The Old Girls' Network. Judy Leigh

at Barbara. ‘No one knows who the father is. Tamsin won’t say. I don’t think even Yvonne knows.’

      Pauline smiled. ‘Well, it can’t be the handsome Kostas. He’s only just arrived in the area.’

      ‘I’d love to know who little Harley’s father is though.’ Dizzy’s eyes were wide. ‘I don’t know who Tamsin was going out with last year, but the child is blond, like Tamsin and her mother, so it’s hard to tell who the father is. Unless it’s Hugo Garrett – he’s blond. Tamsin spent a lot of time last year at the manor cleaning and doing various jobs. It could be Hugo. He’s young, and handsome – and rich.’

      ‘Well, Hugo seems to be away a lot, in London on business.’ Pauline ignored her sister, who was becoming more irritated, gazing around the hallway at cobwebs and making an intrusive tutting sound. ‘I doubt it’s Hugo. He’s very dignified. But I suppose it could be.’

      Dizzy’s face shone. ‘Perhaps Harley was the result of an uncontrollable night of passion. I mean, maybe one night when Tamsin had been up there cleaning or something, maybe Hugo lured her into one of the many chambers in the manor house and had his wicked way… or maybe Tamsin appeared in the doorway in an apron and white cap… and not much else.’

      Barbara sighed loudly, her face screwed up with irritation, and prodded the woman’s arm that carried the shopping bag. ‘I can’t remember your name.’

      Dizzy ran her hand through her long scarlet and orange fringe. ‘Dizzy Blackstock, mobile hairdresser. I do everyone’s hair around here. You should let me do yours. You have a very simple style at the moment and the colour could do with sorting out. If I had my way, I’d soften the shape; maybe run a little streak of burgundy through the fringe.’

      ‘You’ll do no such thing.’ Barbara’s hands flew to her face. ‘I think there are enough people around here looking like Christmas trees as it is. You have a funny name – Dizzy. Is it a nickname, something the locals call you because you’re empty-headed?’

      Pauline opened her mouth to protest but Dizzy merely giggled. ‘No, not at all – It’s short for Desiree.’

      ‘Well, that completely clarifies it. There is no way I’d let anyone touch my hair who’s been named after a potato.’

      ‘Barbara,’ Pauline took a deep breath. ‘I’ve invited Dizzy for lunch. It’s just beans on toast but—’

      ‘I’ve brought us all cream cakes too…’ Dizzy breathed.

      ‘You’re welcome to join us, Barbara.’ Pauline frowned. ‘Where’s Bisto?’

      ‘Still asleep, I think. I’ve really no idea,’ Barbara sniffed.

      ‘I’m longing to meet him, Pauline.’ Dizzy clutched her shopping bag to her chest. ‘Is he handsome?’

      ‘If you’d find a stunted decomposing gargoyle handsome, then I suppose he could be.’ Barbara brushed past the women. ‘And yes, I’d like lunch.’

      She led the way to the kitchen and shoved the latched door open. Bisto was standing with his back to them at the Belfast sink in jeans and a t-shirt. His feet were bare. He had a spanner in his hand and was intently manipulating something over the draining board. He turned around and beamed at the women. ‘Oh, I’ve got three lovely women today. Which of yous would like to give me a hug first?’

      ‘Are you drunk?’ Barbara sniffed the air in the kitchen suspiciously.

      ‘I haven’t touched a drop.’

      Dizzy offered her widest smile and extended her hand. ‘It’s so nice to meet you, Bisto. I’m Dizzy.’

      ‘And so am I, with love. You’re a looker. Well, I could certainly get used to the craic here. So many lovely looking women.’ He winked at Pauline and she smiled back. ‘By the way, Pauline, I couldn’t stand the noise of the ould tap dripping, so I fixed it. I hope you don’t mind.’

      ‘I’m delighted. It’s been in need of a good screw for ages.’ Pauline caught Dizzy’s twinkling eyes and blushed. She leaned over and patted Bisto’s arm. ‘How’s the ankle and the head? You were so tired yesterday. I was worried about you.’

      Bisto lifted his foot and inspected it. ‘The head’s completely better. My rainbow-coloured ankle is coming along fine. A few days’ more rest now and I’ll be out of your hair.’ His eyes shifted to Barbara. ‘I’m sure you’ll be pleased to see the back of me.’

      ‘Not at all, Bisto.’ Pauline intervened, turning towards the cupboard, searching for cans of beans. ‘In fact, talking of hair, Dizzy here is a superb hairdresser. I’ve asked her if she could sort you out – give the curls a trim. What do you think?’

      Bisto beamed. ‘Maybe she can sort the whiskers out for me while she’s at it? What do you say, Dizzy? Can you make me look even more handsome?’

      Dizzy moved over to Bisto, rubbed a flat hand over his chin and through his white mane. ‘I’m pretty sure I can. Yes, we’ll have you looking like George Clooney by the time I’ve finished with you.’

      He chuckled. ‘I’d rather be Bisto Mulligan again, but maybe that’s another story.’

      He thought for a moment about the man he’d been, his good reputation, a respected professional; a man who was liked, who was once loved deeply, and how the events of the last few weeks had gone so badly wrong he’d let it all slip away. He’d never imagined he could sink so low, but grief had hit him hard again.

      Now here he was, looking like a vagrant, imposing on the kindness of a good woman like Pauline Pye. He saw Barbara frowning at him. She clearly had no idea how his life used to be. She’d seen only the man he’d become. Bisto drew himself up to his height and winced, then adjusted his balance to the good ankle.

      ‘I’m looking forward to a spot of lunch, Pauline. That’d be grand.’ He glanced at Barbara, who was standing with her arms folded and her jaw set. ‘Babs, me ould love, you wouldn’t get me a chair to sit on, my ankle being so badly bruised and sore? And I’d love a cup of tea, if you could see your way to wetting the teapot.’

      Barbara turned her back and found him a hard-backed chair which she dragged in his direction, a frown on her face. She moved over to the Aga and tested the weight of the kettle, shifting it onto the hottest plate, reaching for the big brown teapot. Dizzy was already chattering to Bisto, flirting, telling him how she’d make the most of his lovely curls by layering the cut and how she’d like to leave him with a bit of hunky designer stubble. Bisto chuckled; Barbara could hear Pauline joining in, laughing, calling for the cream cakes to be placed on a dish. She thought they were all silly, giggling about nothing, but a thought rattled in her mind: it would be nice to be popular. Barbara’s shoulders rose until they were level with her ears.

      She realised she was grinding her teeth. She was the odd one out again. She decided, even if it took her another ten thousand hours, she’d never learn to indulge in the pointless social chit-chat so many people seemed to find so normal, so pleasant. She breathed out slowly. Everyone else’s conversation seemed so silly, so superficial. So why was she feeling left out and unwanted? She almost wished she could be like Pauline: happy, confident, easy in others’ company. Her ears filled with the sound of the whistling kettle and she lifted it carefully and poured hot water onto the tealeaves for all she was worth.