Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
‘And don’t tell me it was nothing to do with you,’ she goes on, actually wagging a finger in my face, ‘because they saw you coming in here after … well, whatever street-brawl you were participating in.’
‘OK, first off, it wasn’t a street brawl,’ I say, evenly. ‘It was a … misunderstanding. And honestly, there wasn’t any fighting. There might have been one judo move – well, actually, Krav Maga – but it was all very swift and very silent. As I think Krav Maga is meant to be.’
‘Libby—’
‘And as for the vomit,’ I say, ‘I’m really, really sorry about that. I’m about to wash it away, but I’ll certainly pop next door and apologize to the Willington-Joneses.’
‘Too little, too late,’ she says, sweeping through the front door without asking if it’s OK to go in. ‘Tino needs water,’ she adds. ‘Can you go up and get some?’
‘Of course …’ I hurry the two floors up to the kitchen for the water, and then back down again. When I get back to the ground floor, Elvira has made herself comfortable at my trestle table, while Tino snuffles around, getting his nose into my piles of packaging supplies and starting to play, with numerous yappy barks, with a pile of my brand-new and very expensive eau-de-nil-coloured tissue paper. ‘Here’s his water!’
‘Water, Tino, darling,’ Elvira says, but – having sent me all the way up to get it – she doesn’t seem all that interested in Tino actually getting his required daily amount of hydration. She is, I think, much more keen on accomplishing her true purpose here this morning: to give me a proper bollocking. ‘I don’t really know where to begin, Libby,’ she goes on. ‘Street fights, vomiting in the gutter … I mean, I know you’re not accustomed to living anywhere as select as this, but I certainly didn’t expect you to start turning the place into your own personal ghetto.’
‘I’ve not! Look, Elvira, like I said, I’m really sorry about—’
There’s another knock at the door, on the other side of the studio.
Honestly, this place is like Piccadilly bloody Circus this morning.
‘Sorry, Elvira, I just need to go and get that. It’s probably just my DHL delivery, I’ll only be a sec.’
But it isn’t – as I see the moment I open the door – a delivery, from DHL or otherwise.
‘Libby Lomax?’ asks the middle-aged woman at the door. She’s dark haired and fully made-up, with a thick slick of fuchsia on her lips that matches, rather perfectly, the pink scarf over the shoulders of her black suit jacket. Her handbag is fuchsia too – an over-brimming affair that’s weighing down her broad shoulder – and she’s also carrying a big Tesco’s reusable shopping bag that’s almost as stuffed full.
‘Yes, I’m Libby, how can I—’
‘Where is sofa?’ she asks in heavily accented English before barging in past me. ‘Bogdan is here also?’
‘Oh! You must be Aunt Vanya, Bogdan’s aunt, that is: the Moldovan mystic married to the Haringey councillor. ‘Look,’ I go on rather desperately, because I can see Elvira, in the back room, craning her neck to see who it is I’m talking to, ‘it’s not actually the best time for me right now. And Bogdan isn’t here. I don’t know if you could come back a bit later?’
‘Is not possible. Am having the time available now. Who is knowing,’ Aunt Vanya adds, darkly, peering around the studio and running her hands, in an exploratory fashion, over the walls, ‘when am being able to come here again?’
‘Well, sure, but there really isn’t any urgency, as such—’
‘Sofa is upstairs, yes?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Then this is where I am needed.’ She hoicks her pink handbag up on to her shoulder. ‘Please be showing me?’
‘Honestly, I … no, no, I’ll show you!’ I yelp, as Aunt Vanya takes it upon herself to head for the stairs and starts to go up them. ‘Really, I think it would be better to wait until Bogdan gets back. I mean, he’ll be able to explain to you all about what’s been happening in, well, in Moldovan.’
‘Am speaking the perfect English,’ she states, confidently, walking straight to the Chesterfield and starting to run her hands along the length of it. ‘Do not be getting your pants in a pickle. Please, you are having the matches?’
‘Matches? Oh, no, no, I don’t think there’s any need to set light to anything!’
‘Is for the candles,’ she says, reaching down into her Tesco’s bag and pulling out a handful of tea-lights. ‘Is important for the setting of the mood. The dead,’ she adds, matter-of-factly, ‘are not being happy to be appearing in the bright daylight.’
‘Right … er … I don’t know what Bogdan told you, but I don’t think the people that appear on my sofa are dead, per se—’
‘Libby?’ This is Elvira, calling irritably up the stairs. ‘What are you doing up there? Weren’t we just in the middle of a conversation?’
‘Yes, yes, on my way!’ I call back. ‘I don’t think I have any matches, Aunt Vanya,’ I tell her, in a quieter voice, ‘but really, I’d much prefer it if you waited until Bogdan gets back, and until I’ve finished my meeting downstairs.’
‘Will just be getting set up, then,’ she says, with a shrug. ‘Please, be going about your business.’
I can’t do anything but leave her to it, as I really don’t want Elvira popping up to investigate what’s going on. After all, if she’s already annoyed with me about the street-fighting and the vomit, she’s going to be incandescent with the idea of a strange Moldovan woman using her flat to host what looks like … well, possibly some sort of séance, if I’m honest.
I hurry back down the stairs and into the studio, where Elvira, her arms folded in irritation, is waiting for me.
‘Who was that?’
‘Oh, that’s just … a new cleaner I’m trying out. I struggle to keep on top of it all, having a bigger flat than I’m used to.’
‘Well, maybe this whole arrangement was a mistake after all, then.’
‘What? Oh, no, no, Elvira, it’s not a mistake!’
‘Really? Because I just wonder, Libby, if I was right about you in the first place.’ The rather pinched, sour expression on her admittedly beautiful face is getting more pinched and more sour. ‘I know Ben has rated you highly in the past, but – and I think it’s time you actually began to take this on board, Libby – he has plenty of other businesses he could just as easily invest in, with a lot less of the trouble that you seem intent on causing.’
‘Sorry – are you saying that Ben would pull his investment?’
Because this is even more serious news than the suggestion that Elvira might kick me out of her flat.
‘I’m saying that neither he nor – more importantly – I have the time or inclination to work with people who end up creating more trouble than they’re worth. There are reputational implications, Libby, if it hadn’t occurred to you yet. It’s not merely a matter of upsetting my family’s neighbours, or even the terrible trauma you were responsible for inflicting on my dog.’
‘But with the greatest respect, Elvira,’ I say, with a slightly shaking voice, because I don’t enjoy confrontation at the best of times, and certainly not with an upper-class brat like Elvira who holds a lot of the cards in this situation, ‘it seems precisely as if it’s a matter of upsetting your family’s neighbours and the trauma inflicted on your dog. Because, honestly, I don’t think I’ve done much else wrong, have I? I mean, I’m keeping my costs down, I’m following the business plan you and Ben’s team devised for me; I’m even –’ my voice has stopped shaking and has risen slightly –‘going along with exactly what you think should be the creative direction for the business. Even though I never actually intended to specialize quite so heavily in vintage-inspired bridal tiaras as I am doing …’
I break off, as from above us on the first floor comes the sound of what can only be described as caterwauling.
‘What the fuck?’ snaps Elvira.
‘Oh, that’s just … um … I think it
might be “Whistle While You Work” in Moldovan, actually.’
‘I don’t care if it’s “Some Day My Prince Will Come” in bloody Cantonese! Go and tell her it’s a godawful racket and it needs to stop.’ Elvira’s eyes blaze at me. ‘Do you think the Willington-Joneses want to put up with that din coming through the walls after you already woke them in the small hours last night? Do you want to end up getting slapped with some sort of ASBO? Or, more likely, given that I own this place, I’d be the one getting the ASBO!’
‘No, no, Elvira, of course I don’t want that,’ I say, hastily. ‘I’ll go and stop her.’
I hurry back up the stairs to the living room, where – to my real alarm – Aunt Vanya, singing her lungs out, has now lit a good dozen or so candles and placed them, in an ominous-looking pentacle shape, on the floor around the sofa.
‘Aunt Vanya,’ I hiss at her. ‘What are you doing?’
She stops singing. ‘Oh, hello, darling. Am finding the matches in bottom of own bag. This is good news, no? Is not possible to be setting the mood for the summoning of the spirits otherwise.’
‘But they don’t need to be summoned! And anyway, it’s not a spirit, Aunt Vanya! I don’t know what Bogdan told you, but I’m pretty sure the sofa is magical in some way—’
‘You are calling it magical,’ she says, with a shrug. ‘I am calling it possessed. Potato, po-tah-to.’
‘But possessed implies … look, it’s not a demon in there, or anything!’
‘Demon,’ she intones, in the manner of a high priestess, ‘is able to be disguising itself with many faces.’
‘Maybe, but not with the faces of Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly.’
‘Ahhhh, Grace Kelly.’ Aunt Vanya gazes into the middle distance for a moment. ‘This is most beautiful woman who is ever existing.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that, I’ve recently met her. And I promise you, she’s not a devil in disguise.’
‘But this is precisely what devil is wanting you to think. What – you are thinking all devils are turning up looking like Halloween night costume, with horns and pitchfork? Is pretty unsubtle approach.’ She reaches into her capacious Tesco bag again and pulls out a large plastic spritz bottle, the sort you might use to mist plants with water in a greenhouse. ‘And one thing demons are not is unsubtle.’
I’m getting more alarmed by the minute.
‘What’s in that bottle?’ I ask, as she starts to spritz the contents, in a methodical way, all over the sofa.
‘Am not able to be telling you precise components. Is proprietary recipe. But is containing the deionized water, the surgical spirit, and – obviously – the holy water …’
‘Holy water? Aunt Vanya, sorry, I really am not in the market for … well, whatever it is you’re planning on doing.’
‘You are not wanting me to be ridding you of demon spirit?’
‘No!’ I gaze at her. ‘Sorry, Aunt Vanya, but I thought – Bogdan told me – that you were a mystic.’
‘Ah. This is misunderstanding on the part of Bogdan.’ She shakes her head, clucking affectionately. ‘Am seeing where he is getting the wires in a cross. Word for mystic, in my language, is same as word for exorcist.’
‘Oh, God, I don’t want …’ I lower my voice, conscious that Elvira is still downstairs. ‘I don’t want an exorcism!’ I hiss.
‘You are wanting to keep evil spirit?’ She looks surprised. ‘As some kind of pet? Am counselling most strongly against this, darling. You are biting off more than you are able to be chewing.’
‘No, look, it isn’t an evil spirit at all. Look, can we just—’
‘While am on subject,’ she goes on, using a far more matter-of-fact tone for a moment, ‘can I just be checking if you are having any actual pets? Pet is very soft target for demon to take possession of, which is why am including exorcism of one pet in whole Cleansing Package. More than one pet – or particularly complicated pet – is costing the extra. But for you, as you are coming to me on Friends and Family recommendation, am only charging you the extra if is very unusual pet. One time, am having to be performing the exorcism on capybara.’ She pulls a face. ‘You are ever seeing this thing? Is like giant guinea pig but without sweet and gentle temperament of guinea pig. This is why am having to charge extra for anything that is not—’
‘Libby?’ This is Elvira, yelling up the stairs. ‘Can you just get down here, please?’
‘Coming …’ I turn to Aunt Vanya. ‘Look, there’s obviously been a communication error, but I don’t want any sort of Cleansing Package, OK?’
She stops spritzing her holy water spray and folds her arms. ‘Am getting it. You are wanting to be haggling.’
‘No! Nothing of the sort—’
‘Libby!’
‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ I say, hurrying down the stairs, where – oh, dear God – Elvira is also standing with her arms folded in the archway that separates the studio from the showroom.
‘Can I ask,’ she says, icily, ‘why you’re getting iCal updates through on your phone for meetings at Pressley/Waters?’
I stare at her.
‘You looked at my phone?’
‘It was right there on the table. The message popped up.’ She doesn’t sound in the least concerned about this invasion of my privacy. ‘Are you aware,’ she goes on, more icily than ever, ‘that the terms of Ben’s investment specifically forbid that you take on any work for anybody else?’
‘I’m aware of that,’ I say, evenly. ‘But this is just one meeting.’
‘One clandestine meeting!’
‘It’s not clandestine! I only spoke to them five minutes before you got here! I haven’t even had time to mention it to you.’
‘I’m going to have to speak to Ben about this,’ she says, stalking back into the studio and picking up her Hermès Birkin bag. ‘But I can assure you, Libby, that he is not going to be impressed. At all.’
‘Look, I’ll speak to him. I’m perfectly happy to explain—’
‘Where’s Tino?’ Elvira interrupts me, looking around the studio. ‘Tino, darling? Mummy’s ready to leave, now!’
I’m expecting Tino to appear from underneath the new IKEA table, where he was last seen destroying large wads of expensive tissue paper, but he doesn’t.
‘Tino?’ Elvira makes her usual clicking sound to summon him. ‘Darling? Mummy needs you!’
There’s still no sign of him.
‘Where is he?’ Elvira peers down underneath the table, but comes up empty. ‘Tino?’
Up above us, Aunt Vanya suddenly starts singing again.
Actually, it sounds less like a song and more like an incantation.
A handful of notes in and there’s a sharp, rather worried-sounding, bark.
‘Tino!’ Elvira shrieks.
I’m hot on her cobalt-blue-booted heels as she races up the stairs, my own heart hammering as Tino’s single bark turns into a volley of them.
‘Aunt Vanya!’ I call out. ‘Whatever you’re doing …’
What Aunt Vanya is doing, as Elvira and I reach the top of the stairs, is holding Tino aloft, with one arm, in what can only be described as a sort of sacrificial manner, and spritzing holy water all over him with the other.
‘Put my baby down!’ Elvira leaps forward, only to be met by a puff of holy water right in her eyes. ‘What the fuck?’ she screams, sinking to the floor as if she’s been Maced.
‘Aunt Vanya, no!’ I say, trying to seize a frantic, scrabbling Tino from her hand. ‘Put the dog down.’
‘Is not dog.’
‘No, I know he looks exactly like a large rat, but—’
‘Or rather, is not currently dog. Is body of dog but is possessed by evil spirit. Is exactly what we are just discussing,’ Aunt Vanya goes on, giving Tino another couple of puffs with her spritz bottle. ‘Household pets are very often easy targets for the demons to be slipping inside.’
‘Who’s slipped inside my baby?’ Elvira gasps, staggering to her feet. ‘
Did she just say demon?’
‘You are owner?’ Aunt Vanya asks. ‘Am sorry to be breaking this news to you. But yes, am as certain as can be that this dog is possessed by same demon that Libby is hosting in her sofa. Am getting very bad vibe off this animal. Is having most unpleasant look in its eye, for one thing. And for another, am not sure is natural to be having so little of the body hair—’
‘No, no, it’s a Mexican hairless,’ I tell her, but can say no more before Elvira rounds on me.
‘You brought a fucking exorcist into my flat?’
‘No! Of course n—’
‘To be fair,’ Aunt Vanya interrupts me, ‘is only sensible course of action for Libby to be taking. Seeing as she is bringing demonically possessed sofa into flat in first place.’
‘Give me back my dog!’ Elvira roars, heroically managing to snatch Tino out of Aunt Vanya’s vice-like grip, bundling him under her own arm and staggering towards the stairs like someone fleeing a natural disaster. Which, to be fair to her, Aunt Vanya and her demon-baiting certainly feels like. ‘You,’ she chokes, turning back to point an accusing finger at me, ‘pack your things and get out of my flat.’
‘Elvira, please, this is all just—’
‘If you use the word misunderstanding,’ she snarls, ‘I swear to God, Libby, I will call the police and get you evicted.’
‘But you can’t—’
‘Of course I fucking can! This is my flat!’
She turns and clatters down the stairs with Tino, and slams the door – a noise that’s only going to further inflame the Willington-Joneses – behind her.
Stevenage. That’s where I think I’m going to end up living.
Because, seriously, I’ve spent several hours this afternoon frantically trawling through Rightmove, and Stevenage is the only place I can find, within striking distance of London, that’s remotely affordable.
And it really is going to have to be affordable, if – as I strongly suspect – Elvira talks Ben into pulling his financial support. Since she stormed out of my holy-water-drenched living room earlier this morning, I’ve received a brief, curt text message from her informing me, as per her screamed instructions, that she wishes me to vacate the building by the end of the week, and that she will be speaking to Ben to discover if he wishes to continue working in partnership with a person who has no qualms about plying her trade with another investor.
A Night In With Grace Kelly Page 12
