by Lucy Vine
Maddie’s still talking. ‘Ellie made me my birthday card last year!’ It’s true, I did – and she looked pleased for half a second because she thought I’d bought it from Moonpig. When I said I’d drawn it myself, she just looked a bit alarmed and asked me if I needed to borrow some money from Alfred’s trust fund (duh, of course the dog has a trust fund, how else is he going to attend university?).
‘Yeah, I’ll think about entering,’ I say, pretending to consider it. I’ve already been thinking about it a lot. Hard not to with all this propaganda around me.
Maddie opens her mouth to argue the point some more, but right then I spot Sophie coming in the door, looking flustered but beautiful in a flowing green dress.
I’m so happy to see her.
I hurry over to greet her and we hug, giggling excitedly. It feels naughty, somehow, having my best friend at a work event, around colleagues she’s never met. These are two worlds that don’t usually collide.
More people are arriving now and I take her arm and guide her over to the bar. I explain to her that we have to drink the plastic cups full of bright yellow wine as fast as possible before it runs out. Sophie gabbles about the babysitter and arguing with New Ryan over putting Ciara to bed, and I side-eye the Agents Smith. They’re still sticking tightly together by the bar, talking quietly among themselves. My girl crush in blue stands slightly separately, not bothering to include herself in the small talk and confidently regarding the room.
She’s so cool. I could never just stand there doing nothing. I’d have my phone out pretending to be checking vitally important messages but secretly playing Candy Crush.
We take a gulp of our disgusting wine and grimace simultaneously. Sophie nudges me excitedly. ‘So, how is Tinder? Any more promising dates coming up? Tell me about them, show me pictures!’
‘Oh, it’s awful,’ I say, waving my wine in the air. ‘I was talking to a guy last night who felt compelled to tell me that he only showers once a week. He said it’s not even an environmental thing, he just reckons he doesn’t smell and he doesn’t like water. Who doesn’t like water? We are literally mostly water.’
Sophie laughs. ‘So he’s like a cat? Maybe that’s cute?’ She pats me. ‘There is someone amazing out there for you, Ellie, I know it. Just stick with it. You only need that one decent guy to come along and you could be married in a year!’ I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. I was hoping she’d tell me I should come off Tinder and forget about all these weirdos.
I see Maddie heading over. This could be interesting – they’ve never met. I excitedly introduce them, watching them watching each other. They smile awkwardly at each other and there’s half a second of silence as my two circles collide.
‘I can’t believe you guys have never spoken before,’ I say into the strange atmosphere. ‘Two of my best friends!’ I laugh and add, ‘Don’t fight over me!’
I wish I hadn’t said that last bit. The tension prickles and my stomach clenches. Maybe they’ll hate each other. Maybe they will actually fight! It’s always bizarre when two friendship worlds are brought together. They know everything about the other – Maddie saw pictures of Sophie’s mastitis nipples when she was breastfeeding and Sophie saw pictures of Alfred’s tiny dog penis after he got the snip – but they don’t know each other. Sophie clears her throat and asks after Maddie’s day. They are mentally circling each other like wild beasts, each of them sizing the other up. It’s hard to know what will happen next. Please don’t hate each other, I silently plead.
There’s a pause, a lull in weather talk, and then Maddie, looking mischievous, says, ‘Was Ellie this much of a loser at school too?’
Sophie shrieks and puts her arm round Maddie. ‘Absolutely. She had the giant tits, but still couldn’t get a boyfriend.’
They start exchanging Ellie stories and I laugh and hit them both. There is nothing to bond two British people more than slagging off a third. Ugh, wait, Rich is coming over. UGH, he’s introducing himself to Sophie. UGH.
‘Hi there! It’s so great to meet you, haha,’ he’s saying. ‘I’m Rich. I expect Ellie’s told you all about me – don’t believe a word of it HAHA!’
That is the worst kind of introduction and only embarrassing old men should be allowed to say it.
‘Sophie Ellis,’ she says, giving him a limp hand to shake – because she has indeed heard all about him.
‘Oh, haha, like Sophie Ellis Bex . . . ’ (OH GOD PLEASE DON’T SAY IT) ‘ . . . tor?’ Rich says, laughing. Sophie’s face goes dark. She withdraws her hand. Rich pales. He knows he has made a mistake. But he can’t quite see how. He’s like a frightened animal, twitching, unsure which way to run but knowing his life may depend on the decision.
I think about trying to save him. I decide not to.
‘Not –’ (her voice is icy) ‘– particularly like it.’
Rich bites his lip. He is desperate to make a joke about there being Murder on the Dancefloor, I can see he is, everyone does, but he shouldn’t.
He laughs again nervously and then licks his chewed lip. ‘But . . . ’ (oh God, he’s going to try again with the joke) ‘. . . it is like Sophie . . . Ellis Bextor. Like her name.’
There’s silence. I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am.
‘The singer?’ he tries again, beginning to sweat. ‘The DJ?’
‘Nice to meet you,’ she says, staring at him and not moving.
He nods and backs away, head down, turning in the direction of the loo. She’s ruined his night. Serves him and his polar bears right.
‘Oh my God, he is the worst!’ Sophie says, turning back to us.
Maddie’s nodding. ‘The worst!’ I’ve already warned her that Sophie’s name is not to be trifled with. But come on, she shouldn’t have taken her husband’s name when they got married. We all warned her this very thing would keep happening. Oh well. If only Sophie Ellis Bextor had enjoyed more than one big hit, maybe the jokes would at least be varied.
I realise someone else has taken Rich’s place beside us.
It’s her.
‘Hello,’ she says smoothly to me. I stare at her, she stares back.
‘Hi! I’m Sophie,’ Sophie says, happily, offering a much more enthusiastic hand and leaving off her last name to avoid a repeat of what just happened.
‘Maddie,’ says Maddie, barely feigning interest and staring off at Aaron across the room again.
‘Elizabeth Shelley,’ says blue suit, smiling, showing big white teeth. It has a sort of predator affect, I like it.
‘Eleanor Knight,’ I eventually volunteer, my voice higher than usual.
We smile at each other and there’s silence. Sophie looks at each of us, feeling the awkwardness and recognising my intimidated face.
‘So what brings you to The Hales’ party, Elizabeth?’ she says, saving me.
Elizabeth picks a long dark hair off her arm. It’s probably mine, I shed a lot. That means I’ve sort of touched her.
‘I work for Windsor,’ she replies. ‘I run one of their galleries in north London. And, of course, I’m helping with entries on this art competition.’ She smiles again. ‘It’s proving entertaining so far.’
Sophie raises her eyebrows and glances at me. ‘Have you had many entries yet?’
‘A surprising number,’ she confirms. ‘We’re displaying them all across the South Bank – have you been down? There seems to be a lot of talk over one in particular. It’s rather beautiful. An anonymous entry, so people are calling the artist the “New Banksy”.’ She laughs and I realise she’s nice. Beautiful, successful and nice. Fucksake.
‘I’m going down there tomorrow,’ I say, my voice returning to a normal pitch. ‘I’m an illustrator here at The Hales, but I also paint . . . sometimes.’
‘She’s wonderful,’ Sophie adds loyally, as Elizabeth smiles nicely.
‘You should enter. We don’t have very many paintings so far. It’s a lot of modern stuff, installation pieces and the like.’
�
��That’s what I’ve told her, I don’t know why she hasn’t already entered,’ Sophie says, and I can hear the irritation entering her voice. I change the subject.
‘What’s it like, working in a gallery?’ I ask, adding quickly, ‘I think it would be pretty much my dream job.’
Her smile gets wider.
‘Mine too. I’ve been doing it for eighteen years now and every day is still exciting and new. I feel very lucky.’
I sigh. This is what I want. I want to feel lucky. I want to spend all day looking at art and talking to people about it. Elizabeth glances over at the Windsor agents. They’re still not mingling, standing rigid side by side.
‘Actually, don’t mention this to anyone,’ she says, her voice lowered. ‘I’m in the process of opening my very own gallery. It’s a big step – a big risk – but I’m thrilled about it. I can’t wait. I want to give new artists a chance to show their work and discover new talent. I think that’s why I’m enjoying this competition so much, there’s so much out there and the art world can be so cliquey and closed off.’
I gasp, a little too dramatically, and she looks at me carefully, probably assessing whether I’m mocking her.
I’m not and hastily add, ‘That’s incredible. You must be thrilled. Will you be . . . will you . . . ’ I trail off, glancing helplessly at Soph, and once more she steps in.
‘Will you be hiring staff for the gallery?’
Elizabeth nods. ‘Not immediately. I’m still speaking to investors and looking for the right location. But I will be, most definitely.’ She looks at me directly. ‘Shall I give you my card?’
I can’t say anything, so just nod while Sophie grins and takes it from Elizabeth. Unzipping my bag, she pops it in.
‘Thank you!’ she says for me, as Elizabeth excuses herself and glides like an Egyptian queen over to Derek.
Watching her walk away, I feel a bit shell shocked. I know it’s probably not going to come to anything. It’s just party small talk. She was being polite. I probably won’t even be able to recover that card from the recesses of my bag, where receipts, pens and breakfast biscuit crumbs go to die. But it’s exciting enough – this feeling. Recognising what I want. It’s like my ambition has come flooding back, and it feels familiar. I used to have this drive, ages ago, and I forgot about it. I didn’t notice when it went away but now it’s back and I want it to stay. I’ve been coasting for years, going through the motions. I want to achieve things and do something with my work that excites the hell out of me. This is an amazing feeling.
I take a big gulp of my now-warm wine and gag a bit.
From: Alan Knight
To: [email protected], [email protected]
5th March
Alan Knight
106 Castle Rise
Judfield
East Sussex
TN22 5UN
Dear Eleanor and Jennifer,
I’ve sorry you’ve had to wait a couple of weeks for the latest “instalment” of my “novel”. I hope you weren’t on the edge of your seat because you probably would have fallen off! L.O.L. I’ve had such a busy few days! Maybe you already know that Psychic Sharon has set up a “Psychic YouTube Channel” (I do not know what this means). She says she sent an “email blast” to everyone, so I am sure you were on that list. I have “attached” a picture I took of the email, in case you were not. As you can see, she is now a “YouTuber” (I do not know what this means either), and on Tuesday, she “Facetimed” me to say that she’d had a premonition about really terrible things happening to me if I didn’t get straight over to Church Road to help her film her latest “Vlog”. As it turned out, it was mostly me holding a bedside lamp really close to her face while she talked. She says the “lighting” is very, very important for “subscribers”. I didn’t mind, but my arms were really aching after two days of “Vlogging”! Psychic Sharon says I have now, thankfully, averted the terrible things, and she is giving me an “executive producer” title.
But I was happy to get back to my writing, I can tell you! I read the latest chapter to Candice and Peter, and Candice says it’s really “hotting up”. I hope you agree.
Lenny – Thank you for your feedback. I think tracksuits can be attractive? What about the red one your Aunt Susie gave me for Christmas in 2004? You said I looked like David Hasselhoff from “Baywatch”?
Jenny – I hope you’re OK. Your “email address” seems to be “out of action”? I’m getting a reply saying I have been “blocked”? Hope this gets through to you but don’t worry if not because Candice printed it out on her “colour printer” for me and I’ve put it in the “post” for you. Bernard at the Post Office said it would probably take a few days but who knows with the postal system being the way it is. L.O.L. I am only joking, I know they work very hard.
Love you both very much and I’m very proud of both of you.
Best wishes,
Dad
75 HUES OF TONY
A novel, by Alan Bernard Knight
Tony Braxton is very, very nervous, which is incredibly unusual for Tony. As everyone is always saying, Tony Braxton is the calmest person in the whole world. He has even been asked to defuse several bombs by the government even though he doesn’t really know how to defuse bombs, just because he is so calm at difficult times. But not today. Today he is the bomb that needs defusing. He is very, very nervous.
Tony is nervous because he is on his way to Svetlana’s house!! He cannot believe he is actually on his way to see her and he cannot believe how nervous he feels. He has never before met a woman who has had such a big effect on him or created such amazing sexual tensions in rooms with him before. It wasn’t even like this with Anita and anyone would tell you that Anita was a deeply, deeply satisfied woman. If you were to ask her right now she might even say she was too satisfied, but only if you really put her on the spot and probably she would just say deeply satisfied, not too satisfied.
But anyway, as Tony drives the ten minute drive to Svetlana’s house right now in his brand new yellow Ford Mondeo, he wonders again if he should turn back. After all he has been warned off this woman many, many times by the women at the Book Club. He knows it is wrong but that just makes it more exciting. He feels compelled to keep driving and he is forced to admit to himself and to Radio Four that he has on in the car, that he is very excited.
When he arrives outside the address Svetlana has texted to him, Tony opens the car door to get out and then gets out and closes the car door behind him, rubbing his nodding dog for luck as he does. He then locks his car and looks up at the enormous house. He is very impressed by the enormous house before him. It is enormous.
He walks up the path and knocks on the really enormous door using the big door knob, which is an erotic metaphor for what may be about to happen. A butler answers, which is really impressive as well, and he leads Tony through the house to the back garden, where Svetlana is waiting by the indoor pool in a really attractive swimsuit and a hat. She is holding a cocktail of some sort. Tony has definitely tried all the cocktails and he would guess that this one is a Commopolitane cocktail.
‘You look very handsome, Tony,’ says Svetlana, who stands up to greet him and looks him up and down, admiring the brown corduroy trousers and red Adidas jumper he has chosen specially for this occasion. They look amazing on him but they are also flexible and work-friendly in case he needs to climb on things or under things when he is fixing Svetlana’s phone which is why he’s here. Although they both know that was a pretence.
‘Hello, Svetlana!’ Tony says sensually.
‘Please, Tony,’ she says in her Russian accent, ‘Call me Lana. Would you like a Commopolitane cocktail?’
Tony was right.
‘Yes please, Lana,’ says Tony politely, and the butler dashes to fetch the drink.
‘Please sit down,’ says Lana, and Tony does so, admiring the big pool in front of them. He has, of course, had many pools
over the years, but this one is really special and big.
‘Your pool is really special and big, Lana,’ says Tony erotically, and the air is thick with unspoken words about things being special and big, like the door knob earlier.
They stare at each other for a moment and then Lana leans towards him.
What is about to happen? wonders Tony.
Just then the butler returns with Tony’s drink and Lana leans away again. Tony takes the drink from the butler and says thank you very much because he is always polite. People comment on his manners nearly as much as his beautiful calves.
‘Can I ask you a question, please?’ says Lana and Tony nods generously. ‘I know you are quite new to being single but are you interested in anyone yet?’ And then she adds surprisingly, ‘Do you like Wanda?’
Tony is surprised. He has known Wanda a long time and although everyone always says she fancies him and she is always talking about his calves and chiselled features, Tony is sure there is no more to it than that.
‘We are just friends and book clubbers, there is no more to it than that,’ says Tony.
‘That is good news!’ says Lana, downing the rest of her cocktail in one go. ‘Because, Tony, I will tell you now, I am very interested in you and I wish to have you as my own.’
Tony cannot believe his ears and neither can the butler who is still standing there with them. Lana is so forward! Tony has never met a more forward woman in his life, and he has met almost every woman in the world. He is alarmed, but he cannot deny he is excited as well. Lana is incredibly good-looking and sophisticated. But he must not get carried away. Perhaps this is moving too fast?
‘Maybe I should fix your phone before we go any further?’ suggests Tony nervously.
