Playing Around by Gilda O'Neill Read Free Book Online Page A

No, not maybe, he had to care about her. He had said such nice things. Had really noticed her.
    She would buy a new dress with her nan’s birthday money. A whole new outfit. And she’d … She’d … She’d do lots of things.
    She felt hope and happiness rising in her heart, and even Jackie’s groans and complaints as she stomped downstairs couldn’t spoil her mood.
    But as Angie stood on the platform of the local underground station twenty minutes later, looking along the tracks, willing a train to appear she was, again, well and truly fed up.
    Not only was she late for work, all her attempts to tell her supposed best friend about her exciting plans for a new look had been ignored; all Jackie was interested in was the tragedy of how she came to be wearing such hideous hosiery.
    It had all started when she and Angie had been hurrying down the steps at Becontree station for the first time that morning. They were dashing to catch the tube to Barking, from where they would take the mainline train to Fenchurch Street. But Jackie had caught her leg on the central banister and – disaster! – had laddered her sheer, cream tights. Being unable to contemplate going to work with a run in her tights, she had insisted on going home to change. She had also insisted, of course, that Angie accompany her. Then Jackie had almost passed out with shock when she discovered the only things to wear in the whole house were a pair of American Tan stockings belonging to her mother. Stockings were bad enough, but
American Tan
.
    Now she and Angie were back on the platform, and Jackie was failing to come to terms with the indignity of it all.
    ‘I hate these rotten things, Ange. I hate them. I only hope that shop in Leadenhall Street’ll be open, so I can get some decent tights. Do you think it will be?’ Still peering over her shoulder at her calves, she added, ‘I don’t know why I’m bothering asking you.’
    ‘I’ll ignore that.’
    ‘Well, be honest, what do you know about fashion? It’s important to me, how I look–’
    ‘Charming.’
    ‘Don’t get touchy. It’s because I’m a receptionist. You’re stuck in that horrible little back office, so it doesn’t matter. And you don’t care anyway.’
    ‘Thanks again. And, if you must know, I do care.’
    Jackie bent down and ran her fingertips up her shin, trying to smooth the thick, orange nylon into something more acceptable. ‘Yeah,’ she said absently, ‘course you do.’
    ‘I mean it. I was looking at that magazine you gave me over the weekend.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘
Honey
. I read it and worked out what I want for my birthday.’
    ‘What’s that, then?’ Jackie was still preoccupied, but Angie was her friend, so she had to at least sound interested.
    ‘You’re going to have to help me.’
    ‘Course.’
    ‘Did you hear me, Jack? I want you to help me.’
    ‘
Yes
.’
    ‘I want you to change me.’
    ‘Change you?’ Jackie giggled. ‘Into what? A white rabbit? I’m not a bloody magician.’
    ‘Don’t laugh. I want you to help me look pretty.’
    That had Jackie’s full attention. ‘Pretty?’
    ‘I want to be a dolly bird. Like in
Honey
. Nan’s given me some money for my birthday, and I’m going to use my savings to get a really fab hairdo.’
    ‘A really fab hairdo,’ she mimicked. ‘Bloody hell, Ange, hark at you.’
    ‘And hark at you. Your mum’d go mad if she heard you swearing like that, Jacqueline Murray.’ Angie tossed back her hair. ‘Anyway, why shouldn’t I be a dolly bird?’
    ‘Because, Angela Knight, whenever I suggest you put on even a little tiny bit of make-up, or try and lend you a skirt or something, you say you don’t want to wind up looking like your mum.’
    ‘Who said I want to look like her? I just want to look, like I say, like a dolly bird.’
    Jackie pulled a face. ‘Blimey.’ Her mind began working overtime. It was obvious when she thought about it: Martin. Angie fancied Martin. But did he fancy Angie? She