Flint rolled his eyes back at Lol. ‘How about you just stop talking, just for a second and think. Just for once, Tate.’
‘All right, Lennard. I’ve stopped. I’m thinking. And er – sorry, but nowt’s come to me. Just the fact that you’re like a fucking dehydrated homing pigeon when it comes to the boozer.’
Flint sighed. ‘It’s a Sunday lunchtime. This is a small village. And what do people who live in small villages do on Sunday lunchtimes?’
Ana nodded and smiled. ‘They go to the pub.’
‘Exactly, Ana – they go to the pub. And what else do people who live in small villages do?’
‘Have sex with their sisters,’ sneered Lol.
‘Apart from that.’
‘Their dogs?’
‘They gossip, Tate. They gossip. Someone’s bound to have seen something, to know something. So – are you coming?’
Lol sighed and got to her feet. ‘Yeah yeah. All right. Let’s do it. But remember – we are going to get seriously stared at. The whole pubwillfall silent the minute we walk in, every personwillturn around and fix us with an impassive gaze designed to scare us out of town, and the only sound we hearwillbe the ticking of the clock over the bar. We are not only strangers, but we are three very, very tall strangers who are going to turn up in a stretch limo with tinted windows. And one of us is black. They’re going to assume we’re gangsters and call out the sheriff. OK?’
Flint and Ana nodded.
‘OK, then. Let’s go.’
There were three pubs in the village, which threw them a bit. Two of them were restaurant pubs, with full car parks and children running around in beer gardens, so they headed for the Bleak House, a small cream pub with curtained windows. Flint pulled the Mercedes up on the pavement and a few passing villagers stopped and watched with interest. ‘See,’ hissed Lol, ‘and we haven’t even got out the pigging car yet. Oh bugger, I wish I was wearing something else.’ She fiddled with her thin cotton top, pulling it down over her midriff, and slid her sunglasses from her head to her nose. Ana looked at her with surprise. She was nervous. Fearless, loud-mouthed, extrovert Lol, was nervous.
She caught Ana looking at her. ‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ said Ana, ‘nothing. It’s just that I’ve never seen you look so – uncomfortable before. I didn’t think you were bothered what people thought of you.’
‘Yeah, well. I’m not. Not in London, anyhow. It’s small towns. I hate ’em.’
‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘I dunno. I suppose it’s because I come from a small town.’
‘But I thought you were from Leeds?’
‘Yeah – from a small town just outside Leeds. It were bad enough being black there. But being black and skinny and nearly six-foot tall. It were hell.’
‘Really?’ asked Ana in wonder. She found it hard to imagine that Lol could ever have felt anything but confident and beautiful.
‘Oh aye. I got loads of shit.’
‘What sort of shit?’
‘Oh, you know. Kids. Comments. Being shouted at on the street. That sort of thing.’
Ana nodded. ‘I get it, too,’ she whispered. ‘Comments. Stares.’
‘Yeah,’ said Lol, ‘I could see that in you when I first met you. I could seemein you when I first met you.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well – I wasn’t always so blinkin’ gorgeous, you know. I mean – those contact lenses aren’t just for show – I’m half-blind wi’out them and when I first left home I used to wear these glasses like paperweights, and I had this flippin’ great Afro that I used to scrape back in a ponytail. And make-up! You should have seen the state of me. I used to go to Woollies and buy all that white-girl make-up, all blue eyeliner and that, trying to make myself look like Lady Di – and pink blusher! Bright fucking pink, it was. I didn’t really know who the hell I was then. And then Icame down to London and I fitted in. I could be whatever and whoever the hell I wanted to be. That’s why I love London so much. In London I canbe.D’you see what I mean? I can look as freaky as I like and there’s always going to be someone looking freakier. I can be as loud as I like and there’ll always be someone louder. I can be tall as I like and there’ll always be someone taller. On the other hand, there’ll always be someone richer, prettier, happier and nicer, too. But nobody gives a shit anyway. The only true currency in London, Ana, is celebrity. The only thing that makes one Londoner look at another Londoner with any interest, is celebrity. And even then they try to pretend to be unimpressed. Try to pretend they haven’t noticed them. But out here’ – she turned and looked through the window – ‘anyone who’s different in any way is a sort of celebrity. Gets talked about, stared at, bothered. And I hate it. I really hate it.’
‘Any chance of you two getting out of this car any time today?’ said Flint, his enormous head appearing at the window.
Lol took a deep breath and turned to Ana and smiled. ‘Pretend you’re Madonna – that’s what I always try to do – pretend to be Madonna, then it dun’t matter about the staring.’