“And what about the money?” she demanded. “Don’t try and deny that you’ve cleared my accounts, either. You were the only person who knew those passwords.”
Tom shrugged. “I needed some funds quickly, babe. Den – you know Den, he has the garage near Penge – he’s got this Audi TT come in. It’s only a year old and it’s an absolute bargain. If I hadn’t been quick I would have missed a great deal. You’ll love it, babe. It’s bright red and a soft top.”
Andi stared at him. “Let me get this clear. You blew all my money and our rent on a car?”
Tom tilted his head in a winsome way. In fairness to him it was a look that had always worked in the past, but right now Andi could have cheerfully kicked him all day long.
“It will be great for the summer,” he continued, as though he hadn’t just been caught cheating and swindling. “I needed it too: taking cabs to all my auditions costs a fortune.”
Andi thought she was about to combust with fury. Tom’s taxi habit was already a bone of contention. Why he insisted on taking cabs when they lived practically in the sodding Tube station was a mystery. And now he’d stolen her money to buy a car? Who was going to tax it and insure it?
Muggins. That was who.
“I want my money back,” she said coldly.
Tom shrugged. “Cash deal, babe. You know Den. Don’t look like that. I’ll pay you back.”
“I need that money! It’s my money!” Andi couldn’t believe that she had just caught her boyfriend cheating and yet was more worried about the lost money than his infidelity. If she’d had the time to pause and think about it, this realisation would probably have made her feel a whole lot better.
“Car’s in my name.” Tom jingled a set of keys under her nose. “Prove it’s not yours.”
Behind them the door clicked shut, and seconds later Gina’s heavy tread thumped downstairs. Was she one of many? A sensation of dizziness threatened to swamp Andi and suddenly nothing mattered so much as getting him out of her space. The money could be dealt with but right now just the sight of him was suffocating.
“Pack your things and get out,” she said wearily.
Tom curled his lip. “You can’t kick me out. I live here too, remember?”
“It’s my name on the rental contract,” Andi shot back. “It had to be, remember? You have a worse credit rating than Greece.”
Tom couldn’t argue with this. Instead he gave her a pitying look. “You’re making a big mistake. Come on, baby, we’ve been together for ages now. Don’t throw it all away.”
Andi’s hands were on her hips. She didn’t think she’d ever felt this determined. “I didn’t throw it away: you did.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t overreact. Anyone can make a mistake. It was just a shag. I’m a man. I have needs. And let’s be honest, you hardly ever show any interest. All you ever do these days is fall asleep. What else am I supposed to do?”
Andi was working twelve hours a day to keep Tom and his Clarins habit. Of course she fell asleep when she got home. She was knackered.
But Tom, mistaking her outraged silence for agreement, was into his stride now. “Have you any idea of the pressure I’ve been under? It isn’t easy being an actor, you know. All you do is work and all you want to talk about is bloody Safe T Net. At least Gina’s interested in what I have to say rather than going on about work or the sodding bills all the time.”
Andi was speechless.
“So in lots of ways this is your fault.” Tom sauntered to the sofa and picked up the Sky control. The arrogance of this gesture was compounded by his following words. “Be honest, Andi, if you’d been more committed to our relationship this would never have happened.”
And then Andi saw red: glorious, bright, furious scarlet. How dare he blame her? How dare he! Almost before her brain could figure out what was happening she was diving into the cupboard under the sink and pulling out bin bags. Seconds later she was in the wardrobe stuffing Tom’s designer gear into them. Turnbull & Asser shirts rubbed shoulders with Gaultier jackets, while Hugo Boss boxers were given a good kicking by Tommy Hilfiger socks. Then she stormed into the bathroom, swept all his products into the mix and dropped his new TAG Heuer watch down the loo. As far as Andi was concerned money down the bog was exactly what that latest ridiculous status symbol represented.
“What the hell are you doing, you crazy bitch? My bloody watch!”
Tom charged past and plunged his hand into the toilet bowl. Andi stood back and watched as he swirled his hand around in Bloo loo freshener. When he surfaced he looked like an extra from Braveheart.
“Pack your things,” she ordered. “Anything you don’t take I’ll put out for the dustmen.”
“Don’t worry, I’m out of here with pleasure,” Tom snarled as he crashed around the flat stuffing his belongings into bags. “I should have left months ago.”
Andi resisted pointing out that he wasn’t leaving so much as being thrown out. Packing finished, Tom dithered by the front door just in case she might have a change of heart. No such luck. He’d smashed that into pieces long ago.
“You’re making a big mistake,” he said.
Andi held out her hand for his door keys. Her biggest mistake was wasting nearly two years of her life on him and thinking they might have a future. Men only ever let you down. She wouldn’t ever make that error again.
“Face it, Andi,” Tom called over his shoulder, as he lugged his bags out of the door. “You’ll never find anyone like me again.”
“I hope you’re right,” Andi said fervently. “To meet two lying, cheating narcissists in one lifetime would be very bad luck indeed.”
Tom’s features twisted into an ugly expression. Why had she never noticed just how close together his eyes were before? Were his lips always so thin? Who was this man?
“You’ll regret speaking to me like that,” he spat, as with eyes narrowed and glinting with malice he humped his bags through the doorway. “And don’t think this is the end of it, either. I’ve got a few things up my sleeve, or rather on my hard drive, that I’m sure you’d rather stayed there. I’m not afraid to show everyone what you’re really like, Miss Oh-So-High-and-Mighty Perfect Accountant!”
Something in his tone of voice scraped a cold finger of unease down Andi’s spine.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
Tom smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe I’ll let you find out in my own time? Let’s just say I have some very happy memories of our time together.”
Andi gripped the doorframe so tightly her knuckles glowed through her skin. If he was alluding to what she thought he was alluding to, then Tom was even lower than the worms.
“That was between us,” she whispered. “That was private!”
“And the operative word there is was,” Tom laughed, a harsh mirthless sound. “After all, Andi, like you say, it’s over. You’ve thrown me out without even giving us a second chance.” He shrugged. “Well, it’s your loss. Without me you’re nothing! Just a pathetic, boring, crap-in-bed accountant who lives in Clapham. And that’s all you’ll ever be.”
And with this parting shot he was gone, sauntering out of the apartment block without so much as a care in the world.
How dare he? When he had cheated and lied and ripped her off and threatened her? Andi was furious!
“I’m not an accountant anymore!” she yelled at his retreating back. “I’ve been made redundant and guess what? I’m going to do something different. I’m going to go somewhere new and start again. And,” she added with a sudden flash of inspiration, “this isn’t even Clapham, you moron! It’s bloody Balham!”
And Andi couldn’t wait to see the back of the place.
Chapter 9
As far as Andi was concerned today had gone as heinously as any day could possibly go. So far she had been set up by her git of a colleague, made redundant from the job that was keeping the entire pack of wolves from her door, caught her boyfriend cheating and had her
bank account emptied. And it was only early afternoon.
Since Tom’s departure she’d been very busy tearing round the flat like the Tasmanian Devil, ramming any of Tom’s leftover bits into bin bags. Hurling them down the stairs was extremely cathartic. She ripped the sheets off the bed and stuck them on the hottest wash possible and played “I Will Survive” at full volume. All she needed to do now was get a radical haircut and lose a few stone and she’d have exhausted every broken-hearted cliché going.
Not bad going for one hour’s efforts.
Andi had to keep busy because if she thought too hard about everything she’d go into meltdown. The problem was that the flat was so small that tidying it only took ten minutes – and there was only so long a girl could watch daytime telly before she seriously contemplated sticking her head in the microwave. So, there was only one thing for it. Andi was going to have to start drinking until she didn’t care anymore or passed out; she really wasn’t fussed about in which order.
Right. What did she have in the kitchen? Some ancient red that she sometimes used for cooking. It smelt a bit rough and could probably double for paint stripper, but broken-hearted beggars couldn’t be choosers. There wasn’t very much left though. What else was there? She flung open the fridge and tra da! Hiding behind a heel of tired-looking Cheddar and a wilted bag of Florette was a bottle of white wine. It needn’t think it can hide there, thought Andi as she reached in, not when there was a woman in need of oblivion in the kitchen!
The Christmas Baileys from the back of the cupboard soon joined her haul, as did a bottle of ten-year-old malt Tom had overlooked in his speedy exit. Andi lined her spoils up on the worktop and then fetched a mug. Today was not a day for faffing about with glasses. It was time to get stuck in.
Andi was just in the process of making a lovely concoction of red, white and whiskey – which would hopefully do the trick – when there was a knock at the door followed by non-stop sounding of the buzzer. She ignored it. It was probably Tom coming back for another game of Fish the Watch out of the Bog. Well, he could ring all day and all night! There was no way she was opening up.
Andi was deliberating whether or not to add a splash of Baileys to the mix just to help her on her way when there was a knock on the door. Typical. Where was solitude when a girl needed it to drink herself silly?
“Go away!” She shouted, sloshing the Baileys into a mug having decided that she may as well do this properly. “I never want to see you again!”
“Charming,” replied a voice huffily. “Be like that then. If that’s how you feel then I’ll go.”
Andi nearly choked on her drink. Not only because it was disgusting but because it was Angel at the door. This was unusual for two reasons: the first was that Angel seldom left Tooting unless she really wanted something, and the second was that she should be hard at it waxing and plucking and tanning in the beauty salon where she worked. “Worked” in the loosest sense of the word, that was. Angel hadn’t been in the queue when the work ethic was handed out; she’d probably been lying in after a heavy night out clubbing. So to find her sister banging on the door in the middle of the afternoon did not bode well. With a horrible “beware the Ides of March” sensation, Andi went to let her in.
“About bloody time,” muttered Angel, trotting into the lat and flopping onto the sofa. “Tea would be nice, Andi Pandy, and a biscuit if you’ve got one. I’m starving. I’ve had such a bad day.”
Andi shut the door slowly. The day was only halfway through; surely it couldn’t get any worse?
“Ooo! What’s this?” Angel’s big blue eyes clocked the drinks on the kitchen counter. “Cocktails? Yummy! Can I have one?”
Without waiting for a reply she was pouring herself a tumbler of Andi’s special Misery Mix, which she knocked back like it was a tequila shot.
“Bloody hell, sis! That’s strong! How much of this have you had?”
“Not nearly enough,” Andi said grimly.
Angel’s nose crinkled. “It’s got a right kick to it. Beats Jägerbombs. Can I have some more?”
“No you can’t,” Andi said. She knew her sister. If she wasn’t careful Angel would guzzle the lot and then how could she get roaringly drunk?
“You’re so tight. I only wanted a little drink.” Angel pouted but, unlike those who usually succumbed to Angel’s ploys, Andi was not a man and was therefore totally unmoved.
“Step away from the alcohol,” she said. “And if we’re playing crap-day trumps, yours cannot possibly be worse than mine.”
“Bet it can,” said Angel airily, opening up the fridge and screwing up her perfect nose at the lack of contents. “No food? But I’m starving! And I’ve lost my job.”
That was a big surprise, rather on a par with being told that the Pope is a Catholic. Nevertheless Andi felt herself going into big sister mode. She just couldn’t help it. After years of looking out for Angel this was Andi’s default setting.
“Oh Angel! What happened?”
Angel shrugged. “Nothing really. It was silly. Mrs Yuri just took something I said really personally.”
“Not Mrs Yuri, wife of the oligarch?”
Angel nodded her blonde head. “Yep, the one who looks like a pig in a suit? Oink oink! She’s got this mole on her face. It’s huge and hairy but she seems fine about it and we’re all meant to ignore it. But today it looked different, a bit pink and sore, and I had to say something.” She paused. “If somebody had pointed out Mum’s mole things could have been very different, couldn’t they?”
Andi swallowed. Even after all these years the loss stabbed her speechless.
“Anyway, before I could finish explaining it was only because I was worried it looked suspicious, I was on the pavement with my P45.” She looked most hard done by. “I was only trying to help.”
“Of course you were,” said Andi firmly. “Maybe she’ll actually go away and think about what you said?”
Angel pulled a face. “I doubt it. She’s probably organising a hit on me right now. Anyway, never mind her. This arrived this morning too. I’m really not very happy.”
She delved into her Chanel bag, scattering old lippies, tattered celebrity magazines and fluffy Tampax all over the just-cleaned floor, and pulled out a thick and official-looking envelope. Thrusting it at Andi, she said, “Some guy handed it to me just as I was leaving the salon. It’s bang out of order, don’t you think?”
Andi tugged the letter out of the heavy envelope and skimmed the words. Even though they were phrased in eloquent legalese, the meaning couldn’t be any clearer.
Trespass again, you lunatic, and we will sue your ass.
For a second her sacking, the missing money and even Tom’s betrayal were totally forgotten. What on earth had Angel done now?
“Nothing! It’s all a silly fuss,” said her sister when Andi pressed her on this. “Some people have absolutely no sense of humour.”
“I may be one of them today,” Andi muttered. “Have you tried to gatecrash another party?”
She already knew the answer. It was practically one of the laws of physics; Stephen Hawking probably had an equation for it.
“Oh come on, Ands, where’s your sense of adventure?” said Angel, now readjusting a false eyelash by peering at the microwave door. “If I hadn’t been caught trying to sneak into the private estate I know it would have all worked out,” she sighed. “Gemma thought it was a great idea.”
At the mention of her sister’s flatmate Andi rolled her eyes so hard they almost fell out of her head and rattled across the kitchen floor. Gemma was so flaky you could stick her in a 99. When she wasn’t driving everyone mad with fad diets she was busy coming up with some madcap scheme to get on the telly and make her fortune. In Andi’s opinion Gemma was a seriously bad influence on her sister. They were both as fame obsessed as each other. And she was so messy! Any self-respecting pig would balk at spending time in Gemma’s basement hovel.
“Don’t look like that,” said Angel. “Gemma’s all ri
ght once you get to know her.”
Andi considered telling her that getting to know Gemma Pengelley wasn’t top of her bucket list, but she decided to keep quiet. Actually, she didn’t decide at all; it was more a case that she couldn’t speak because she was far too busy reading about how her sister had been pulled off the private estate’s fence and carried away by the security team, probably totally amazed to meet men immune to her long tanned legs and tearful pleas. Apparently the estate management didn’t tolerate trespassers.
“Trespassers? Of all the cheek!” spluttered Angel when Andi read this bit aloud. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so insulted in my entire life!”
“So, until you are famous, what are you going to do for work and money?” Andi asked.
“Chillax, sis, that’s all sorted,” Angel grinned, flipping her blonde extensions over her fake-tanned shoulders. “Gemma and I have decided to get out of London for the summer and head down to Cornwall to get some sun. What have we got to lose? She’s not working and I’d had enough anyway even before Mrs Yuri and her silly old mole. Apparently Callum South’s filming his reality show in Rock. Rock, Andi! Remember how we loved it there?”
Andi didn’t reply and Angel sighed wearily.
“At least try and look excited for us. Who knows, maybe we’ll get picked to appear on Cal’s show? It’ll be like Cornish TOWIE! I love Callum South, don’t you? He’s well fit!”
Andi grimaced. Callum South, the ex-Premier League footballer, was more famous these days for his battle of the bulge than his once glittering career. He was pretty much everywhere you looked, from billboards to magazines, and even she had seen bits of his reality series in which he’d had to lose weight by trying out extreme sports. No holds were barred and she had to admit it was compulsive viewing. Once, revoltingly, they even filmed his colonic irrigation. However attractive Callum South might be with his melting Malteser eyes and sexy Irish accent, it was a bit depressing if appearing on his show was the height of her sister’s ambitions. The entire idea smacked of Gemma Pengelley. It was exactly the sort of hare-brained scheme she always hatched.
[Escape 01.0] Escape for the Summer Page 7
