scheme of things. Especially, when she thought of all the starving people in underdeveloped countries and the awful lives of those oppressed under totalitarian regimes. I really shouldn’t be worrying about hairy legs, she thought. However, she didn’t live under a totalitarian regime and she wasn’t starving, so hairy legs in Rita’s world were a priority. The dressing gown thankfully covered the breasts. Perhaps, hoped Rita, Henry wouldn’t think to look down at her legs. Carefully she laid the spare toothbrush on the sink and beside it placed a tube of toothpaste. No doubt, Henry would sleep in his clothes. Rita had no idea what she would do if he undressed. Her face grew hot at just the thought of it. She imagined Henry to be very muscular, with a hairy chest. Rather like the hero on the covers of her Mills and Boon romances. She couldn’t help wondering what kind of nightie Imogen wore. Maybe she didn’t wear one at all. Perhaps they slept in the nude. Decadent, intelligent people did things like that. A delicious shiver ran up Rita’s spine at the thought. She realised she had been sometime in the bathroom and it suddenly occurred to her that Henry may need to use the toilet. She cleaned her teeth, checked the dressing gown was securely fastened and left the bathroom. The sounds of Billy’s television reached her ears. She found Henry huddled beneath the blanket, dozing. Rita began to perspire the moment she entered. The heater could surely go off now.
‘Oh,’ said Henry, rousing. ‘I must have gone off.’
‘It’s very warm in here,’ said Rita.
‘Yes, indeed. Shall we turn it off?’ he asked nodding at the heater.
Rita, conscious of her hairy legs, didn’t want to do anything other than hide her body under the bedcovers.
‘The bathroom is free,’ she said shyly. ‘I’ve left you a toothbrush.’
‘Splendid,’ said Henry, yawning.
‘You must be quiet. We’re not supposed to have guests in our rooms after eight.’
‘I don’t think anyone is going to hear me,’ he smiled. ‘Which room is the bathroom?’
‘The one with the green door,’ said Rita, her ears pricked for footsteps on the stairs. ‘I’ve left it open.’
Once Henry had gone, Rita dived into bed. Then realising she hadn’t turned the heater off, reluctantly climbed out again. Her initial excitement at the thought of having Henry stay the night had now been reduced to an overwhelming anxiety. She didn’t want to lose her little bedsit or the reasonable rent. If Billy kicked her out where would she go? What if Henry was a loud snorer and Billy heard him. Rita reminded herself that no one else could hear Henry and that calmed her.
Henry stood in the bathroom and took in its shabbiness. He didn’t really need to clean his teeth, or do anything else come to that, but he didn’t want to see Rita take off her dressing gown. It would be too embarrassing for both of them. So he stood and waited until he felt enough time had passed and then returned to the bedsit. He looked curiously at Rita as she lay in the bed and said,
‘Shall I switch off the light?’
‘Yes please,’ she whispered .
Henry clicked the switch easily enough, but nothing happened.
Henry let out a long sigh. This didn’t happen in his house.
‘Of course I can’t turn the lights off,’ he said miserably. ‘I can only seem to do that in my own home.’
It was such a small thing, but Rita could have cried at the sound of despair in Henry’s voice.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said, climbing from the bed and in that moment completely forgetting about her hairy legs, although, Rita, in fact, didn’t have hairy legs at all. Her father’s constant incantations of what constituted perfection had damaged Rita more than she ever could have imagined. She clicked the switch, sending the room into total darkness. She crept slowly back to the bed, careful to feel her way. She did not want to touch Henry. That wouldn’t do at all.
‘Goodnight Rita,’ said Henry.
‘Goodnight Henry,’ said Rita.
Billy was watching a comedy show that Rita was familiar with. She recognised the theme tune. It strangely comforted her and within minutes, she was asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Henry listened to Rita’s gentle breathing. He couldn’t sleep. The couch, cosy as it was, wasn’t conducive to sleep. The pillow Rita had given him was hard and lumpy and although the pillow case smelt sweetly of bluebells, it still didn’t seem to help. He yearned for his bed with its cool linen sheets and duck feather duvet. It had been Henry’s idea to get duck feather. It was a bit of luxury, but Henry believed it was worth it if it gave you a good night’s sleep. He also wished Rita’s landlord would turn off the TV. It was very distracting when one was trying to doze. Not that he could sleep, not with all the things that were on his mind. He wondered what Imogen was doing. Had she finally gone to sleep with the baby clothes scattered around the bed?
‘Oh, Imogen,’ he whispered.
What would Imogen think, if she knew he was in Rita’s bedsit, with Rita in her nightie, just feet away? Then, as though a bolt of lightning had illuminated the room, Henry saw things clearly. The man at his funeral, the loner sitting on his own, of course Henry knew him. He’d hired him to fix their roof.
‘Jim,’ he said, remembering the man’s name.
