Free No Place For a Man by Judy Astley Page A

she wouldn’t. She couldn’t just march up the path, rat-tat-tat on the dragon’s-head knocker and come out with it the second Angie opened the door. Emily would never forgive her. But then why had Emily told her in the first place if she didn’t want her to take over doing something about it? As she dithered by the hedge, pulling leaves off andshredding them as she tried to think what to do, her own front door across the road opened and a dishevelled-looking Eddy tottered out, pushing a baby in a buggy. Micky from the Leo followed him and together the two men ambled down the path and off up the road towards Eddy’s place. She could hear them laughing, kind of silly and loud like her parents and their friends towards the end of a long boozy Sunday lunch.
    ‘I suppose they think they represent fine upstanding examples of the male of the species!’ Angie’s rather little-girly voice, coming from far too close to the hedge, startled Zoe. There wasn’t time to make a run for it. ‘And what are you doing, hovering among the leaves? Are you waiting for the coast to be clear?’ Angie appeared, wearing one of those special multi-pocketed gardener’s overalls that Zoe had seen advertised in the Gazette’s magazine. There was always a picture of some smiling clean woman in a straw hat with a trug-thing full of roses. Angie was clearly making full use of her purchase: Zoe could see at least five implement handles as well as a ball of string and some pink suede gloves festooned about her body.
    ‘Don’t you have to be careful when you bend?’ Zoe pointed to a fork sticking upwards from close to Angie’s waist, aiming dangerously towards her left breast.
    Angie looked down at the prongs. ‘Oh I do. One wrong move and all my silicone will leak out!’ she giggled. ‘Listen, do you fancy a glass of orange or something? I do miss Emily and Luke when they’re off at school – I could do with some young company to make up for it.’
    Zoe felt trapped. In Angie’s maple and mint-greenkitchen she felt as if the only words that could form themselves in her head were ‘Emily’ and ‘Baby’. It was always the way when there was something you really didn’t want to say. It was like when her mum had confided to her, a couple of years back, that she was going to buy Natasha the suede boots she’d been craving for her birthday. The word ‘boots’ had seemed to be everywhere. It was in things like the computer, needing to be rebooted when it crashed, in the bootleg Stones album that Eddy-up-the-road had given her dad, in her mum asking her to get the shopping from the boot of the car. She’d almost gone faint with the effort of not telling. She felt just the same now, perched nervously on the edge of one of Angie’s chrome and pale wood chairs, tracing her name on the glass table-top in drops of orange juice that she’d spilled because her hands were trembly. She bit her lip as the finger and the drop of juice started forming the word ‘baby’ on the glass and she hurriedly smudged her hand over it before Angie, who was opening a packet of Sainsbury’s scones, could see.
    ‘They’ll be back for the Easter holidays soon. I can hardly wait!’ Angie bustled around with plates and strawberry jam and found a pot of clotted cream in the fridge.
    ‘Why can’t they go to school here like me and Natasha?’ Zoe asked as if she’d just thought of it.
    ‘Here? But where?’ Angie looked puzzled.
    ‘Emily could be with us, at Julia Perry’s.’
    Angie laughed. ‘I don’t suppose you remember, but there was an entrance exam! Emily took it but didn’t pass. Simple as that.’
    ‘But there’s …’
    ‘Yes. Briar’s Lane comprehensive.’ Angie gave her alook that was obviously supposed to imply something. Zoe immediately got the gist but made herself look as if she didn’t understand, just for the meagre delight of seeing Angie wriggle about trying not to admit to snobbery.
    ‘I mean, I’m sure some people do