by Susan Lewis
‘But they’re so old, Neve.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You’ve hardly worn them, and they’re really cool, and we’ve still got those tights Lola won at bingo that we haven’t opened yet. And Sasha said I could borrow the Butler and Wilson necklace she had for her birthday which is absolutely amazing.’
Loving her daughter more than ever for pretending not to mind that she didn’t have anything like as much to spend as her friends, Susannah dropped a kiss on her head and went to fill up the kettle. It was the constant downside of keeping her at a school where just about everyone’s parents, single or divorced, were awash with money, and privilege, and all manner of useful connections. Neve didn’t even have her own laptop computer, instead she had to share a second-hand desktop with her mother. Nor could she boast an iPod, or the kind of swanky all-purpose mobile phone the rest of them carried around. As for make-up and clothes and all the other girlish fripperies that cluttered up her friends’ spacious bedrooms, Neve’s own little haven was such an embarrassing wasteland, as she’d once called it, that she rarely invited anyone up there.
‘I know! Why don’t we go shopping together on Saturday?’ Neve pressed.
‘I thought you wanted to go with your friends.’
‘I do, but I get fed up with the way they keep asking my advice all the time. It’s like they don’t have minds of their own.’
‘They want your opinion because they admire your sense of style.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Neve said, and turning back to her homework she let the subject drop, while Susannah’s heart felt weighted with so much helplessness that she could only dread what might be waiting in the shadows of the next few days.
‘It’s not Neve’s fault,’ Susannah was saying later as Cathy drove them to Kensington. ‘She can’t help wanting what everyone else has, it’s only normal for a girl her age. And she shouldn’t have to do without.’
Having a teenage niece, and a sister who never stopped complaining about how expensive things were, Cathy was all sympathy as she pulled up at a red light. Apart from age, she and Susannah could hardly be more different, since Cathy was small and dark with round hazel eyes and a smile that, whilst lovely, was marred by a missing eye tooth. They’d first met several years ago during auditions for a play that had never got off the ground, and they’d stayed in touch, on and off, ever since, providing one another with the occasional opportunity for a gossip about the increasingly elusive world of mainstream showbiz.
It was through Cathy that Susannah had landed her job at the exclusive gentlemen’s club in Kensington, not as a waitress like Cathy, or as a dancer, but behind the scenes, as a part-time office assistant. As far as Neve and Lola were concerned she was helping to run a trendy West End disco three nights a week, since she knew they’d think the worst if she told them where she was really going. Anyone would, and who could blame them when her circumstances were so straitened, but the truth was she’d never be able to face her family, or herself, if she were following the same path as Cathy and the other girls.
As the lights turned green Cathy drove on across the King’s Road into Beaufort Street, where some of London’s most expensive mansions were tucked away in the private enclaves of Chelsea Park Gardens. Susannah was vaguely registering them as they passed, knowing that at least two of Neve’s schoolfriends lived in these privileged surroundings. It wasn’t that she aspired to such grandness herself, though she had to admit it would be nice, she simply wanted to make Neve feel less of a poor cousin, or a charity case, than she was right now.
‘At risk of pointing out the obvious, yet again,’ Cathy finally said, ‘the answer’s in your hands, Susie. You know very well that Henry would be more than happy to get you out of the office and into the bar, or one of the private dining rooms …’
‘Don’t let’s go there,’ Susannah interrupted, unable even to think about the option of topless-waitressing or nude-hostessing now she was coming so close to taking it. ‘I’m not judging you for what you do, it’s just not for me.’
Cathy didn’t attempt to persuade her. They’d had this conversation too many times before for her not to know where it would end. Instead she said, ‘Why don’t you let me lend you the money for the Barcelona trip? You can pay me back when you have it. No rush.’
As gratitude tried to warm the hollow inside her, Susannah said, ‘Thanks, but no, because I have no idea when that will be, and borrowing from friends is the surest way to lose them.’ She didn’t add that now Pats was no longer around she sometimes felt she didn’t actually have any to lose, because it would hurt Cathy’s feelings. Besides, it wasn’t true. She did have friends, it was just that none of them was Pats.
‘Well, the offer’s there,’ Cathy said. ‘When are the next school fees due? Do you have them yet?’
‘Mostly. I’m a couple of hundred short at the moment, but by the time the bill comes in it’ll be fine.’
Though Cathy’s scepticism was almost palpable she said no more, simply continued to drive as Susannah took out her mobile to read an incoming text. It was from Neve, letting her know she’d borrowed ten pounds from Lola to top up her phone.
Susannah didn’t bother asking what had happened to the ten pounds she’d given Neve three days ago for the very same reason. Those girls were texting one another morning, noon and night, so she knew already where the credit had gone – the only surprise was that it had lasted this long.
Twenty minutes later she followed Cathy into the club’s brightly lit kitchens where the chef, Martin, and his staff were already hard at work. After the usual friendly and, in Cathy’s case, flirtatious exchanges, Susannah took herself upstairs to the office where Henry, the manager, was sitting with his feet up on the desk, talking loudly into the phone. The room was large and dourly furnished with formidable leather sofas either side of a deep, shadowy fireplace, and a sombre Persian rug covering most of the dark oak floor. The computer, filing cabinets and her own small desk that she shared with the other part-time assistants were tucked neatly inside in a roomy niche, where another door led into the lobby of Henry’s private residence.
Henry himself was a perpetually jovial individual, as short as he was round, and as avuncular as he was gay. He was popular with everyone, staff and clients alike, and Susannah was no exception.
‘Hi, I’m glad you’re early,’ he said, putting the phone down. ‘Teresa’s rung in sick, so I was hoping you wouldn’t mind running reception tonight. Don’t worry, you can wear what you have on, it drives the punters wild anyway, seeing you all buttoned up like a schoolmarm, but if you’ve got any shoes to replace those passion-killers no one’s going to be happier to see them than me.’
With a smile, Susannah went to open the drawer where she kept a pair of black stilettos for her forays into the club itself, and held them up for Henry to approve.
‘Perfect,’ he announced, ‘and should you feel at all inclined to slip into Teresa’s hostess corset and stockings … No? Not going to happen?’
Susannah was shaking her head.
‘I had to try,’ he sighed. ‘Now, don’t let me hold you up. We’ve got a busy night ahead. Both private dining rooms are booked out, and we’re not taking any more reservations for the main restaurant. If any members turn up on spec wanting a table, they’ll have to eat in the bar. Don’t worry about the phones, all calls are going straight to messages, which I’ll pick up every half-hour or so. You’ve done it all before, so you know the ropes. You can finish at midnight, if you like, or do the same as Teresa and swap with one of the other girls for a couple of hours and go and earn yourself some serious tips.’
Susannah’s eyes twinkled in spite of the nervous churning inside her. ‘Nice try,’ she retorted, her usual response, ‘but if you’re letting me off at midnight I’ll go home, thanks very much.’ It helped to keep up the pretence for a while, that way if she decided she couldn’t go through with the waitressing, or hostessing, no one would be any the wiser.
Since working recep
tion meant checking coats and showing members and their guests to tables, she headed off to the girls’ changing rooms first to make herself a little more presentable. Though she was wearing her regular uniform of black pencil-skirt and white shirt under a black V-neck sweater, she knew the sweater had to go, and the shirt needed to be open low enough to offer a glimpse of her bra. Thankful that she was wearing a fairly new white lacy one, she popped a few buttons, then borrowed some make-up and a necklace from Cathy, who was at her place in front of the mirror. She too was in uniform, which in her case consisted of a very short black flared skirt, hold-up stockings, a black bow tie and the same sort of stiletto heels as Susannah’s.
After allowing one of the dancers to spray her with Chanel 19, and another to plait her hair, Susannah hurried off to reception where Henry was already greeting the first arrivals. It was a party of eight smartly suited businessmen who were down from Manchester for a three-day software conference. They’d reserved one of the private dining rooms, so after taking their coats she led them through the dimly lit bar to where Melanie, their hostess for the evening, was waiting to show them into the Edwards salon, as the small dining room was known. Since Melanie was wearing nothing more than a fully transparent body stocking with a smattering of sparkly sequins in strategic places, Susannah felt the frisson of male excitement the instant the men laid eyes on their hostess, and might have been amused by their typical first moments of embarrassment were she not feeling nauseous at the mere prospect of being in the same kind of costume later on.
Returning to reception she found Henry chatting with two regular members whom she promptly led through to the restaurant, where Elodie, the catering manager, in the same scant uniform as Cathy’s and Melanie’s, took over showing them to their table.
By the time midnight came round the club was packed and the first show was already under way. Susannah was still in reception, and though she’d been on the brink a hundred times of telling Henry that she was willing to work on after midnight, she still hadn’t found the courage to say it. Nor would she, she realised, because no matter how dire her situation she simply didn’t have what it took to strut around the place with next to no clothes on. For a while she’d considered the slightly less public arena of a private dining room, but being aware of what sometimes went on behind those particular closed doors she hadn’t been able to face that either. As for exotic dancing, since she had neither the training nor the brazenness it took to exhibit herself that way, it wasn’t an option. Which all went to show that the hope of solving her financial problems was as false as the charm she was having to exude in the face of lewd propositions.
Before abandoning her post she sent a message to Henry’s pager, and a few minutes later he emerged from the smoky darkness of the bar.
‘Is it that time already?’ he said, checking his watch. ‘My, how it flies when you’re enjoying yourself. You’ve done a great job, chuck. Just a shame you’re not topping the bill at the end of the night.’
With her usual roll of the eyes, Susannah said, ‘So who’s replacing me? If she’s ready to come now I might make the twelve-thirty night bus.’
‘The what?’ he protested. ‘Didn’t you rake in any tips tonight?’
‘Of course. Almost fifty quid, actually.’
‘Then get yourself a cab, for God’s sake. You don’t want to be messing around with buses at this time of night. It’s freezing out there, and besides, it’s not safe.’
‘I’ll be fine. I do it all the time.’
‘I didn’t know that. Well, it’s not happening again. Whatever a taxi costs, I’ll make it up to you in your next pay packet. Or,’ he started to grin, ‘you have the chance of swapping with Melanie in the Edwards salon, then Cathy can give you a lift home later. Mel’s already earned herself a grand in tips tonight …’
Susannah’s eyebrows rose. ‘Yes, and doing what, exactly?’
‘You know I don’t ask that sort of question. All right, all right, I can see I’m wasting my breath again. Off you go. See you tomorrow, and thanks again for helping out here.’
Once in the minicab she’d ordered from the office, Susannah sat staring out at the passing streets, black and slick in the drizzly night, feeling jittery and vaguely disoriented to think of how close she’d come to abandoning her principles tonight. In truth, she wasn’t even sure if they were really what was holding her back – maybe it was simply cowardice that was making her insides freeze at the thought of turning on the kind of performance Cathy and the others seemed to manage so effortlessly. Like most of them, Susannah called herself an actress – at least she used to – so why couldn’t she just pretend she was playing a part? It didn’t have to be real, she could even give herself another name, as though the role had been written for her. The club members would be crew, or fellow players, or even the critics of a weighty stage play. Then, whatever happened, her actions would be about art and interpretation, instead of shameful to the point of being unable to think of this any more.
Switching her thoughts to Neve and how she was going to break it to her that they couldn’t afford the trip to Barcelona, she almost switched them back again. Nor was there going to be a shopping spree on Saturday. The dread of Neve’s anger and disappointment when she heard this was already beginning to sink so deeply into Susannah’s heart that she wanted to weep and rage with the sheer frustration of working so hard and never seeming to get anywhere. Something had to give, it just had to, but if it wasn’t going to be her principles, or cowardice, or whatever her problem was with the one solution she had, she simply couldn’t see what else was left.
Chapter Two
‘NO! IT’S NOT fair,’ Neve raged furiously, tears starting down her cheeks as her frustration hit breaking point. ‘You said I could go. Last night you promised to write a cheque, you even said when we were at Lola’s that you’d bring it round for me this morning so I could take it to school today, then you didn’t even bother to come.’
‘I’m sorry. I overslept,’ Susannah apologised, not wanting to admit that she’d decided to wait till this evening to break the bad news to Neve, rather than let her go off to school on top of the kind of row that was brewing now.
‘But it means you lied,’ Neve shouted. Her hands were bunched in fists at her sides, and her lovely face was contorting with impotence and fury. ‘You said I could go. You even paid the deposit, and now you’re changing your mind. Well, I won’t let you. I’ll borrow the money from Lola …’
‘You know she doesn’t have it,’ Susannah broke in gently. Her own face was pale and tired, while inside she felt so wretched it was all she could do to stop herself crying too. ‘I truly thought I’d have enough by now,’ she said shakily. ‘I swear to you, if I’d realised I wouldn’t I’d never have said you could go, much less paid the deposit.’
‘And that’s supposed to make it better? Well it just makes it worse, because it means you’re useless and you always let me down, even when you know how much something means to me. I suppose you’re going to say next that I can’t go shopping either, so I won’t have anything new for the party … Oh my God, you are, aren’t you? I can tell by the look on your face.’
‘Neve, listen, please …’
‘No, don’t touch me. I hate you. We never have any money and it’s all your fault. Why can’t you get a proper job and be a lawyer, like Sasha’s mum, or a stockbroker like Melinda’s? Why do you have to be a bloody cleaner, or a receptionist, or a dumb actress who never even goes on auditions any more? It’s so embarrassing.’
‘Neve …’
‘You don’t know what it’s like for me when people ask what my parents do. What am I supposed to say, that my dad’s in prison and doesn’t want to know us, and my mother’s so broke that we don’t ever even go out for meals, or do anything that other normal families do? It’s not fair. Why am I the one who has to have you as a mother, and live in this stupid house that’s not even as big as Sasha’s front room? I hate it, and I hate you and I wish I�
�d never been born.’
As Neve charged up the stairs Susannah put her hands to her face and choked back a sob. Though she knew the eruption was long overdue, and that Neve didn’t mean half of what she’d said, the words were cutting into her cruelly, making her feel even more desperate than she had before. How many more times was she going to tell herself that they couldn’t go on like this? Saying it didn’t make it happen, so she had to do something or she was going to end up driving Neve away.
After making herself a cup of tea she sat down at the table and once again racked her brains in search of an answer she might somehow have missed. As usual all her ideas ended up down dead-end streets, apart from the recollection that Dorothy had tried to get hold of her the day before. She felt a small flicker of hope in her chest, but it was quickly smothered by an inner voice telling her that if it had been about a job Dorothy would have rung back by now. No, the call had been about letting her go from the agency, so she had to ask herself if she really wanted to deal with the rejection right now? The answer was no, not at all, but like one of those trick candles that couldn’t be blown out, the flame of hope suddenly flickered back up again. Maybe it wasn’t bad news, because if Dorothy didn’t want to represent her any more surely she’d have told her by letter, rather than put herself through the awkwardness of listening to Susannah plead with her to change her mind.
Picking up the phone, she made the call.
‘Susannah, hi,’ Dorothy’s assistant, Ros, cried warmly when she realised who was calling. ‘Yes, we were trying to reach you. Saatchi’s were holding auditions today at the Connaught for some commercial, a breakfast cereal I think, and Dorothy thought you might like to go along. When you didn’t ring back, we assumed you were out of town.’
