Authors: Lisa Jewell
‘My friend Leah.’
‘From across the road?’
‘Yes. She said that you said that you found it hard living with us, that you dealt with us by pretending we weren’t here.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’
‘But it’s true?’
‘Well, yes, to a certain extent. Sharing a house with people is difficult.’
‘Which brings me back to my original question. Why do you live here, when you could afford not to?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Right, well, I think I know the answer. I think you live here because it means that you don’t exist because your signature isn’t on anything. I think you live here because you’re hiding from something or running from something. And I think that something is Nick. Your husband.’
Toby paused, waiting for Joanne to deny once more that Nick was her husband. But she didn’t. Instead she stared at him for a moment, then let her head drop dramatically onto her hands. ‘He’s not my husband,’ she said, softly.
‘Then who is he?’
‘He’s my fiancé. Was. He was.’
‘Right.’ He paused again.
‘Did he come back again? While I was away?’
Toby nodded.
‘Fuck,’ she said. ‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing. He said absolutely nothing. But he asked me to give you this.’
She looked up at him. Toby reached behind him into his drawer and pulled out a letter. He passed it to her.
She held the envelope in her hands for a moment, running it across her fingertips, staring at the handwriting on the front. Leah had almost persuaded him to steam it open yesterday, to read it. He’d only just resisted the temptation. Now he held his breath, wondering if she would open it now or take it to her room.
‘Did he say anything else?’ she said.
‘No. Just to give you that letter.’
She nodded. ‘Right.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘will you open it?’
She nodded again. ‘Would you mind,’ she said, ‘if I opened it here?’
Toby gulped. ‘No. Of course not.’
‘Good.’ Her hands were trembling slightly as she opened the envelope. She slid the paper out slowly and unfolded it. Her bottom lip was caught under her top teeth as she read.
After a moment, she refolded the letter, and slid it back into the envelope.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘is it what you expected?’
‘Mm-hmm,’ she nodded.
‘Are you OK, Joanne?’
‘Yes.’ She stood up. ‘I think so. I, er…’
Toby waited for her to continue. Her lips were moving strangely, trying to form words and control tears at the same time. ‘I think, if it’s OK with you, that I might, erm, go back to my room now.’
‘Yes,’ said Toby, ‘of course. Will you be all right?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and thank you for the beer. And the talk. It’s been good. I need to go now, and think. Bye.’ She threw him a tight smile and left the room, the over-long sleeves of her tartan pyjamas bunched up over her hands, the letter clutched tightly in her fist.
Toby turned back to his computer and sighed.
Two down, two to go.
63
The first place Ruby and Tim looked at on Saturday morning was a tiny two-bedroom flat in Meard Street. It had wood-panelled rooms, an ornate marble fireplace and a kitchen the size of a Smart Car. It was very small and very beautiful.
The next place they saw was a one-bedroom flat on Brewer Street, above the organic supermarket. It was modern and slick, with an aluminium kitchen and a tiny terrace. By the time they’d seen a one-bedroom flat on Wardour Street with a hot tub on the roof terrace and a two-bedroom flat on Neal Street with a built-in dressing room, Ruby’s head was spinning.
Living in Soho was the fulfilment of a lifetime’s dream for Ruby, something she’d fantasized about since she was sixteen years old and first finding her way round London. The thought that in a week or two she’d be packing her bags and moving out of Toby’s miserable house and away from all those miserable people was all she could focus on right now.
At one o’clock they went for lunch at Bam-Bou on Percy Street. They were given a cosy table overlooking the street on the first floor. Tim was in his weekend attire – blue chinos, a rugby shirt, a cream jumper with some kind of logo stitched on the left breast. He looked out of
place here, amongst the retro opulence of the surroundings, with his skinny, tousle-haired girlfriend in drainpipe jeans. He’d suggested Bertorelli’s for lunch. He’d have been happier there, in the slightly 1980s whitewashed environment. It was Ruby’s idea to come here, where it was edgier, darker, quirkier. Tim was bending himself into unusual shapes just to keep Ruby happy. He didn’t want to live in a tiny flat in Soho. He wanted to live in a huge Clerkenwell loft with white walls. He didn’t want to eat Vietnamese food. He wanted Italian.
‘So,’ he said, ‘what do you recommend?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been here before.’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘right. I just assumed…’
‘An ex of mine used to come here. He was always going on about it.’ She pulled a cigarette out of her handbag and lit it.
Tim’s face assumed the sad kitten expression it always took on whenever she made any allusion to her sexual history. She did it on purpose. It amused her.
She ordered lightly, but expensively, and asked for a glass of champagne. ‘So,’ she said, ‘what do you think, so far?’
He shrugged and smiled. ‘I like all of them.’
‘Yes, but you must have a preference.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘on a purely practical note I’d have to say the one on Neal Street. It was the biggest and we’ll need the room for when Mojo comes to stay.’
Ruby tutted. ‘Yes,’ she said, pouting very slightly, ‘but it’s in Covent Garden. And I really, really want to live in Soho.’
‘Well, then we’ll just have to find a bigger flat in Soho, won’t we?’ He smiled at her and pulled her hand towards him. His hands were one of the things that Ruby found the most unappealing about Tim. They were very fleshy, which she didn’t mind in itself, but it was the length of his fingers that alarmed her. Very short. Out of proportion to the size of his palms. And his fingernails were tiny. She forced a smile and squeezed his hand back.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘we will.’
64
Melinda got back from work at five o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Con followed her into the kitchen, ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Oh, yes, please.’ She pulled off her shoes and rubbed her feet. ‘What a bloody day. I was going to go to the gym, but I really don’t think I can face it.’
‘Good,’ said Con. ‘Stay here. We’ll have a nice chat.’
Melinda threw him a questioning look.
‘What?’ he said, his hands upturned. ‘You’re my mum. I like you. I like talking to you.’
Her face softened and she smiled.
‘So,’ he said, dropping an English Breakfast teabag into a mug, ‘how’s everything?’
‘Blimey,’ she laughed.
‘No. Really. How are you? How’s your life?’
‘I’m fine, thank you, Connor. How are you?’
‘Don’t take the piss, mum.’
‘Sorry, love. I’m sorry.’ She reorganized her face and considered his question. ‘I’m pretty good, actually,’ she said.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yes. It’s nice just to be
here
. You know, in one place. Not on the move. And it’s so nice hanging round with you.’
Con smiled tightly. ‘Even though you have to share a room with me?’
‘I
love
sharing a room with you, Con.’ She paused and glanced at him. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’
‘No.’ Con shook his head and filled the kettle from the tap. ‘No. It’s just, I was talking to Toby last night and he said he’d invited you out for dinner tonight at some bloke’s house.’
‘Oh, Gawd.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Yeah. Can you believe it?! He told me about this bloke weeks ago, said he thought I’d like him. Next thing I know he’s set us up on a blind date.’
‘I think you should go.’
‘What?! No way.’
‘But why not? He sounds great.’
‘I don’t care how great he sounds. The last thing I need in my life right now is a bloke.’
‘Why not? What’s wrong with blokes?’
‘It’s not the blokes that are wrong. It’s me. I go funny when I’ve got a bloke. I forget what’s important. Like you.’
Con flicked on the kettle. ‘Mum,’ he said, ‘I’m nineteen. I’ll be twenty in July. I don’t need you by my side to know that you care.’
‘I know you don’t, but…’
‘You know I don’t hold it against you, don’t you, that you weren’t around? You know it’s not a big deal to me?’
‘Well, you say that, Con, and I’ve always appreciated that you haven’t made me feel bad about what happened,
but, really, how can you not hate me? I mean, I was your mother and I abandoned you.’
‘You didn’t abandon me, Mum. It’s not like you left me outside an orphanage, is it? You left me with a truly great woman.’
‘Is that really how you feel?’
‘Yeah. Definitely. Where I grew up, it’s not like it was when you grew up there. It’s changed. It’s heavy. It’s tough, you know. And the reason I survived, why I didn’t get, you know, sucked up in all that shit, was Gran. And, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you wouldn’t have been a great mum, but maybe if you’d brought me up, as a single mother, it mightn’t have worked out like that. You might have hooked up with some bloke who didn’t want me on the scene, you know. You might have had more kids. I might have got sidelined, tried to find my identity outside the home. But with Gran, I always had something solid to come back to, something real. She didn’t have any shit, any issues. She knew what was what. She knew the shit out there on the street and she knew how to keep me away from it. She was the right person to bring me up. And leaving me with her – you did the right thing, Mum. Totally.’
Con exhaled. His body flooded with adrenalin. He’d wanted to say that to his mum for so long, since that very first time he’d seen her at Gran’s funeral, but he’d never been able to find the words before. He hadn’t even really realized that that was how he felt before. But he knew it now. There were no ‘mistakes’ in life –
just a series of random decisions that led to a series of random outcomes, good and bad. How could he blame his mother for doing something that had caused him no harm, for making a decision that had hurt her more than it had hurt him?
Melinda looked up at him. Her eyes were brimming with tears. ‘Do you really mean that?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘totally.’
‘Oh, Con.’ She got to her feet and embraced him. ‘That means so much to me, to hear you say that. So much. I’ve hated myself for so long, for being so weak.’
‘Well, stop it.’ He squeezed her back, his nose buried in her shoulder. She smelled of Gucci Rush and Fairy fabric conditioner. She smelled like his mum. ‘I love you, Mum.’
‘I love you, too, Con.’
‘But you know we can’t live like this any more?’
‘Like what?’
‘Together.’
‘Well, no, obviously we can’t. I mean, that would just be…’
‘I’m going to South Africa.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I know you are.’
‘No,’ he turned his back to her and pulled the teabag out of her mug. ‘I mean I’m going soon. Next month.’
‘What?! But how can you…’
‘Toby’s lending me the money.’
‘Toby?’
‘Yes, look, I think Toby’s up to something.’
‘Why, what did he say?’
‘He didn’t say anything. It was just… I don’t know, something in the air. And why would he be doing all this work to the house, just for our benefit? He asked to look under our carpet yesterday. Said something about doing up the floorboards. I think this whole scene’s about to crash. I think he’s going to sell the house. I think it’s time to move on.’
‘Oh, God, but
where
? Where will I go? Maybe I could come to South Africa with you?’
Con laughed. ‘No, Mum! South Africa’s about me. It’s about finding myself. It’s time for you to find yourself now.’
‘I’m a bit old for finding myself, aren’t I?’
‘Well, you know what I mean. I mean – you hate your job. You could go back to air hostessing.’
‘I’m too old for that, too. I’m too old for all those jobs I used to love, repping and stuff. Let’s face it, I’m too old for adventures. I’ll be fifty before I know it.’
‘Well, then, how about settling down with a nice man.’
‘Oh, I see. You mean,
Toby’s
nice man?’
‘Well, yeah. Why not? Come on, it’s a Saturday night, you can have a few drinks, something nice to eat. And the worst thing that can happen is that you don’t fancy the bloke. You’ll have had a nice night out with Toby and it won’t cost you a penny. Go on.’
Melinda looked at him suspiciously. ‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I am. But only because I love you. Only because I want you to be happy. Nobody should be alone…’
Melinda smiled. ‘All right, then, I’ll go.’
Con beamed. ‘Excellent!’ he said. Then he kissed his mother on the cheek and took the stairs two at a time to Toby’s room to tell him that he’d completed the first half of their bargain.
65
Melinda had pulled out all the stops for her blind date at Jack’s house. She was wearing a turquoise satin dress with sequins around the neckline and contrasting green satin stilettos. Her hair was swept back and held in place with a bejewelled comb and she was clutching a tiny gem-encrusted handbag. Toby met her at the bottom of the stairs and gasped. ‘Wow, Melinda, you look quite superb.’
She beamed at him. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’
‘Why, thank you.’ Toby smiled and glanced down at his new black trousers and black stripy shirt, bought that morning, in a sale at a menswear boutique on the Broadway. It was a shop he’d walked past a dozen times and never been into, mainly because he’d had no money, but also due to the strangely angular mannequins in the window, who were all bald and hollow-cheeked and looked as if they might come to life and take over the world given half a chance. But being now bald and hollow-cheeked himself, it had occurred to him that the clothes on sale therein might be just the ticket.
‘I’m really glad you changed your mind,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘well. Me and Con had a good chat about stuff earlier.’