by Mandy Baggot
‘Yeah,’ Ray answered. ‘Yeah, I’m here. And I hear you.’
As days went, being torn apart by the British press, finding out you need an operation and now being homeless, it was pretty up there on the shite scale. All it needed to really top it off was a festive Cliff Richard song…
‘Well, you know, no hard of the feelings,’ Gio said, voice slightly less punchy. ‘You have a good Christmas.’
‘Yeah,’ Ray answered with a sigh. ‘You too.’
Seven
Crowland Terrace, Canonbury, Islington
‘Any hobbies, Anthony?’
It was Jonah asking the question because Emily was still sitting in horror-stricken awe that Anthony, who had seen the advert for the spare room while he was delivering bottled water to the hotel Jonah worked at, had eaten almost all of the Tesco Finest Mature Cheddar and Red Onion crisps she’d planned to make last a week. And he also didn’t seem to care that when he talked, he was spattering crumbs over her sofa. Jonah had always been very careful with snacks. Jonah was neat and tidy. Damn Two L’s and his courtship with her friend…
Anthony also looked like he had been dressed head-to-toe by Sports Direct. Not that there was anything wrong with tracksuits and box-fresh Adidas, but the style and the scattergun crisp-eating seemed slightly at odds.
‘Hobbies?’ Anthony queried, as though he didn’t understand the word.
‘Things you do at the weekend?’ Jonah elaborated.
‘I have to tell you what things I like to do at the weekend to get a spot here?’ Anthony asked.
‘No,’ Emily said, leaping up off the sofa and almost knocking over the black and silver Christmas tree Jonah had pitched on the lamp table. It was really very Habitat and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. ‘No, of course you don’t.’ She picked up the bowl of snacks, cradling them protectively like a newborn. ‘I think we’ve asked you lots of questions already.’
‘So, I get the room?’ Anthony asked, all smiles.
‘No,’ Emily said firmly. ‘I mean… we don’t quite know yet.’ She took a breath. ‘We have a couple of other people to see and then there’s the… two months’ rent we will need up front.’ She had said ‘we’ deliberately, even though it was ‘I’. And she had made up that clause on the spot. She knew she couldn’t live with Anthony. Just like she knew she couldn’t live with the first potential lodger to come through the door. He’d been called Lee and he had talked non-stop about London’s Murder Mile walks…
‘Two months up front?’ Anthony and Jonah said this sentence together and then looked at each other like they were twin spirit animals.
‘We have your number,’ Emily said. She had no idea if Jonah had Anthony’s number or not and she didn’t care. ‘So, we will let you know.’ Yes! He was getting to his feet! As soon as he was out of the flat, she was going to get the Hoover out.
‘To be straight up with you I don’t think I can pull together two months’ rent straightaway,’ Anthony said.
‘No, oh, well, that’s a shame. Sorry,’ Emily said, sighing for effect. Jonah was looking pretty cross with her now. Her best friend got to his feet and flashed her a dark look.
‘I’ll show you out,’ Jonah said.
No sooner had Jonah and Anthony left her lovely lounge, Emily was up, going into the cupboard that housed Hoover, ironing board, a small collection of bags for life and the old Christmas decorations right at the back. There was limited storage space in the apartment, but it did help achieve minimalism… except in her bedroom wardrobe. Minimalism no longer had a place there now it was bursting with vintage clothes she hadn’t worn yet. The ones she should wear before she had to sell them to prevent sharing her space with someone like Lee or Anthony.
Plugging the vacuum in, she moved the end over the crisp bits on the floorboards, then, detaching the stick, she set the brush onto the upholstery. The cleaning was lately almost as therapeutic as the compulsive clothes shopping…
A side-eye to the door told Emily that Jonah was back in the room and he was mouthing words she didn’t want to listen to. She did what anyone would do. She pretended she could neither see him nor hear him. She kept on brushing with the hand-held section of the vacuum.
Finally, after at least ten strokes forward and back she could no longer ignore Jonah who had stood directly in front of her and was now flicking off the vacuum switch causing an immediate heavy silence until…
‘Emily, you can’t do that to everyone who comes to view the place.’
‘Do what?’
‘Judge them with higher standards than Judge Rinder!’ Jonah exclaimed. ‘Demand two months’ rent up front! No one normal has that sort of money, especially at this time of year!’
‘Well…’ Emily said, hands still on the Hoover, eyes on half a crisp peeking out from under the sofa. ‘They do if they are serious about finding a nice place to live. Decisions like that should come with saving up and a lot of thought. Before I took on this place I had to save up for ages.’ Even though her parents had offered to buy her a flat for a birthday present. That’s what Alegra and William were like. Happy to throw money around like it was confetti. And accepting anything like that from them would have come with some sort of hidden clause. A monthly dinner maybe or, even worse, a family holiday. So, she had decided to rent, and her agreement allowed her to take in a lodger.
‘Well,’ Jonah said, ‘some people haven’t got the means to save up, have they? I didn’t when I moved in.’ His hands were on his hips now and he was still looking less than pleased with her.
‘I know,’ Emily said, ‘but you’re my best friend. You have years’ worth of credentials on your side. Like… knowing the best chip shops and… all the wi-fi codes for every coffee shop in the borough so you can instantly connect me.’
‘Did you think either of them were attractive though?’ Jonah asked slightly too quietly, like it was a sentence meant to drift into her subconscious.
‘What?’ Emily asked. She lifted her head then and reattached the wand to the Hoover’s motor section with a snap.
‘Anthony and Lee,’ Jonah reminded. ‘Both very good-looking guys in my opinion.’ He sniffed. ‘And I am an aficionado on good-looking guys.’
‘Why would it matter if they were good-look…?’ Then Emily suddenly got it. The next person due to come walking through the door was called Raul. Jonah had said he was twenty-eight, had Portuguese heritage and was currently working the bar at Jonah’s hotel. This wasn’t simply about getting a new person in her spare room, this was also about letting a new person into her knickers. Now she was the one who was mad.
She shook her head at Jonah, gripping the vacuum rod like she wanted it to turn into a jousting lance. ‘I don’t believe it. That’s why you wanted to take down the photos of Simon.’
‘Now, Em, it isn’t quite like that.’
‘Isn’t quite like what?’ Emily snapped, stomping to the cupboard and shoving the vacuum cleaner back in. ‘Isn’t quite like you trying to matchmake me with someone while they move right into my personal space as well?! Cereal packets abutting mine. Mixed washing in the machine. Then what were you hoping for? An adjoining door from my room to the spare? Followed by king-size mattress-dancing?’
‘No,’ Jonah said defiantly. ‘No… not really.’
‘See! I’m right!’ Emily exclaimed, blowing her fringe upwards off her forehead. ‘None of the applicants are female. Why is that?’
Jonah shrugged but he looked deeply sheepish now and Emily knew him inside and out. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? Maybe this had been Jonah’s plan for a long time. Perhaps he and Two L’s had discussed it. Move Jonah out, move a Mr Single in…
‘Pure chance,’ Jonah offered as an explanation. ‘I mean, if none of these guys end up being suitable, although I have high hopes for Raul, I’ll put the advertisement up again and who knows what gender will respond.’
‘You won’t put the advert up again!’ Emily exclaimed, raising her arms in frustration.
‘Because I didn’t want the advert up in the first place. I’m fine! I miss you and your gorgeous cooking and maybe our weekend film marathons, but you’re only a few Tube stops away and… you’ll come over on Christmas, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Jonah said. ‘Yes, of course I will, but that isn’t it, is it?’
Emily sniffed the air. ‘Did you leave the cooker on?’ She took a step towards the kitchen. ‘I think I can smell something burning.’ Jonah took her arm before she could escape the talk she knew was coming.
‘Em, you need to get back out there. You know that, right?’
‘Back out where? To cringy dating scenarios that are more awkward than… wondering if it’s a double kiss greeting or a single kiss greeting at one of my parents’ cocktail parties?’
‘When was the last dating scenario you actually had? Cringy or otherwise?’
She hadn’t had any since she lost Simon. She needed to make one up quickly.
Emily rolled her eyes. ‘This photocopier repair man at school… his name was… Willy…’ Her lips were somehow desperate to form the word ‘Wonka’. ‘Willy Wallace,’ she continued. ‘And he offered to share his cheese and pickle sandwich with me. I mean,’ Emily rolled her eyes again. ‘What a chat-up line.’
‘Em,’ Jonah said, softly. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Well!’ Emily said, folding her arms across her chest.
‘If there had been a photocopier repair man called Willy who offered you his lunch box, you wouldn’t have even noticed the invitation.’ Jonah sighed. ‘You’re not being open to opportunity.’
‘I am,’ Emily said insistently. Why were her eyes tearing up? She focused on the newly acquired Christmas tree, knowing she would be taking it down later and replacing it with the trusty old one. The trusty, old one she had bought with Simon. It was ridiculously hard to put together, with more sections than an Ikea warehouse, but it held memories. Memories of the times they had sipped mulled wine and eaten mince pies while sorting the branches into colour-coded piles. Some years it had been a two-night task.
‘I know it’s really, really hard, but it’s been a year now…’
And it still feels like yesterday. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, one stray tear making its way down her cheek.
‘I know you’re fine. But I want my best friend to be more than fine. I want her to be ready to… scale new heights and achieve all her dreams.’
Jonah drew her into a hug and she breathed in the scent of him. Thai spice and the sculpting clay he used on his hair. Was Jonah right? Was she walking around like she had a ‘do not approach’ sign around her neck? When had she last looked at life with wide, excited eyes and a fire in her belly?
‘Do I have to see Raul?’ Emily muttered into Jonah’s comforting shoulder. Tired, still slightly sweaty from the seemingly out-of-control heating, Emily simply wasn’t ready to face a new beginning tonight.
‘Yes, you have to see Raul, because it’s too late to cancel.’ Jonah held her away from him and wiped the tear from her cheek. ‘But, if he really isn’t suitable, then maybe I’ll rethink this flatmate-matchmake plan.’
‘So, there was a plan!’ Emily exclaimed.
Jonah sighed. ‘It was Allan’s idea… OK, that’s unfair, it was my idea, but he signed off on it. Sorry. We just want you to be happy, Em.’
‘Well,’ Emily said. ‘If you want me to be happy, help me get the old Christmas tree out of the cupboard and tell me you know someone with musical ability who can help me organise the school Christmas show this year.’
‘They put you in charge of the show?’ Jonah put a hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh.
‘Yes,’ Emily answered. ‘And this Christmas it’s not simply singing a few carols and dressing everyone in tea-towels. No,’ she said, ‘this year Susan Clark wants a festive Broadway production with new music John Lewis will commission for next year’s special advert.’
Jonah pointed a finger at her, a wry grin on his face. ‘Opportunity,’ he said. ‘You might not feel it yet but maybe this performance could be a whole kind of life-changing.’
‘Yes,’ Emily agreed with a nod, heading towards the cupboard-of-household again. ‘The kind of life-changing that sees me ejected out of teaching for ever.’ She looked at Jonah, feeling slightly smug. ‘How’s that for positive?’
‘Well,’ Jonah mused. ‘Leaving teaching would please your mum. She would have your head measured for that barrister’s wig before you’d stuck on a Christmas Day paper hat.’
Emily checked her watch. ‘What time was Raul due? I’ll tell him there’s been a mistake. That the spare room is really with two lovely guys just a few Tube stops from here.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘No,’ Emily answered. ‘You’re right. I’d just advertise it in the staff room at school. Dennis has been living with his mother since for ever.’
The doorbell rang and they looked at each other, neither moving to answer it.
‘Shall we pretend we’re out?’ Emily suggested, one eyebrow raised.
‘We can’t,’ Jonah said, heading towards the door. ‘He has the cutest puppy dog eyes. Any letting down will have to be done extremely gently… by me.’
Eight
New North Road, N1
Ray had had two choices after the third pint with no home to go to. He either phoned Deborah, agreed to do Loose Women and asked for a bed for the night. Or he phoned his dad. Neither of those choices immediately appealed so he hadn’t called anyone. And he’d made no decision about anything at all until after the fourth pint. Then he had got on a Tube and ended up here, New North Road, looking up at the high-rise block of flats he had spent his childhood in. It looked no different to how it had looked back then. It was still an ugly Kit-Kat of a building. Two fingers of towers with a slightly sunken inset section in the middle. When he was younger Ray and his friends had all joked the location looked like the worst of settings for re-enactments on Crimewatch, but then there were three muggings and a stabbing within two weeks, and no one laughed anymore. The community had rallied though. Instead of closing their doors and hiding away from it, the residents had set up a neighbourhood watch scheme and invited the police to meetings to share information, together hoping to help combat the drug and gang culture that threatened to swallow up their desperate youth.
So, here he was, back, looking for a roof over his head, when he had spent most of his life trying to escape the place. It was the fullest of circles. Ten floors up, his dad, Len, was still in the same council flat he’d been living in for the past thirty-plus years probably still smoking his way to lung cancer. Hands in the pockets of his dark three-quarter-length coat, Ray took a long slow breath of the freezing cold night like it was the last chest full of fresh air he was going to get, then he headed for the lobby and the urine-impregnated bank of lifts.
It was a bed for one night. He could make amends for one night. He couldn’t even remember what he and his dad had argued about in the first place. He just knew that in six months neither of them had been man enough to pick up the phone and make the first move towards reconciliation… or simply agree to forget whatever-it-was that had riled them up in the first place.
Getting out of the elevator, Ray walked from the lobby and onto an external corridor until he was standing outside number 1021. The shiny, gold, numbers were bright on the centre of a newly painted green door. Gone was the old, seventies-style, cheap door sticker number. Was the brightening up his dad’s doing? Or was this the council spending some of their budget on making the building look less war zone and more up-and-coming?
Ray raised a hand to knock, then hesitated. There seemed to be a doorbell now. There hadn’t been a doorbell the last time he was here. He pressed the button and, through the door, even he could hear the chimes of ‘Jingle Bells’ announcing his arrival. His dad not only had a doorbell, it was a doorbell you could apparently program with festive tunes…
As that thought went through his mind, the door was heaved
open and a woman in her fifties greeted him. Big hair the colour of Guinness – dark curls, creamy on top – huge gold earrings in her ears and a purple sequinned dress over the rest of her.
‘Deliveroo?’ the woman asked, looking Ray up and down.
‘Who?’
‘Where’s the kebabs?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ray answered as the woman stepped out of the flat and began turning a circle around him as if she was looking to find an insulated bag about his person. She was so close, her expression accusing. He took a step back away from her. ‘I’m not delivering food, I…’
The woman beat a hasty retreat back inside the house and folded her arms across her chest, about to draw the door closed. ‘If you’re gonna pretend to read the gas meter before rooting through our stuff for our life savings, I can save you the bother. We ain’t got nothing!’
She was making to shut the door. She hadn’t recognised him. He didn’t even know who she was. Had his dad moved? Not told him he’d moved? Were things that bad between them?
‘Brenda, is it the kebabs or not? You’re letting the cold in and I didn’t turn this new fire on for nothing, did I?’
His dad’s voice. He was still here. So, who was this woman, Brenda? He needed to find his voice.
‘I’m Ray,’ he said quickly, before the door could move another inch. ‘Ray Stone.’ There was not a flicker of recognition in this woman’s eyes. Was she a home help? Had his dad’s health deteriorated? No, a home help wouldn’t be organising the delivery of kebabs, would she? Or wearing sequins… ‘I’m Len’s son.’
That seemed to hit the spot. The door stopped creeping to a close and, such was the cold, Ray really did long to be invited in for some of whatever this new fire had to offer. He shivered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.
Then, suddenly, he was sucked into Brenda’s bosom, the purple sequins of her dress crinkling against this coat, her hair getting in his mouth.
‘Why didn’t you say so? I should have recognised you! You’ve grown a beard. You didn’t have a beard on those photos they were putting up with Piers Morgan this morning. Ooh, it’s so good to finally meet you. I kept saying to Len we should have you round. See what we’ve done to the place. I’ve got one of your CDs somewhere. Would you sign it for me?’
