One Summer Night At the Ritz

by Jenny Oliver

  Will choked a laugh on his bite of hamburger. ‘She buried them?’

  ‘Yeah!’ Jane laughed. ‘So it just shows how important it was to her. It was her secret and I loved that.’

  He looked at her and she looked away, picked up her Coke and felt a bit embarrassed for getting so excited.

  ‘Why did you love that?’ he asked, wiping his hands on a napkin and lounging back against the sofa, his arm outstretched along the back.

  ‘I don’t know? Everyone loves a mystery, don’t they?’

  ‘Clearly not Martha,’ he said.

  ‘Martha likes everything to be in its place. She doesn’t really like change and—’

  ‘And you do?’

  Jane paused for a second wondering whether to just shirk off the question or to actually tell him the truth. Where else did one open up to someone if not late at night in a sumptuous hotel room, dressed in differing versions of dressing gowns, with just the low side-lights on and the bubbles of a Coca-Cola popping next to you on the table? If anything, she wanted to talk just so there wasn’t a silence, just because his hand was dangerously close to her back and he was looking at her with half interest in her story and half like he might lean forward at any moment and kiss her and if that did happen then she felt like she was so out of practice that she’d have no idea what to do. So she said, ‘My life’s been a bit weird. There’s never been an option to, like, change or not – it just happened.’

  He didn’t ask why, as she’d assumed he would but instead said, ‘I’m terrible with change. Everything that’s happened to me has happened exactly the way it should. I’ve been programmed to like order.’

  His hand had stopped tapping against the back of the sofa and, to her horror and delight, was toying with the hood of her jumper, occasionally stopping to stroke the loose strands of her hair.

  Jane carried on as if it wasn’t happening. ‘You’d have hated my life.’

  ‘Why?’

  She shrugged, careful not to move too much in case he stopped playing with her jumper, or stopped touching her hair, frozen in uncertainty of what was happening. ‘Because it was always unpredictable. My mum was particularly unpredictable.’ She laughed when she said it but it felt like a moment when a counsellor might lean forward and say something trite about Jane using humour to overcome issues of her past. ‘That’s why I’m here, you know.’

  He wrapped a strand of hair around his finger. ‘Because your mum was unpredictable?’

  ‘Because Enid was probably the closest person I had to a conventional parent. And if you met Enid you wouldn’t really think she was conventional so I suppose that says something in itself.’

  She looked at him and he nodded, concentrating on her hair and her neck. ‘Keep going.’

  ‘I can’t keep going because you’re distracting me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he laughed. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Will smiled. He sat forward from where he’d been lounging back and then seemed to pause for a moment as if thinking about what he was going to do. She was expecting him to kiss her. He turned so he was facing her, reached his hand up and stroked down the side of her face so she could feel the warm skin of his palm against her cheek. She was definitely expecting him to kiss her. His hand snaked round her back and she could feel the pressure of it through her jumper. He lowered his head and she angled hers up ready to be kissed. She hadn’t forgotten. But instead of the press of his lips, she felt the touch of his forehead on hers. Could hear him take in a breath and looked up to see his eyes shut for a second. She wondered if she should wait. If the kiss was coming next. But instead he stayed like that for a moment longer then drew her body round with his hand so she wasn’t sitting upright but was nestled in the crook of his arm, the angle making her have to tuck her legs up onto the sofa, her head resting on his chest so she could hear the thrum of his heart. She could feel the deep shudder of his breath as he leant back, tightened his arm around her and, after a couple of seconds, he said, ‘Carry on. Tell me about this unpredictable life.’

  She didn’t really know what was going on. She felt confused and disappointed but, at the same time, strangely relieved. She shut her eyes and could smell the orange blossom scent of the shower gel, could feel the softness of the robe under her hand where it rested on his stomach and could sense the bareness of his chest just above her head.

  If she didn’t talk, the fear was that this moment might end.

  So she told him. And realised as she did that she had spoken so rarely about her life that it was like talking about someone else: This person, Jane, she did all this stuff. She used to sit with her mum in her workshop while she hand-printed the most glorious fabrics, her face set in a concentration that took her far from reality, where she wouldn’t speak or listen, got furious with an interruption, so this Jane learnt to sit in the corner in silence and wait. Wait for the rare, glorious good days of adventure. Then came school and the desire for normality. The desire to hide her life. The fear that her mum would remember to pick her up, the embarrassment of seeing her standing at the gates dressed in all her patterns and kaftans with wild eyes and crazy hair. This Jane would go home to cut the cloth and mix the dye. Every night, every morning. Then, older still, she was no longer fielding phone calls from school about missed days and her lack of packed lunch but irate designers waiting on their commissions while her mum refused to get out of bed. And soon she was going to the workshop herself, finishing fabrics that had only been half started. Would try and navigate the design from scraps of paper and piles of sketches. She would tie it all up and cycle it to whoever’s studio it was, their faces surprised to see this tall, skinny young girl rather than her mother. And her mother never seemed to question where the piece she had started ended up. Never seemed to know she hadn’t finished it. Was just relieved that it was done. Then soon it was this Jane creating the designs herself, assuming the identity of her mother who was getting too dark, her world too black, to do them herself. And people were commenting on the freshness of the work, the beauty of it, and this Jane started to feel pride in her creations, wanted to break out from her assumed identity and learn to be better.

  So this person, this Jane, went to college for a year to take her now-proficient printing skills and turn them commercial, so she might be able to move them maybe from their one-roomed boat to a new home where she might have a bed. She came back every weekend and brought food and stocked the freezer and the fridge with meals labelled for the week, she swallowed her pride and her fears of being a burden and asked Enid to pop in every day. But then this Jane had to drop out of college because, one night, her mum set sail. Just disappeared with the boat and was found drifting ten miles upstream.

  ‘‘I saw him.’ Was all she could say when asked why she went. ‘Who?’ this Jane had asked. ‘Your father.’

  ‘Mum, he’s dead.’

  ‘He’s not dead.’

  This scrap, this snippet, had this Jane round to Enid’s bombarding her with questions. Going on and on about her father. What did she know? What was her mother not telling her? Accusing Enid of hiding her mum’s secret with her, getting so angry. Pleading with her to tell her everything she knew. And in response Enid had walked to the kitchen and opened a drawer. This Jane had been momentarily taken aback, thinking that finally, after a life-time of asking, she was going to find out something about her father, something that was in that drawer. But instead Enid had taken out a new packet of cigarettes, lit one from the stove and said, ‘She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She can’t live on that boat alone, Jane.’

  Will’s hand brushed down her hair. ‘What did you do?’ he asked.

  Jane swallowed. Aware that she’d been talking for a really long time, it was almost a shock to hear someone else’s voice. ‘I, er– I moved back,’ she said, sitting upright again, moving away from the warmth and smell of him, retying her hair. ‘She was really sick after that. And, well, there was j
ust me and I was never going to let her be on her own.’ She leant forward and took a sip of Coke. Will stayed in exactly the same position, watching her. ‘So really it was just me,’ she said, glancing at him with a half-smile, ‘Me, Enid and my mum. Two houseboats. Enid sort of looked after me, I looked after Mum and watched out for Enid as she got older.’ She had started to ramble, nervous. ‘Quite hard to have order in a life like that,’ she said and then picked up a handful of now-cold chips and ate them to stop herself talking any more.

  Will nodded. ‘I see now why my offer of money was er – not quite called for,’ he said, stretching out his arms with a yawn and then leaning forward to look at the half-eaten food.

  ‘No.’oShe shook her head.

  ‘No.’oTheir eyes met and she had to look away.

  Across the room his phone started to ring.

  ‘Hang on, let me get that.’ Will stood up and went across the room to search through his jacket pocket and find his phone. ‘Oh god,’ he sighed before pressing Answer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Dude, I’m right where you are,’ his brother said on the other end of the line.

  ‘How?’ Will frowned.

  ‘Find My Friends,’iZeph laughed. ‘What are you doing in The Ritz anyway?’

  Will scratched his forehead. Why had he ever downloaded that app? ‘I’m just, er, having dinner.’

  ‘OK, well I’m gonna swing by cos I’m in the area and I really need some cash.’

  Will glanced down at his robe. ‘I’m not actually in the, er, restaurant.’

  ‘Where are you then?’ asked his brother, then he laughed. ‘Oh I get it. I’m walking up the steps now, god it’s so anal here. The guy’s got a top hat on. Jesus. OK, what room?’

  ‘Zeph. Just wait down there and I’ll come and meet you.’

  ‘No chance,’ his brother laughed again. ‘Come on, what room?’

  Will put his hand over his eyes and tried to think.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ said his brother. ‘Hey!’ He heard him say to someone else down in the lobby, ‘Have you seen William Blackwell in here?’

  ‘OK, Zeph, just tell them you’re seeing Jane Williams. Jane…’ He turned to look at Jane, who was sitting defensively upright again in her seat, eyes wide trying to gauge the situation. Her feelings were unreadable; like the whole previous hour or so hadn’t happened. ‘What’s the room number?’ he asked, reluctant.

  ‘Well, well, well, what have we here?’eZeph took his sunglasses off as he sauntered into the room and tucked them into the pocket of his leather jacket.

  Will had just managed to pull on his damp suit trousers and almost-dry shirt but he hadn’t had time to put his shoes on.

  When he’d said his brother was popping in, Jane had looked confused and said, ‘How did he know you were here?’

  ‘There’s this stupid app where your friends can track where you are. He put it on my phone ages ago because he thought it was funny. I’ve never deleted it.’

  She’d raised a brow as if it sounded like the stupidest thing in the world to have on your phone and got up to make a cup of coffee.

  Will had watched her deciding between which colour pod to put in the coffee machine, the cuffs on her sweater pulled down over her hands and one arm crossed in front of her body, and found himself furious with an earlier version of himself for not bothering to clean up his phone. He’d wanted to go and stand next to her, but the bang on the door had stopped him.

  ‘Zeph, this is Jane Williams, she’s the one who sent the diary pages – with the stuff about James Blackwell.’

  Zeph stalked the room like some big cat in a safari park. ‘I bet she is. Very cosy,’ was all he said as he took in the room service, the wet towels, Will’s bare feet and Jane’s set en garde expression.

  Will rubbed his eyes. ‘So how much money do you need?’

  ‘What, no friendly hello?’hZeph smirked, obviously enjoying the look of discomfort on his brother’s face. ‘There’s no hurry, Will. I’d be forgiven for thinking you were trying to rush me out. I mean, I could have a coffee,’ he said to Jane, who was now cradling a tiny white cup of espresso in her hands.

  Will was about to say that he couldn’t when Jane just handed Zeph her cup – no messing about or getting riled by his attitude as Will always did. ‘Here, have this one. I don’t know why I made it, the caffeine’ll keep me up all night.’

  ‘And that’s not a good thing? Will, you’re losing your touch!’hZeph said with a sly half-smile. Jane looked at him as if he was a child.

  Zeph tipped his head back at her, his eyes assessing her as he rolled his gum around in his mouth. ‘Mind if I take a seat?’ he asked.

  Jane shrugged as if she couldn’t stop him, then started to clear away the room service plates.

  Zeph flumped down on one of the big chairs, taking out a cigarette that was tucked behind his ear and toyed with it as he sipped the coffee. ‘Don’t you have people who’ll do that for you in The Ritz?’

  ‘I don’t need people clearing up after me,’ Jane said without looking up.

  Will stepped forward, ‘Look, Zeph, come on. It’s late, what do you need?’

  Zeph shrugged. ‘What have you got?’

  Will got his wallet out and pulled out four fifties. ‘Two hundred cover you?’

  ‘That’ll do nicely,’lZeph said, reaching forward to take the proffered notes, folding them between the fingers of one hand and tucking them in the top pocket of his jacket.

  Jane had paused in her clearing to watch the exchange. Will could just tell that she didn’t approve but he just wanted Zeph gone. When he glanced over she was putting the glasses back on the tray with a bemused shake of her head.

  ‘It’s interesting. This…’ Zeph said, pointing from Will to Jane. ‘You’re not my brother’s usual type.’

  Jane straightened up with a sigh, ran her hand through her hair and kept it there, holding her fringe back. ‘I never get that phrase. Isn’t it just really rude? Like some roundabout way of saying that the person’s not good-looking enough?’

  Zeph paused, seemed to think about what Jane had said and then narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Not at all,’ he said, downing the rest of the coffee, sliding the cup and saucer onto the table and standing up. ‘I really just meant you seemed quite bright. Like you have half a brain – at least.’ He winked as he walked backwards towards the door. ‘I’ll see myself out. Will, thanks for the cash. Jane, it was a pleasure.’ He did a slow nod as he looked at her. ‘Very interesting,’ he murmured. Then he was out the door and gone from the room.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Will said as soon as the door clicked shut. ‘He’s a pain in the neck.’

  Jane had perched on the arm of the sofa, her arms folded in front of her. ‘What does he do?’

  ‘Do?’ Will asked.

  ‘As in what job does he do?’

  Will shook his head. ‘He doesn’t do anything.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Can’t be bothered.’

  He saw her nod as if that was all the answer she needed.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said.

  ‘Wow, that’s clever of you,’ she replied.

  ‘Don’t be like that. I just know that you think I shouldn’t give him money because then he’d go out and get a job and wouldn’t be such a pain, but there’s the other side to it that if I don’t give him money then he’ll get it somehow and it won’t be from doing a proper job.’

  ‘You’ve tested that theory?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  Will rolled his shoulders back, uncomfortable. ‘He came to work for me.’

  Jane snorted a laugh as if the idea was ridiculous. ‘And that didn’t go too well, I take it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No. He doesn’t look like the office type.’

  ‘If he wants a job it shouldn’t matter who it’s with. He should just be thankful for a job.’

  ‘Yeah right.’ She shook h
er head. ‘Who’s that talking? Sounds like you inherited a bit of your grandmother there, Will.’

  ‘Bullshit. He’s a layabout. He does nothing.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Twenty-eight.’

  ‘So there’s, what, ten years between you?’

  ‘Eleven.’

  She raised a brow, ‘Really, you’re thirty-nine, are you? Interesting.’

  ‘What, do you think I look young or old?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not answering that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s just for your ego.’ She got up from the sofa and wheeled the room service trolley to the front door and out into the corridor.

  ‘So what would you do?’ Will asked as she came back in and shut the door. ‘About Zeph.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know him well enough,’ she said, plumping the cushions on the sofa and not looking at him. He wanted her to stop. He wanted to stop talking about bloody Zeph and go back to how it had been before he’d interrupted.

  ‘One thing I would say though,’ Jane said, giving one cushion a particularly harsh beating and still not looking at Will, ‘You stop treating him like he’s sixteen and then maybe he might start to grow up.’

  Will ran his hand over his mouth. ‘I don’t treat him like he’s sixteen.’

  ‘Course you don’t.’ She stood behind the sofa, her arms crossed again. ‘Look, I think I’m going to go to bed so…’

  Will glanced around the room. This wasn’t the way his evenings usually ended. This wasn’t the way he wanted this evening to end. He had no idea why he hadn’t kissed her earlier – she’d been crying out to be kissed and he’d bloody hesitated. It was the same feeling he’d had in the taxi earlier. Like her freedom and her honesty affected his conscience. Caught him off guard, knowing that she somehow expected, no deserved better than his usual which he just didn’t give. But he was hooked on her presence, he didn’t want to leave.