The Curry Club was her only lifeline. It was her way of sharing information, secrets and problems in complete anonymity which suited her furtive and clandestine approach to anything living and breathing. ‘Open yourself up to the best friends in the world!’ That’s what Sophie had said anyway and in a way she was right. They were her best friends – they were her only friends – and they had helped her with complicated dilemmas without even knowing the dilemmas were hers. It was perfect.
Darren looked at the miniature woman in front of him. He noticed the darkness of her roots as he stared down, he took in what looked like tea-stains on her top, and the remnants of last night’s make-up with a dollop of smudged mascara tainting her naturally pretty face.
“Is the lady of the house in, please?” Darren’s tone was neutral, neither subservient nor artificial, just polite and in keeping with his unchanging and consistent temperament. For a young man he wore his heart on his sleeve and refused to be anything he was not. Playing was for other people. He was a bona-fide young man with a gift of wisdom which extended way beyond his years.
Roni stood, openmouthed and clearly affronted. Her Bambi-eyed fixed stare dissolved as the real Roni snapped out of her short-term hypnosis and accelerated back into her conservative chassis.
“I am the lady of the house!” she declared through flared nostrils.
Darren simply stood unperturbed. It was an easy mistake to make. She did look a bit rough in fairness and she certainly didn’t fall into the category of the stereotypical millionaire’s wife, not from where he was standing anyway. Not that it bothered him – on the contrary he found it refreshing, endearing.
Roni noticed how undeterred Darren was. He hadn’t even flinched when she bit back at him with pointed fangs and demonic eyes. She had managed to scare people her entire adult life – even when she wasn’t trying to be scary, but this young guy stood fast and this threw her.
“In that case you must be Mrs Smyth.” He beamed, oblivious to any faux pas. “I’m Darren, nice to meet you.” He thrust out his hand.
Roni didn’t usually shake hands with people. You had no idea where people had been. She was anal about cleanliness through and through. “Come on in. You’re early.”
Darren ignored the fact that his hand had remained untouched as he brushed past Roni, his broadness in stark contrast to her tiny frame and narrow shoulders.
“The swimming pool is through the rear,” she said. “Don’t let me hold you back.”
She closed the door behind him, catching sight of herself in the brass mirror set on the Sheraton sideboard. Like everything in her house it was over the top and priceless. She shrieked loudly at the dishevelled woman looking back. Any wonder he thought she was the cleaner.
She took the stairs two at a time, clutching the oak bannister rail for support, until breathlessly she reached the top. Her uncleansed face was flushed and her chest rose and fell erratically as she hyperventilated, desperate for air. She was in bad shape but it was nothing that a few sessions with Kath wouldn’t sort out. It was on her ‘To do’ list, but she kept postponing it.
Sophie’s blonde hair splayed across the pillow. Her tanned leg slipped abruptly from the confines of the bedclothes, waking her from the alcohol-induced sleep. She felt around the floor for her mobile phone, moving with a deliberate slowness so as not to wake her latest victim – whatever his name was. She was never any good with names. Never had been. Never would be. It was all part of the fun for Sophie. A name meant getting personal and that would never do.
“Shit!” she cursed with muted volume, rolling out of bed naked but for her mobile phone. Her bronzed body was lithe, toned and proportioned to perfection, if a little top-heavy. Her naturally blonde hair and stark blue eyes afforded her much attention but in truth it was attention which Sophie despised. She repelled the chat-up lines and the gazes of admiration but she took free drinks from any man offering. Her alcohol comsumption was their financial loss. If they were stupid enough to send drinks across to a total stranger then she was more than prepared to drink them – it would be rude not to. Sophie’s facade was her most fierce opponent, her antagonist, but beneath that beauty lay a woman who was a serious contender and not one to be messed with.
She tiptoed around the bedroom gathering her belongings and dressed as she made her way downstairs to the front door. She cast a momentary glance behind her before closing it. It made no sound as she pulled it firmly shut, not daring to breathe until she was firmly out of sight and out of earshot.
“I need a taxi, please,” she whispered, holding the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder while rummaging through her bag and pulling out a compact mirror. Her eyes were puffy and tinged with a redness, so stark against the blue backdrop. Even without make-up it was plain to see that Sophie Kane was a headturner. For both sexes. Women too seemed to find her irresistable and while Sophie was completely heterosexual, she did enjoy going to first base with the odd girl. Why the hell not?
“Where am I? Shit! Good question.”
With her back to the apartment block, she glanced around and spotted the road sign. “Frazer Street. As quick as you can. Thanks.” Sophie snapped her phone shut, pouting seductively. “Another one bites the dust,” she muttered to herself.
She was totally exhausted, but by God the sex was worth the sleep deprivation. It wasn’t always like that, but this guy was a selfless lover, one of the few she had experienced over the years. She groaned aloud as she remembered his vigorous thrusting against her exploding clitoris. She couldn’t recall any other time when she had come three times in one night. That was one for her diary, the secret diary stored away deep in her grey matter.
A clamminess came over Sophie and she wafted her hand in front of her face, in need of a cold shower. This guy might just be the one.
The aroma of watery bleach hung thick in the fake Mediterranean air, sticking to the pine-timber ceiling and dark-wicker furniture. Plastic palm trees stood to vertical attention in oversized Ali Baba pots and hanging baskets draped long fake evergreen which clung to the circumference of the overhead glass velux. Outside the sun shone through it as though its size was designed to perfection, letting in every available sunray without an inch to spare – the core of the sun captured in a single pane of glass.
“How does that look, Mrs Smyth?”
Roni leaned over to take a closer look. In truth, she had no idea what she was looking for. She had yet to dip her big toe into the pool.
“Fine. It will do.”
Darren wrapped the vacuum hose tightly around his elbow and shoulder, repeating the circular action until the entire hose was fully wound. Holding it firmly, he gathered a ribbon of black velcro and taped the hose together, securing it firmly in place. It made it easier to carry and less of a risk in terms of tripping over it. At six-foot-four, he had a long way to fall.
“Would you not consider getting a recreation slide or something fitted, Mrs Smyth? It would certainly bring this place alive. They’re great fun.”
His youthfulness broke through with the words he spoke and Roni could imagine the fun he might have belting down the slide, not she.
Roni went to speak but hesitated, and Darren saw the change in her body language as her arms folded across her ample chest and her thin lips pursed together. Suddenly he knew. He heard her speak the words of admission with muted silence. Once again his strange insightfulness had broken through.
“You can’t swim, can you, Mrs Smyth?”
Roni looked away. She was embarrassed and humiliated. Damn that kid and his big mouth, and how the hell did he know anyway?
Darren edged closer to Roni, disturbed by her downtrodden exterior, as temporary as it might be.
“You know, Mrs Smyth,” he said as he picked up his bag and made his way to the glass door, “I could teach you to swim if you like? I’m a qualified lifeguard. I had to be as part of my Sports Science Degree – it was part of the course. I work down at the leisure centre during the summer
holidays.”
Roni composed herself, shaking her head determinedly. “It really doesn’t interest me, thank you. I’m just fine the way I am.”
“But how sad to have such an amazing feature in your home and not even be able to u –”
“It’s just water!” Roni snapped.
Darren knew it was time to concede. He had said more than he was invited to.
He opened the door wide enough to pass through with his equipment, trying to make eye contact with Roni but she was clearly avoiding his gaze.
He spoke boldly one last time. “You know . . . it might save your life one day.”
The door closed behind him with a fluid movement that didn’t disturb Roni’s train of thought. She looked around her at the ostentatious dwelling. She thought about the fleet of fast cars in the garage which she drove slowly, and as she gazed at the blue-tinged water rocking away in a tide of complimentary hypnosis, the words rang in her ear: ‘It might save your life one day.’ The cheek of it, she fumed. But still, how strange that this young man talked as if he could see right through her. Her, the woman who on the outside had it all. One only had to cast a glance at her life to see that she was a woman who was indulged, ruined. There was nothing she didn’t have that she didn’t want.
But Roni wondered why it was that she so often felt like she had nothing, that she was a decorative shell with a cavernous inside.
Perhaps her life did need saving.
It was 5.00 a.m. as Jude drove into the brightly lit schoolyard. She reluctantly parked the car across two spaces, leaving sufficient room to allow for the length of the skis. She hated being inconsiderate but there was no way they were going to get out the two pairs of Carvers without adequate space. She smiled apologetically at the owner of the silver Audi Q7 who pulled up alongside her.
Tom and Anna jumped out, Anna with uncontainable excitement and Tom as cool as ever. Tom was as laid-back and good-natured at his mother.
Anna immediately spotted her friends and took off, skipping away carefree and leaving Tom to do the lugging and heaving of both the skis and suitcases. He was too much of a gentleman to allow his mother to do it. As he lowered the first of the cases to the ground, he witnessed his mother’s dejection from the corner of his eye. He knew she would miss Anna and him hugely.
Tom embraced Jude with boyish affection, throwing his arms around her neck lovingly. He didn’t care if his friends saw him or teased him over it. He was a mother’s boy through and through but not in an effeminate way – there was nothing effeminate about Tom – he played a superb round of golf, played rugby competitively and was a natural and gifted tennis player. He was also on the reserves of the Alderley Edge polo team. He was bright, intelligent, dashingly handsome and he adored his mother. And she him. He was practically perfect.
Jude often thought that her son would be a great catch for a lovely girl, light years ahead, providing he kept the down-to-earth attitude he had managed to retain so far, which was some achievement considering the stylishly affluent life he lived. The twins were indulged and she knew that, but whereas Clive did so much out of snobbery and for effect – a kneejerk reaction to the life he never had himself – Jude worked hard to keep Tom and Anna grounded, roping them into her charity work at every opportunity.
“It’s only for a week, Mum,” said Tom. “It will fly in.”
“I know, darling. I’m fine honestly.” Jude stroked his soft cheek as she lied unconvincingly.
“Anna!” Tom yelled across the schoolyard. “Come and say bye to Mum!”
Anna rushed over to Jude, planting a kiss on her cheek. She turned as quickly as she had come, shouting behind her. “Bye, Mum! Love you – look after Polly for me!”
Tom rolled his eyes after his sister and Jude smiled a watery smile.
As the last of the pupils embarked on the luxury coaches, the doors hissed to a definite close. It was five thirty and still dark and Jude’s eyes fought against the black backdrop, trying desperately to make out her children through the vehicle’s tinted windows.
She stayed put until the coaches heaved their way through the prestigious public-school gates, waving frantically until they were out of sight. Only then did she allow herself to shed tears for which she immediately felt silly – selfish in a way. These were the years that Tom and Anna would remember for the rest of their lives. The school trips, sports days, endless groups of friends which Jude hoped they would keep and take with them on their journey.
But her tears carried more emotion than simply missing the children. She missed them after just a day at school, but there was something else she missed.
Jude climbed into the car where she sat at the wheel, daydreaming away. The carpark was empty bar her and she was lost in her own thoughts once again. The same thoughts which had recurred for more years than she dared to remember, and Jude knew then that something had to change. Her life needed to be about more than just her children. It was more a feeling than a pragmatic decision. She had been there for them since the day they had been born, not working so she could immerse herself in maternal bliss, and it had worked beautifully. They had benefited from her patient attention, her dedication to their education and her massive contribution to their social skills as she chauffered them from middle-class hobby to hobby.
But with the prospect of doing something for herself came immediate feelings of iniquity which for some reason Jude could never seem to shake off. For fifteen years she had lived the repetitious experience of motherhood and while she had absolutely adored every moment of it, she wanted to create something new. Something for herself but, for some continued reason, it felt undeserved.
The wheels rolled down the kilometre-long gravelled driveway, assisted by a cartography of trees which mapped the route to the driver’s destination. Each tree was gifted with directional branches pointing towards the house, whatever the weather. Even on a windy day with a high inconsistent breeze the trees continued their battle to protect the entrance. They were a floodgate of watchful foliage and vigilant guardians to the inhabitants of The Firs, the seven-bedroomed listed building set in acres of mature gardens. The black BMWX5 continued its trek down the bumpy lane, shining back at them with a blinding glimmer reflecting a message of thanks that their extended arms held back their tender caress from the immaculate body paintwork. The car was the guts of sixty thousand pounds and every living breathing mortal knew how much Clive Westbury adored it – although he did think it was wasted on his wife. She didn’t appreciate its high-speed performance nor understand its technical specifications. Jude had pointed out, ‘What is the use of high speed when the law dictates what speed you should drive at, Clive?’ Clive had answered that he was the law. Or a lawyer at least.
Jude pushed the controls into park and pulled up the handbrake. She opened up the boot, pulling out endless bags of Marks and Spencer’s groceries, lugging them towards the house and dumping them on the front-door step before heading back for more.
As she set down the last of the bags, she fumbled deep in her pockets for her keys to The Firs. The door yanked open from the inside, causing her to stumble backwards with fright, and a friendly face beamed at her.
“Hello, darling!” Hattie leaned forward to embrace her daughter, her only child.
“Mum!” Jude was breathless, brought on by the shock. “I didn’t expect anyone to be home. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“I knew how sad you’d be with Tom and Anna being away, darling, so I thought I might surprise you.”
Hattie bent down to collect the bulging shopping bags which slouched lazily on the step, basking in the first signs of spring and allowing themselves to be teased and tickled by its light and unpredictable rays.
Jude marvelled at her mother. How thoughtful that she should remember the children being away. She never failed to support her. She never had.
As a daddy’s girl Jude missed her father desperately, but her mother certainly compensated in every way imaginable. Had it not
been for her maternal guidance, over the past fifteen years particularly, Jude would not have possessed such virtues as she had – they were a gift from her mother, a legacy, and her life had been enriched by the virtuous works Hattie had undertaken. The problem with Jude was that her humility denied her the right to feel deserving of even helping others more needy. She was never part of the equation, she never allowed herself to be, and that had always suited her and pleased her mother. That was the way it should be, she had been told time and time again. ‘It should never be about you, Jude,’ her mother had told her many years ago. ‘Real living is about putting everyone else before yourself.’
“What are you doing this week, darling? Making the most of your freedom, I imagine?”
Jude ignored the hissing coffee-maker momentarily and stared at a picture of the twins set in a thick glass frame. They were so alike to look at, although chalk and cheese in character. She smiled a watery smile, turning to her mother. “I don’t know what to do, Mum. I feel lost when the kids aren’t here.” She continued to fumble with her new beverage-machine – an expensive and complicated-looking gadget with knobs and whistles on, one that time-travelled collecting fresh coffee beans straight from the pure volcanic soil of high altitudes. Okay, maybe not, but if there were such a gadget there was no doubt that Clive Westbury would simply have to have it. And he would have to be the first. He had bought it as a gift for Jude.
A loud tinny bang startled the women. Hattie jumped, hurling a measure of discomposed coffee granules across the black granite worktops. They landed like a poorly planned missile, exploding in all the wrong places and wiping out nothing bar the cleanliness of the place.
“Make the most of it, Jude,” Hattie advised as she cleared up the mess, sweeping the wasted coffee into her cupped hand. “Take time out and do something with your friends while you can, darling.”
Some Like it Hot Page 2
