A Girl Called London

by Clare Lydon

  Alice began to laugh gently, her body shaking as she did. “This gets better. So let me get this straight: some woman tries to help you, you rebuff her, then you crush her in a lift.” She paused, still laughing. “And did your hands land anywhere they shouldn’t have?”

  Tanya’s cheeks flooded again. “I was just trying to save myself,” she said, not looking at Alice. “Her tits might have got in the way.”

  Alice let out a bark of laughter at that, wiping some tears from her eyes. “Her tits got in the way?” she said, her voice now at a high pitch of amusement. “That, my friend, is the lamest excuse for feeling someone up I’ve ever heard.”

  Their food arrived, which cut the conversation for a few seconds. She thanked the waitress as she deposited Tanya’s salad and Alice’s lasagne on the wooden table, but then Tanya dived straight back in to close down the subject.

  “I was not feeling her up,” Tanya replied, rolling her eyes. Although they had felt firm under her touch, and she had let her mind wander to what they might actually look like. “I was just…” she said, remembering the woman’s smile, her strong aura. What was it about her? Tanya wasn’t sure, but now wasn’t the time to analyse. “Look, never mind. Let’s eat our food and talk about something else. Like the fact that when I move in, you can come over and see me on the weekend — I’m going to be at your disposal all the time.”

  Alice nodded through a mouthful of lasagne, clearly happy to let the subject lie for now. “Good to hear it,” she said when she’d finished chewing.

  “I was even thinking of asking Alan if Gran would be up to a visit — it’d be nice for her to see the flat her money contributed to.” Her gran had given her £100,000 towards the flat, telling her she’d rather she took the money now in case her mum tried any tricks when she was gone. Alan was her gran’s best friend and also her parents’ neighbour.

  “She’s too ill, surely?”

  “Maybe, but no harm in asking.” Tanya pushed her salad around the plate as she thought about her gran. Her health was touch and go these days, and Tanya really should get up to see her again soon because of that. However, going home meant being in proximity of her mother, and that fact still gave her the creeps.

  “I’m going to take her a bottle of wine when I move in, to say hi. Does that meet with your approval?” Tanya added, zig-zagging on the conversation.

  “Your gran?” Alice asked.

  Tanya shook her head. “No, my new neighbour.”

  “Oh, we’re back to her,” Alice replied, fork in the air. “Well, it’s a good start,” she said. “And tell me — is this woman cute?”

  Her image flashed into Tanya’s mind again, along with the moment Tanya’s body had pressed up against hers and they’d shared a moment, a connection. Or had that just been Tanya’s imagination?

  “She’s okay,” Tanya said, underplaying it like a boss. “She had a nice jacket on.”

  Alice gave her a knowing smile. “She’s okay and she had a nice jacket? That’s code for ‘Hell yes, she was cute and stylish!’ in your world. So take her a nice bottle of wine, not just what’s on offer in the Co-Op. Goddit?”

  Chapter Eight

  It was 8pm and the bar was packed solid with thirsty drinkers, the air thick with Friday night exuberance. Sophie scanned the waiting punters as she gave the previous customer her change, receiving no thanks in return. At one end, a suave woman in a stylishly cut black suit was waving a £50 note in Sophie’s direction. In front of her, two guys were arguing about how many shots they needed and what variety. Behind her, Helen swept past Sophie, stopping briefly to whisper in her ear.

  “Are you coming back to mine tonight?” Helen’s breath was hot on Sophie’s lobe.

  Despite herself, Sophie felt it all the way down to her toes. “If you play your cards right,” she replied.

  Damn — there went all her good intentions. But seemingly, where Helen was concerned, Sophie was an easy touch.

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Before Sophie could reply, Helen was off down the bar, ignoring other customers’ pleading eyes and making a beeline for the good-looking suit with the £50 note. Typical Helen.

  “You serving?” asked one of the men in front of her who’d been discussing the shots. His eyes were bloodshot and he was already squinting.

  “Sure am,” Sophie replied. “What can I get you?”

  ***

  Getting customers into the bar was never an effort — it was getting them to leave when the bar shut at midnight that was the problem. However, their security duo were doing a professional job tonight, gently encouraging people to drink what was left in their glasses, or offering them a plastic cup to takeaway. It was another 15 minutes before the final customer tottered out clutching a half pint of white wine; another half an hour till the chairs were stacked, the pipes covered and the surfaces wiped.

  Helen was leaning on the bar filling in her shift sheets when Sophie sat down on a barstool opposite.

  Helen gave her a smile. “Fancy a drink?”

  Sophie nodded. “A beer would be good.”

  “Coming up.” Helen signed the bottom of her shift sheet, then went to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer from a local brewery. On opening, they offered a satisfying hiss and she clinked Sophie’s bottle before they both drank.

  “Crazy night tonight.”

  “Always is on a Friday,” Sophie replied, picking at the label on her bottle.

  “And did you see that woman flashing the cash at the end of the bar?” Helen paused, fishing in her pocket. “She gave me a £20 tip. £20!” Helen waved the note in front of Sophie’s face. “I love Americans. We should encourage them to drink in here more often. Do a US promotion or something.” She paused. “I’m buying us a fancy bottle of wine on the way home with this.” Helen pocketed the note and took a slug of her beer.

  “Planning on getting me drunk and seducing me?” A smile played on Sophie’s lips as she said it.

  “Damn, you’ve seen through my dastardly plan.” Helen flashed Sophie her sexy smile and Sophie’s heart stuttered. Damn, she wished she wasn’t such a pushover when it came to her boss.

  “And have you worked out about Wednesday yet?”

  Helen smiled with her mouth, but the rest of her face didn’t follow suit. “Wednesday?” Her tone was questioning.

  Sophie sighed. “Yes, Wednesday — you know, Rachel’s restaurant?” Rachel was having a tasting evening at her restaurant, and Sophie had invited Helen weeks ago.

  It wasn’t that she wanted a girlfriend to go with, it’s just that she thought it might be fun for them to go, to do something other than work with each other and have sex. Something that involved being outside together, chatting like normal people.

  “Right, that.” Helen took a swig of her beer and looked away, before shaking her head slowly. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it, can’t make the shifts work.”

  Every muscle in Sophie’s body stiffened. “You’ve known about this for over a month and you’re the manager of the bar. I think if you want to take a night off, it’s pretty easy to do.”

  Helen shrugged, her cropped black hair not moving as she did so. “This week isn’t great, especially with the good weather forecast. You know that. People drink more in the sunshine, so we need more hands on deck.” Helen looked away. “It’s just how it is.”

  Sophie’s spirit sagged, her heart slowing down just that little bit more every time Helen disappointed her. It was getting more and more often of late, because they no longer wanted the same things.

  Sophie wanted a relationship.

  Helen didn’t.

  “It sounds to me more like you don’t want to take the time off,” Sophie said, fed up of the lame excuses.

  “Sophie,” Helen said, her tone a warning. “You know the deal, I’ve never been any less than honest with you. I don’t do relationships. I like to keep my freedom.” Helen paused, stroking the side of her angular face nervously
. “But let’s not ruin tonight by talking about it. Me and you, we’ve got something good going here — I thought we both agreed? No need to spoil it, is there?” Helen reached over and laid her hand on top of Sophie’s.

  A banging on the door interrupted the moment.

  Helen looked up and swiftly let go of Sophie, her face falling.

  Sophie turned her head to see a woman at the door, around their age with long blonde hair, smiling and waving. Sophie had no idea who she was: possibly a drunk? They got a lot of them at this time of night.

  But Helen was on the move, rushing to the end of the bar, her jaw clenched, not looking back.

  And when the door opened, Sophie’s already flagging emotions sank without trace as the woman stepped inside, wrapping her arms around Helen’s neck, giving her a long, lingering kiss on the lips.

  “Hey you!” she said, pulling back, a smile painted on her face. “I was just on my way home and thought I’d get off the tube early and surprise my girlfriend.”

  Girlfriend? Had Sophie just heard right? Helen, the no-strings-attached woman, had a girlfriend? What the actual fuck?

  This explained so much. Yes, Sophie had accepted that Helen saw other women, but she’d also thought that perhaps she was special, that she was the one who had the potential to pick the lock of Helen’s heart. How very wrong she’d been.

  A ball of nausea worked its way up Sophie’s windpipe, quickly followed by anger as she sat, jaw slackened, taking in the floorshow in front of her.

  “You certainly did that,” Helen replied, unhooking her girlfriend’s arms from her. “I thought you were staying at Nessa’s tonight?” Her voice was calm, believable.

  Which was kinda unbelievable to Sophie. She hadn’t realised what a good liar Helen was until that moment, but now she saw she was a master of deception. She’d deceived Sophie; she’d deceived her girlfriend; and who knew just who else?

  “Change of plan — Nessa had a fight with her boyfriend. She thinks he’s cheating. I mean, he says he isn’t, but she doesn’t believe him. Anyway, she thinks he’s with her tonight, so she’s gone to confront them.”

  Helen’s girlfriend began to walk towards the bar, noticing Sophie as she sat on a stool. “Oh, hello! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She gave her a happy smile as Sophie walked past her and round the bar to grab her coat and bag.

  Sophie didn’t want to stay in this bar for any longer than she had to. If her skin hadn’t been attached to her, it might have crawled off her body in shame.

  “No problem,” Sophie said. “I was just leaving.” She glanced over at Helen, who was watching the whole interchange with a glazed expression on her face. What was she thinking?

  Her girlfriend, oblivious, stuck out her hand. “I’m Polly, by the way, Helen’s girlfriend.”

  Sophie smiled, nodding her head as if on auto-pilot. And then her politeness forced her to shake Polly’s hand.

  She hated her manners sometimes.

  “Sophie,” she said. “Anyway, I really do have to go.”

  “The famous Sophie!” Polly said, grinning. “If there’s one person Helen talks about more than anyone else at work, it’s you.”

  What could Sophie say to that?

  The silence from Helen was deafening.

  Once outside, Sophie broke into a little jog: anything to get her body moving, to do something to take her mind off what had just happened. Sophie had always abhorred affairs, but unwittingly, she’d fallen into the trap of being the other woman. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid.

  Maybe there was something in those affirmations that Rachel spoke about. Maybe she should start doing them tomorrow morning. From now on, Sophie was going to put herself first and go after a real relationship, not a part-time one.

  She reached into her bag and got out her packet of cigarettes, but when she opened it, it was empty.

  Damn it.

  She threw the packet into a nearby bin and raced up the stairs to the train platform at Canary Wharf, replaying Polly’s trusting smile over and over again in her mind. It wasn’t Sophie’s fault, but somehow she felt responsible.

  As the DLR train pulled up, Sophie had much to ponder.

  In one short night, she’d lost her job and her lover.

  Chapter Nine

  The flat was hers: she’d just heard back from Jenny. When Tanya had got the call, her skin had broken out in goosebumps all over.

  Maybe, just maybe, after a rough two years, things were starting to fall into place. She allowed herself to feel hopeful for the first time in a long time, tapping her desk, leaning back in her black leather office chair, looking out over Canary Wharf.

  The office blocks dazzled in their metallic splendour, the windows darkened, keeping the mystery inside to the casual observer. When Tanya had first begun working here a few months back, she’d been impressed by the towering structures all around her every day, overwhelmed by their presence. She just took them for granted these days, along with the thousands of others who worked here daily.

  And now she had a flat beside the Thames, too, just a 20-minute train ride from where she was sitting this morning. Her stomach knotted as she thought about it, and she wondered again if she’d done the right thing. Was buying a flat in today’s climate the right thing? She had no idea. But she needed somewhere to live, and the world kept on turning, despite the economy being on a knife-edge. She was 80 per cent sure, and that would have to be enough today.

  Her phone pinged and she looked down at the screen: she had a meeting in 15 minutes and this was her reminder. She opened the files for the project on her laptop and began reviewing them. However, she was only halfway into the second paragraph when her phone began to ring, with a number she didn’t recognise. She stared at it, then pressed the green call button.

  “Hello?”

  “Tanya?”

  She might not have recognised the number, but she’d recognise that voice anywhere. It’d been a few years since she’d heard it, but it was filled with the same hesitancy as always, its edges softened with love.

  Just hearing his voice made her recall the times it had cushioned her when she needed it.

  And also, the times when it hadn’t.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hello, love.” He paused. “I have some bad news.” His voice went down at the end, as if he was reading a football result and the team had lost.

  All the good vibes that had been circulating her body fell over, tumbling to the floor like dominoes.

  She knew what the news was, of course she did.

  Yet she didn’t want her dad to say it, because that would make it true.

  Tanya gripped her desk and prepared for the words. “Is she okay?” she asked.

  Her dad cleared his throat before replying. “She’s not. She passed away in the night. She didn’t suffer, she went peacefully. I thought you should know.”

  Tanya held her breath, and then completely forgot how to breathe. How could she do anything when her gran had just died? The wonderful, caring woman who had always loved her, no matter what. The woman who’d told her she could be anything she wanted to be, wherever she wanted to do it. The woman who’d made her laugh more than any other, who’d taught her how to bake a sponge cake, who’d held her when she cried. How was Tanya meant to go on when this whirlwind of positivity had suddenly been sucked from her life? Was she just meant to talk on the phone, like everything was normal?

  Apparently, the answer was yes.

  Keep calm and carry on.

  Tanya wasn’t sure she was capable.

  “But I spoke to Alan on Monday and he said she was rallying. I was coming to see her this weekend.” Her mind was whirring with the news, like a child’s spinning top. Round and round it went, never stopping for anyone. “Are they sure? Absolutely positive?”

  “They’re sure. She’s gone, I’m afraid. And the funeral won’t be for a while because they’ve got a backlog. They’re saying a month till they have space — I’l
l send you an email to let you know the details when we get them.”

  “A month?” Did bodies survive that long?

  “Apparently.” Her dad paused. “Your mum’s beside herself, of course.”

  Tanya stiffened at the mention of her mother. She supposed her mum might be upset that her mother had died, but then again, she didn’t show much care for gran when she was living. But grieving for the dead was expected, and her mum was a stickler for convention and tradition: it’s the code she lived her life by.

  “And how are you?” Tanya asked.

  “Coping, you know. It’s hard, but it’s probably for the best. Your gran’s quality of life wasn’t really there anymore.”

  He cleared his throat again. The conversation between father and daughter should have been smoother, but Tanya wasn’t surprised. Theirs was not a relationship that anyone was going to write a sitcom about.

  “I guess not,” Tanya replied. She knew her dad was telling the truth, but she’d never be ready to let go of her beloved gran. Not today, not tomorrow, not any day. And she was almost offended her mum was grieving for her. As her gran’s only child, she was considered the chief mourner, but she didn’t deserve that title.

  Her mum didn’t deserve much of anything.

  “Will you be coming for the funeral?” her dad asked, after staying silent for a good few seconds.

  Tanya sighed and stared at the sunshine out her window. Just a few minutes ago, she’d been admiring its silky rays. Now, there was a jagged edge to its light: the rays didn’t slide down the buildings, they sliced them in two.

  “Of course I’ll be coming,” she replied, unable to keep the peeve out of her voice. Her dad knew what her gran had meant to her, did he think she was a monster?

  “Good,” he said, quickly. “Only I wasn’t sure, because… well, you know.”

  “Because I haven’t been home since mum told me I wasn’t welcome? That doesn’t mean I’ve stopped coming to see gran. I’ve been up regularly to see her in the past few years. Life doesn’t stop just because Ann decides she no longer has a daughter.”