I’ll miss you when you’re gone. She held up the sign, smiling sadly.
‘Well, you’ll come and visit. I’m sure you have adoring fans in Spain too.’
Will you cook for me?
I nodded, smiling. ‘Course, show you what I’m learning. We can go do tourist things. I bet, on all those tours, you never even had a chance to go to a museum or do something cultural.’
My mother wrinkled her nose in distaste, and I laughed. ‘Fine, then we’ll drink sangria in a bar in a square somewhere, and talk about something completely not cultural.’
She nodded, eyes shining as her hair was splayed around her.
‘Will you do the new album for the label? Will you play the songs they want?’
She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head slowly. She took to her notepad, and held it out to me.
They want to get a songwriter in. They say I’m not relevant any more.
I knew, to her, that must have been the most awful thing they could have said, the most painful blow. We will still take your voice and your image and your aching body, retouched and made glossy, softened in editing, but you do not have anything to say that’s worth listening to.
‘You’re still relevant, Mum. Screw ’em.’
She looked at me with such gratitude then, her eyes shining as she burst into silent tears that I felt awkward and uncomfortable. She clutched my hand briefly, before wiping her eyes and turning back to the notepad, clicking and unclicking the pen.
She wrote desperately, hand shaking as she crossed things out and rewrote them before finally holding it up.
I never stopped missing you. It was like part of me had been cut out. I know I was selfish but I thought it was the best thing for both of us.
I patted her arm. ‘I know.’
She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.
‘You know, I like you without a voice. You’re much less sassy.’
She nudged me, silently laughing. Then she turned back to the notebook.
Did you open that envelope?
I shook my head. ‘No, it seemed to be in case you died, and you didn’t, so I put it in your drawer.’
She raised an eyebrow, and I could imagine her saying, Seriously? before she scribbled once more.
No curiosity! Read the note! and she gestured as if to tell me to get the envelope. I grabbed it from the drawer and opened it delicately. The sheet of paper just listed numbers; the only thing I recognized was the title of that song.
‘What is this?’
An apology, she wrote. All the royalties from that song are yours. I sent them to a different account years ago. That money is yours.
‘You already sent money to Jen all those years, I know that. She put it in my account but I refused to touch it. Why is this different?’
That was for you to survive, for you to have school clothes and books and kid stuff. This was for you to have dreams.
‘Why?’
Because it’s fair. I wrote about your life, our life, and I want you to have it. You can open a restaurant or something.
I flicked the edge of the paper hesitantly. ‘I’ve always hated that song.’
I know. Now it can be something positive.
I blinked at her ‘Seriously, I think maybe you just shouldn’t talk any more. You’re much more pleasant this way.’
She stuck out her tongue, laughing silently, and I put my arms around her briefly, letting her pull me closer as we hugged. She squeezed me tight, her hands floating down the lengths of my hair, and when we pulled back she was tearful again.
‘Come on then, enough of this soppiness. You’ve got a party to get ready for, and I know how you like your outfits to make a statement.’
* * *
We were downstairs getting ready to go, and Jen nudged my hip. ‘You know she’s been able to speak for a few days now. She just likes having that time with you.’
‘I’m okay with that.’
‘Me too,’ Jen smiled, watching as my dad came into the room. ‘Well, don’t you look handsome!’
I watched as his cheeks coloured briefly, and then he stuck his chest out. ‘I felt the occasion called for it. You look lovely, Jen.’
‘Ahem,’ I coughed loudly. ‘Anyone want to tell the guest of honour she looks halfway decent? Though I’m guessing Mum’s outfit will outdo mine.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ Jen nodded up the stairs as my mother walked down, wearing black jeans and a black top.
‘Mum, what happened to the glittery dress you picked out?’
She cleared her throat and smiled. ‘Not my night, babe – you should be the most sparkly person in the room. And you are.’ Her voice was soft but clear.
She smiled fully at me, dimples in her cheeks appearing, and Jen walked over to her sister, kissing her.
‘Okay, let’s go.’
People recognized my mother on the Tube. Even with her quiet clothing and simple make-up, you couldn’t not notice Persephone Black. I got the sense they seemed to feel as if they knew she was famous, but couldn’t place her. Their gaze hovered around her, but never made eye contact. One man seemed desperate to talk to her, bouncing on the balls of his feel, shuffling forwards then settling against it, moving back again.
She turned her gaze to focus on him, smiling serenely, inviting his attention. He waited just until we were standing to exit the carriage when he finally got up his courage.
‘I just wanted to say – I think you’re marvellous.’
My mother beamed at him, as if she had been needing someone to say that, to remind her who she was. ‘Why, thank you, darling, I think you are too.’
She jumped off the train carriage with a spring in her step, and just by glowing a little brighter, more people turned their heads, more whispers followed her. ‘Is that? It is!’
‘I thought I was invisible there for a second, thank goodness that poor nervous boy said something!’
‘Shut up.’ I nudged her arm. ‘You know what it is? You’ve come out as Clare instead of Persephone. You want to switch the wild-child-mother-of-rock thing on again, you can, whenever you want. Just… wait until I leave the country, okay?’
She bit her lip, thinking about this. ‘I had never considered I could turn her on and off. That I could be Clare the rest of the time.’
I shrugged. ‘See how it goes. Might be nice.’
She smiled, looping her arm through mine and squeezing my elbow.
* * *
The Martini Club looked beautiful, more so than usual. A home-made banner wishing me luck hung across the back of the stage. We were greeted by some of the backing performers, dressed up to the nines and offering glasses of Champagne.
Arabella made a fuss of everyone, and dragged my mum off to a corner to request her autograph, heads close together. Jen held on to Dad’s arm, smiling at the spectacle.
‘Savvy!’ Charlotte came out and gave me a hug, her dress much subtler than her usual costumes. ‘We’re going to miss you!’
‘I’m going to miss you too – it felt like we were just getting to be friends.’
She nudged me with her hip. ‘Well, we’ll just have to meet up for some amazing food when you get back.’
I nodded. ‘Definitely.’
I waved at Mia, who was grinning at Jacques, fluttering her lashes as he flirted with her. I sidled up. ‘You know he’s incredibly gay?’
‘Um, yes, that’s why I’m comfortable flirting. Leave me be – I need to make new friends if you’re leaving!’ Mia threw her arms around me. ‘Any word from Milo?’
I shook my head. ‘No, I don’t expect anything. He knows I’m leaving – what’s the point, right?’
‘Yeah, but… you were happy. For a minute there, you were just super-happy.’
‘I’m super-happy.’
Mia tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.
‘Okay, I’m a little bit heartbroken, but mostly really happy.’
She nodded, squeezing me. ‘Good, at least you’re
not numb any more. This is a big adventure, petal. And you’re going to do amazing things. And I’m sure there’ll be a bunch of hot guys in Spain for you to moon over.’
I shook my head, wincing. ‘Nope, not there yet. A nearly decade-long relationship and I’m over it in a few weeks… less than a month with Milo and I’m crushed… who knows what the fuck that means?’
‘It means you went with something real.’ She kissed my cheek. ‘Now go and enjoy your party. You can cry over a boy next week.’
‘Good point,’ I laughed, waving at Ricardo, who winked.
Suddenly the microphone buzzed, and there was Bel, grinning out at everyone, looking resplendent in a dark blue dress with large diamanté drop earrings. Her dark hair was curled up like a 1940s starlet and she shone.
‘Hello, darlings, we are here to celebrate the success of our wonderful Savannah, who has been creating wonderful concoctions behind the bar, before moving into the kitchen, where under the watchful eye of Ricardo, our pain in the arse head chef, she learnt to make magical creations there too. And now, just as our little bird has found her wings, she’s leaving us!’
She took a breath, winking at me. ‘So, as a goodbye, we have a little surprise for Savannah. Girls!’
Charlotte and Taya slinked up on the stage, leaning on Arabella. They waited, turning as another person joined them on stage. My mother. She looked small, smiling out at everyone.
‘Hello, I’m Savannah’s mum, Clare.’
Jen glanced at me, and Dad’s jaw dropped. The entire crowd seemed to inhale, but no one dared chatter, though I saw quite a few nudging elbows and pointing fingers.
‘I’ve written quite a few songs over the years, one of them in particular that was about how I wanted to be seen when I did some bad things. I retold my daughter’s story without her permission, and so tonight, I wanted to share a song I’ve written just for her, about how I hope our story will go, and how in awe of her I am.’
She looked out at the crowd, seeking my face and meeting my eyes as she bit her lip. She was nervous. ‘I’ve been on stage performing for over 30 years, and tonight is the first time I’m performing as Clare Curtis, Savannah’s mum. Baby girl, I hope you like it.’
She nodded at the girls on stage, who nodded back and started to sway along with the music Jacques played on the piano.
I know that I’ve messed up
Made mistakes along the way
Too proud to beg forgiveness,
To ask if I could stay.
I just hope you know,
You don’t have to love me
To think that I’m all right.
The girls echoed ‘I’m all right’ after her, swaying side to side. Her voice was softer than usual, sweeter. It was clear she probably shouldn’t have been singing yet, and she whispered some of the lines. It was raw, and natural, and completely the opposite to Persephone Black. There was no demanding of love from the audience, no roaring or yelling for adoration. Just a lady standing on the stage, singing to her daughter, tears in her eyes and a smile on her face.
The change in her was visible, and I could feel the change in me too. She was being real, authentic. That song was an apology, not a way of retelling. She was giving me my voice back. She grinned as she finished and the crowd erupted in applause, then gave a little curtsey. She hugged the other girls on stage, and pointed to Jacques on the piano, clapping along.
They pulled me up on stage with them, hugging me, and Bel handed me the mic. ‘Speech! Speech!’
‘Um…’ I looked out at the people standing in the darkness, the people I had worked with, my family and friends and the guys in the kitchen who had been patient with me. Ricardo gave a thumbs-up.
‘Things have changed a lot for me these last couple of months. I thought my life was falling apart, but actually, it’s fallen together.’ I smiled out at those faces. ‘I went from someone without any dreams to someone with hundreds. I’ve stopped being a coward, or at least I hope so.’
I looked to the back of the room, and my heart soared as I saw him standing there, leaning against the back wall, watching me. His face was expressionless. But he was there.
‘I… thank you for being here. Thank you to all the people who insisted on telling me that being cheated on and dumped was the best thing that could have happened to me. Don’t tell that dickhead, but you were right. It let me become proper friends with people, spend time laughing and learning and falling in love with food, and cocktail making and… someone else.’
The crowd whooped and whistled, and through the darkness I saw him fight a smile, meeting my eyes.
‘So… that’s it. Thank you for my musical number, and thank you for this party. I’ll come back and cook for you once I’ve learnt shit.’
There were cheers and laughter, and I waited for the crowd to disperse as I headed towards him. He was dressed for the occasion, looking the smartest I’d ever seen him in a dark suit and white, open-necked shirt.
‘So…’ he started, pushing off the wall and walking towards me. He looked good, his dark hair slicked back, eyes sparkling with amusement.
‘So… you’re here.’
‘I may have had a few people invite me.’
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. ‘Who?’
‘Jacques, Mia, Arabella, your mum…’ he laughed. ‘All independently of each other. They each had different stories, were all very convincing, but I think your mom with the Darth Vader voice won through the pure fear she struck into my heart.’
‘Stories?’
‘About how happy you’d been, how you hadn’t done anything wrong, how you were a good person. Got a lot of people who love you, Savannah.’
I waited to see if he was going to add himself to that list, but he said nothing.
‘About the voicemail…’
He shook his head. ‘I should have answered the phone… I’m glad your mom’s operation went well. She seems very… not Persephone Black.’
‘I know, right?’ I grinned. ‘She’s just Clare. It’s great.’
Silence settled between us, and I started again. ‘I heard you quit. One of the waitresses said you’d got a job abroad. I thought you’d already left.’
He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.’
‘So… is that what this is? Goodbye?’
He took a step forward. ‘That would be the smart thing, wouldn’t it?’
‘Probably,’ I agreed, desperately hoping that he was going to tell me otherwise.
‘So, you’re going to cookery school in Barcelona?’
I nodded. ‘And what are you going to do?’
‘Well, a few fancy bars offered me a jobs in Europe. And I got a really nice reference from my bosses. Apparently they think I’m decent after all. I got a lot of good feedback from the clients about my friendly demeanour. I’m going to assume that was legit and not just that you were writing reviews about how good I am in bed.’
He smirked, and I rolled my eyes. ‘There wasn’t enough room on the form, sadly.’
Milo snorted.
‘So… where are these wonderful bars?’
‘Copenhagen, Capri...and Barcelona.’
My heart soared suddenly, and as he saw the hope rise in my eyes, he held up his hands.
‘I said no.’
‘Oh.’ I nodded. ‘Right, of course.’
‘I thought to myself, well, Capri is way too fancy for me. If I was intimidated in London, I wouldn’t be able to deal with Capri.’
‘Uhuh,’ I said, impatient.
‘And, well, Copenhagen’s cool, you know, but I’ve done that already.’
‘Right,’ I huffed, my heart racing.
‘And then I thought, well Barcelona’s problematic, because if I was going to live in Barcelona, I would want to experience everything, right? I would to need to taste tapas, and see how the bars work, and create recipes with my girlfriend… I can’t spend my time working in a snooty bar. I need to be inventing cocktails of m
y own, and making this woman happy, right?’
‘… right…?’ I nodded slowly, still not entirely sure.
‘The woman is you, Savannah.’ Milo laughed.
‘Oh, thank God. I really wasn’t sure there for a second.’
He laughed, taking me in his arms. ‘Definitely you. Let’s go and have adventures.’
Epilogue
Our apartment, whilst not looking out on Las Ramblas, at least carried the noises from the tourists on the cobbled streets. The kitchen had bright blue tiles, and the narrow window looked out onto a small square. Some nights we heard the old men down there chatting, some nights there was music. Sometimes there was no noise at all, and I could just hear Milo breathing beside me in the darkness, see him smiling in his sleep.
The sun shone in through the bedroom in the morning, waking me to go to La Cocina, and Milo always made sure the cafetière was sitting on the side ready for me. I would spend my days training with different chefs, each with a different specialism. I’d make notes on ingredients, cooking methods, often needing to nudge some of the other trainees for the odd translation. My GCSE Spanish was not much help, further from Catalan that I expected. Some evenings we worked in the restaurants across the city, on a rotation. Some weeks it was the fish restaurant by the beach, others it was a vegetarian place in the city centre. I was engaged, and excited and alive.
Some nights Milo worked in the bar below our flat, helping them out with the odd cocktail, but mainly pouring wine for quiet patrons who wanted to read their papers. When I wasn’t working, I’d sit at the bar, making notes on all the flavours I’d learnt about that day, all the things I’d decided about how I wanted to cook. It was hard, and I wasn’t special, but I was just as good as everyone else. I deserved my place there, I believed that now.
During the day, Milo was studying too, restaurant management, so he’d meet me at the door to our apartment in the evenings with his latest cocktail, and together we’d critique it. Our alcohol cabinet verged on audacious, and we still didn’t agree on cubed versus crushed ice.
Cocktails and Dreams Page 20
