187
Mrs Angie Strachan
Outward appearance
A certain age, trying hard. Ribbed white jumper, white leather jacket, long flowery dress. A cloud of wispy blonde split ends down her back.Inside information
Has worked in front of house for ten years at Anderson Imports. Travelled to Singapore and Turkey for the company. Lately has been subject to offers of further trips, not especially for business purposes, with the MD. What she is doing or thinking
Angie is considering the MD's offer. He is portly, second generation Lebanese, aggressive. He goes around the world bartering for hides. He smells of them. His attentions are demanding, but in a slow way that work their way in. "The offer stands," he says, every day. Angie has admitted to herself that she dyed her hair for him. Tommy, her husband, is a tall, thin and acerbic Scot, whose bitter wit is often turned on himself or on her, especially when drunk. Tommy works in a car showroom. He sweats with nerves, is covered in freckles, makes love in hard quick jabs.
Someone jumps past Angie to get off at Waterloo. His metal watchstrap catches in her wispy hair. She is jerked sideways and yelps with pain. She sees the man's pale, pudgy face. He is panicked, needing to get off. He keeps yanking.
"You're pulling my hair!" she says. He doesn't stop. She gives him a light little punch. The doors shut.
He drops his hands in dismay and that also jerks her hair. He doesn't even apologize.
"Do you have a pair of scissors?" he asks.
You could hate men.
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