‘Yeah! I didn’t actually bring anything with me. I think some stuff is still at the penthouse…’
‘You just went into my room and took my stuff?’
‘Well, it’s not like I have your mobile number to ask your permission.’ She shrugged, turned back to the TV and switched the volume up again. I snatched the remote.
‘You did. You did have my number. You never used it. Don’t go into my room and don’t touch my stuff.’
‘Sharing is caring!’ She laughed at me, and I turned back, watching as she flicked her hair and looked up at me, daring me to say something. I shook my head and started to leave the room.
Then I heard her.
‘Jen said you’ve been out on a date.’
I stilled, not turning back, but not moving. Maybe she was reaching out, wanting to know about a part of her daughter’s life she never had access to? Dad had been there for my first jump into the dating world. He’d been there when I convinced Rob to come to a ‘meet the parents’ dinner. She’d missed all of it. I tried to stop and think how sad that must be, to return to a grown woman instead of the child she’d left behind, missing all of the parts that made me who I was.
Then she spoke again.
‘Just make sure you’re using protection. Getting pregnant will totally ruin your life.’
I whirled round and she winked at me, like it was a game. Like she was my bestie at a sleepover, asking me about my love life.
‘Like it ruined yours, you mean?’ It hurt to say the words, throbbing with rage so that my throat closed.
Her voice was languorous as she smiled, like it was all a big joke. ‘Well, just being honest…’
‘Don’t. Believe me, you being pregnant didn’t work out so well for me either.’
I heard her surprised laughter as I left the room, then the sound of the TV being turned up.
When I stomped upstairs, pausing halfway and adjusting my tread so that I didn’t disturb Jen, I walked into my room to find it in disarray. Clothes strewn everywhere, my cupboard doors left open. Even my jewellery box had been explored and left in a mess. I hadn’t even unpacked all of my boxes, and still she had managed to destroy the system I had in place. The ecosystem was savaged. I took a deep breath, hovering between going downstairs to shout at her, and moaning at Jen. Instead I simply went to bed, holding on to that memory of a perfect day, denying her the chance to take away anything else that was mine.
* * *
I woke up to a text from Milo:
Good morning. How’s living with a rock star? M x
As bad as expected. x
I finish early tonight. Want to wow me with a cocktail? x
I’ll see you at the Martini Club. I’ll be sure to wow you. x
You always do. See ya later. x
It was a brighter start to my day than I’d been expecting. I changed into my gym clothes and put my earphones in, heading down the stairs at a fast pace. I whistled for Noodle, who came careening through the hallway, tripping over her own paws in excitement. She knew it was running time. I hooked her lead on and tickled behind her ears. I wish I loved to run as much as dogs. Just seeing her excitement made me feel a little more optimistic. I opened the door, and there was Dad, the same as every week, standing there in his jogging bottoms, trainers and Jethro Tull T-shirt.
‘We lost the headband this week, I see,’ I remarked. ‘Good choice.’
Dad rolled his eyes, tapping the brim of his baseball cap. ‘I’ve upgraded. Ready to run me so ragged you fear I’ll have a heart attack?’
‘And then let you guilt me into buying you a coffee, same as every week.’
‘Jason?’
His face dropped, his mouth open as he looked at her. ‘Clare?’
She walked out from the front door, barefoot, still wearing my goddamn jeans and a spotted top of Jen’s. Her arms were crossed, smirk on her face, like she couldn’t believe her luck. ‘Well, look at you, completely embraced fatherhood with open arms, didn’t you? Badly fitted clothes and paunch and all. God, what a blast from the past!’
‘You’re… you’re here,’ he said, looking at me, asking me with his eyes why I hadn’t prepared him. Why I hadn’t told him something so important. He looked so awkward, like a startled little bird.
‘I’m back, babe! For a little while anyway, in the bosom of my family,’ she grinned.
‘How she manages to say that completely without irony is beyond me,’ I told him. ‘Come on, Dad, time to run.’
‘Aw, such an adorable display of father–daughter bonding!’ She wiggled her fingers in farewell. ‘Buh bye!’
We started to jog off, before my dad simply turned around, still jogging on the spot, and yelled back, ‘Oi, Clare! Fuck off, would you!’ and sped around the corner. The ‘o’ of her mouth in the distance as we ran had me in giggles until we reached the park. We kept running, until I was out of breath, until her stupid grin and barely hidden jibes stopped pissing me off. It wasn’t until I had lapped the park that I realized Dad was sitting on the bench halfway back.
He was sweating and red-faced, leaning forward on his knees, staring into space as he took deep breaths in and out. He didn’t look at me when I approached, frowning into the distance.
‘You should have told me,’ he wheezed, shaking his head. ‘You should have told me.’
‘I thought Jen did!’ I held my hands up, trying to catch his eye.
‘How long has she been there?’
‘Two days,’ I mumbled. ‘I’ve been out. I’ve stayed out.’
Dad took a breath and sat back, collapsing into the bench. He patted my knee. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I just thought… Well, I thought if I ever saw your mother again I wouldn’t be standing in my tennis shoes wearing an old baseball cap whilst she told me I looked old and fat.’
I cringed. ‘Sorry, Dad. She just… showed up.’
‘Any idea why?’
I made a face. ‘Because I yelled at her in a public place and that apparently made her think she had a loving family to come home to? I think she’s hiding out from her label. Sounds like she’s not delivering an album she’s promised them. And there’s the small case of having to decide whether to have surgery on her vocal cords. So, you know, obviously she’s spending time thinking it over carefully, being a balanced, well-informed adult about it all…’
‘I’m surprised you care at all,’ he said, watching me.
My father looked sad and broken. And there was an edge to his voice, an aching childishness that sounded a little like jealousy.
‘I don’t.’
‘Sounds like you do.’
‘You asked why she was here – I was telling you.’
We sat in silence and I kicked my heels against the pavement.
‘So… you think she’ll do it?’ he asked. ‘The surgery?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know her.’
‘She likes drama, your mum, but I’m sure deep down she’s quite scared and could probably do with some support,’ he said.
I looked at him in shock, watching as a smile appeared on his lips, getting wider and wider until he started laughing.
‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ he gasped. ‘I meant it when I said it, but your face!’
I began to laugh along, shaking my head. ‘Bad person! Very bad person! You ever think it’s karma?’
‘What, she’s such a terrible she-demon that she deserves never to sing again?’ Dad snorted, standing up and twisting side to side to release the tension. ‘No, I think that whilst the woman is a law unto herself, and a terribly selfish pain in the arse, she gave me you. So she gets good karma, at least from me.’
‘Aw!’ I smiled. ‘I’d hug you but I’m sweaty.’
‘Then let’s run. Apparently this old dad has a paunch.’ He patted his belly, rolling his eyes.
* * *
Arriving back after lunch and getting ready for work, I managed to avoid my mother. I’d been thinking about a new cocktail. The Milo. An Espresso Martini with melted da
rk chocolate and Baileys cream. Almost too much, but not quite enough. It was either that or something light and spicy, like ginger and apple with an infused vodka. Something with a kick and a twist of sweetness.
I did my make-up and went downstairs, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Jen patted my back as I walked past.
‘I feel like I haven’t seen you,’ I said.
She smiled tiredly. ‘Self-preservation, sweetheart. And you’ve been out too. Someone special?’
‘Maybe,’ I smiled.
‘Any more thoughts on this cookery school thing?’
‘I applied for a few things before work this morning, before my run. Talking to Milo last night was… well, he’s travelled a lot. It made me think about how much amazing food there is in the world. Could you imagine learning to make pasta in Italy, or mezze in Greece? I’m going to ask Ricardo for a reference tonight. He seemed pretty insistent that I follow this path, so I’m sure he’ll help.’
I heard her voice before I saw her, sitting at the kitchen table, hands interlinked. ‘What’s this about cookery school?’
Jen and I shared a moment of irritation, before I looked past my mother. ‘I’m applying.’
She snorted. ‘Oh, well, that’ll be exciting. Getting sweaty in a kitchen chopping onions for a shouty English prick?’
‘Why does everyone think every chef is like Gordon Ramsay?’ I sighed. ‘There’s art to cooking. And I’m good at it.’
She held up her hands. ‘No need to be so defensive. So that’s where you’re going made up like a forties French whore? To work in a kitchen?’
‘Clare –’
‘What?’ My mother laughed, rolling a cigarette. ‘She’s got glitter all down her chest. She opens that corset it’ll be like New Year’s Eve fireworks.’
‘Um, pot, kettle?’ I huffed, kissing Jen’s cheek. ‘I’ll be back late – I’m meeting Milo after work.’
‘Text if you’re not coming home,’ Jen said, and I winced with the awkwardness of it all.
I walked past Clare without saying anything, and she called after me, ‘Don’t forget to use protection!’
I heard her cackling as I slammed the door.
Chapter Eleven
‘Who’s the hottie?’ Jacques nudged me with his hip as he got a bottle of champagne from behind the bar.
‘Where?’
‘Hanging around at the end of the bar looking at you like you’re a piece of prime rib,’ Jacques grinned. ‘Which is impressive considering there’s a whole bunch of boobs akimbo on stage.’
‘Ah, Boobs Akimbo – isn’t that the name of your band?’
‘I’m not kidding, he’s looking at you!’
I smiled at Milo, who raised a hand awkwardly, and then looked embarrassed, taking a seat at the bar. He was still dressed from work, in his smart black trousers and white shirt, but he’d unbuttoned the collar and rolled his sleeves up, looking sloppy and relaxed. I waved, mouthing, ‘One second.’
‘When did that happen?’
‘It’s recent,’ I mumbled, concentrating on the drinks I was making.
‘Well, way to level up.’
I snorted, putting the drinks on the tray and heading off to Milo, the smile almost making my face hurt.
‘Hey there.’
‘Hello,’ he smiled. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good, it’s good.’
‘Good,’ he nodded, grinning at me.
Silence settled between us, as we simply smiled at each other.
‘Hello, any service actually going on here, darlings?’ Arabella broke our reverie, her bright red lipstick and huge hair belying the normality we’d experienced together a few days ago. I couldn’t even imagine that I’d seen her in jeans, now that she was wearing a sparkly full-length black dress with a sheer v-neck.
‘I was just about to ask your star bartender to wow me,’ Milo said, turning his eyes to me in a challenge.
‘And I was just about to tell him that every cocktail I make wows people.’ I stuck out my tongue.
‘Oh God, flirting. Sweet Lord, I’m too old for this.’ Bel strode off to the other end of the bar.
‘Cheers, boss!’ I rolled my eyes at her retreating back. ‘So, dark and spicy or light and fruity?’
‘Your pick.’
I went with the Espresso Martini I’d been making up in my head all day, and watched his face as he tasted it, working out the different flavours. ‘Is that nutmeg?’
‘Maybe.’
‘It’s richer, I… yeah, I’m wowed. And I think the shot of caffeine was probably needed.’
‘Long day?’
‘Insanely so.’ He sighed and seemed to deflate, release the tension in his neck. His smile was tired, I realized. ‘Had some big names in today. Not your usual TV series lot, though – actual movie stars.’
‘Ooh, did any of them talk to you?’
‘Yes, at breakfast one of the guys from that boy band all the teenagers love came over and asked me if I’d ever tried iowaska.’
‘Which is?’
‘A crazy herbal hallucinogenic from South America.’
I blinked. ‘He asked you this at breakfast?’
Milo nodded. ‘And then proceeded to tell me that if I ever did take it, I should know that I couldn’t eat meat or have sex for 24 hours, and that’s a drag.’
‘Jeez, celebs are partying hard at the moment.’
‘It’s some awards show thing, probably what your mom’s here for.’ He shrugged, bending a beermat. ‘I’m just tired of it, of them. These stuck-up celebrity assholes who whine about things because it makes them feel important. Oh, I want the bacon sandwich with the avocado on the side. The dish doesn’t come with avocado, but I can put some on the side. Yes, put the avocado, but take away everything else. So they really want avocado on toast, but there hasn’t been enough bullshit for that to be important.’
I reached across the bar and placed my hand on his. ‘Rough day indeed.’
‘Yeah, but at least I learnt about the side effects of crazy drugs I have no intention of trying. And then I heard the girls at the spa had to get him out of the pool.’
‘I thought the pool was being renovated?’ I frowned.
‘Exactly. Mad bastard was just sitting in the drained pool, pretending he was swimming, whilst his girlfriend giggled.’ Milo finished the cocktail and then said, ‘Hey, that was wonderful, and I’m definitely wowed, but can I have a beer? It’s a beer sort of night.’
‘I can’t believe he tried to swim in an empty pool!’ I said, putting a cold bottle in front of him.
‘Shame about the no-pictures policy or I’d be rich with all the ridiculous stories I could have sold to the press by now,’ Milo snorted, shaking his head. ‘They feel safe, so they don’t have to act like sensible human beings. It’s like a playground for the rich and entitled.’
I was taken aback a little at the vitriol in his voice. ‘I didn’t know you hated it so much.’ I also wondered how Alba would feel about a bartender at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, wishing he could sell stories on the celebrities. But those worlds were different. And I knew what it was like to be treated badly by patrons, and that sometimes you just needed to blow off steam.
‘I don’t hate it. It’s fine. It’s just one of those days. I had to remake a Gin Martini four times today because some she-demon said it didn’t taste “Martini-ish” enough. And then she didn’t eat, because none of them eat, and got drunk and reached behind the bar upending half a jar of cherries into it, because that’s the only food it’s okay to eat.’
‘Fresh cherries?’
‘Nope,’ he exclaimed. ‘The mind boggles.’
Milo held up his beer, before meeting my eyes and grabbing my hand. ‘Hey, I’m sorry I’m not much fun tonight. I’ll cheer up before you finish your shift.’
‘Sure, and then we can trade horror stories. Bet you’ve never had an old dude reach over the bar and put 50 quid down your corset?’
&nb
sp; ‘You’d be surprised,’ Milo grinned.
The night passed easily enough, and Bel showed her soft heart when she told me to finish early, and that my biggest fan had sent out some food for us from the kitchen. Before our main courses came out, I popped back briefly to tell Ricardo I was applying to cookery school, and ask for a letter of recommendation. ‘Africa,’ he yelped with joy, lifting me up, even with his leg still in plaster, leaning back against the counter for support. ‘I will write you such a letter, a love letter to your aubergine dip, an ode to your avocado truffle toast!’
‘Just a note saying I don’t suck will be fine,’ I laughed, giving him my email address, and a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s all you, Africa. I’m just supporting the dream. Now go back to your man candy – you’re screwing up the timings for your dinner.’
I returned to Milo, who watched me walk across the room to him with a little smile on his face. We sat in a booth and watched the end of the show, as Charlotte shimmied and shook, a huge powder puff bouncing from her chest, sending glitter into the air, where it hovered and floated. It was mesmerising, and we ended up eating silently, watching the show, but Milo pulled me against him so that we were hip to hip, and when the plates were cleared he put an arm around my waist, his fingers stroking the tiniest triangle of skin available to him. I sipped at my glass of wine and leaned back into his touch. Taya was on stage, breathing fire whilst lounging in the huge Martini glass on the stage, the glass reflecting the flames vibrantly, and I couldn’t look away.
‘I feel bad for being a moaning douchebag,’ he said close to my ear. ‘It’s early days – I should be on my best behaviour. I just… I don’t think I realized how much this job bothers me. I don’t fit – I’m good at my job, but they don’t even care. I’m just some Italian Yank who talks too loud and doesn’t kiss enough ass. I think they want me gone.’ He sighed deeply, and I leaned my head on his shoulder, looking at him.
‘I thought you said they were so impressed when they hired you? They poached you from that other bar.’
He leaned his head against the top of mine. ‘The cocktails are fine, it’s me who’s the problem. I’m just… I don’t think I’m what they want. I’m… time is running out, and I’ve been travelling around for so long, and serving frouffy food to posh people is not what I want to be doing.’
Cocktails and Dreams Page 15
