I shake my head. ‘Can you give me a minute?’ I say to him, still panting.
His companion is standing with his back to me. It is Ben. He turns to look at me. ‘Give her a minute,’ he says. ‘She’s very unfit.’
‘No. You, Jay,’ I say in short bursts. ‘Give me a minute. I mean. Go away.’
I gesture for him to buzz off.
Jay looks at me like I’m mad. ‘I’ll get us another pint,’ he says. ‘What do you want?’
‘She’ll have a vodka, lime and soda,’ Ben says immediately. ‘And some water, by the looks of her.’
I nod gratefully at him, and Jay disappears into the dark pub.
‘Hey, Nat,’ Ben says, his voice friendly but a little guarded. ‘It’s nice to see you again. Where’s your mum gone?’
‘Lunch with boyfriend,’ I say. I stand up straight, finally having got my breath back. ‘She said something to me. I thought I should come and say it to you. Because—’ I breathe in, and then out. ‘Because it’s important.’
‘Right,’ Ben says. He moves a little way away from the drinkers, so we are standing in the shadow of the houses. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean – oh, well. Here goes.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Look. I know you’re seeing Jamie. I saw you two together, one night.’
‘Hold on.’ Ben holds up his hand. ‘We’re not together.’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘No, we’re not. I snogged her, a couple of months ago, we were both a bit drunk. You saw us?’ He blinks.
I feel like a stalker. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I came back to the studio and you two were there. In the dark . . .’
‘Les had that reading in the basement, do you remember? You couldn’t go. Jamie and I went, it was . . .’ He shudders. ‘It was pretty hard work. All about a boy growing up with no fingers in Chatham and joining a gang. Jamie let me drink out of her hipflask.’
Damn Jamie with her cool hipflask-toting ways, I think. ‘There were drinks afterwards . . .’ He is staring at me. ‘We’re not together, Nat. You of all people should know that.’
‘But you were there today! Together!’
‘No, we bloody weren’t!’ His voice is rising in exasperation. ‘Is this why you were so weird, before I went away, the last few weeks? Man!’ He looks furious. ‘Listen. I arrive, I look round, she’s arrived! It’s not out of the realms of comprehension we’d all bump into each other at midday at an event to which you specifically asked us to arrive at midday, is it?’
‘Fine, fine, I get it.’ I clear my throat. ‘Oh. OK. So – you’re not with her?’
‘Believe me, it’s at times like these that I wish I was,’ Ben says slowly. ‘But no, I’m not.’
‘Oh,’ I say again. ‘What did you want to ask me?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I wipe my hand along my forehead. ‘Look – I’d better go back to the stall . . .’
He catches my hand in his. He’s smiling. ‘Nat, I’m joking. I don’t want to be with Jamie. I mean, she’s really sweet, but we’re not at all right for each other. She doesn’t like Morecambe and Wise, for starters. Now, again please. What did you want to ask me?’
I take a deep breath. I’m feeling completely light-headed, with the running, the sunshine, the events of the last hour.
‘Well,’ I say. ‘Mum said I should go for it. So I really will now. Ben – I was wondering. Do you want to go out for a drink some time?’
His expression freezes. I watch him, my heart thumping. ‘Are you serious?’ he says. ‘Are you really, really asking me out?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Why, don’t you—’
He turns his back on me, and my heart sinks, but he’s putting his pint on the ground. ‘Come here,’ he says, drawing me into his arms. He kisses my hair, and then he bends his head and I raise mine to his, and we kiss.
‘Yes,’ he says, after a moment. ‘I’d love to go out for a drink some time. When? Tonight?’
I stroke his cheek, his lovely lips, trace around the edge of his gorgeous, kind eyes. ‘I’ve got to have dinner with my new dad and half-sisters and watch while Jay tries to crack on to them,’ I say. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘No,’ Ben says, kissing me again. ‘It’s very simple. So I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Great,’ I say, a silly smile on my face. I can’t stop smiling. ‘And the day after that?’
‘And then maybe the day after that.’ Ben steps away and looks serious for a moment, then he smiles again. ‘I don’t believe this, you know. I’ve been mad about you for such a long time. But I didn’t know how to help you. I thought you’d never sort it out, get out of the life you were in.’
I can feel his muscles under his shirt as he moves towards me and hugs me again. I think of Cecily’s diary, where it is now, lying at the bottom of the sea, or perhaps washed up on another shore. ‘Cecily helped me,’ I say. ‘It’s all because of her.’
The door to the pub swings open again and Jay emerges, carrying a tray of drinks. He looks at us without any surprise, holding on to each other as if we’ve just found one another, and then gives us a small, pleased grin.
Ben and I kiss again, and I look up at the sky, opening out, blue and endless, above the narrow old streets, where Mum is having her smart lunch, where Guy and his daughters are making their way back to the tall white house in the Angel, where we are all, all of us, just trying to be part of one big happy family, whatever on earth that is, trying and often failing, and sometimes succeeding. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper, my face warmed by the sunshine. ‘Thank you.’
Acknowledgements
For jewellery and business advice, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Sarah Lawrence of the fabulous www.girlgang.co.uk : do check it out. For East London ways a big shoutout to Maura Brickell for her local tours and amaze times. Also thanks to the East London ladies, Cat Cobain, Leah Woodburn and Claire Baldwin, and Thomas Wilson and Pamela Casey, as ever, for the same and much more. Big thanks to Rebecca Folland for seeing me through the dark times, Anita Ahuja for help with Indian names, Nicole Vanderbilt and Maria Rodriguez for telling me to write it so very long ago (‘Listen, chica . . .’), all at Curtis Brown (especially Liz Iveson and Carol Jackson) and of course Jonathan Lloyd (with special thanks to Marion).
Particular thanks to my parents, Phil and Linda, for their memories, support and advice.
As ever, massive thanks to everyone at HarperCollins, in particular Lynne Drew for her editorial guidance throughout.
A special shoutout to the members of Sleazy Velvet and a big HIYA to my nephew Jake.
Finally, my biggest thanks to Chris, for making me bread and for making me so happy.
Bibliography
There were various books I read during the writing of this one which were of great help and interest and for that reason I list them below, though I should of course make it clear that any mistakes are of course my own:
The Denning Report: John Profumo & Christine Keeler (Uncovered Editions, 1999)
The Pendulum Years: Britain in the Sixties Bernard Levin
(Jonathan Cape, 1970)
That Was Satire That Was: Beyond the Fringe, The Establishment Club, Private Eye and That Was The Week That Was Humphrey Carpenter (Victor Gollancz, 2000)
Bringing the House Down David Profumo (John Murray, 2006) The Duleep Singhs: The Photograph Album of Queen Victoria’s Maharajah Peter Bance (Sutton Publishing, 2004)
The Maharajah’s Box Christy Campbell (HarperCollins, 2000) Daphne Justine Picardie (Bloomsbury, 2008)
Soho Night & Day Frank Norman & Jeffrey Bernard (Secker &
Warburg, 1966)
Cornwall: A Shell Guide John Betjeman (Faber, 1964)
Liberty & Co. in the Fifties and Sixties Anna Buruma (ACC Editions, 2008)
The 1940s Home Paul Evans (Shire Library, 2009)
The 1950s Home Sophie Leighton (Shire Library, 2009)
By the same author:
Going Home
A Hopeless Romantic
The Love of Her Life
I Remember You
Copyright
Copyright © Harriet Evans 2011
Harriet Evans asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Extract from Rebecca reproduced with permission of Curtis Brown Group Ltd, London on behalf of the Estate of Daphne du Maurier
Copyright © Daphne du Maurier 1938
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-00-735022-3
EPub Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780062042347
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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