Claire’s cheeks were burning with embarrassment. But . . . this would work better for her. She couldn’t entirely shake her self-consciousness in the skimpy costume, and her nervousness around the male customers. She would be happier in a backroom position. There, she could hide from the world.

‘I’d like that,’ she said.

Sylvester let out a breath that seemed very like relief. ‘Good, good!’

Yeah, of course he’s relieved – now he won’t have to watch me expand ever outward until one day I pop right out of the bloody costume and he has to fire my arse.

‘Thank you,’ she said humbly, grateful. She was damaged goods, after all. And now she was an embarrassment to her boss.

‘No thanks necessary,’ said Sylvester, and quickly ushered her out of the office.

38

38

Claire loved working behind the scenes at the club and gradually she was taking over more and more of the everyday running of the place. Being in the background suited her very well, because she knew damned well she was ill. Actually, she was dying. Her periods had stopped, which for certain meant that she was terribly sick, and she was still getting fatter all the time. Living on Waldorf salads didn’t count for shit. There was something in her stomach, a disease, tumour, and it was killing her inch by inch.

Free of that damned costume at last, she swathed herself in big pinafore dresses and voluminous poncho tops, and beavered away in the smaller back office beside Sylvester’s own. And, bumbling though he was, laughably clumsy and inept as a man, she grew fond of him. Sylvester was odd, but he was also a gentleman, considerate and kind. And it hurt her when she discovered that his health too was poor. Being in closer proximity to him, she was aware that he often slipped tiny pills under his tongue.

‘It’s angina,’ Gina told her when she asked.

‘Oh the poor thing,’ said Claire. Always one to fuss over sick animals and lame ducks, this news touched Claire’s tender heart. She liked Sylvester and was sad he was unwell.

‘It’s under control.’ Gina gave Claire a sharp look. ‘You know he’s sweet on you, I suppose?’

Claire stared at Gina in surprise. ‘No, I didn’t know that.’

‘Well – don’t take advantage.’

‘No. Really, I would never—’

‘Plenty would.’

‘Gina.’ Claire was getting annoyed. ‘I’m not interested, OK? Not in Sylvester and not in anyone else.’

Claire was always hunched over her desk – Gina’s desk, really, which they now shared – sorting invoices, phoning wholesalers, chatting to accountants on the phone, keeping the whole thing rolling along.