Cindy, companion in Hackney

About Cindy

There is nothing showy about Cindy, and in E8 that is a considerable advantage. Blonde hair, long and wavy and largely left alone, on a slim frame of 168 cm. Blue eyes that hold a look a second past comfortable. She dresses the way Hackney dresses: a good coat over something plain, boots that have walked on real pavements, one piece of jewellery and no second thoughts about it.

Mid twenties, fluent English, and quieter than the room until she chooses not to be. Cindy reads properly, two or three books at once, and will admit to abandoning most of them halfway. She keeps a bike and a long running argument with the traffic on Lea Bridge Road. Her humour is dry and faintly wicked, delivered without raising her voice, and she never fills a silence simply because one has turned up.

Hackney evenings with her are small by design. Pidgin on Wilton Way seats about twenty people and rewrites the menu every week, which she finds both funny and slightly stressful. After that it is Mare Street or the walk down to the canal, depending on the weather and the hour. Her own flat is in Chelsea, and getting there is a bus, a tube and three quarters of an hour, which she has never once pretended is quick.

Hackney Central is two minutes from the middle of things and the Mildmay line does the rest, so Hackney is far easier than people in zone one believe. Prices sit on rates. A message through booking takes about a minute to write.

Booking her

Give the desk the address and an hour and Nell will confirm it in writing, with her arrival time rather than a window. Cindy is worth booking for three hours; she takes a while to show you the good bits.

Every figure she works to is public on the board, and the steps sit on the booking page.

An evening with Cindy

The best version starts late and stays local. A drink on Amhurst Road, then twenty minutes up to Wilton Way, where the room is so small the kitchen can hear you and everybody behaves accordingly. Cindy talks in half sentences for the first hour and then opens up somewhere around the second course, usually on the subject of a book she thinks you would hate.

Afterwards she will steer you to the canal if it is dry, down past the gasholders where the towpath goes properly dark and the only sound is a bicycle bell behind you. She walks at a fair clip. Back at the flat or the hotel she takes her boots off at the door and puts the kettle on before anyone suggests it, which is Hackney in a single gesture.