by Jill Mansell
Upstairs, her small sitting room was awash with shopping bags stuffed with clothes, piles of books and CDs, and a bundled-up duvet.
“I’ve spent the last hour getting my stuff together.” As she spoke, Lucille peeled a series of posters off the walls and rolled them up. “I’d offer you a coffee, but I’ve already packed the kettle. I want to be out of here before he wakes up.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Celeste with a shudder. “This place is grim.”
“And speaking of grim,” Suzy announced, “this is Celeste.”
“I guessed.” Lucille spared her a brief smile before bending down to unplug the speakers from her stereo. “Jaz’s girlfriend, right?”
“Fiancée,” Celeste corrected, smugly fluttering her left hand at Lucille. Three hefty diamonds sparkled in the dusty sunlight slanting through the attic window. “Twenty thousand pounds, this ring cost. I told him not to spend so much, but he said I was worth it.”
“Tell us what happened,” said Suzy.
“Oh, it was so romantic. We were walking down Princess Victoria Street, and I just glanced in the window of that jeweler’s on the corner—”
“Celeste, give it a rest.” Suzy shook her head in despair. “I was talking to Lucille.”
“He’s a fat drunken pig,” said Lucille, winding the wires from one of the speakers slowly around her fist. “He called me downstairs to his apartment, said we needed to have a talk about the rent. When I went down, he told me he knew I fancied him, he’d seen the way I looked at him, and why didn’t we come to some arrangement that would suit both of us? Then he grabbed me and started trying to kiss me. The more I struggled, the harder he tried to pin me down on the sofa.” She shuddered at the memory. “His hands were all over me. He smelled awful. He told me he’d been fantasizing about me for months, and I was almost sick on the spot.”
Horrified, Suzy said, “Did he…?”
“No.” Lucille shook her head. “Thank God. I managed to break free and he tried to chase me around the room. He lunged forward, tripped over his case of lager, let out a roar, and crashed facedown onto the sofa. And that was it. He didn’t hit his head or anything. He was just out cold.”
“God, how awful.” Celeste wrinkled her nose. “You didn’t fancy him at all, then?”
“Funnily enough,” Lucille replied with commendable patience, “no.”
“So what happened next?”
“His face was squashed against the cushions. I turned him onto his side, so he could breathe.” Her voice began to wobble. “Then I came up here and started to pack.”
“Should have let him suffocate,” said Suzy. She briskly pushed up the sleeves of her black top. “Right, well, we’ll help you—oh, don’t cry, it’s all over now.” She rushed on as fresh tears began to roll down Lucille’s smooth brown cheeks. “I know it must have been terrible…”
“I’m not upset because of him.” Lucille was wiping her eyes and looking utterly bereft. “I’m crying because this was my home…and now here I am packing up all my stuff…and I don’t have a clue where I’m g-going to go.”
Chapter 13
Celeste, who had been admiring her reflection in the mirror hung above a cracked, glued-together bookcase, said brightly, “There’s a Salvation Army hostel on Ashley Road. I expect they could take you in. Mind you, they might make you wear a bonnet and bash a tambourine.”
“I didn’t want to bring her along this evening, really I didn’t,” Suzy apologized to Lucille.
“What?” Celeste’s pale blue eyes opened wider than ever. “All I did was make a sensible suggestion.”
“See the front of her T-shirt?” said Suzy. “What it should say is Little Miss Thick-as-a-Plank. Could you bear to have her as a next-door neighbor, d’you think?”
Lucille blinked. “You can’t…”
“Look, you’re my sister. And I’d really love it if you’d move in with me.”
“You might love it,” Celeste put in, “but what about Lucille? Why would she want to live with you?”
Suzy ignored her. She touched Lucille’s arm. “Please say yes.”
“It’s kind of you to offer, but I feel a bit…”
“Sick at the thought of it?” said Celeste.
“We can at least give it a go,” Suzy urged. “I mean, you do need somewhere to stay. And I’ve got a spare bedroom. If you’d rather have your own place, then fine, but you still need somewhere to sleep until you find it.”
Lucille shot her a look of gratitude. “This is really nice of you.”
“Then you will?” Suzy’s face lit up. “Brilliant!”
But Lucille was still looking reluctant, shaking her head. “The trouble is…”
“Oh, please don’t start worrying about money. I won’t charge you rent!”
“The trouble is, it’s not just me.”
“Who else then?” said Suzy, bewildered. “Oh my God, don’t tell me you’ve got a baby!”
Lucille smiled weakly. “Worse than that, I’m afraid.”
“Blimey.” Celeste sounded amazed. “What could be worse than a baby?”
“Come see,” said Lucille.
She led them out of the living room, across the landing and into the minuscule kitchen.
“Look out the window.”
Together, Suzy and Celeste peered down into the tiny, unkempt back garden. In the center of the scrubby lawn stood a cheap yellow plastic sun lounger. And across the sun lounger was sprawled a large—actually a very large—dog. Sensing movement above, he raised his head from its resting place between his front paws, gazed up at them, and slowly wagged his tail.
“His name’s Baxter,” said Lucille.
“He’s huge,” marveled Celeste.
Leo’s dog, Suzy realized.
Hang on…
“So what was Baxter doing while you were being attacked by your landlord?” she asked Lucille.
“Sunbathing. He’s the world’s most useless guard dog,” Lucille admitted. “Violence isn’t Baxter’s thing at all. To be honest, he’s a total wimp. I’m looking after him for Leo,” she explained, “until he gets back from the States.”
“Go on then,” said Suzy. “You’ve twisted my arm.”
Joyfully, Lucille said, “Are you sure?”
“Come along.” Suzy turned away from the window. “The sooner we finish packing up, the faster we’ll be out of here.” She broke into a grin. “Good thing I’ve got a big car.”
* * *
It took them less than an hour to clear the apartment of Lucille’s belongings. Finally, everything was loaded into the Rolls.
Baxter thumped his tail good-naturedly when Lucille opened the back door leading out into the garden and called his name. He climbed off the sun lounger, loped over to them, and—by way of introduction—tried to stick his head up Celeste’s skirt.
“He’s lovely,” Lucille assured them. She closed the back door, then hesitated. “I’d better just check on Les, before we go. Make sure he’s still alive.”
In the front room, which stank of alcohol and BO, Les hadn’t moved. He was snoring loudly, and his filthy green shirt was open to the waist, revealing a mountainous stomach that shuddered like a blancmange every time he drew breath.
“He attacked you,” said Suzy. “You should report him to the police.”
Lucille shook her head.
“More trouble than it’s worth. I’m out of here now anyway. That’s good enough for me.”
“Seems a shame, though,” said Celeste, “to let him get off scot-free.” Her expression thoughtful, she glanced out through the grimy back window.
“We could always trash the place.” As she patted Baxter’s head, Suzy gazed without enthusiasm around the room, which was, frankly, disgusting. “Then again, who would notice?”
“Is he really out col
d?” Bending over the back of the sofa, Celeste pinched the back of Les’s pudgy hand, hard. There was no reaction.
“What are you thinking?” said Suzy.
“Wait here.” Celeste darted out of the room. They heard the back door open. Moments later she was back, dragging the grubby sun lounger into the living room by its wheels.
“Celeste, are you mad? We don’t want his sun lounger,” said Suzy with a shudder.
“Come on, there are three of us. We can do it.” Pushing the sun lounger up against the sofa, Celeste braced herself behind his head and shoved her arms under Les’s fat shoulders. “You two take a leg each. OK. One, two, three, heave…”
Les snorted like a rhino as they hauled him over onto the filthy groaning plastic. He waved one arm and muttered, “Not last call yet, issit? Giss another pint, mate.”
Then he subsided into unconsciousness once more.
“Now what?” whispered Suzy.
“I think the front garden, don’t you?” Celeste grinned, reached for her bag, and fished out the bottle of Day-Glo pink nail polish.
Leaning over and undoing the last straining buttons on Les’s shirt, she painstakingly painted FAT UGLY BASTARD in unmissable capitals across his white hairless chest.
Alarmed, Lucille said, “Can we do this?”
Celeste looked at the almost-empty bottle of nail polish, pulled a face, and chucked it over her shoulder.
Suzy, grabbing the bottom end of the sun lounger, discovered that thanks to the wheels it was surprisingly easy to maneuver. She smiled first at Celeste, then at Lucille.
“Oh, I think we should. Don’t you?”
The finishing touch, once Les was installed in his front garden in full view of passersby, was inspired by Baxter. Watching him cock his leg against the gate, Celeste took a half-empty bottle of lukewarm Evian out of her bag and tipped it carefully over Les’s denim-clad groin.
Envious that she hadn’t thought of it herself, Suzy said, “You know, sometimes I could almost like you.”
A bus trundled past. They watched the passengers peer down at Les, nudge one another, and laugh.
“Funny you should say that,” Celeste replied cheerfully, “because I never think I could almost like you.”
The car was piled high with Lucille’s belongings. Celeste, in the passenger seat, had shopping bags piled up beneath her feet and on her lap. Lucille and Baxter, together with a couple of dozen more bags, were squashed into the back.
“I love looking at other people’s stuff.” Celeste, rummaging happily through one of the bags balanced on her knees, pulled out a cosmetics case. “It’s so great finding out what they’re really like.” She flipped the case open. “I mean, take a look at this…Rimmel, Miners… God, Lucille, why d’you buy such cheap makeup?”
“Set the dog on her,” Suzy told Lucille. With her free hand she snapped the cosmetics case shut, almost taking Celeste’s fingers off. “And you, don’t be so nosy.”
“All right, all right, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Celeste was unperturbed. She peered into the nearest bag, poked about a bit, and dragged out a pocket-size photo album. “Hey, what about this, then? Your mother and Lucille’s father—look at those hairstyles!”
“Put it back,” hissed Suzy, exasperated.
“And what are these?” Dropping the photo album back into the bag, Celeste grabbed a handful of tapes, all identical, and with just the name Lucille printed in uneven silver lettering on each of the cases.
“They’re nothing. None of your business,” said Suzy.
From the backseat, Lucille said abruptly, “Could you please leave my stuff alone?”
“All my hard work”—Celeste shrugged—“and this is the thanks I get.”
Suzy looked at the cassettes, still clutched in Celeste’s hand.
“Are you going to behave yourself, or do I have to stop the car and push you out?”
“You sound like the old bloke who used to drive our school bus,” grumbled Celeste. Splaying her fingers, she pointedly dropped the cassettes back into the shopping bag. “There. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” said Suzy.
Celeste waited until they turned onto Zetland Road. While Suzy’s attention was taken up with avoiding a pensioner on a moped, she liberated one of the cassettes and slid it into her own bag.
It wasn’t stealing, for heaven’s sake. She was only borrowing it.
Chapter 14
Jaz would be back soon. Celeste lay back in the bath, envisaging what he was doing now. More often than not, following a meeting, those who didn’t have to rush off retired to one of the cafés nearby for a coffee and an informal chat. These chats drove Celeste to distraction. It was like being forced to listen to a bunch of fat people discussing their diets when you only weighed seven stone and had never needed to count a calorie in your life. It was like listening to people telling you about their own dreams, like listening to paint dry…
Oh, it was all fascinating stuff as far as Jaz was concerned, because AA had saved his life. Celeste understood that, and she was grateful, of course she was, but her patience was starting to wear alarmingly thin. In fact, she was beginning to think that if anything could turn her into an alcoholic it was being forced to attend any more of those bloody boring meetings. Truly, it was enough to drive the saintliest teetotaler to drink.
Closing her eyes, letting the bubbles wash over her narrow shoulders, Celeste recalled the night when she and Jaz had first met. She smiled to herself at the memory, at the flukiness, the sheer chance of it. That, though, was what life was all about, surely? Spotting an opportunity and making the most of it.
She had always had a crush on Jaz Dreyfuss. Photographs of him, painstakingly cut from magazines, had covered her bedroom wall from the age of fifteen onward. While her school friends had drooled over Take That and Boyzone, Celeste had remained true to Jaz. She loved his music, his wildness, and his gorgeous brown eyes. Better still, he lived in Bristol and so did she, which had to shorten the odds against them one day clapping eyes on each other, enabling Jaz to fall in love with her at first sight.
To Celeste’s great disappointment, this seemed destined not to happen. At every opportunity she had dressed herself up to the nines, caught the bus across the city to Clifton, and hung around the streets and outside bars waiting to accidentally bump into him. But she never did. And the next thing Celeste knew, Jaz had disappeared off the scene completely. When he reemerged, a couple of months later, it was to announce that he had been through rehab and had now stopped drinking, hopefully for good.
Celeste was pleased for Jaz’s sake, but it was bad news for her. If he’d given up the booze, there was no longer much point in her hanging around Clifton’s many pubs and bars.
It was the end of her beautiful dream. She stopped going to Clifton and instead started going out with an apprentice butcher named Alan, from Brislington.
And then, two months later, it happened.
Typically, Celeste was wearing her awful office clothes and no makeup. But Alan was no longer worth putting on makeup for, and she didn’t care what he saw her looking like. The romance had by that time well and truly worn off.
Waiting at the curbside as darkness fell, Celeste stuck her cold hands in her pockets and silently cursed Alan for being late. Six o’clock he was supposed to pick her up from work and there was still no sign of him. And now, to add insult to injury, her view of the approaching traffic had been blocked by some selfish idiot parking his flashy car right where she didn’t want him to park…
Her heart skipped several beats as she realized who was driving the car. Holding her breath, Celeste watched Jaz Dreyfuss climb out, lock the doors, and, head bent, make his way rapidly across the road.
Without stopping to think, Celeste followed him. As she reached the pavement on the other side, Alan’s white van trundled into view. Celes
te ducked down behind the row of parked cars so he couldn’t see her, and scurried—like Groucho Marx—along the pavement after Jaz.
When he headed up the steps of an anonymous gray building, Celeste didn’t hesitate for a second. Jaz was out of sight, but she could hear his footsteps echoing along the corridor to her left. She followed the sound of the footsteps, then rounded a corner and stumbled to a halt. Jaz was there, waiting outside some kind of hall…and he appeared to be waiting for her…
Giddy with excitement and trepidation, Celeste gazed at him in a kind of stupefied silence. Would Jaz be furious with her for following him? Would he yell at her, tell her to go away? And what was he doing here anyway? Through the glass in the door she could see a motley collection of people pulling up chairs…oh no, don’t say Jaz had gone and gotten himself involved with some religious group?
But he didn’t seem angry. In fact, he was smiling at her. Almost, Celeste realized, in an encouraging way.
“First time?” When he spoke, his voice was gentle.
“Y-yes.”
“Coming in, then?”
Seize the moment. Spot an opportunity and grab it. Or spend the rest of your life kicking yourself.
“Yes.” She began to tremble. Please don’t let it be one of those weird cults where you have to have sex with dozens of ugly men. There’s only one man in this building I want to have sex with…
“You’re shaking,” Jaz told her. His warm hand closed around her icy one. “It’s OK. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
* * *
He was right, of course. And to Celeste’s intense relief it wasn’t some nutty religious cult he was dragging her into. As soon as the first woman stood up to announce that her name was Glenda and she was an alcoholic, Celeste had known what she had to do.
“My name is Celeste, and I’m an alcoholic.” Addressing a group of strangers had been nerve-racking, but that had worked to her advantage. Throwing herself into the role, she had blurted out, “I can’t carry on like this. I have to stop drinking. It’s wrecking my l-l-life.” The tears had come easily, pouring down her cheeks. She had given a stupendous performance.
