Lucy in the Sky

by Paige Toon

  ‘Nah. Let’s just try to score another plate of these mini pizza thingies,’ Chloe replies, turning to work her charms on the barman.

  By the time we arrive at Gianluca’s bar–named simply Eliza, after his wife–we’re both feeling decidedly tipsy. We’re ushered through the main room to the VIP area, which is dark and sumptuous, with low-level lighting and a dark grey and silver bar. We spot Gianluca immediately, over in a black velvet booth, surrounded by stunning women. One petite dark-haired girl in a slinky dress drapes her leg seductively over his thigh. Eliza is nowhere to be seen.

  ‘What shall we do?’ Chloe whispers. ‘Should we go over and introduce ourselves?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I pull a face. Eventually we head to the bar and ‘due vodka sour alla maracuja’ trips off my tongue.

  The barman gets to work–another olive-skinned Italian. He leans in close as he pours the drink, dark eyes looking deep into Chloe’s green ones. The light in here is dim but I can still see her blushing.

  ‘Scusi,’ I interrupt, and he turns his hot-blooded attention to me.

  ‘Si,’ he drawls sexily.

  That’s where my Italian ends.

  ‘We’re here to see Gianluca,’ I tell him.

  ‘You’re not the only ones,’ he replies in heavily-accented English, nodding over to Gianluca and his gaggle of girls.

  ‘Yeah.’ I manage to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. ‘But we’re here for a business meeting.’

  ‘Aah. Mandy…’

  ‘…Nim PR,’ I finish off helpfully.

  He nods, coming out from behind the bar. ‘Gian!’ he calls. They speak in Italian briefly while Gianluca looks over to us. He pats the woman’s leg abruptly and she sulkily disengages herself and moves away. I assume he’s going to get up and come over, but instead he rubs his hand on the recently vacated black velvet seat.

  ‘Ragazze! Girls!’ he cries. ‘Come and join me!’ The other women are forced to make room for us as we take our place on either side of him. He pours us champagne.

  He is devastatingly good-looking, I think, as he ogles my breasts. Shame he’s such a smarmy bastard.

  ‘So, signorine,’ he says, reluctantly tearing his black-coffee-coloured eyes away from my cleavage. ‘How do you like my bar?’

  ‘It’s very nice,’ I answer, and he smiles smugly and nods his head. ‘It would be good to see the rest of it…’ I add.

  ‘Certo. Of course.’

  We follow him as he takes us through the VIP area, back into the main bar. Trendy party-goers make a concerted effort to act normal. Gianluca seems oblivious to all the attention, but he’s no doubt lapping it up. The bar is dark out here too. It would be nice to see some colour.

  Back in the VIP room, Gian, as he insists on being called, keeps topping up our glasses with champagne. I’m slowing down now but Chloe is a couple of glasses ahead. I hope she knows what she’s doing.

  ‘So,’ Gian says as he turns to me, ‘do you have a boyfriend?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Peccato!’ he exclaims in disappointment, before turning to Chloe. ‘And you? Do you have a boyfriend?’

  ‘No,’ she replies uncertainly.

  ‘Eccellente…’ He tops up her glass a little more.

  ‘Er, where’s your wife?’ I ask him.

  ‘Oh, she cannot come out tonight.’ He dismissively waves his hand.

  What the hell are we doing here? I find myself thinking. I’m not really complaining, because this has been a fun trip so far and this randy bugger is paying for it, but don’t we have to do any work?

  ‘So, what do you want from us? Mandy Nim PR,’ I clarify quickly.

  ‘I want a big party. Lots of celebrities.’

  ‘Have you decided on a name for the bar yet?’ I’ve heard ‘Luigi’s’ and ‘Milano’ flagged up. I really hope they don’t choose either–they sound like dodgy Italian restaurants to me and I’ve said as much to Mandy.

  ‘No, no. But let’s not talk about work. Let’s drink!’ Gian turns his attention back to Chloe and I wonder how we can get out of this. I wonder if she even wants to get out of this.

  My phone beeps to announce a text message. It’s from James:

  IS HE BEHAVING?

  I smile, then type back:

  WITH ME BUT NOT CHLOE

  WANT ME 2 COME SORT HIM OUT?

  I snigger and Gian glances over at me. Chloe catches my eye, looking a tad panicked. That’s all the incentive I need. I determinedly flip my phone shut and stand up.

  ‘I’m ever so sorry, Mr Luigi, but we have to leave now.’

  ‘Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no!’ he says, taking Chloe’s hand. She gently but firmly extricates herself. He stands up, looking heartbroken. ‘Well, if you must,’ he says, leaning in and kissing me slowly on both cheeks before turning and doing the same to Chloe.

  ‘He slipped me his card, the dirty bastard,’ she exclaims as soon as we’re outside.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I say. ‘His poor wife.’

  ‘I don’t like her very much anyway,’ Chloe answers. ‘She pouts at the paps like a pro one minute and disses them the next. But he was a tosser. They’re well suited!’

  We giggle all the way back to the hotel.

  ‘I can’t believe he came on to you!’ Gemma gasps in the office the following Monday.

  ‘He was a wanker, Gemma, you didn’t miss much,’ Chloe says.

  ‘But I can’t believe I didn’t go,’ she moans.

  It is a shame. I’ve definitely bonded with Chloe now and it would have been fun to get to know Gemma better too. I wonder how she would have reacted to Gian’s sleazy affections.

  Mandy rolls her eyes when we tell her about the trip but she isn’t too bothered, because at least we haven’t wasted company time. Now it’s full steam ahead with the party. After several PR lunches and dozens more bottles of champagne, I’ve lined up the Beckhams, Elton and David and a few other biggies who should guarantee us the gossip columns the following day. Provided they turn up, of course. They all purport to be friends with Gian and Eliza but you never can tell. It’s a fickle business.

  That week at work one of my friends from university texts me. I made two good friends while I was there, but I haven’t seen either of them since last November. Karen lives in Charlton, south London, and Reena lives west, in Fulham. We used to catch up much more regularly but as we’re so busy with work and boyfriends, we’ve all just let it slip. It’s quite hard to get the three of us together nowadays.

  Anyway, Reena and Karen have booked tickets to see the West End production of The Sound of Music on a Saturday at the end of May. They have a ticket for me on the off chance I can go. I tell James.

  ‘Oh, we’ve been invited down to Henley that weekend,’ is his response.

  ‘What do you mean? Since when? Who with?’

  ‘Edward and Susannah. Edward’s parents have a house on the river and they’re abroad. He asked me at work this afternoon. I said we’d go.’

  Edward is James’s colleague and he’s pretty full of himself. I don’t particularly like him and I barely know his wife, Susannah.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing Reena and Karen. I haven’t seen them for months.’

  ‘They don’t want me to go, do they?’ he asks.

  ‘No, I think it’s more of a girl thing.’

  ‘Thank God for that. I’ll go to Henley alone, then.’

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ I ask. He’s been in a bad mood all week.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with me,’ he retorts.

  ‘Why don’t you talk to me about it?’

  ‘Because there’s nothing to talk about.’ Then his voice softens. ‘It’s nothing. I’m sorry, I’m just having a shit week at work and my dad is still going on about this criminal law training and all this other crap.’

  ‘You’ve got to tell him no!’ I insist.

  ‘It’s not that easy. You know my dad, for fuck’s sake, when have you ever heard anyone tell him no?’ James si
ghs and turns back to the telly. ‘Sorry, I just want to switch off, if that’s okay.’

  I leave him to it, going back through to the bedroom. It’s at times like this I crave listening to Nathan’s tape. I’ve taken it out a few times in the last six or seven weeks, just to look at his messy handwriting. I’ve resisted listening to it, but every time one of his songs comes on the radio or on the TV, I retreat into myself. I can’t help it.

  One Friday evening in mid May, on my way back in from work, I empty our post box in the communal hallway and recognise Molly’s curvy handwriting on a package. James isn’t back yet when I get upstairs and I’m grateful for the peace and quiet while I see what Molly’s sent me. I rip open the envelope and pull out some photographs, along with a letter. They’re wedding pictures.

  The first is of Molly, Andie and me standing under the big gum tree in our white and silver dresses. The next one is of Sam and Molly, clinking champagne glasses with a view of the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge behind them. They’re laughing as they look at each other. The third and final picture is one of the wedding party: Molly, Sam, Andie, Nathan and me. I sink down onto the sofa.

  He looks gorgeous, dark hair falling messily, just below his chin. He hasn’t loosened his tie yet in this picture. I peer closely at it. At him. At last I have a picture of Nathan–something to have and to hold. I look down at his image and feel a dull ache inside. I miss him so much.

  I pick up Molly’s letter and begin to read.

  Hi you!

  I thought you might appreciate some wedding pics. Sorry it’s taken so long; I just haven’t been able to get my arse into gear since the honeymoon.

  I am LOVING being married! It’s strange–it’s the same as it always was but subtly different. We know we’re in this together now, for life. It does change things a little. Sorry if that sounds a bit pretentious, but it’s weird.

  Sam’s work is going well…

  I scan the letter, looking for Nathan’s name. Ah, there it is.

  Nathan and Amy have well and truly called it quits…

  What?

  She was putting pressure on him and he was having none of it so he had to move out. It was all a bit of a drama, actually. He came and stayed with us for a while but she kept calling, day and night, and turning up on the doorstep unannounced. Eventually she realised she had to let him go. After all this, we’re not so sure she was right for him anyway. You know what Nathan’s like. Doesn’t want to make a fuss of things. Now he’s put an offer in on a run-down little place a few minutes from the beach. We remortgaged the house to help him with his deposit, but the B&B business has been doing brilliantly so it’s all good. Anyway it was about time he saw some of his parents’ inheritance. Sam’s just thrilled he’s using it wisely. The place he’s bought is in a bit of a state but he reckons he can do it up on the weekends. Oh, because that’s the other thing–he’s even got himself a full-time job on a building site!

  I put the letter down. Stunned is not the word. I read the rest of it but that’s pretty much the gist of it. Nathan gets a big chunk so Molly really must be consumed by what’s going on with him.

  He’s got a job? Set Amy straight? Bought himself a place of his own? Surely that’s too much of a coincidence after all this time. Does it have anything to do with me, I wonder meekly. On the one hand I can’t believe it would but, on the other, it is possible. I suddenly have an urgent desire to call Molly and talk to her about it. Not about my feelings for Nathan; I just want her to take me through her letter. I calculate the time. Now the clocks have gone forward that makes it a nine-hour time difference. Which means…five o’clock in the morning. Bugger.

  My phone beeps. It’s a text from James:

  GOING FOR A FEW. BACK SOON XX

  Great. There go our dinner plans. He was going to take me out this evening. But actually, right now, I need some time alone. I turn my attention back to the photos.

  Nathan. He appears overpoweringly familiar. I wonder if he ever thinks of me. He must do. Surely he must do.

  I go into the bedroom and get his cassette player out from the back of the cupboard, putting the headphones in my ears. The Killers’ ‘When We Were Young’ comes hammering out. A lump forms in my throat as I read Molly’s letter again.

  At about midnight I get another text from James. He’s sent me a couple during the evening, keeping me posted. This one says:

  CARSHING AT JEZZAS

  I assume he means ‘crashing’. And I assume he means ‘Jeremy’s’–a twatty mate of his from work. I also assume he’s drunk. He never calls Jeremy ‘Jezza’ unless he’s out of his face. Fabulous.

  Funnily enough, though, I’m not particularly bothered. I take the cassette player, photos and letter with me to bed and lie there listening and reliving the time I spent with that sexy surfer. If James were to come home and find me here, he’d want to know about my cassette player. But I’m listening to it, no matter what the consequences are. I can finally see Nathan clearly again.

  Chapter 15

  I wake up early. It’s 6.45 in the morning. Still no James. The photos, letter and cassette player are next to me on the bedside table and I reach over for the photos. I study the picture with Nathan in it and feel jittery again.

  I can’t stop wondering what would have happened if I’d kissed him. If he’d stayed with me that night, my last night in Sydney. What would have become of us? And of James and me?

  After a while I go and take a shower. Back in the bedroom, in the cold light of day, I know I should put the cassette player away, but I’m keeping the photos out. When will James come home? It’s weird that he stayed at Jeremy’s last night; he’d usually just catch a taxi. Maybe he couldn’t find one at that time. A few doubts niggle at me, but I just have to look over at Molly’s letter and it somehow settles me. I’ll call her now. It’s 5 p.m. on Saturday there so she might be at work but it’s worth a go. I head through to the living room and pick up the phone, taking it to the sofa. I know her number by heart, even though I hardly call it. But as I’m about to dial, it starts to ring, painfully loud, in my hand.

  ‘Hello?’ I ask hesitantly, wondering if it’s her. Or James?

  A deep voice answers me: ‘How do you stop a herd of elephants from charging?’ My heart fills with joy as it continues, ‘Take away their credit cards.’

  I’m so delighted I squeal with laughter.

  ‘How are you?’ I ask, when I calm down.

  ‘Not bad, thanks.’ Nathan chuckles. ‘How about you?’

  ‘It’s so good to hear your voice!’

  ‘Aah,’ he says gently. Neither of us speaks for a few seconds.

  ‘I got a letter from Molly last night, telling me how you’re doing,’ I say.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, I know all about your house and the job. And Amy…’

  ‘Yeah, that was a tough one.’ He pauses, and I wait for him to go on. ‘But she’s alright now.’

  ‘Is she?’ I ask hopefully. I want her to be alright. Just not alright with him.

  ‘Yeah, she’s doing fine. Got herself a job in her dad’s office.’

  ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘She’ll be climbing up the ranks in no time.’

  ‘Yep, she probably will.’ I know he’s smiling.

  ‘But what about you? Tell me about your house!’

  ‘Well, it’s got four walls, a roof…’

  ‘Oi! Stop joking. Are you doing it up, then?’

  So he fills me in on his work on the house, how much he’s enjoying stripping it back to its bones and fixing it back up again. From the sounds of it he’ll probably have it finished in a few weeks.

  ‘And then what will you do?’ I ask.

  ‘Then I plan to put it on the market. Get started on the next one.’

  ‘Wow.’ I’m so impressed I can barely speak.

  ‘So what’s happening in your life?’ he asks.

  I tell him about my work and have him laughing at the Gian Luigi story.

  ‘Wh
at about your boyfriend?’ he asks when I’ve finished.

  ‘Oh, he’s okay,’ I say. ‘He stayed over at a mate’s last night actually, so I’m here alone.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Does he often do that?’ I know what he’s thinking.

  ‘No, not really.’ I smile. ‘But anyway let’s not talk about him. I want to hear more about you. Have you really got a job?’

  Twenty-five minutes later I’ve heard all about the boutique hotel he’s helping to build on the waterfront and he’s assured me I’m right to palm off Susannah and Edward in Henley and go to the theatre instead with my friends. I’d been feeling bad about it.

  ‘Why would you want to spend a weekend with people you hardly know or like when you could be catching up with mates you haven’t seen in ages?’

  ‘Such a wise head for such young shoulders.’

  ‘Stop taking the mick.’ He laughs, and I think: I wasn’t actually. But he speaks again. ‘Want to hear a joke?’

  ‘Have you got one?’

  ‘Yep, the Sound of Music debate reminded me. Two nuns are driving their car through Transylvania when suddenly Count Dracula lands on the bonnet, snarling at them through the windscreen. “Quick, show him your cross!” screams one of the nuns. The second nun leans out of the window and yells, “Oi! Get off the fucking car!’”

  I’m still giggling when James’s key turns in the lock and he comes in, looking bedraggled.

  ‘It’s been so good to talk to you,’ I say warmly, wrapping up our conversation as James takes off his coat. I don’t want to tell Nathan that James is back. I’d rather not plant the thought of my boyfriend back in his mind.

  ‘You too,’ Nathan says.

  James is looking a little surprised. I suspect he was anticipating a shed-load of grief from me for coming in at this hour, but after my conversation with Nathan, I don’t really give a toss.