Cara and I have been going out for a couple of weeks now. I decided to be patient. I'm after more than just a day's takings from the local hairdresser's. I have my eyes on bigger fish now – like the money from the whole Delany hairdressing salon account. There must be hundreds of thousands of pounds in it. I've seen Cara constantly have to turn people away so she has to be raking it in. Getting my hands on all her money shouldn't be too tricky.
For the simple reason that she cares about me. A lot.
I've tested her out. Sometimes, I let two days pass without phoning her. On the third day, like clockwork, she phones me on my mobile and suggests we hook up. And every time I see her, I give her flowers or chocolates or cheap bits of jewellery and she laps it up.
And the questions have started.
'How many brothers and sisters do you have?'
'Steve, what're your mum and dad like?'
'Steve, what exactly d'you do for a living?'
'What did you want to be when you left school?'
'Where d'you see yourself in five years' time?'
All those searching female questions that girls ask when deciding whether or not to get serious about you.
And the funny thing is, I haven't done a single thing to encourage it. Definitely no sex, very few kisses, limited handholding.
But I'll say one thing for Cara – she's intelligent. She knows how to have a proper conversation – unlike Gina. And she has opinions of her own. Gina would always ask me what I thought before venturing an opinion, invariably the same as mine. Cara isn't afraid to disagree with me. It's been a while since I sat down and talked about politics and religion and films and life with someone outside the Liberation Militia. And it's been for ever since I discussed any of those things with a Cross.
'D'you get many noughts in your shop?' I asked over dinner one night.
'Not many – no,' said Cara. 'Not as many as I'd like.'
'I bet some of your Cross patrons don't like you doing nought hair in the same salon,' I said.
'Then they're free to go somewhere else,' said Cara immediately. 'I can't stand that kind of thinking around me. It's such a waste of time.'
'So if I asked you to cornrow my hair, you'd do it?'
'In this restaurant – no!' said Cara dryly. 'But in my salon or at my house? Yes, of course I would. Why wouldn't I?'
'You don't feel we noughts are trying too hard to take over the Cross style?' I said, careful to keep my tone even.
'The Cross style? What's that when it's at home?' Cara asked, leaning in to hear my answer, her expression alert.
'Everything that's you and not us,' I told her.
'For example?'
'Walk into any nought clothes shop and you can buy padded knickers so nought women can have more of a curvaceous bum – like Cross women. Everything about our lives, the style of clothes we wear, even down to the food we eat, it's all dictated by Cross aesthetics, by the way Crosses see the world. Rich nought women aren't dressed without collagen implants to give them fuller top lips and melanin tablets or expensive sun bed treatments to make their skin darker. And what about Hartley Durrant?' I said warming to my theme.
'What about her?'
'She's the only nought woman to make it into this year's list of the one hundred most beautiful women in the world. And d'you know why? Because she looks like a Cross.'
'No, she doesn't,' Cara argued.
'Yes, she does.'
'D'you think she's attractive?' asked Cara.
'Yes, she's gorgeous. But that's not the point,' I replied impatiently.
'Don't you think that beauty is as beauty does?'
'What does that mean?'
'It means too many people, Nought or Cross, are caught up in the things that don't mean a damn – like how people look and how much money they have. Who cares!'
'So what does matter then?' I asked.
'What people are on the inside,' said Cara.
What a load of naive, happy-ever-after nonsense, I thought sourly. And easy for you to say.
'Yes, I know it's easy for me to say.' Cara smiled, reading my mind. 'I'm on the inside. I'm part of the majority – I know that. Most magazine covers have Cross women and men on them, not Noughts. Most film stars are Crosses, most TV dramas are about Crosses. I know all that. I'm on the inside but that doesn't mean I can't see what's going on outside. And it doesn't mean I approve of the status quo.'
'Why not? Why should you care?' I couldn't help asking.
'Because my mum and dad brought me up to believe that people are different but equal. And that I should treat everyone, no matter who, with the same respect I'd like to be shown,' said Cara.
'So you're with me to show you can put your parents' philosophy into practice?' I could've bitten off my tongue the moment the words left my mouth.
'Is that what you really think, Steve?' Cara asked seriously.
I took a sip of my wine. I'd said far too much already.
'Is it?' Cara persisted.
'I don't know,' I said, looking her straight in the eye.
To my surprise, she smiled and sat back in her chair. 'Thanks for being honest. Now I'll be equally honest. I'm here with you because I like you – very much. And that's the beginning, middle and the end of it.'
But you don't know me, I couldn't help thinking. And the thought didn't bring me the satisfaction it should've done.
Sometimes when we're chatting or laughing together, I actually forget that she's a Cross. But only sometimes. When that happens, I force myself to look at her and concentrate on her skin colour and nothing else. And that usually does the trick. I focus on the things that are totally different about us. What surprises me is that sometimes I actually forget about our differences. Not for long – but it does happen. And it shouldn't. I'm going to have to make my move soon. I'm in danger here. Because I've started to think about the things we have in common rather than the things we don't. It's time to cut and run with whatever I can get from her.
