Authors: Lisa Jewell
Toby thought sadly about the wedge of magic money that had appeared from thin air to make real the dreams he’d had in the wake of Gus’s death. And then he looked at Con, a boy who’d arrived here with nothing, no ambition beyond a bed to sleep in, no dreams other than to keep his job, who’d suddenly and magically found a path he wanted to follow. Toby had had his whole life to make a success of himself. He had no one to blame but himself for finding himself washed up in Nowheresville in his late thirties. Con had no ready-made safety net – he’d had to knit his own. What was more important, wondered Toby, his own silly middle-aged need to prove himself to his father or a young man’s future?
He sat for a moment, staring blankly at the television, listening to Con slurping his cola, letting his dreams slink away like naughty children. Then he slapped his hands against his thighs and got to his feet.
‘I was thinking,’ he said, ‘that I might invest in a pair of new sofas. What do you think?’
Con looked at him in surprise, then at the aged blue sofas dressed with tatty ethnic cushions. ‘Yeah. Why not? Go for it.’
‘Cool.’ Toby put his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ll go shopping tomorrow. Sales on now. Good time to go.’
And for now, he mused, new sofas might just have to do.
13
Melinda McNulty was forty-five. She maintained her toned size-ten figure by going to the gym three times a week, attending two power-boxing classes a week, and doing Pilates on her bedroom floor in front of the TV. She ate Special K breakfast bars in the morning, then went off to Stansted airport where she worked as a check-in girl for Monarch. Her cupboard in the kitchen was full of things such as Snack-a-Jacks and instant noodle soups. She drank Cava (‘It’s better than champagne.’) pretty much every day of the week, and went clubbing on Saturday nights with her friend Zoë, who was twenty-eight. She wore too much make-up, too much perfume and very tight velour tracksuits in bright colours that showed her muscled tummy.
Toby wasn’t sure how he felt about muscled tummies on forty-five-year-old women. It was impressive, but a bit unsettling.
When Toby saw her get back from work that night, smart and trim in her airline uniform, he deliberately sought her out. He found her ironing in the front room. The room was humid with the aroma of damp cotton and rhythmic with a tinny beat emanating from her headphones. She smiled when she saw him and popped the earphones out.
‘Hello m’Lord!’ She had the penetrating, unripened voice of a fifteen-year-old girl. It was very disconcerting. Her face disappeared briefly into a cloud of steam. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Excellent. How are you?’
‘Yeah, I’m good, too. Just getting some ironing out of the way.’
Toby glanced down at the pile of clothes growing on the arm of the sofa. They appeared to be mainly Con’s clothes. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ he offered.
‘Ooh, yes.’ She pursed her strawberry pink lips into a crinkled ring. ‘White, one sugar. Can I have the mug with the cats on it? You know, the big one?’
He didn’t know, but searched the kitchen cupboards until he found it. When he came back, Melinda was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, examining a glossy, blood-coloured toenail. ‘Ooh, thanks, Toby,’ she said, stretching her heavily ringed hands towards the mug, ‘just what the doctor ordered.’
Toby sat next to her and rested his tea on the coffee table.
‘I hear you’re getting rid of these,’ said Melinda, stroking the fabric of the sofa.
‘What…?’
‘The sofas. Con said you’re thinking of buying new ones.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that is the plan. They’ve done their service, these ones.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘they are a bit minging.’
Toby winced at the coarse lingua franca.
‘How’s that weird cat?’ she continued.
‘Boris?’
‘Is that what you’re calling him?’ she laughed.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, I like that. He looks like a Boris. How’she getting on?’
‘He’s fine, as far as I can tell. Very low-maintenance. I’m not that keen on the whole litter tray thing, though. It’s not very pleasant.’
‘Ooh, yes. My mum had one of those housebound cats. Bloody nuisance. But at least you know you’re not going to get the dead rats on your pillow and the dismembered birds on the carpet.’
Melinda turned to face him, one knee tucked up under her. Her hair was the wrong shade of blonde for her colouring, slightly yellow, as if it had been left out in the sun for too long. Her nose was small and hooked, and her lips were a strange shape, too thick in places and too thin in others. She didn’t have any wrinkles at all until she smiled, and then she got a set of very dramatic crow’s feet which exploded from the corners of her eyes like fireworks. But she had beautiful eyes, a clear Caribbean turquoise, fringed with heavy black lashes. ‘I know this sounds dreadful,’ she leaned towards him, conspiratorially, ‘and don’t take this the wrong way, but I much prefer it here now that Gus’s gone.’
Toby glanced at her in horror.
‘Not that I didn’t like him. Don’t get me wrong. But it was just a bit weird, wasn’t it, having him around? Didn’t quite fit the image of the house. But now he’s
gone it just feels
perfect
here. You know something, Toby, I
love
this house, I really do. Can’t imagine living anywhere else now.’ She glanced up towards the towering ceilings. ‘I couldn’t move back into some pokey little purpose-built with paper walls now. I’m
ruined
.’ She laughed.
Toby gulped. ‘So you’re happy, are you, sharing a room with Con?’
‘Oh, it’s lovely. You know, I was thinking I might ask you about Gus’s room, now that he’s gone. Thinking I might ask if I could move in there. But then I thought, do I really want to share a room with that horrible cat? And then I thought, do I really want to move out of Con’s room? And I don’t. Really don’t. I love sharing with him. He’s such a great boy. And after being apart from him for so many years. I missed out on a lot. But now… we’re
so
close,’ she gushed. ‘It’s like we’re best mates, you know, we’re equals. It’s lovely now. Everything’s lovely.’ She smiled and caressed her mug. ‘What about you, Toby? You’ve been single for a while. Anyone special in your life?’
‘Er, no,’ he began, subconsciously filing away Melinda’s suspect conversational leap from her relationship with her son to Toby’s love life. ‘Not at the moment.’
‘Ah,’ she cooed sympathetically, squeezing his leg gently, ‘that’s a shame. How old are you now?’
‘Thirty-nine,’ he said, ‘next week.’
‘Yes. It’s a funny age that. I remember my late thirties. You start panicking, thinking you’re running out of time. Irony of it is that it takes you bloody
ages
to get
old after that. I thought I’d be an old relic by the time I hit forty-five, but I didn’t get a wrinkle until I was forty-one. And my boobs are still pretty OK.’ She put down her mug and gazed thoughtfully into the distance. ‘You know, every birthday I look in the mirror and think, not yet, Mel, you’re still there, still looking good. Have to work at it mind, but it’s so worth it. Especially in my line of work, looking good is so important.’
‘You mean, being an air hostess?’
‘Well, no, not an air hostess exactly. Ground staff now. Keeps me closer to home, closer to Con. But image is still mega-important. You’re the first contact the customer has with the airline. And if you look crap, well, that’s not going to make the customer feel very confident about their flight, is it?’
Toby nodded sagely, thinking that he would be more likely to base his confidence in an upcoming flight on the condition of the aircraft than on the eyeshadow on the check-in girls.
‘Well,’ she got to her feet, ‘you’re a lovely fella. I’m sure someone’ll come along when you’re least expecting it. And you’ve got tons going for you.’
‘I have?’
‘Yes, you’re lovely and tall. Girls like tall men. You’ve got this amazing house. And you’re generous and caring. I mean, look at us all, all us waifs and strays. Where would we all be without you, Toby, eh? You took my Con off the streets. You’ve given me a chance to be with my boy. You’ve looked after poor Ruby since she was a kid. And what would have become of Gus if he
hadn’t had you to take care of him? You’re a hero, Toby, a true hero. And what woman doesn’t want a hero?’
Toby picked up his mug and left the room, unable to think of one single thing to say in response.
14
Toby stood up, then sat down again, enjoying the sensation. He caressed her arms gently, then stood up again. He turned round and admired her lines. She was so beautiful, a long, lean slither of leather-clad perfection. He glanced across at her sister and sighed with pleasure.
They were the most beautiful sofas in the world.
They’d arrived half an hour ago, on a big white van with the word CONRAN on the side. Six thousand pounds’ worth of midnight-blue calfskin and milk-coffee suede. He hadn’t intended to blow so much of Gus’s inheritance on sofas. He’d intended to spend a thousand pounds, very wisely, in the sales, on something practical and hard-wearing. He’d gone into the Conran Shop only for inspiration, in much the same way that you might decide to visit a museum or an art gallery, not actually to buy anything. And then a very nice young girl in a black suit had approached him as he browsed and she’d been so charming and so helpful that he’d felt it would have been rude not to accept her offer of assistance. And besides, it was such a novelty to know that for once in his life he could afford something expensive that he’d wanted to savour every aspect of it.
They hadn’t seemed that expensive at the time, in the context of
everything
being expensive. They were in
the sale, 25 per cent off. Compared to some of the other sofas they were a steal, but now he’d got them home, seen them contrasted against the tatty woven rugs and charity-shop coffee table, he was starting to feel a bit stupid. Six thousand pounds. He could have bought two whole bathroom suites for that, or a brand-new kitchen. He could have paid for someone to come in and redecorate the whole house. He could have recarpeted throughout and bought a new boiler. But then, he thought, glancing fondly at his new sofas, where was the wow factor in a cheap kitchen or a swathe of new carpet? Where was the inspiration? These sofas were going to inform the rebirth of this house, set the benchmark for style and taste. These sofas were seminal.
Toby heard the front door go and footsteps behind him. He felt suddenly embarrassed, caught red-handed with expensive sofas. He tried and failed to arrange himself into some kind of natural position, and, when Ruby walked in two seconds later, he was perched on the edge of the coffee table, looking at a copy of
Reveal
.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘it’s you.’ He stood up and let the magazine fall to the floor.
‘Oh. My. God.’ She’d seen the sofas. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said again, moving in for a closer look. ‘
What are these?
’
‘New sofas,’ he sniffed.
‘Yes, I can see that, but, Jesus Christ. I mean – they’re
beautiful
.’ She caressed one tenderly and let her leather jacket fall to the floor.
Toby smiled grudgingly. ‘Thank you.’
‘I can’t believe you bought these. They must have cost a
fortune
.’
‘Well, yes, but they were in the sale.’
‘But still. My God. Is this real suede?’
‘Yes.’
She sat down and ran her hands over the mocha suede. ‘Well, Toby Dobbs, who would have guessed that you had such great taste?’
Toby felt a surge of pride rise slowly through him like a bubble in a spirit level.
‘Where are they from?’
‘Conran Shop,’ he mumbled through his fingers.
‘
Conran?!
Jesus, Toby, did you
steal
them?’
‘No, of course not. I paid for them. Cash.’
‘But how the hell could you afford them?’
Toby sighed. He’d known he’d have to offer an explanation at some point. ‘Gus.’
‘Gus?’
‘Gus left me some money. In his will.’
Ruby’s eyes widened. ‘No! How much?’
‘A few thousand. Not that much. Not really enough to be buying sofas from the Conran Shop. But I just… I don’t know…’
‘You wanted them?’
‘Yes, I wanted them.’
‘Oh, Tobes,’ Ruby rested a hand on his knee. ‘That’s OK. That’s what normal people do all the time. It’s called
extravagance
. Embrace it.’
Toby smiled. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you like them, then?’
‘I
love
them.’
‘Good,’ he said.
‘But, really,’ she said, ‘how much did Gus leave you? Exactly?’
‘I’m not telling you!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want anyone else to know.’
‘I won’t tell anyone else.’
‘How do I know that?’
‘Because I promise and I swear.’
‘No,’ he said adamantly, folding his arms.
‘Oh, Toby. I can’t believe you don’t trust me by now.’
‘It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just…’
‘That you don’t trust me. God, Tobes, as if I’d steal your money.’
‘I’m not saying you’d steal it.’
‘Yeah, well, whatever. I’ll find out somehow. You know me.’
Toby smirked. He’d lived with Ruby for fifteen years, but he wasn’t entirely sure he did know her. He knew what she sounded like when she was having sex. He knew what colour her nipples were. He knew her moods and her patterns. But did he know
her
?
‘So,’ he said, ‘what’s happening with Paul Fox? He hasn’t been around for a while.’
Ruby shrugged and fiddled with a piece of thread hanging off her jumper. ‘Not a lot. We had a bit of a row last week.’
‘Oh, right. What about?’
‘Oh, you know,
Eliza
.’
‘Well, really, I’m not sure what you expect. I mean, the man has a girlfriend, for God’s sake.’
Ruby raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, God, Tobes, don’t start on me. I don’t need you telling me what to do.’
‘I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but, really, this thing you have going with Paul, it’s just so wrong on so many different levels. I don’t understand why you have to keep underselling yourself the entire time.’