As Brian hammered down the hardboard on the floor, he glanced at Eva unpacking all the kitchen stuff she’d bought and thought how much better she looked compared with the first time he had called here. Phil hadn’t revealed anything much about her – just that the house was a tip, and she needed help.
Brian had more than enough work lined up to do already, but he knew Phil wouldn’t have asked him if he hadn’t been worried about the girl. As soon as he got here he saw right away why his friend was concerned. It wasn’t just that the house was such a mess. It was her: she looked forlorn and scared, only one step away from tears, yet she was desperately trying to act confident.
If it had been anyone else living in that area, he would have charged a couple of thousand at least. But faced with someone who looked like the world was against her, it was all he could do not to give her a hug, and offer to do the kitchen for free.
It turned out to be a pleasure, because she was a little sweetheart. She made him tea, offered her help, and showed so much gratitude and admiration for his work. Then when he got her story out of her, he understood why she’d looked so forlorn. She might have been left a property valuable enough to set her up for life if she used her head, but losing her mother, and then her stepfather turning on her, was enough to crack even the toughest person. And she could easily fall prey to some unscrupulous bastard who would rip her off.
Brian really hoped she and Phil would become an item, because it was obvious they were ideal for one another. But Phil was as bad as Eva; he’d been hurt badly and he was afraid to trust again.
The two of them needed their heads knocking together or they might spend an eternity pussyfooting around, both too scared to make the first move.
By two in the afternoon both men had finished their jobs, and they went out into the garden with a beer.
‘You’ve turned this into a real beauty spot,’ Brian said appreciatively, noting she’d scrubbed the paving stones and planted flowers in every available bit of soil and still more in tubs. It had looked as forlorn as she did the first time he’d seen it, but the warm weather had made everything grow. She’d dug out all the dead plants, trimmed back the straggling climbers, and there wasn’t a weed in sight now.
‘Did you leave anything for anyone else at the garden centre?’ Phil joked, looking at a couple of large empty pots, sacks of compost and trays of still more bedding plants waiting to be planted.
‘Don’t you scoff, she’s a good little homemaker,’ Brian said. ‘You mark my words, by the time she throws a housewarming party the whole place will be like a palace.’
Eva glowed at the praise. ‘I will have one, and you must bring Julie so she can see how lovely the kitchen is. I’ll pin the pictures up of when it was a hovel. And then you, Phil and John can all bask in everyone’s admiration.’
‘Once John’s done the windows you ought to get the heating and the bathroom done,’ Phil said. ‘I’ve got some numbers for you to ring, Eva. I don’t want you getting any cowboys in.’
‘If you get the lino tiles for the kitchen, I’ll come back and put those down for you,’ Brian said. ‘And if you want a fitted wardrobe upstairs, just shout.’
‘I will,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘I might need more lessons in DIY too.’
He jotted down something on a scrap of paper and handed it to her. ‘That’s how many lino tiles you’ll need, and my phone number so you can ring me.’ He got up and clamped his hand on her shoulder. ‘I must go now. It’s been a pleasure doing your kitchen, and you keep in touch now.’
Eva went into the house with him to get the money she owed him. He looked as if he didn’t want to take it, but she pressed it into his hand and kissed his cheek.
‘I’m going to miss you,’ she said. ‘Your Julie is a lucky lady.’
He looked faintly embarrassed. ‘And you are a lovely girl,’ he said. ‘Now if you’re worried about anything, or want to know something, just call me.’
It was a beautiful evening as Eva and Phil walked through Holland Park to the restaurant. She hadn’t realized that the tube took its name from this park. In fact it was more of a wood, really – some of the trees must have been planted a couple of hundred years ago.
‘I love this park best in May when the leaves are all vivid and new, and the bluebells are out,’ Phil said thoughtfully. ‘Mum used to bring me and my brother here for picnics sometimes. She liked to look at the posh houses in the streets around here, and me and Lee liked to climb the trees.’
‘I wonder if this is where my mum painted that bluebell picture?’ Eva said. ‘She loved them but said that they were a pest in the garden. I love them too, but maybe I should heed her advice and not plant any.’
‘You ought to become a gardener,’ he said. ‘You’ve got a real flair for it.’
‘I don’t know nearly enough,’ she replied. ‘But I know I ought to think about getting a real career – working part time in a bistro is hardly that.’
‘So what would you like to do? I mean, if you could choose anything?’
Eva thought for a moment. ‘I’d like to train to be an interior designer. I’ve been into that posh shop in Notting Hill twice, and I’ve watched the woman in there making up a board with paint colours, swatches of curtain materials and stuff. I think I could do that. Well, maybe with the right training.’
‘Could you go to a college for that?’ he asked.
‘There was a place in Cheltenham that did courses. So there must be dozens in London. I can sew too, so I could make curtains and cushions. I made the ones in both Sophie’s and my own bedroom at home. But I expect it costs a lot for a course – it’s always those glossy, far-back sort of women that do it.’
‘You could make inquiries,’ he said. ‘Maybe even get yourself taken on in a shop like the one in Notting Hill. I’ve been working in some of these big houses where interior designers come in and throw their weight around about colour schemes. They’ve always struck me as just chancers, anyone with an eye for colour and a big budget could do it.’
‘Both you and Brian are doing a fine job on building up my confidence.’ She laughed. ‘A few weeks ago I knew absolutely nothing about plumbing, plastering … or anything, really. I’ve learned such a lot watching you two. And John too.’
‘Now, tell me about the stuff in the attic boxes,’ he said. ‘Was there anything in there worth anything to you?’
Chapter Eleven
It was almost eleven. Eva’s feet were aching, and as she watched the last remaining table of six chatting and laughing she wished they would pay their bill and leave so she could go home.
She had started to do a Friday evening shift, along with lunchtimes at the bistro, the week following her meal with Phil in Kensington. Soon she was doing Thursdays as well, and now it was Saturdays too.
At first she had been glad of the extra work; she got far bigger tips on evening shifts, the time flew by because the bistro was so busy, and she was getting to know people in the neighbourhood. But what she really wanted was time to have some fun, which seemed to be evading her.
It was the end of July, and if she was going to throw a party before the end of the summer, she needed carpets down and some furniture. Not that she had any real friends aside from Brian, John and Phil to invite to a party. But she had thought she could invite a few of the staff here, and some of the more friendly customers, and that way she’d get to know them better.
She needed something to aim for; it seemed to her that all she did was work and sleep. There was no time to laze in the garden with a book, to explore London, or even to go and buy some new clothes to put in the lovely fitted wardrobe that Brian had built in the big bedroom.
She had bought a single bed when the inflatable mattress punctured, and a chest of drawers. A couple of stools for the breakfast bar meant she could at least sit down to eat. But she couldn’t order carpets until the decorating was done, and there was no point in buying a sofa before the carpets.
Eva was afraid
she’d hurt Phil’s feelings too. First, by never being free on Friday and Saturday nights. And then he’d offered to get a couple of his friends in to paint the house throughout, but she’d snapped at him and said she wanted to do it herself.
She really did want to do it herself – that wasn’t an excuse to stop him coming round. But she was a little anxious about how he felt about her. He hadn’t so much as kissed her yet – well, apart from on the cheek. Yet he had a way of looking at her sometimes, as if he was willing her to make a move on him. Maybe she should; after all, she did fancy him. But she was too afraid of getting hurt again, and that stopped her.
Eva had rung Olive a few days earlier when the phone was finally installed. Her excuse was to give Olive the new telephone number, but in reality she wanted the older woman’s advice about Phil. They chatted for a while, and Eva told her how the house was progressing. The new bathroom and central heating had just been completed, and she’d got a low-interest home improvement loan to pay for it.
Olive had lost none of her directness and went straight for the jugular, asking if ‘Prince Plasterer’ was still around. Eva admitted her quandary.
‘Don’t be so daft, girl,’ Olive said. ‘Get a bit tiddly, give him a kiss and if he doesn’t respond, apologize and tell him it was just the drink.’
‘But what if –’ Eva began.
Olive cut her short. ‘What if the Moon collides with Earth tomorrow, or the Russians fire a nuclear bomb? Don’t waste time on “what ifs”, life is too short for that. It’s obvious he fancies you madly or he wouldn’t do all this stuff for you. Jump in with both feet, girl.’
Eva had been amused and tempted by Olive’s advice, and thought she might try it next time Phil came round. If he came round again. Maybe she’d put him off for good?
As she polished glasses and replaced them behind the bar she watched the remaining customers enviously. The men were suave and confident and the three women with them were like so many of the women around here – wearing chic clothes, with perfect hair and make-up. They had an aura about them, as if they’d never had a moment of panic that they weren’t pretty or clever enough.
She wondered what it was that gave some people that self-assurance, and why she, who had grown up with so many advantages, didn’t have it.
At last the group got up to leave. The three women and one of the men went outside, and the oldest of the three men came forward to pay. But the third man stood just behind him, smiling at Eva.
She smiled back. He was in his late twenties, about five foot ten, very good-looking with bright blue eyes and impossibly long dark eyelashes. She’d seen him in the bistro once before, having a business lunch with some older men.
‘Eva, isn’t it?’ he said as his friend put his wallet away and turned towards the door to leave. ‘I heard someone call you that. It’s a pretty name.’
‘Well, thank you,’ she replied, blushing because he was looking at her so intently.
‘It suits you. I bet you’ve been dying for us to leave?’
She laughed. ‘Sort of … my feet are aching. I hope you enjoyed your meal.’
‘I enjoyed looking at you more,’ he said.
‘Are you coming, Myles?’ his older friend asked, holding the door open and looking back. ‘The girls are waiting.’
Myles reached out, took her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘Can I see you tomorrow?’ he asked.
The suddenness of this completely threw Eva. ‘I can’t,’ she said instinctively.
‘You aren’t working here, it’s closed on Sundays.’
‘I’ve got stuff to do,’ she said. ‘And your friends are waiting for you.’
‘I’ll come round, anyway,’ he threw over his shoulder as he walked towards the door. ‘Pottery Lane, isn’t it?’
She didn’t get a chance to ask how he knew that, because the door closed behind him. When she looked out of the window he had his arm around one of the women and they were walking towards Holland Park Avenue.
Eva locked the door, turned the sign round to closed, cleared the table and carried the glasses and coffee cups through to the kitchen where Antonio, the owner, was cleaning the preparation surfaces.
Antonio was only half Italian and had been brought up in England, but he put on an Italian accent for the customers. He’d told Eva in confidence that his real name was Roger. She liked him; he was short, fat, with a sallow complexion and bad teeth, but he was funny, generous and kind-hearted, and he was a fantastic chef.
‘Do you know a customer called Myles?’ she asked. ‘He was in that last group to leave.’
‘Good-looking bastard?’ he said.
‘Well, yes. He asked to see me tomorrow.’
‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ he said, as he rinsed out the cleaning cloth and hung it over a rail to dry. ‘You are a pretty girl. Shows he’s got good taste.’
‘But isn’t it a bit weird to ask that when you are already with someone? She was just outside.’
‘Well, he’s the playboy type – every time he comes in here he’s with a different woman. I thought I might ask him for lessons.’
Eva laughed. ‘I’ll be off now then. See you on Monday lunchtime.’
As Eva passed by The Prince of Wales the last drunken stragglers were coming out, and one called out to her.
She gave him a wide berth and hurried home, her mind on Myles. He had made her feel fluttery inside, but it wasn’t a good feeling – it was troubling. Except in films, good-looking men like him did not go for a very ordinary-looking waitress wearing a green apron. Not when they were already in the company of a glossy, expensively dressed model-type woman. Why had he done it? Was it a wind-up?
Once home she made herself a cup of tea, put a cardigan around her shoulders and went out into the garden. She loved sitting outside on warm nights in the darkness. The white daisies and petunias in the tubs were almost luminous. The honeysuckle on the fence smelled beautiful, and above her the inky black sky was sprinkled with stars. Sometimes her neighbours, the unpleasant Mr Francis and his wife, were out in their garden. They had lights and a barbecue, and they drank a great deal, often speaking so loudly that Eva winced. It amused Eva to know they had no idea she was out here, listening to him running down his work colleagues or arguing about how much his wife had spent on clothes. Sometimes she was tempted to jot down what they’d been saying, and then stick the note through their letter box to shame them into silence in future.
But she had it all to herself tonight; there were no lights either side, and it was very quiet.
She thought about Myles again and decided he was one of those men who just couldn’t resist trying to pull a girl, just to prove himself. He probably lived close by and had seen her come out of the house at some time, and that was how he knew which road she lived in. He wouldn’t turn up tomorrow; he and his friends had drunk so much wine he probably wouldn’t even remember he’d spoken to her.
That was almost the story of her life. She just wasn’t memorable to anyone. She guessed that if any of the customers who’d been in tonight were asked to describe their waitress, none of them would be able to. Was that how it was always going to be? Was she the reliable, hard-working girl who would never be remarkable in any way?
Until tonight she had thought what she’d achieved since moving to London was remarkable. The house was sorted, she’d got a job, she knew her way around now, and she could laugh at the state she’d got into over Tod. Yet she could also see she hadn’t really moved forward at all: she’d made no girlfriends, and she knew no one to have a drink with or take shopping. She hadn’t tried to find Patrick O’Donnell yet, and she hadn’t gone right through her mother’s diaries either.
At the bistro she saw so many girls of her own age having lunch or coffee. From overheard conversations she knew they were really living, taking full advantage of everything London had to offer, going to parties, clubs, cinemas and concerts, buying new clothes, going out with men. But
she was just marking time, and feeling lonely for most of it.
What did she have to do to become like those other girls? Should she hurry up and get all the rooms decorated and furnished, and then find someone to share the house? Or find a new job where she’d meet interesting, friendly people and be on the same level as them?
These thoughts made her feel unbearably sad. She seemed to have spent her whole life being on the outside, looking in.
‘You’re just tired,’ she murmured to herself as she got up to go in. She locked the door and went upstairs to bed. But even as she got ready for bed, she couldn’t help but think longingly of her job back in Cheltenham where there was always someone to have a chat to and have a laugh with.
The next morning she got up early. The sadness she’d felt the night before had vanished, because it was another lovely day. She made herself a cup of tea, then put on some old shorts and a T-shirt to finish painting the big bedroom. She’d already finished the ceiling and two white walls; all that was left was the wall where she intended to put the bed. That was going to be turquoise, and she’d already bought curtain material for the two windows – a white background with a dainty turquoise motif.
The sun coming in through the bedroom windows made her feel good as she painted with a roller. She thought she would have a bash at putting up the curtain poles later and make the curtains tonight.
When she’d finished the first coat, she went downstairs to get some breakfast.
By the time she got back to the bedroom, ready to start on the second coat, Sunday Love Songs was on the radio. She was singing along with Whitney Houston’s ‘One Moment In Time’ when there was a loud knock on the front door.
She thought it might be Phil. She hoped it was, because she had missed him and wanted to apologize for snapping at him about the decorating.
But when she opened the front door and saw it was Myles she was thrown into confusion, because she hadn’t for one moment thought he’d turn up. He was grinning at her, waving a bottle of sparkling wine, and he was dressed in a pale pink polo shirt and jeans.
Forgive Me Page 17
