Three Button Trick and Other Stories by Nicola Barker Read Free Book Online Page A

by the wholesale accuracy of her prediction.
    â€˜You’re still a babe, Carrie,’ Sydney whispered, pouring her some more wine. ‘You could have any man.’
    â€˜I don’t want any man,’ Carrie whimpered. ‘I only want Jack. Only Jack. Only him.’
    â€˜That guy Alan,’ Sydney noted, ‘who takes the Judo class. I know he likes you. Sometimes it seems like his eyes are stuck to your tits with adhesive.’
    â€˜Please!’
    â€˜It’s true.’
    â€˜Jack only walked out yesterday, Sydney, probably for a girl fifteen years my junior. You really think I care about anything else at the moment?’
    Sydney had great legs; long and lithe and small-kneed. Gazelle legs, llama legs. She crossed them.
    â€˜I’m simply observing that Jack isn’t the only shark in the ocean.’
    Carrie took a tissue from her sports bag and dusted her cheeks with it.
    â€˜I remember the very first time I ever met Jack, waiting for a bus outside the National Portrait Gallery. A Sunday afternoon. He had his coat buttoned up all wrong and I pointed it out to him and we started talking …’ Carrie stopped speaking and hiccuped.
    Sydney chewed her bottom lip. That old three button trick, she was thinking. The slimy bastard.
    â€˜You know, Carrie,’ she said sweetly. ‘You’re still so beautiful. You’re still the biggest lily in the pond. You’re still floating on the surface and bright enough to catch the attention of any insect or amphibian that might just happen to be passing.’ She paused. ‘Even a heron,’ she added, as an afterthought.
    Carrie scrabbled in her sports bag. She grabbed her purse, opened it, took out a twenty-pound note to pay the barman for the bottles of wine.
    â€˜My treat,’ Sydney interjected.
    Carrie paid him anyway. She was about to shut her purse but then paused and delved inside it.
    â€˜Look,’ she said, her voice trembling, holding aloft a blue card.
    Sydney put out her hand. ‘What is it?’
    â€˜Our season ticket to the ballet. We went every week. It was one of those routines …’
    â€˜Well,’ Sydney took the ticket and perused it, ‘you shall go to the ball, Cinders.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜You and me. We’ll go together. When is it?’
    â€˜Wednesday.’
    Sydney handed the card back. ‘Fine.’
    As it turned out, Sydney couldn’t make it. She rang Carrie at the last minute. Carrie answered the phone wrapped up in a towel, pink from a hot bath.
    â€˜What? You can’t make it?’
    â€˜But I want you to go, anyway. Find someone else.’
    â€˜There is no one else. It doesn’t matter, though. I wasn’t really in the mood myself.’
    â€˜Carrie, you’ve got to go. Alone if needs be. It’s the principle of the thing’
    â€˜I know, but it’s just …’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜It’s kind of like a regular box and we share it with some other people and if I go alone …’
    â€˜So? That’s great. It means you won’t feel entirely isolated, which is ideal.’
    â€˜And then there’s this fat old man called Heinz who’s always there. A complete bore. We really hate him.’
    â€˜Heinz?’
    â€˜Yes. Jack always found him such a pain. We even tried to get a transfer …’
    â€˜Bollocks. Just go. Ignore him. What’s the ballet?’
    â€˜ Petrushka .’
    â€˜Yip!’
    â€˜I’ve seen it before. It’s not one of my particular favourites.’
    â€˜Go anyway. You’ve got to start forging your own path, Carrie. You’ll thank me after. Honestly.’
    She’d made a special effort, with her hair and her make-up. She was wearing a dress that she’d bought for the previous Christmas. It was a glittery burgundy colour. Her lips matched. The box was empty when she arrived. She felt stupid. She sat down.
    After five