Cocktails and Dreams

by A. L. Michael

  I slept, dreamless and relieved.

  * * *

  I woke late in the day, mascara stinging my eyes, hands clenched around my pillow. My gaze slowly focused, and I saw the posters on the walls. And then I remembered. There was no one next to me in the bed, drooling on my neck, snoring like a steam train. Smiling like a guilty child. It hit me physically, the loss, like my ribs ached. Like something had burrowed into my chest and made a nest there, sitting silently, stealing my warmth.

  Rob.

  I took a few breaths, staring at the ceiling. It was not okay to miss him. I knew that. I knew he was a bastard who had found someone else, and was bad with money and had sponged off me for years. He was a Z-list celebrity who craved attention and praise and needed to be adored. But… I loved him. I had loved him for years. I had loved the way he smelled, like soap and fresh coffee. I loved the way he always knew that I wanted my cup of tea in my oversized panda mug, and he could tell when I was tense and wanted a neck rub, and when I wanted to be left alone. And I loved that he could make absolutely everything into a joke. I mean, I’d hated it at the time, but he never took anything too seriously. Like the time he’d popped to the corner shop because I needed tampons and was in too much pain to move, and a picture turned up in one of the magazines of him just strolling along the street clutching a box of jumbo tampons. I thought he would lose it, and instead, he just rolled around on the bed laughing, and then ripped the page out and pinned it to the back of the door. We laughed a lot. Or, at least, we used to.

  And now he’d be laughing with her. Leah.

  Like a heavy, deep chime from that clock in the hallway, that name would be my reminder. That smug look on his face. God, I wished I was as cool about it as he thought I was.

  That was one thing to be proud of, I nodded to myself, sitting up, placing my feet on the cool floorboards. I had convinced him I was not hurt at all.

  And I was pretty sure I deserved a fucking Oscar for that performance.

  ‘Savvy! Breakfast!’

  I pulled my tatty bathrobe from the back of the door, and reached into the pocket. There was still a gold foil wrapper from a Christmas chocolate coin. I didn’t stay at Jen’s much any more. Rob liked me to be there when he got back. Said it made it feel like home.

  I blinked away thoughts of him, and trudged downstairs.

  Jen was where she always was at this time in the morning – in the kitchen, dancing to the radio. Her short hair was tied up in a red scarf and she had a red shirt on with black capri trousers. She’d started jive classes, and she was pretty good, despite all the jokes about breaking a hip.

  It used to bug me, that she’d make a big deal of being older. There was a 10-year gap between her and my mother. She’d always been somehow aware of it, asking me if any of the other kids at school thought it was weird I had an old auntie. I remember saying they thought it was weirder that my mum was famous. I don’t think that went down well.

  In some ways, Jen was ageless, because she’d never followed fads or fashions. Throughout the years, her style stayed the same. She always dressed like something out of an old movie, lots of ’50s style dresses and oversized sunglasses. She made an impression. Everyone always asked if she was an artist and she shook her head, eyes wide. I suppose she cut quite the figure of an eccentric, Jen. A middle-aged woman with no husband, no children, raising her superstar sister’s child, and turning up with armfuls of aubergine from her allotment. She hated modernity. The woman still listened to vinyl, on purpose. I tried to get her a phone that did more than just phone people, and she returned it to the shop, trading it in for the simplest one possible. She was frustrating and infinitely loveable, and she’d been there for every tear, every tantrum, every heartbreak and accomplishment since I’d moved in with her. And yet people still seemed to think she was a little strange.

  Once, a few months after I’d moved in, I asked her why she didn’t have any children of her own. She’d stilled, bitten her lip, shook her head as if she was shaking the truth away, and said sometimes that’s just the way things work out. She looked so sad that I never asked her again.

  ‘Good morning, my darling!’ she wiggled her way across the room to kiss my cheek, and handed me a cup of hot water and lemon.

  I shook my head. ‘Jen –’

  She closed her eyes and shook her own head. ‘Detox. Mind and body. Heart and soul.’

  ‘I’m gonna detox my soul with lemon water?’

  She gazed at me, smile in place, glassy blue eyes not faltering. ‘Well, can you think of a better place to start?’

  ‘Black coffee. Black as my soul. The deepest black coffee, with three sugars and a crushed-up beta blocker.’ I fell into the chair and hugged the mug close. I could feel myself regressing as I sat there, bitching about something I didn’t care about. We both knew I was going to drink the damn hot water and be done with it.

  ‘Someone’s feeling dramatic this morning.’ She patted my hand. ‘Green juice? It’s got mango!’

  ‘Jen.’ I stuck out my lip. ‘Remember the days when I’d come home heartbroken and you’d make me pancakes in the shape of hearts, and smother them in chocolate spread? I miss those days.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ she grinned, ‘but chocolate pancakes are for teenagers. Grown-ups get green juice and a talk about their life plans.’

  I took a deep breath, looking out into the garden. My aunt’s garden was her sanctuary, an oasis of colour and life. She loved to take the time and energy to acknowledge each plant, see how it was doing, assess its growth, whether it needed a support or just time to get its act together.

  She was doing the same with me.

  ‘Kids are like plants,’ she always used to say. ‘Give them what they need, then let them grow.’

  Used to drive me mental.

  Now, I took my aunt’s quirks as part and parcel of being someone who had taken in a 7-year-old, become responsible for her health, education and wellbeing, and even now, 20 years later, was still cleaning up her messes. She was born to be a mother, so unlike the woman who bore me. Jen was unselfish, giving, measured. She wasn’t afraid to be tough, and I’d had more than enough lectures over the years. I’ve always thought the way to raise a loving kid is to instil a deep fear of disappointing their parent. I have always been so grateful to Jen that I never wanted to let her down. She chose me and I never wanted her to regret that decision.

  Jen sat down at the table opposite me, hands palm up on the table, eyes series. ‘Okay, tell me the plan.’

  ‘Everything from the flat will be transferred to Rob’s name. He won’t be able to afford it, but –’

  ‘Not your problem.’ She was gentle but firm.

  I nodded slowly. ‘Right. So I’ll stay here. I emailed the temp agency last night before I went to sleep. I’m done. They’ll just need me to go sign some paperwork and have an exit interview – I’ll pop over this afternoon.’

  ‘Good,’ she nodded. ‘More.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘This is your moment, Savannah! What do you want to do with this precious life you’ve been wasting on a talentless arsehole?’ She was almost frantic with energy, tapping her hands on the table.

  ‘I thought all of us were special creatures, worthy in our own way.’

  ‘Some are more special than others.’ Jen curved her mouth with distaste. ‘A DJ, for goodness’ sake. Of all the people.’

  ‘He wasn’t just a DJ.’

  Jen’s head tilted to the side, as if to dare me to offer something else Rob was. I racked my brains for something worthy, something she wouldn’t sigh at. ‘Minor celebrity’ and ‘creative entrepreneur’ didn’t really fit the bill.

  ‘He was an activist!’

  ‘He did a gig for charity once – what, that makes him Bono?’ Jen smirked. ‘I’m going to tell you something, and you’re not going to like it: I’m glad this has happened. Because now you can finally stop living for someone else. You can finally put yourself first and do whatever the
hell you want. So… what do you want?’

  ‘Why does everyone keep asking that? And if everyone thought he was so bloody horrible, why didn’t they tell me?’

  ‘Because when you make a man the sun in your universe, no one wants to tell you your universe is revolving around a pile of shite, my love.’ Jen made a face and shrugged. ‘Not really the most pleasant thing to tell someone.’ She grabbed my hand, stroking between the thumb and forefinger in the way she used to when I was a kid, calming me down, reminding me no one was going anywhere, no one was leaving me. Reminding me I was safe.

  ‘You have an opportunity to become. Don’t let that slip away. Do the work. Decide to be something.’

  ‘I am something.’

  ‘I’m sure you are. But at the moment, it seems like a terrible waste of an excellent person.’

  Jen stood up, patting my hand. ‘I’ve said my piece, and I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to get to the garden centre. There’s pancake batter in the fridge if you want it.’

  She smiled at me, bold and knowing. ‘Trust me, Savvy, this will be the making of you.’

  I nodded and sighed deeply as she put her cup in the sink, and hovered in the doorway.

  ‘There’s fresh coffee in the pot.’

  And she was gone, that white grin flashing at me from the hallway.

  She was always doing that, imparting wisdom and then disappearing. She did it so subtly, as if she were tricking you into being a better person. You knew it, and she knew it, but neither of you would talk about it.

  It had been that way since my teenage years. Every year it was the same routine: Persephone would forget my birthday (or she’d remember but get my age wrong) and I’d go out and get hammered. I’d be so intent on showing her that I didn’t care that I’d make stupid, reckless choices. I remember coming into a dark house on my 18th birthday to find my aunt sitting at the kitchen table, clutching a cup of tea. She was wearing that tatty blue dressing gown, and it made me angry because she should have bought something new. She always seemed like a martyr. Everything had value, nothing was to be discarded or replaced. It was about three a.m., and I was struggling to see straight; the clock on the wall was wobbling as I looked at it.

  Her voice had been like stone that night, asking me how much I had had to drink, why I hadn’t turned up for dinner when she’d made my favourite lasagne and a chocolate coffee birthday cake. I realized as she was talking that all night, everyone had been telling me what a great night it was, and how much fun we were having, and I didn’t remember that at all. I didn’t even remember getting home.

  ‘Do you really want this every year, Savannah? You want every year to be about her?’

  ‘It’s not about her!’ I’d yelped, hearing myself slur the words. ‘She doesn’t even remember!’

  ‘No, and she’s not here to see you destroying yourself. So grow the hell up.’

  Jen had made it to the door, vibrating with fury and disappointment, and yet she turned back, in the way that she always would. I could depend on her turning back, even in the middle of her anger, to tell me that there was a plate of lasagne in the microwave, and that I could have some birthday cake tomorrow. Jen showing kindness, even when I disappointed her, was as dependable as my mother forgetting my birthday. It just took me a few years to realize.

  And here she was, doing it again. Being infuriatingly right, and kind at the same time. Everyone thought I was better off without Rob, but the problem was that, stupidly, I had never considered what I would do without him.

  * * *

  It took some time rooting through the boxes to find something acceptable to wear. And then I walked down the high street to the temp office, head down, determined. I knew they would try and talk me into staying – I was their hardest worker. Or rather, I always said yes. That’s what my boss called me: ‘The Yes Girl’. If there was an extra shift, a chance for double pay, someone dropped out last minute – I said yes. And now I was saying no. The relief I felt was physical, like my chest was hurting because of Rob, but my shoulders had finally stopped tensing with the need to keep earning, to keep us above water. I wasn’t responsible for anyone else any more. That was both sad and freeing.

  ‘Hey, Yes Girl!’

  So, the thing you need to know about Derek is that he’s a prick: 24 years old, got into temp recruitment straight out of school and seemed to think it was the equivalent of day-trading. He sat back in his office, feet up on the desk, arms bent behind his head. An absolutely relaxed pose.

  ‘So, you’re too good for us now, Savannah?’

  I rolled my eyes and sighed. I’d dealt with a lot of crap from Derek over the last few years. The only reason I put up with it was the fact that I was rarely in the office. Our main interactions were him sending me to a different location or offering me more hours. Or explaining, in painfully slow detail, that I had to be able to use PowerPoint.

  ‘Never, Derek. Just… greener pastures.’

  ‘Maybe you’ve just run out of steam,’ he shrugged, wrinkling his greasy nose. ‘Happens as women get older. Oh! You’re not up the duff, are you?’

  I tried so hard to avoid rolling my eyes that I was concerned my cornea was floating about somewhere near my temporal lobe. ‘No. I’m just busy with the bar. I don’t have time any more.’

  ‘You’d think you’d need this more than ever. Trying to pay rent alone is hard!’ He twitched his mouth in an approximation of a smile. ‘Sorry about the boyfriend, by the way. He get too famous for you?’

  ‘It only just - how did you –’

  ‘I mean, I know he was only Z-list, like, a few episodes of that MTV show and a guest spot on TOWIE, but, you know, compared to you…’

  I snorted at that, thinking of the mountains of paperwork it took to ensure I was never mentioned on the shows, the endless attempts to involve me, get my mother on the show. Rob pleaded with me more than once to use my mother as a way into the famous crowd he was so desperate to infiltrate. I think he was always a little resentful that I wouldn’t give in.

  ‘She’s used you, Savannah, to write that song. Why not use her back?’

  ‘Because that’s not who I am,’ I remembered saying, so sure in that moment of exactly who I was. I was more than Persephone Black’s daughter, and I always intended to stay that way.

  But back to the question at hand.

  ‘How do you know about Rob?’

  ‘All over the tabloids, and internet obviously, him with that girl off the telly.’ Derek grinned and gestured in front of his chest in a way that required no explanation. He tilted his head out to the hallway. ‘All the girls were talking about it this morning. Must have been going on a while, eh? It’s almost like you’re a celebrity too.’

  ‘Oh joy, my aim in life.’ I tried not to growl. ‘So, what do you need for this exit interview?’

  He grinned like a Cheshire cat, jumping up from the chair, rubbing his hands together like an ageing car salesman.

  A pointless 25 minutes later, after listening to Derek pontificate on policy and company dynamics, as well as passive aggressively suggesting I wouldn’t find anything better, I emerged into the open office space. To find a bunch of whispering women hunched around a computer screen, giggling. God, it really was like school all over again. Look, what’s Persephone Black done now – hey, isn’t that her kid?

  Except this time, I was almost certain it was Rob.

  Their eyes fluttered up to mine, then away again, these fake friends I made small talk with on occasion.

  ‘Show me,’ I said. They looked secretly thrilled.

  And there he was. Looking exactly as he always did in those photos – fitted jumper and ripped jeans, baseball cap and sunglasses. Tall and solid and slightly unkempt in a sexy way. Except he was holding hands with a petite woman with large breasts and a tiny dog. So clichéd. ‘Is Leah Williams, Children’s TV Presenter, is DJ Rob Knowles’ new squeeze?’ read the caption. I briefly wanted to be sick, but the girls in that office would love it
. Some of them were probably even filming – they could send in their own story, get their own five minutes in the spotlight, or at least 20 quid for a decent picture.

  I straightened my back, smiled and shrugged, adopting that same face I had used only yesterday, when he said he was leaving me. Strong, empty, determined to be all right. Derek was right - it had obviously been going on for a while.

  ‘Good riddance,’ I smiled. ‘See you, ladies.’

  I walked from that room like a warrior queen returning to her kingdom. But I felt like a child, desperate for her mother. Actually, what I really needed was my best friend, and a glass of wine the size of my face.

  Chapter Four

  ‘You’ve broken up? Thank fuck!’ Mia exclaimed, holding her glass of wine up for me to clink against. ‘Well done, babe.’

  My best friend had, at least, been upfront about Rob from the beginning. She hated him and thought I was wasting my life. And apparently everyone else thought so too. She was just the only one who had the guts to tell me to my face. She’d been nice enough those first few weeks, thought it was great, but when the weeks turned to months, and the months turned to years, she couldn’t stop herself from saying something. That’s the thing about Mia, she just can’t help herself. Which is actually quite comforting, when you worry about how to interact with people all the time. She’d brought over a bottle of wine, listened to me talk about our one-year anniversary, let me show off our studio flat, and then simply said, ‘Savvy, this guy? Really? This is the one?’

  I’d been hurt and prickly and defensive, and had given a million reasons why Rob was a great guy. She’d nodded, sighed and said, ‘Okay, just… don’t be an “us”, be a “you and him”. “Us” people suck.’

  ‘It’s nice to be an “us”!’

  She’d rolled her eyes. ‘Fine, but if one day in the future, you start talking about school catchment areas or Rob’s fungal treatment, and expect me to actually care, I’m gonna pass out just to make a point.’