The Further Adventures of a London Call Girl (13 page)

He sipped the soup and smiled. I don’t think he liked it. I love barzcz, the flavour but not the smell. Beetroot smells of sheep shit and dirt to me. But it tastes like rich, sweet heaven. ‘It’ll be a pity to lose you,’ he said. ‘You have abilities that will be difficult to replace. Frankly, I’m surprised the company haven’t made you a better offer to stay on.’

‘There’s been no offer,’ I said. If he was hinting, he needn’t have. Jojo in Personnel accepted my resignation with the same aplomb I delivered it and no one had said a word about it since.

He quit the soup after three spoonfuls. ‘I do hope you decide to come back,’ he said. ‘For purely selfish reasons. You’d be an asset to any firm lucky enough to get you.’

‘I would have thought you found the talents of some of my other co-workers a little more compelling,’ I said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Erin, for instance.’

He smoothed the napkin on his lap. ‘Be that as it may,’ he said, ‘there are some people I find I can … collaborate with … on an occasional basis. That isn’t the same as respecting their professional talents.’

Good on you, I thought. At least you haven’t denied it. But I wonder why he bothers with a workplace affair? If he was a friend, I would recommend he spend his time on call girls instead.

Who knows, maybe he already does.

mardi, le 21 décembre

I love A2 and A3, they’re mad fun. In a sort of grumpy-double-act way. A3 took the train down from Macclesfield and we went for an Indian, a pre-Christmas, pre-leaving treat.

The problem with A3, of course, is our unresolved issues. A2 can handle me as much as he likes; we’ve seen each other naked and cross-dressed and with a giant corkscrew dildo up each other’s arses. With A3 it’s different: someone who’s never known you that way takes every touch much more meaningfully.

After the meal we were joking and throwing the mint wrappers when A3 put his hand on mine. ‘Now then, quit it,’ he said in his thick Northern burr. I have to admit, it sent a shiver through me. He has that power, even if he doesn’t know it.

It was like the first night Dr C and I slept together, when we were all out in a group beforehand: A3 stroked my hair, and the intimacy of it, the deliberateness, unsettled me. Even hours later, sated and tired in Dr C’s arms I could still feel it.

I felt half guilty, but was sort of glad to be leaving him.

mercredi, le 22 décembre

Went to Covent Garden at lunchtime for some shopping. Had to remember am on mission to procure gifts for other people, not myself – will be limited on the journey to J to what I can carry from the airport.

The atmosphere is festive – fairy lights in the shops, incessant jangle of ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’ at all hours of the day, charity muggers in overdrive. There is a gilded carousel outside the Royal Opera: Leisure Events Proudly Presents London’s Victorian Golden Gallopers For Your Pleasure.

I remember seeing Covent Garden for the first time as an adult – or rather, not seeing it, being then in thrall to a lover who enjoyed walking me through the streets blindfolded, guiding me over puddles and leaf-slick crosswalks. With eyes closed I can sometimes still hear his dry voice announcing obstructions in my ear (steps leading up, uneven stone pavement) and, being new to the South, I learned the smells and sounds of London before seeing it. We spent our little money recklessly, on baubles and silly clothes. The wine velvet dress we bought together and I wore without him, a week later, to a Christmas meal with friends in Yorkshire. When I rang him that night, merrily, to say a stranger had said to let him know he was a very lucky man … ‘I know,’ he said, the dis-embodied voice as if we were walking around town together, his thin hand hovering at my waist. ‘I know.’

He left me the next year and London has never seemed real since. I am free to look at the streets now, eyes open, but it’s like walking a film set.

jeudi, le 23 décembre

Public transport is ace; truly it is. There being, of course, no other choice when one does not drive. It’s like it or lump it, and I do so like it.

Unfortunately, as in all the best affairs, the love is not requited. Such as at Christmas, when the train companies revoke all the cut-rate tickets, so the charge of riding an overcrowded carriage, standing up, from London to York is roughly equal to the cost of going private on a kidney transplant.

Then the train, which is already running at a deficit of one carriage, is called upon to make an extra stop to collect the passengers from another train which was cancelled.

Finally, said train is then itself cancelled; making the final stop not the city you were hoping to turn up in, but a village about twenty miles away, as it is now late and the train needs to get back to a depot in London for the night so can’t possibly go on any further, requiring that the people meeting you are a) themselves armed with non-public forms of transport, and b) willing and able to trek to the middle of nowhere to collect you and costing in petrol an amount about equal to the original cost of the train ticket.

Which A4 was. Public transport, truly a modern miracle.

vendredi, le 24 décembre

‘What up,’ my cousin J says as if we’d never stopped talking. The line sounds clear, as if he’s just round the corner.

I smile. Has it really been so long? Almost half our lives? It has. He says he is well and certainly sounds it. I don’t know if the gentle waves I can hear in the background are real or my imagination.

‘So are you coming out or what?’ he asks. There’s no pressure there. He’s so laid back it’s like asking someone over for coffee. I can’t help but envy the obvious calm in his voice, and tell him so.

‘Serenity, girl,’ he says. ‘It’s the journey, not the destination.’

Well, whatever. I start unloading about work, about the Boy, and he interrupts me. ‘Hey, just do what you got to do.’ I remember when we were young, he so wanted to appear hard and took to talking street – absolutely ludicrous to anyone from our neighbourhood. But I guess, thinking about what I’ve recently learned of his past, it fits now. He’s earned it. ‘Just come crash at mine for a while and get some sun. You don’t have to decide nothing.’

Oh, but I already have.

samedi, le 25 décembre

Some things never change. A4’s mother will always pay over the odds and roast a turkey, even though no one in the family except A4 eats it. I have a single slice of the breast, but to be honest, I don’t much like it, either. Everyone else has chicken.

A4’s sister-in-law will always scowl at me until I produce my usual gift for her, handmade rum truffles and a mix CD.

A4’s brother will grumble if anyone gives him a combination Christmas and birthday card. His birthday’s on Boxing Day, but don’t you dare buy him a single gift for both occasions.

A4’s auntie will nag us both about why we’re still single, and why don’t we just get back together already?

A4’s mum will drink too much and insist on everyone singing carols, and when they refuse will sulk and take unflattering photos of the family as they pass out on the sofa, one by one.

I wish my family never changed.

dimanche, le 26 décembre

When I get up A4 is in his appointed spot, by the television. News is on, not unusual. What’s strange is his stillness. I look closer. A giant wave, a tsunami, has wiped out most of Southeast Asia.

‘Jesus,’ A4 says. Being of staunchly Catholic stock, it’s odd to hear him utter even this mild blasphemy. ‘You don’t know anyone out there, do you?’

Apart from Susie? No.

lundi, le 27 décembre

Took the early coach back – no trains. Was tempted to fall asleep, but instead watched mist lifting off the fields. Rail lines along the road joined and parted again, malevolent silver, like mercury. The closer we came to London, the more snow was on the ground. And finally in London it turned to oily slush. Winter wonderland. Wondered how long it would be before I saw it again.

Spent the day packing boxes. Or rather, spent the day wondering just how long I can leave it before starting to pack boxes.

‘I’m going to miss the hell out of you,’ N said over late drinks.

‘Same here,’ I said. ‘And how’s it going with you and … ?’

‘Henrietta,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. We’ll see.’

‘Something wrong?’ I asked. I’d been so wrapped up in my own drama I had no idea what was going on with N and his girl.

‘No, not really,’ he said. ‘Just get the feeling she might be bored and preparing to move on.’

‘She’d be a fool,’ I said, putting my hand on his.

‘Well, like I always say, there are two kinds of women in the world, stayers and goers. She’s a goer. If she doesn’t think I’m The One, it’s just a matter of time before she’s out the door, and probably sooner rather than later.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. He shrugged. ‘Which am I, if you don’t mind my asking?’

‘Oh, you’re a stayer,’ he said. ‘But you spend a lot of time trying to convince yourself otherwise.’

mardi, le 28 décembre

It must have been Magnus’s doing. That’s all I can come up with. Either that or he was right – as soon as he left the Boy regretted what happened. He rang to say he was coming to visit, and invited me home with him for New Year.

I checked the Boy’s email. Susie wrote to say she will be coming back to Britain because of the tsunami, and she’ll arrive in London on the 30th. I can see that he replied, and wonder why he decided not to spend the holiday with her instead.

We meet A1 and his wife for dinner. Our respective mates are told to secure a table while A1 and I go to find a cash-point, as the restaurant he chose doesn’t accept cards. The fresh air is crisp and takes my breath.

‘I didn’t expect to see him with you again,’ A1 said as we were walking back.

‘To tell the truth I didn’t expect to be with him again,’ I said. ‘But here we are.’

‘Is it going better this time?’

‘Not really,’ I said. ‘But I’m going to stick with it. Find out for once what lies on the other side of the first crisis. See what all the long-term couples are on about.’

He smiled sadly and patted my shoulder. I remember being at his wedding, and how my heart fell when he said his vows to his wife. I didn’t expect it, didn’t think I’d feel that way on the day, didn’t imagine I’d be stood there wondering what it would be like to be in her shoes. We both know it ended for good reasons: he met me too young. I didn’t know how to hold my temper then. Still don’t, much of the time.

When we got home the Boy seemed a little tired, but I mounted him on the sofa and fucked him hard. I tasted the beer on his breath and myself on his cock. And all I could think the whole time was: Is this better than Susie? Can she make you come like this? I’d never fucked with so much resentment, not even when a prostitute.

Sometimes I wonder if I met everyone in my life in the wrong order.

jeudi, le 30 décembre

The Boy was out in the garden with his brothers and I was inside, on the computer, chatting to A4.

How is it with the family?

Almost bearable. Thank fuck for his little brothers.

Is it a nice house?

As far as these places go. They’ve stuck me not just in another bedroom, but in another wing.

The Boy’s parents had kept his room just as it was when he left for uni, with bunk bed, a stuffed elephant and old water-colours he did at school on the wall. He still received post there, as well. I idly picked up a short cardboard cylinder on the desk and twirled it round.

Anything special planned for new year?

Same as last year, going to P and R’s for drinks.

How many people are they having over?

Not too many, it’s usually about a dozen I think.

The postmark and stamps on the tube were odd, covering half the surface – where on earth had that been posted from? I opened the tube and extracted a rolled piece of card. It was calligraphy of some sort, drawn in wide brushstrokes. The characters were unfamiliar, not Chinese, something else. I looked closely at the smaller writing along the bottom, scratched out in English. The Boy’s name. And Susie’s. And a love heart. My stomach turned.

How about you?

I think we’re going to the fireworks with his brothers and parents. Though considering his dad that implies an all-night brandy-drinking sesh afterward.

I looked again at the postmark. She must have sent this as a Christmas gift, before she knew she was coming back. I rolled the paper and put it back in the tube.

Well, I don’t envy you there.

As well you shouldn’t.

I left the computer and went off to listen to music. Billie Holliday. The down-turning strings, the voice cracking, always just behind the beat. Unbearable, given the circumstances, but somehow nothing else would do.

vendredi, le 31 décembre

The tender could only hold three people at a time, so the Boy rowed his parents out to the boat first, then his brothers, then came back for me. I hadn’t brought wellies so had to borrow an old pair of the youngest brother’s. They were several sizes too large, and damp, to boot – my feet were already freezing and I reckoned the rest of me would join them shortly. But I’d had a few whiskies before we set out and was counting on a kiss at midnight, so it didn’t matter awfully.

In the dark the Boy’s face seemed shockingly young. ‘I’m really looking forward to this,’ he said, but his smile was more of a grimace. ‘I’ve always had such wonderful memories of us sailing this boat together.’

‘I’m surprised you remember,’ I said. He was right; it was a good time then, before I started working with the escort agency and before he started fooling around. For a moment I almost remembered what it felt like, being dizzily infatuated and so happy I thought my face would crack. The first time I met his family his father urged him to marry me. He didn’t – but I sometimes wonder how different the last few years would have been if he had.