Page 91 of Someone Else's Shoes
‘You didn’t tell me,’ says the man.
‘I don’t have to tell you every single thing I buy.’
‘You don’t even like cats.’
‘It was for charity.’ Liz Frobisher peers over at the clipboard. ‘So what do I have to do?’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ says Nisha, smiling. ‘Except turn up! Oh, hang on … There was a request that you bring the shoes you bought at the shop to wear for a publicity photo. This would appear on our Instagram feed and other socials. Might that be possible?’
‘A publicity photo.’ At the suggestion of imminent fame, Liz Frobisher’s face brightens. ‘Can I see the Instagram feed?’
‘It’s actually down for relaunch today. It’s all being tied into the one-millionth customer prize,’ Nisha says quickly. ‘But I think … yeah … here’s a screenshot.’ Nisha holds up her phone with the fake Instagram page that Andrea created the previous evening.
The two of them peer at it. ‘I … I might be able to do that. We can do that, can’t we, Darren?’
‘I was going to my mum’s Sunday.’
‘Well, we’ll go after your mum’s.’
‘We told her we were going for our tea.’
‘So tell her we’ll come for lunch.’ Liz Frobisher fixes her smile on Sam. ‘Does it have to be this Sunday?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ says Sam. ‘This hotel has a very high occupancy rate and Sunday night is the only night the charity could get this standard of room …’ she pauses for effect and gazes at her clipboard ‘… or we have to give it to the next customer on the list.’
‘Oh, no, we can take it,’ says Liz Frobisher, jabbing her husband with her elbow when he starts to protest.
‘That’s lovely! So if you would like to arrive any time after three and check in, a member of staff will consult with you as to when you’re ready for your special photograph.’
‘Will there be hair and makeup?’ she says.
Sam sees Nisha’s eyes start to roll and jumps in. ‘I’m not sure, but I can check. Either way it’s probably best to turn up camera-ready. It’s the kind of place where you never know who is going to be hanging around in the lobby,’ she says conspiratorially. ‘Paparazzi! You know how terrible they are.’
Terrible, they all agree. Terrible.
‘Lovely!’ says Sam. ‘So we’ll see you on Sunday! Here’s a card for the hotel. Ask for this person on Reception and we’ll look forward to seeing you. Congratulations!’
‘And don’t forget the shoes!’ calls Nisha.
‘Okay!’ says Liz Frobisher, who is still gazing at the card as her husband closes the door.
The two women begin to walk back down the pathway. Sam lets out a small breath she didn’t know she was holding.
Nisha glances behind them, and then says quietly, ‘Nice job.’
Sam is so taken aback she forgets to respond. The walk down the path seems to take twice as long as the walk up it,and they can just make out Jasmine and Andrea in the car, their faces visible through the windscreen, their expressions hopeful. And then Sam abruptly ducks back two steps and quickly opens the bin, peering inside. She closes it again and looks up to see all three of the women staring at her.
‘What?’ she says. ‘I’m just checking.’
Nisha and Aleks walk to the bus stop together, as they do several times a week now, somehow accidentally ending their shifts at the same time, or bumping into each other outside the staffroom. They started to walk an extra stop, and then two, three stops, a silent tacit agreement that allows them to keep talking, oblivious to the slate grey rain, the endless stream of traffic that runs along the broiling, muddy river. Occasionally he points things out to her: the old MI5 building, unnoticed fishy gargoyles on the ornate lampposts, and once, a seal, its head just visible above the water, a sight she found oddly magical. This God-awful city does not seem quite as dreary through Aleks’s eyes. She finds herself half waiting for this walk all day.
‘It sounds like you didn’t have many friends in your old life.’
Normally Nisha would read this as a criticism, but she thinks for a moment and then says, ‘No. I guess I didn’t really like other women. But these guys … they’re okay.’ She shakes her head as if she cannot believe she is saying this. ‘Even the one who took my shoes.’
He has listened to her story of the past two days, laughing out loud at Andrea’s faked collapse in the charity shop, the vanity of the woman who bought the Louboutins. ‘Jasmine is a good woman. She’s been through hard times. But she has a big heart. She’s always helping someone.’
‘Yeah. Me.’
