The Upstairs Premises.

Jo looked at herself in the mirror, and thought, 'I'll have to do something with myself. 'She washed her hands in a cream plastic bowl of lukewarm water, and made herself a cup of tea. "No sugar. From now on, no sugar," she said quietly to herself as she took the cup of tea to her place by her sewing machine. Jo put her cup down on the only part of the table that wasn't littered with pieces of cloth, patterns, laces and reels of cotton. She was just about to push the partly finished dress under the needle when a figure distracted her attention. The figure was that of a well-dressed man in his mid to late thirties. She could see him clearly through the glass door that separated her workshop from the door that led to an office on the first floor. The man pressed the button to an intercom; he leaned forward to speak into the mouthpiece. Jo couldn't hear him from inside her workshop, but she heard a buzzer, and the release of the catch as the man entered the premises. "Mmm." Jo's lips pressed together as she emitted the sound of approval. "Nice, expensive suit." She listened as his shoes scraped the plane wood of the stairs. 'Leather shoes.' The man, she thought, had classical features, a moustache that was as dark as his hair. 'Italian,' she thought, 'with those looks and that dress sense.' He was tall and slim. Jo let her daydreaming take its course. She considered whether he would be conceited; "Men with those looks, well, what could you expect? Long and thin," she said with a chuckle.

The office upstairs belonged to Miss Madeline Sharpe, Chiropodist. That is what it said on the door. Jo had taken on the lease to her workshop premises five months ago. She had managed to feed and clothe herself, and pay the rent on both her flat and her workshop, but there were no luxuries in her life. 'One day,' she thought, 'when I have built up the business.' There were times when Joe wondered whether that, 'one day' would ever come, or indeed, whether that one day had come and gone without her realising it. Jo could dream, daydream and contemplate while she was working. It helped the days pass more quickly. Jo had placed her sewing machine and working area opposite the glass fronted door so that she could see Miss Sharpe's clients pass in and out; she liked to think about them – in her mind she created their personalities, their likes and dislikes, their foibles, faults and their good points. 'If only I was a writer; I could create such interesting characters, but alas, what about the plot?' Jo worked all week, and went home to visit her mother, who was not very well, at the weekends. As for Sundays, that was housework day, and a time to catch up on the accounts. 'What a life! 'No wonder I can't think of a plot, I don't have a life.' Just as she was growing tired of thinking of nothing in particular, but in a negative way that was beginning to make her depressed, Miss Sharpe's door opened and the handsome fellow stepped back into the world of everydayness. Jo glanced up momentarily as she usually did and continued with her sewing. Alan was Miss Sharpe's next visitor. Jo had met him one day after she had been to the supermarket four doors away for some milk. She had nearly bumped into him as he stepped backwards to speak into the intercom. "Alan." He had said. He was a regular. She had noticed him a number of times, coming and going. Alan was chubby with a round cheerful face. His dress was casual, and he was starting to go thin on top. "I'm sorry Miss," he had said on their first and only encounter. "Don't apologise," Jo had said instinctively, "I'm Jo; I work here, I'm a dressmaker." "Alan."

"Yes, I know, I just heard," Jo responded with a laugh.

He held out his hand and Jo had quickly transferred the carton of milk from her right hand to her left hand. The handshake had been brief because the electronic door catch had been released. 'I shouldn't have done that, introduced myself to one of Miss Sharpe's clients,' Jo had thought a few moments later, 'but it, seemed natural at the time.' Even though Jo had reservations about introducing herself she also enjoyed the thought of having that little bit of information about him. She thought about his handshake. He had chubby hands with short fingers, but they were quite clammy. 'Do clammy hands on a man put you off?' She washed her hands anyway as she was about to make herself a cup of tea. 'Short and chubby,' she thought as she filled the kettle. Alan spent about twenty minutes with Miss Sharp - that was less than most of her clients. Thirty minutes, sometimes an hour… Jo didn't always time-keep in an inquisitive way, but sometimes she would give herself a half hour before a cup of tea from when a client went upstairs - to when he re-emerged. That is why she knew that Alan stayed less than the others.

Jo tried to discourage her own clients from coming between the hours of eleven in the morning to four thirty in the afternoon. Interruptions disrupted her work routine and she needed to get the work completed. Jo's clients on the whole respected her wishes and kept to the designated times. Jo had seen an exercise bike being delivered soon after she moved into the premises - she often heard it squeaking away. 'Oil, that's all it needs, oil,' she thought to herself. It had gone back and forth a dozen times for servicing, and yet it still squeaked. Jo had lost count of the number of times she had switched on the radio to drown out those irritating squeaks. She started to keep a diary of the days, comings and goings, to and from the chiropodist's. Jo eliminated a few of Miss Sharpe's clients from her diary because they were, in her opinion, dull and over fifty, nonetheless they were given names like, Joe Bloggs, Mr Clapham and Arthur, she had never liked the name Arthur. Billy was another matter. Jo was convinced he was a footballer. He wore a team shirt – not that she could identify the team, she couldn't, she just wasn't interested in football. No, it wasn't the shirt in itself, it was the rest of the team; they all came for a consultation, one after the other – all in their team's shirts. The team only came the once – en bloc, as it were. Jo thought that one or two of them had come back on their own, 'well,' she thought, 'there is too much waiting around, isn't there? 'How many goals had Billy scored?' She wondered. She gave Billy his surname, Moon, Billy Moon. 'He just looked so positive, over the moon.' Billy Moon had broad shoulders, sturdy legs and large hands; he was fit, fit, fit. He had wavy dark hair and designer stubble. Jo had to leave her workshop when he was at the door just to take a look at his eyes, 'Icy blue. Surely, he couldn't be that cold?' she thought. Jo had almost missed them; Billy had turned so quickly, as though he didn't want to be recognised. 'Well, famous people get harassed all the time, don't they? Just for being themselves in a public place.' Jo reckoned that Billy Moon would be back at his usual time the following week. The day before he was due Jo decided to have her hair done. "Make me look like a film star," she had said to the hair stylist, "Well," she added, "Do the best you can. I want something special; I want to look good. Choose a style you think will suit me.""Are you going somewhere special?" asked Marlene, the hair stylist.

"Maybe." As soon as she had said this Jo thought that she should have been more positive, more imaginative, even if she had to tell a white lie.

"With someone special?" 'Marlene's not going to give up is she,' thought Jo. "Yes, but I can't say anymore than that." The rest of the time spent with Marlene was spent in silence or trivial small talk.

The next day came and went. Billy Moon did show up as usual, but Jo only got an extra moment's look from Billy. 'Was it all worth it?' Jo thought to herself. 'Well, whatever happens or doesn't happen I'm going to have my hair done every week. I'll forget about Billy, the big handed, cold fish of a bloke. Afterall, there's more than one fish in the sea. Pity though, those big hands could handle anything!' The next day Jo saw a man she hadn't seen before, he was tall, relatively handsome, clean-shaven with short dark-brown hair neatly parted. He wore black shoes, black trousers, blue shirt and tie. Jo heard him use his two-way radio and decided that he was a policeman. 'John Constable', she thought – happy that she had named him so early she jotted down some notes. 'All that walking, I'm surprised that she doesn't have many policemen calling on her for her services. Perhaps, word of mouth, and she will be inundated! Jo carried on with her sewing. Whenever she had to do something by hand she was conscious of that squeaking exercise bike. 'More exercise, you'd think he was getting enough of that , all that walking, but then so much of it nowadays is office work, or driving around in cars. It wasn't until John Constable was leaving that she saw the size of his truncheon. Jo shuddered at the thought of it and wondered if they really needed to display it like that in public.

Jo had begun to wear a little make-up during her working day. It was a discreet use of beauty enhancements. She continued going to the hair-stylist's and felt much better in herself. One day, a quarter of an hour after Billy Moon had gone upstairs she heard the squeaking over her sewing machine, then a crash and a thud – followed by a scream and two bumps above her ceiling. The room shook slightly. Jo listened to see if anyone had been hurt. She heard Miss Sharpe and Billy Moon both burst out laughing, in a few minutes the ceiling was shaking.

"Bloody fool," Jo said, aloud. "Chiropodist my foot."Jo waited until their groans and sighs had died down. Why she hadn't noticed them for what they were before she couldn't think. 'Sometimes you just make up things, give explanations to things that says more about yourself, than anything else.' It wasn't until two days later that Madeline Sharpe came down to see Jo. "I'm leaving, I've had an offer I would be crazy to refuse. Can I give you this envelope to give to Gerald, It's a cheque for a month's rent and the keys. If anyone asks for me, you don't know where I've gone; I'm going to Scotland. I've left a note on the door; if it falls off stick it back up will you? "Yes, of course," was all that Jo could say. Billy Moon came down the stairs carrying two suitcases and put them in the hallway. He went back upstairs and returned with another two. "That's it Mandy; I'll go and get the car." Three minutes later Mandy and Billy were loading up the car and shortly afterwards they got into it and drove away.

Jo sat down for a cup of tea, "I just can't believe it." She opened the envelope and looked at the cheque; she took the keys and opened the door to Miss Sharpe's flat. She went upstairs. After five minutes Jo was back in her workshop.

Jo put on her coat, and said to herself, "I have to go to the chemist and to the bank." When she got back Jo took the envelope with the cheque in it, opened it, took the cheque out, 'It will be valid for another three months.' She replaced it with the same amount in cash. Jo sat at her workbench and finished off the dress she was making, by hand. It was a time consuming job - sewing on artificial pearls, but it was nearly finished. Half an hour later and it was done. Jo took the iron and pressed out the creases. Jo washed her face and put on some make-up; she went behind the screen and tried the dress on. "This one is for me, my special dress," she said confidently. Jo turned to the mirror and looked at herself. 'You'll do,' she thought to herself. Jo walked outside her door and took Mandy's note down; just as she did Alan came up behind her. "Hello Jo, I've been trying to telephone Miss Sharpe; I can't get through. She doesn't like people to come without an appointment, but what can a guy do?"

"I'm taking over from Mandy, would you like to come upstairs? It's the usual rate."