Authors: Lisa Jewell
‘You’re welcome. It’s nice to have an excuse, you know, to do some proper cooking. It never seems worth it just for me. Anyway – I hope you both have a great night. And you shouldn’t be disturbed. I happen to know that Joanne’s out tonight and I don’t suppose Ruby will be around, not on a Friday.’
Toby went upstairs and Con washed his hands thoroughly with antibacterial handwash. He was being ultra vigilant about hygiene. The thought of accidentally poisoning Daisy and her ending up in hospital because of him made him feel ill.
He checked the time. Seven-twenty-five. He heard the front door go and jumped. And then he held his breath, hoping that whoever it was would just go about their business and not wonder why there was music coming from the dining room and the smell of baked rosemary coming from the kitchen.
Footsteps creaked across the hallway floor towards the kitchen, then they stopped. Slowly the door opened and there was Ruby. Con exhaled.
‘What the…?’ Ruby looked round the dimly lit room in wonderment. ‘What the fuck is going on here?’
Con sighed. ‘Just dinner,’ he said.
‘Who for?’
‘For me,’ he said, ‘and a friend.’
‘A friend, eh?’ She smirked and pulled out a dining chair.
Con sighed. ‘Yes. A friend from work.’
She sat down and pulled a packet of cigarettes from her handbag.
‘No!’ he said. ‘Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t smoke in here. In fact, don’t smoke anywhere tonight.’
‘Er… excuse me?’
‘My friend. She’s not very well. She’s got a lung thing, condition. So please don’t smoke.’
‘Oh, my God, have I walked into some weird freaking parallel universe? Spooky old music, candlelight, ill girlfriends.’
‘Just don’t smoke, that’s all. Please.’
Ruby nodded, tersely, once, and put the cigarettes back in her bag. ‘Just for you,’ she said, ‘just this once. So – who’s the lucky girl?’
‘She’s no one,’ said Con. ‘Just a girl.’ He watched the clock on the TV click from 7:29 to 7:30. ‘Look, Ruby,’ he said, ‘I’m not being funny or anything, but she’s going to be here in a minute and I kind of made out we’d have the house to ourselves tonight. So…’
‘You want me to fuck off?’
‘Yeah, well. Yeah.’
She sighed and stood up. ‘Fair enough,’ she said, ‘fair enough. But don’t expect me to lock myself away in my room all night, OK?’
She picked up her bag and turned to leave the room. ‘What’s she got then, this girl? Asthma or something?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Con, ‘she’s got asthma.’ And then the doorbell rang.
33
Ruby could hear them chatting through the gaps between her floorboards. She couldn’t distinguish any words, just a symphonic series of bass rumbles, mid-tone gurgles and the occasional cymbal crash of laughter. As far as she could ascertain there hadn’t been an awkward silence yet, and Con’s ‘friend’ had been here for nearly two hours.
She headed downstairs, her third spurious visit to the kitchen of the evening. She’d caught only a fleeting glimpse of the girl as Con had ushered her through the front door and straight into the dining room. She was very small, thinner than Ruby, with that sort of very fine, very blonde hair that Ruby thought of as ‘chalet girl’ hair. She got a whiff of flowery perfume and a flash of silver ballet pump and crocheted shawl.
She poured herself a glass of water in the kitchen and picked at some leftover bread and paâté. Con and the girl were talking about someone called Nigel and laughing a lot. Ruby wanted to light up a cigarette and blow smoke through the keyhole, straight at the back of the girl’s head. She wanted to go and sit down at the table with them and say, ‘So, little girl, tell me about your incredibly short life. Tell me about the five minutes that have elapsed since you ceased being a
child. Tell me all about how little you have achieved and experienced. And then she would tell her all about her own life, about the men and the pain and the nights that should never have happened. She’d show her her tattoos and her scars and describe in great detail the night she fucked Con. Because even though Ruby was eleven years older than Con she had more in common with him than any fresh-faced little overgrown schoolgirl of his own age. He’d lived, at least a little. He knew what it was like to have nothing and no one, to function on your own.
The sound of a chair being scraped across the wooden floor next door disturbed her train of thought.
‘No, leave those,’ she heard Con saying.
‘No, no, no,’ said the girl. ‘Let me. You’ve done everything.’
Before Ruby could think about whether to stay or leave, the girl was standing in front of her, carrying a pile of dirty plates.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘hello.’
‘Hi.’ Ruby took a second to consider her own appearance. She was in jeans and a grey T-shirt, hair moderately clean, face moderately made up, drinking a glass of water and minding her own business. There was no reason for the girl to think that there was anything untoward about Ruby or her presence in the kitchen. She brought herself up tall and smiled. ‘I’m Ruby,’ she said.
‘Oh, hi. Yes. Con’s mentioned you.’ She put down her pile of plates and offered Ruby her hand to shake. ‘I’m Daisy.’
Daisy.
Yes, she would be a Daisy.
She was pretty, in that undefined way that these sorts of girls often were. Small, straight nose, fine eyebrows, little chin. She had small hollows under her cheekbones, which saved her from plainness. Pretty enough, thought Ruby, but not as good-looking as her. And she looked painfully young, younger, possibly, than Con himself.
‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, her eyes taking in the rest of her. Fitted cream blouse, grey woollen shorts to just below her knee, flat shoes, a black waistcoat, a strange necklace with leathery things hanging off it. Kind of a mess, but she carried it off.
‘So,’ she said, ‘you work with Con?’
‘Yes. I’mat
Vogue
.’
‘Ah,’ Ruby nodded. Of course. A fashion girl. It made sense. ‘And I believe he cooked for you. How was it?’
‘Delicious,’ Daisy smiled. She had slightly crooked teeth, but they suited her.
‘Really?’ Ruby grimaced. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Honestly! I promise. I’m so impressed with him. Considering when I first met him he wouldn’t eat anything except McDonald’s.’
‘Oh, yes. His beloved McMeals.’
‘I know! He’s my project. I’m determined to get him to eat healthily.’
‘Well, sounds like you’re doing a pretty good job already.’
‘Con tells me you’re a singer?’
‘Yes. That’s right.’
‘What sort of singer are you?’
‘Oh, you know, kind of rocky, bluesy, soully. Depends what kind of mood I’m in, really.’
‘Wow. That must be amazing. Getting up on stage and singing in front of all those people. How do you do it?’
‘Vodka,’ said Ruby, suddenly feeling the need to embellish her rock-chick credentials. ‘Lots of it. I never go on stage sober.’
‘God, I don’t blame you.’
Daisy stooped to scrape some leftovers into the bin. Ruby could see her shoulder blades through her blouse, sharp and angular as scythes. ‘So, Daisy. How old are you?’
‘Nineteen,’ she said, ‘well, nearly. It’s my birthday in February.’
‘Young,’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘God. I can’t imagine I was ever that young.’
‘Well, surely you’re not that much older than me?’
‘I’m thirty-one,’ she said, bracing herself for the customary blast of disbelief.
‘No!’ said Daisy, right on cue. ‘God. I thought you were much younger than that.’
‘Oh, yes. How old did you think I was?’
‘God, I don’t know, about twenty-three.’
Ruby smiled. ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘you’re not the first person to think that.’
The door opened then and Con appeared. He looked
at Daisy, then at Ruby. A coldness passed across his face. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I didn’t realize you were down here.’
‘Just came down for a glass of water.’ She waved it at him.
‘Right.’
‘Me and Daisy have been chatting.’
‘Right,’ he said again.
‘I hear your cooking skills are quite impressive?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, yeah. Toby helped. But it was pretty good.’
‘Wow. You’ll have to cook something for me some time. See if I’m as kind about your efforts in the kitchen as Daisy here.’
‘Yeah. Right. Anyway, we’re going back now.’ He put a hand gently around Daisy’s waist to guide her towards him. Ruby felt something bitter and acidic rise up in the back of her throat.
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Daisy.
‘Yes,’ said Ruby, ‘likewise.’
The door began to close behind them. ‘Have fun,’ she called after them. But they didn’t hear. Ruby listened at the door for a moment, to see if they were talking about her, but the conversation passed seamlessly back to themselves, as if the encounter with Ruby had never happened. She saw Con’s hand on Daisy’s back like an imprint left on her retina by a flash of light. She heard them laughing together – Con’s rough estuary snigger; Daisy’s crystalline Chelsea chime. She caught sight of her reflection in the blackened glass of the kitchen window and stopped for a moment. Who was she?
What was happening to her? She had now been rejected twice in a fortnight, in both instances for someone diametrically different to her. It wasn’t as if she wanted commitment; it wasn’t as if she was making any demands beyond sex and a bit of a laugh. What was wrong with men today? What did they want with flat-chested asthmatic girls and forty-two-year-old divorcées with stretch marks?
Ruby poured herself a large glass of Toby’s vodka and took it to her bedroom, ‘accidentally’ spilling some on Daisy’s crocheted shawl on the way.
34
Con stared at the top of Daisy’s head. She had a double crown, her fine blonde hair spiralling out of two separate whorls, like horns. A spray of hair had fallen from her hairline across her cheek. He’d been resisting the temptation to move it for the past ten minutes, concerned that he might awaken her. She started to stir and Con quickly rearranged himself, to look a little less like he’d been staring at her while she slept.
She looked around the room as her eyes opened. Con could see her checking out her surroundings, reminding herself where she was.
‘Morning,’ he said.
She turned and smiled. ‘Morning.’ She pushed herself up onto her elbow and looked at him. ‘God, you’re handsome in the mornings,’ she said.
He blushed. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘You look pretty good yourself.’
‘I doubt it,’ she said, pulling her hair away from her face. ‘Mornings are not my best time of day. What time is it, anyway?’
He glanced at his radio alarm. ‘Nine-fifteen.’
‘Oh, God, really?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Oh, shit. I’d better get going.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Chest stuff.’ She tapped her collarbone and began to cough. ‘Sorry,’ she said, turning away from him. ‘Mornings are worst. Mimi usually gets to work on me first thing. In fact, I’d better call her, let her know I’m on my way back.’ She pulled her handbag towards her, her thin back arching away from him as she lent across the floor, knuckles of bone protruding through her milky skin, a triangle of white down covering the base of her spine. She coughed again as she pulled her mobile from her bag. Her breathing was becoming laboured and heavy.
She spoke to her sister. Con could hear the concern in Mimi’s voice from the other end of the line. It was clear that Daisy didn’t do this sort of thing very often. ‘It’s not that late!’ protested Daisy. ‘Yes. I’m leaving now. I don’t know. The Tube. OK, then, a cab. No, he hasn’t got a car. I don’t know, OK. Look, Meems, I’m really sorry, OK. I didn’t realize you were going out today. I’ll be there as soon as possible. I’ll call you when I’m in a cab.’ She switched off her phone and smiled apologetically. ‘Not impressed,’ she said.
‘I could tell.’
‘I don’t blame her. It’s a real bind for her, you know, having to do my physio every morning. It’s not fun and it means she can’t go away without arranging a nurse for me or do anything, you know,
spontaneous
. She always has to think about me.’
‘The physio,’ he said, ‘what your sister does for you?
Is it difficult? I mean, could someone else do it for you?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose so. It’s just lots of hitting me on the back, hitting me on the chest, moving me round in different positions.’
‘For how long?’
‘As long as it takes to loosen me up.’
‘Could I do it for you?’
Daisy turned and gazed at him.
‘That way you wouldn’t have to rush off. That way you could stay. If you wanted.’ He gulped.
She smiled and brought the crown of his head to her lips. She kissed his head deeply. Con could hear the machinations of her broken lungs through her ribcage. ‘You are so lovely, Connor McNulty. You are so good. I knew you were, the first time I saw you. But it’s not that simple. You’d have to be trained. Mimi would have to show you what to do. And besides,’ she said, ‘it’sa bit like going to the loo with the door open, isn’t it? Not very romantic.’
Con smiled and kissed her on the mouth. And then he picked up his own mobile phone and switched it on.
‘I’ll call you a cab,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ said Daisy. ‘Thank you.’
35
Leah pulled open the Yellow Pages and flicked through it until she found the number for the Central School of Speech and Drama. She dialled the number and spoke to three different people before she was finally put through to someone who was able to help her.
‘I’m looking for information,’ she said, ‘about an ex-alumni. Her name is Joanne Fish.’
‘What exactly did you want to know?’
‘Well, I’m a casting assistant and we’re thinking of calling her in for an audition, but we wanted a bit of background on her first. So, you know, anything really, anything you’re allowed to tell me.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘that would really depend on how much information she let us have, whether she kept in touch. Hold on and I’ll see if I can find her file.’
Leah stared through the window while she waited, feeling her heart racing under her ribcage with the excitement of lying.