‘I need some cigs,’ Vinia said.
‘Call at Sid’s,’ said Cheryl. Shorthand for Siddique’s – the corner shop.
Cheryl manoeuvred the buggy out of the door and Vinia followed. Cheryl liked the heat. She’d been itching to wear her new shorts and the halter top and today was the day. Her figure was just as good as before she had Milo. Mile high legs, the agency had said, potential runway material. She’d done a few shoots, adverts, mainly print for magazines and promotions, just one for TV, but all that was impossible now, couldn’t pitch up for castings with Milo under her arm.
The sun was fierce and made the colours stronger, the red of the brick walls, the green of the plants in the hanging baskets that some people had up. The sky too looked bluer, a great bowl of blue, not a cloud anywhere. Nana had a tub by the door, no garden at the front ’cos the houses opened right on to the street, and in the tub there was a rose climbing up the wall, big, creamy flowers with that smell of lemon and spice. The smell was stronger, as well.
At the corner, Vinia went into Sid’s and Cheryl waited outside with Milo, watching people coming and going. Plenty of people out, making the most of the good weather. A guy walked by on the other side of the street, skinny, grimy, bare-chested and his skin milk-white, with a backpack on. A dog at his heels. Cheryl didn’t know him.
‘Woof!’ chirruped Milo.
‘Yes, woof,’ Cheryl agreed.
‘Woof!’ Milo was alive with glee. Like he’d never seen a dog before and this was the best dog in the universe. ‘Woof!’ He kept it up, one dimpled finger pointing to the dog, until they disappeared round the turning. Even with the dog gone, Milo muttered ‘Woof’ a couple more times. Savouring the memory.
Danny Macateer came along. A good kid. He stopped to say hello to Milo.
‘Why fer yer not at church?’ Cheryl mimicked her nana. Danny cracked a smile. She knew he got the same from his Nana Rose, and his mum. Nana Rose and Nana had come over on the same boat, way back. Young married women moving with their husbands, answering the call for workers.
‘Rehearsal,’ Danny said to Cheryl.
‘Safe!’ She nodded with approval. ‘You got any gigs?’
‘Maybe Night and Day.’
Cheryl knew it, a bar on Oldham Street that showcased new talent. She’d been to a poetry slam there once.
‘Way! Let us know.’
He nodded, a flush to his cheeks, still awkward with female attention. Cheryl was surprised that no one had snapped him up. A good-looker with brains and an easy way to him. Staying out of trouble, so far. Killer smile. If he was a few years older…