The rest of the evening runs painfully slowly and culminates in the arrival of the final set of parents, Jacob Preston’s mum and dad. Mr and Mrs Preston are the most physically mismatched couple you could ever meet. She is a female version of the Jolly Green Giant – unfeasibly tall, with the arms of a shotputter – while he is short, reedy, and looks as if a strong sneeze would make him fall over.
Not that I care what they look like – I only care that they’re the last set of parents I have to deal with. So it’s with a noticeable lift in my mood that I take out Jacob’s file and prepare for our friendly chat. Only it’s clear that Mr and Mrs Preston are feeling less than friendly.
‘I wonder if you could explain something,’ Mrs Preston barks at me. ‘Why did my five-year-old son come home yesterday evening and call me a tw . . . a word that frankly I can’t repeat. He tells me you said it was OK.’
My mouth drops as I recall the incident in the playground when the children thought they’d run an array of insults past me – including the word ‘twit’.
‘Well, no . . . that’s not quite right. I said that he shouldn’t call anyone names. It was just a group of children asking whether certain words were naughty or not. One of them was that.’
‘I can’t believe you think it’s no big deal. You teachers with your liberal, airy-fairy views.’
I sit back, slightly in shock. ‘I’m terribly sorry. I just thought—’
‘You just thought it was acceptable for a five-year-old boy to call his mum a twat? What are you teaching him next? That it’s okay to call his granddad motherfucker or his grandma a cun—’
‘Mr Preston! I’m sorry, but there’s been a terrible misunderstanding!’ Only, by the look on both of their faces, they don’t look much in the mood to listen to explanations.
Chapter 24
I phone Emily on my hands-free the second I get into the car as I’m on the way to Cate’s. ‘Have you managed to speak to her?’
‘Only once,’ she replies. ‘I’ve been up on Striding Edge today, so had to wait until we got down the mountain.’
‘How is she?’ I already know the answer from the tone of her texts.
‘Awful. That website has ignored the email we sent last night so the picture’s still up there. And it turns out that as well as posting her email address on the site, her Twitter name’s also up there, which meant she woke this morning to find dozens of messages calling her a slut and a whore and other things I don’t even want to repeat.’
‘That’s horrible.’
‘She’s closed her Twitter and Facebook accounts this morning. I hate to say this, Lauren, but I’ve got a feeling this could be just the start of it. There are dozens of these websites. That picture could be all over the internet by now.’
‘Has she been in touch with Robby?’
‘She got through to him this afternoon but he’s denying everything. He says the pictures were taken off his phone when it was stolen.’
‘Oh, come off it,’ I reply. ‘If it had been some random scumbag who didn’t know who she was, they wouldn’t have been able to tag her on Twitter.’
‘All that contact information was on his phone,’ Emily replies. ‘And I don’t suppose there’s any proof to the contrary.’
My head is spinning. ‘Whoever it is, they can’t be allowed to get away with this.’
‘No. But to be honest, I don’t think she gives a toss about someone getting away with it – she just wants to get rid of the picture. Listen, are you going round there tonight? I really want to, but it’s my Nana’s birthday and I’m driving home to see her. I’ve got the day off tomorrow.’
‘I’m on my way there now,’ I reply. ‘I’ll text you when I leave to let you know how she is.’
I arrive at the shop and head up the stairs to ring the doorbell. Nobody answers. I ring again and wait a minute before taking out my phone to try calling, when I hear footsteps.
I never expected Cate to look her usual, gregarious self, but I wasn’t prepared for how destroyed she looks. She’s in her pyjamas, her eyes reddened. I stopped off and bought her some chocolates on the way here, but I now suspect she won’t be able to stomach a thing.
‘Come in,’ she mumbles, showing me through to the living room, where she slumps on her sofa and drags her laptop in front of her. ‘I’ve spent the entire day reading up on “revenge porn”.’
‘Didn’t you open the shop?’
‘No. I had bigger fish to fry,’ she mumbles.
I’ve never known her to shut the shop like that before, but at least she might have learned something practical to get the picture off that website. ‘And what have you found out?’
She looks up. ‘That basically, I’m fucked.’
I frown. ‘I’m sure that can’t be the case. There are laws against this sort of thing.’
‘Yes, Lauren,’ she says numbly. ‘But that would involve going to the police.’
‘Well, you should go to the police.’
She shakes her head. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
She turns to me with glazed eyes. ‘Will’s brother is a detective inspector. He’d find out. He’d see the picture.’
I open my mouth to argue but then close it again. Obviously she wouldn’t be reporting it to him directly, but the likelihood that he wouldn’t find out is very small.
My mind races as I scratch round for a solution. ‘Maybe you should tell Will anyway?’ I say. ‘Isn’t he going to wonder why you’ve suddenly disappeared off Facebook otherwise?’
‘Yes,’ she mutters, as if this has suddenly occurred to her. ‘I’m going to have to come up with some excuse. Oh, God Almighty, how can I possibly tell him this, though? He won’t want anything to do with me.’
‘Remember what I said, Cate. You haven’t done anything wrong.’
A heavy tear slides down her cheek. ‘Lauren . . . the picture you saw wasn’t the only one.’
I let this information filter in my brain. ‘OK . . .’
‘There were more,’ she whispers. ‘Quite a few more. The one you saw was comparatively . . . restrained.’
‘There are explicit ones?’
She nods miserably. ‘Oh God, I want to die.’
‘Don’t say that.’ I put my arm around her. ‘Cate. One way or another, we’re going to sort this nightmare out.’
I almost sound convincing. But secretly, my suspicion is that once photos like that are out there, they’re never going to go away. They’re going to follow Cate around for ever.
Chapter 25
Cate spends the rest of the week, and all weekend, in hibernation: in the back of the shop, or upstairs in her flat, feigning a chest infection so she doesn’t have to face Will. I go over on Saturday night to keep her company, reassuring Emily that we’ll be fine without her and that she should go ahead with her date with Joe – yes, on a Saturday night. I try not to be too depressed that she’s got a Saturday-night date after about five minutes of knowing him, whereas I’ve entirely failed to bag one from Edwin, whom I’ve known for ever.
We sit for hours in Cate’s flat as she proceeds to get quietly hammered in front of The Wedding Singer, weeping every time Will sends her a text, at a ratio of about six to one of hers. She’s worked herself into a complete state, unable to sleep or eat with worry that the other pictures are going to appear somewhere, sickened by the emails she continues to receive; because although she can leap off Facebook and Twitter, she can’t just close down her email address in case anybody important tries to contact her. All she can do is block the creeps propositioning her, one by one.
The following day, I’m on my usual Sunday supermarket trip, when I reach out to a rather sparse vegetable tray and clash hands with someone who has designs on the same aubergine as me.
I insist she takes it. ‘Honestly, I’ll get my five a day elsewhere,’ I say, realising as she laughs that I recognise her from somewhere. She’s in her early twenties with dark hair and long, feminine eyelashes hidde
n behind boxy spectacles.
‘You were at the salsa night at the Moonlight Hotel, weren’t you?’ she asks. It’s only then that I place her.
‘Oh! Yes, that’s right – you work there.’
‘Waitressing, but only part-time. I’m a student. I believe the salsa’s at Casa Lagos now. I wonder if it’ll move back once the hotel’s finished?’ she asks.
‘Oh, I’m not sure. From what I hear, I don’t think anything is going to be the same as it was there,’ I say. She doesn’t take the bait. ‘So is everyone having a nightmare with the upheaval? The training and job cuts must really be taking their toll on the staff?’
She pushes her glasses up her freckled nose and looks surprised. ‘No, not really. The only staff member who has left is head chef Nigel – and everyone was glad to see the back him. Complete wanker,’ she whispers conspiratorially. ‘The place is looking amazing. Or at least it will, once it’s open. And although I’d never claim the bosses are soft, I think most people think they’re a breath of fresh air.’
‘But what about the stuff being done to the building? It doesn’t sound too sympathetic to the history of it.’
She shrugs. ‘Personally, I think it’ll be nice working for somewhere trendy.’
I shudder – and suddenly wish I hadn’t relinquished that aubergine.
By the time salsa night comes around again, Cate still doesn’t want to go. She says she can’t face it, and instead wants to stay at home to email some American woman she discovered on a forum for revenge porn victims. Will arrives at Casa Lagos with Joe about three minutes after Emily and me, and heads over the second he sees us.
‘How is Cate, Lauren?’ he asks, dispensing with pleasantries.
‘Oh, she’s fantastic,’ I reply, with terrific gusto.
He looks perplexed. ‘Apart from the chest infection?’
‘Oh, yes, apart from that,’ I reply, reddening. ‘That’s absolutely terrible. You should’ve heard her coughing last night.’
He frowns. ‘So, you’ve been to see her?’
‘Um . . . yes.’
‘Oh. She refused to let me go over,’ he says, clearly a little hurt.
‘She’s just worried about you catching it from her,’ I leap in. ‘It’s a very nasty virus. Hideous, in fact.’
‘But she was happy to let you risk it?’
‘I only stayed five minutes. Besides, I’m at a lower risk of catching it than you.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, unlike when you go over, Cate and I don’t do much snogging . . .’
Someone laughs and I turn round to see Joe.
‘I’m sure she’ll be fine in the next day or two,’ I go on. ‘In the meantime, I think she just needs a bit of space.’ I regret the last part of the sentence as soon as it’s out. You don’t say a person needs ‘a bit of space’ when they’ve got the lurgy – you say it when they want to dump someone.
Paranoia visibly grips Will. ‘It is definitely just a chest infection?’
‘Absolutely. Nothing to worry about at all.’
His jaw tenses. ‘Well, I wasn’t worried until . . .’
‘Honestly, Will. It’s just a throat infection, nothing more, nothing less.’
‘Chest,’ he corrects me.
‘Yes,’ I add, never having been so relieved to hear Marion’s clapping.
The whole night feels like a strange one, uneasy somehow. It’s not even just what’s going on with Cate that makes me say that; I can’t put my finger on why the usual carefree feeling as the class begins seems notably absent.
Even Lulu seems jumpy. There’s one point when Stella asks if we can just learn a few more steps, rather than persevere with this single, rigid routine they insist we all do – and you’d think she’d mortally offended both of them.
‘Look, it’s just really important that you learn one routine. That’s all I ask,’ Lulu says, mildly exasperated.
Stella looks sulky. ‘It just seems a bit odd to do an entire routine and keep going over and over it when there are still other steps we could be learning too.’
‘There’s no point moving on yet,’ Lulu says. ‘And nobody else minds, do they?’
‘I’m not saying I mind . . .’ Stella begins.
‘Good,’ Lulu replies, firmly underlining the subject before she instructs us all to switch partners.
Joe appears in front of me and takes my hands in his. ‘So what’s really going on with Cate?’ he asks.
‘Don’t you start too,’ I groan. ‘Absolutely nothing. Anyway, I hear you and Emily went to that new restaurant that’s opened in Bowness on Saturday. Any good?’ I am keen to change the subject. Fortunately, he acquiesces.
‘It was great – food was excellent, service impeccable. It’ll be no competition for the Moonlight Hotel once it’s open, of course.’ He’s clearly trying to elicit a response from me.
‘Assuming you don’t make a complete mess of it,’ I reply.
‘Well, I’m trying my best, Lauren.’
I sniff. ‘Anyway, Emily said you both had a whale of a time,’ I continue, sticking to a subject I’m comfortable with.
‘She’s a great girl.’ Then he smiles that easy smile and it’s obvious to see why she’s becoming increasingly loved-up.
He has this quiet sex appeal; he doesn’t flaunt it, like some sort of movie star. It’s there, filling you up every time his eyes smile. Personally, I’d hate the pressure of going out with someone like Joe, although in the gorgeousness stakes, Emily can more than hold her own.
The song finishes and Marion addresses the class: ‘Seeing as Stella’s so keen to learn some new steps, I thought we could finish by trying out one of my favourites. In fact, it’s the hottest move in salsa as far as I’m concerned. And I need some volunteers. Come on, who’s feeling hot?’
Frank’s eyes widen. Andi looks away. And, judging by the way everyone else slinks back, the answer is: no one. As Marion narrows her eyes and focuses on poor Stella, my phone beeps; I’ve forgotten to put it on silent. Marion spins round and glares at me.
‘Thank you, Lauren,’ she says, grabbing me by the arm. ‘Up you come – and Joe, you too.’
Joe, who is patently not intimidated by anyone or anything, steps to the front while I visibly squirm at the mere thought of performing ‘salsa’s hottest move’ with my friend’s boyfriend, right in front of her. Emily however, seems to think the whole thing hilarious.
Joe takes my hand and a shot of heat runs up my arm. Marion starts the music – a salsa version of ‘Fever’. It’s way too sexy to be anything other than mortifying.
I glance down and focus on Joe’s wrists, because then I don’t have to look at his eyes. Even his hands are handsome, if that’s possible. They’re not without their scars and rough parts: they’ve done a day’s work. But his big fingers are tanned, with short, shapely nails. He wraps them around mine and I suddenly wish I’d stayed with Cate tonight.
The steps Marion proceeds to show us are intimate, embarrassing and distinctly uncomfortable. I realise I’m making it sound as if she’s getting us to recreate a scene from Fifty Shades of Grey, but quite honestly she might as well be. My neck grows warmer as we twirl slowly into a half-turn, his arm crossing my body. I can feel his heartbeat thudding against my back, his body close against mine. I realise I’m breathing faster and glance guiltily at Emily, but she’s busy whispering something to Esteban, the pair of them laughing.
We twirl back and, with Marion wittering on about loose knees and hips and thrusting our hands into position, we glide together until our bodies are pressed against each other, and I can feel every curve of his chest, his groin, his thighs. For some reason I can do nothing to prevent myself from looking up at his face.
He’s already looking at me.
I have to avert my eyes.
‘And that is how to do the hottest move in salsa,’ concludes Marion, as Joe and I burst away from each other. ‘Right – can I check you’ve all paid your subs this week? I’ve got
a mortgage to pay, you know.’
For the rest of the night, even after the class has finished and I’ve dropped Emily off, I can’t stop humming the song. The low, sexy notes fill my head with thoughts of swaying hips, strong arms, that masculine, clean smell that lingered in a cloud above us after Joe had released my hands.
It’s still there as I climb into bed, checking my phone to see if Cate has responded to the text I sent her on the way home. And it’s just as I flick idly on to my emails, registering that the song’s starting to annoy me, that something makes the notes fade away once and for all.
It’s an email from a school in Singapore. I’ve got an interview.
Chapter 26
The next day at work, a momentary Edwin-shaped madness overcomes me. I can’t tell you the reason for this, except that I woke in the night in a sweat, my pulse thudding, as flashbacks of that dance last night kept forcing themselves into my head. I took a big mouthful of water and turned over, reminding myself that this does not make me some treacherous bitch, and that the interpretation behind the dream is that I simply want to find out more about Joe’s intentions with the Moonlight Hotel.
I feel qualified to say this after a period in my early twenties in which I repeatedly had X-rated dreams about my university professor – a sweet, but categorically unattractive sixty-something Geordie nicknamed ‘Baldrick’ on account of both his dearth of hair and his habit of coming out with phrases that made Blackadder’s sidekick sound like Stephen Hawking.
Anyway, back to the momentary madness. Perhaps because I’m a step closer to going to Singapore with him, trying to get to the bottom of Edwin’s feelings for me is all I can think about. I am itching with it, tingling with it, as if someone’s lit a spark and I absolutely have to do something about it from the moment I get to school. I am wearing my favourite skirt with a lovely chic blouse that make me feel a bit like Miss Moneypenny (but after she became sexy) and the nicest underwear I own, a lacy set that treads just the right line between girl next door and certified sex bomb.
Summer Nights at the Moonlight Hotel Page 14
