by Ali Harris
After I accidentally overheard him on the phone I crept back upstairs quickly, to find Raffy, still naked, jumping up and down on my bed.
‘I tried, Teevee,’ Lola sighed ruefully from her sitting position on the floor where she was looking at her little brother with despair. ‘But he is very very VERY naughty.’
Just like his daddy, I thought, and bundled a squealing, wriggling Raffy into my arms and into his dinosaur pyjamas, and then took them both downstairs to get their beakers of milk.
I descended the stairs trying to make as much noise as possible to ensure Will would know we were coming, which isn’t exactly hard when flanked by two stampeding toddlers. I didn’t want to hear any more of his conversation and I certainly didn’t want the kids to either. Will was sitting on one of the bar stools in front of the enormous, brushed-granite island unit as we came into the kitchen. His iPhone and a large glass of red wine were in front of him.
That’s right, drink away the guilt, I thought as he took a large glug and avoided eye contact with me.
Then Will turned and beamed as his kids ran towards him squealing with delight, and I tried not to let the disgust I felt show in my face. Will and I have never been really close, but I’d say we tolerate each other. He finds me too underachieving and I just find him so bloody smug. There’s never been anything major to dislike about him – until now. Just that he’s annoyingly public-school handsome, rich and clever, and yes, he works really hard in his job, and yes, I’ve always thought he looks after my sister well and is a good dad. But Delilah is amazing, he’s bloody lucky to have her, and sometimes I feel that he just takes that for granted. Well, judging by the call I’ve just overheard that’s an understatement.
I am furious with him but the worst thing about it is that I just don’t know what to do. Although I have to say I am happy that my dislike of him has been verified. Mum has always insinuated that I don’t like him simply because he comes between me and my sister. But that’s ridiculous. As if a man could ever do that. I feel a stab of guilt as I think of how I didn’t really believe Delilah the other evening when she was upset about Will. I’ve always told myself I don’t want to get involved with Delilah’s marriage, but at what point do I make exceptions to that rule? Do I tell her and risk breaking up their family? Because there’s also Lola and Raffy to consider. Maybe I should just keep quiet for their sake. Oh God, I just don’t know.
I bite my lip feeling suddenly horribly weighed down by my knowledge. Stupid Will flapping his stupid willy around the first woman that showed any interest.
If it is the first, I think suddenly. For all I know he could’ve been having affairs for years. I’ve read articles about blokes who went to their lover’s bed straight after their wife had given birth. What if Will is one of those? The thought utterly reviles me. I may not have always thought Will was good enough for my sister, but I certainly never imagined him to be a complete bastard. I feel like I don’t know him at all any more. I’m so angry with him for gambling his marriage and Lola and Raffy’s blissful childhoods. But I’m also angry at him for putting me in this position. Do I tell Delilah? Or do I let her find out for herself? The dilemma occupies me for the entire bus journey into town.
Thank God I have something to take my mind off it all, I think as I push open the pub doors and immediately get enveloped by the warmth and noise. I’ve chosen a typically old-fashioned pub for our little get-together. The Lamb is somewhere I thought Lily and Felix would feel comfortable, and it’s always been one of my favourite drinking holes. Not that I really have a ‘drinking hole’ per se, but if I did, this is where I’d come all the time. It’s a classic Victorian pub just near Russell Square, with dark wood, leather sofas, chocolate-brown walls with sepia photographs dotted around, as well as lots of period artefacts, such as the old jukebox that’s tucked away in a corner. The exterior has beautiful original Victorian green tiles and a wrought-iron streetlamp hanging above the entrance. And it’s the perfect place for a secret rendezvous, as the pub also still has the original snob screens – small panels of etched glass positioned at head height to conceal a drinker’s identity. You can just imagine all the secret love affairs that have gone on here. This makes me wonder if perhaps I should bring Joel here, too. And then I think of Will again and my heart sinks.
I spot Felix in the corner, sitting on a banquette in the middle of two round tables. I wave at him and push through the crowd as he looks up and smiles at me brightly. He has clearly dressed up for the occasion in a slightly too-tight-for-his-stomach striped shirt tucked into his jeans, a lightly checked blazer over the top, the look finished with a jaunty paisley scarf tied round his neck and tucked into the open collar of his shirt. I realize I have never seen him wear anything other than his dark blue security uniform before and that, if I had, I’d have known immediately that he was a widower. No wife would have let him out of the house looking like this, but I’m not going to say a word. He looks so pleased with himself.
‘Hello, love!’ he says, his face crinkling like crepe paper into a warm smile. ‘I thought it’d be busy so I decided to come a bit early to bag us a table. Can I get you a drink?’
‘Don’t be silly, Felix. I’ll get it,’ I say, waving him back into his seat from which he is now trying to get up from.
He frowns at me as he tries to extricate himself from behind the table. ‘You bloody well won’t, Evie. Let me buy you a drink to make up for all those early morning Americanos you’ve brought me!’
‘Well, when you put it like that . . . I’ll have a glass of white wine, please.’ I smile as Felix heaves himself around the table and makes his way towards the bar.
I sit back and look around, relishing the feeling of being out for the evening. The sad thing is I can’t remember the last time I did something like this. Carly and I go out occasionally, but it’s only ever me and her, and we tend to go to some swanky new bar that she’s chosen and which I don’t feel remotely comfortable in because they’re always full of self-satisfied media types waving their hands and expensive handbags around, drinking achingly cool drinks made from fruits I’ve never heard of, served by un believably handsome bartenders who never seem to notice me waiting at the bar, desperately trying to get served. I end up sitting uncomfortably on some stool that was made for someone two stone lighter and a foot taller than me, gripping on for dear life and trying not to drink so much that I need to go to the toilet, because the bar would have undoubtedly found some new way of not making it look like a toilet but like a space-age egg, or there’ll be a two-way mirror on the cubicle door so you can see the people waiting outside whilst you’re trying to pee.
Which is why for tonight’s get-together I’ve tried to choose somewhere that everyone would feel comfortable – including me. I glance over and see Felix patiently waiting to be served amongst the busy cross-section of customers. There’s the pre-requisite stressed-out suits, a bunch of students, a smattering of couples having pre-dinner drinks, there’s the local business people, the shop workers, and trendy executives in black-rimmed specs from the media agencies that are dotted around this area.
The table Felix has chosen for us is in a cosy and tucked away corner, which is great, as the place is heaving already. I’m just thinking how much I need a drink, when I spot a familiar figure sailing through the crowd. Lily beams at me as she approaches, and not for the first time I marvel at the grace and ease with which she appears to move through life. People part for Lily like she’s Moses moving the Red Sea. She smiles graciously as she passes them, lifting one hand a little like the Queen to thank her subjects for letting her pass.
‘Darling!’ she breathes. ‘Let me look at you!’ I reluctantly stand up as Lily, on the other side of the table, gives me a quick assessment. ‘You look glorious, Evie darling. That tea dress is just made for you! And didn’t I tell you that you’re a red lip kind of girl? It suits your colouring so wonderfully! I mean, suddenly your eyes are bigger and darker, your hair has more lustre, your skin
is luminescent. It’s like looking in the mirror of my youth.’ She sighs dramatically and perches on a chair, popping her handbag on her lap.
I smile shyly at her compliment. But I can’t imagine I’d ever remind Lily of herself when she was young.
‘Well, you look wonderful, too, Lily,’ I say. And it’s true. This evening she’s channelling Jackie Onassis with her usually scraped-back hair floating in soft, dark waves around her face and wearing a pearl-grey shift dress with a cardigan slung over her shoulders and an expensive-looking silk scarf tied neatly around her neck. And red lips, of course.
‘I thought I’d make the effort for you, my dear. I’m sad to say I don’t get out as often as I’d like these days. It’s the darnedest thing about getting old. Suddenly you’re up like a lark at six and ready for bed just as the evening is beginning. Besides which, people my age seem to forget they’re still alive. I’m lucky if I can find someone to go for afternoon tea with me, let alone an alcoholic drink or dinner past 7 p.m. Boring, the lot of them.’ She gesticulates dramatically so that a man in a suit behind her has to duck out of her way. ‘I still remember the days when I used to stay out all night and not need a jot of sleep.’
She clasps her hands together and smiles at me. ‘Now, I don’t know about you, but I need a beverage. What would you like, darling?’
‘Felix is at the bar getting me a glass of wine,’ I reply, standing up and straining to see where he is. ‘Let me go and get you something.’
‘Oh, you’ll do no such thing. I can go myself. I need to tell them just how to mix my Martini, anyway. None of these young bartenders seem to know how these days. It’s a tragedy.’
I smile as Lily gets lost in the crowd and, seconds later, I spot her standing at the front of the bar being served ahead of Felix, which makes me chuckle out loud.
‘Feel like sharing the joke?’ a familiar voice says teasingly.
I look up and see Sam grinning shyly, his hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets. He unwraps his scarf, takes off his beanie hat and rubs his hand over his head. I am surprised to find myself wondering how it would feel to do that myself. His closely cropped hair looks almost like suede as he touches it: soft yet rough.
I swallow as he shrugs off his coat and throws it round the chair in one swift movement. There is a moment of awkward silence as we appraise each other.
‘You look gorgeous,’ Sam says softly.
I smile at his compliment and quickly allow my eyes to take in his appearance. He’s wearing a soft oatmeal-coloured V-neck jumper, which compliments his syrupy-coloured hair as well as his caramel eyes. There’s a crisp white T-shirt just peeking through underneath the jumper, and he’s wearing smart, pressed black trousers. I’m surprised how much effort he’s made for such an informal night out. I mean, anyone would think he was as desperate for a night out as the rest of us. But he and Ella probably go out all the time. Dinner, the theatre, nice bars, all the things couples do.
‘You scrub up pretty well yourself,’ I smile and then look away, embarrassed suddenly.
‘Well, here we are,’ he says, clutching the back of the chair. I notice that his knuckles have gone white.
I nod, suddenly lost for any strand of conversation, which is weird. I mean, this is Sam. My mate Sam. ‘Yep, here we are,’ I reply.
Sam opens his mouth to speak again and then closes it as three drinks arrive on the table in front of us, delivered by Felix.
‘Here we are!’ says Felix heartily as he puts down two pints and my glass of wine. Sam looks at him, then at me, then to his left as Lily slips into the seat next to him.
‘Not bad,’ she says as she takes a sip of her Martini. ‘Not bad at all. By the next one I think he’ll get it just right.’
Sam looks at Lily, then at Felix, then back at me and raises his eyebrows questioningly.
‘Lily, Felix, this is Sam,’ I say, making the introductions. ‘He does the deliveries for Hardy’s so you probably won’t have met him before.’
Felix hands Sam his pint as Lily raises her glass, gives Sam a sideways glance and then winks at me approvingly.
‘I took the liberty of getting you a pint of lager while I was at the bar,’ Felix says. ‘I saw you talking to Evie here and figured you were with us.’
‘With us?’ Sam questions robotically as he accepts the drink and sinks back in the banquette.
‘Lily and Felix are good friends of mine who work at Hardy’s,’ I explain to Sam. ‘Felix is our security man, and Lily runs the tearoom. When you suggested having a get-together to celebrate the promotion-I-never-got, of course I wanted to invite them. Ooh, and here are the others!’
I stand up and wave as I spot Jan Baptysta and Justyna towering over the crowds. I hear Velna before I see her. And then when I see her I wonder how I could have possibly missed her. She is wearing a multicoloured roll-neck jumper with a bright pink denim skirt, cream tights and fluffy boots. She has her hair in plaits, and it appears to be dyed green.
‘Hi, guys!’ I say warmly as they line up in front of the table. ‘Everyone, meet Jan, Justyna and Velna! They’re Hardy’s brilliant cleaners. ‘You guys must know Felix, right? And this is Sam and Lily.’
‘Yesk!’ Jan nods as he takes Felix’s hand and pumps it enthusiastically so that Felix’s pint slops over the top of his glass. Justyna slaps Felix on the back and a little more spills out and Velna gives him a warm hug, her elbow knocking his glass again. Then they all wave at Sam and Lily.
Felix laughs and puts his glass down. ‘Is that everyone?’ he says.
I look around and nod, thinking of Carly, who could have been here too if she’d just given us a chance.
‘Well,’ Felix glances at his now half-empty pint. ‘It looks like I could do with going to the bar again to get some more drinks. Ladies and gentleman, place your orders, please!’
Everyone starts grabbing chairs and chattering noisily as Felix heads off with his list of drinks. I can see from the expressions on everyone’s faces that they’re thrilled to be out for the evening, mixing with colleagues they have worked with for years, but not ever had the opportunity to get to know properly. Lily is listening intently whilst Velna explains just how home hair-dye works, whilst Jan interrupts to ask Lily what it is she’s drinking.
‘A Martini, of course, darling,’ she replies. ‘It’s the only drink worth drinking if you like vodka, which I presume you do?’ Jan nods and begins explaining the myriad differences between Polish and Russian vodka. A minute later Lily has climbed delicately onto her chair with Jan’s help, snapped her fingers and got the barman’s attention. She makes some hand gestures and two minutes later the same barman delivers a Vodka Martini to her, complete with a little bow. I laugh with disbelief as she slides it across the table to Jan.
‘How did you do that?’ I ask. ‘It usually takes an hour to get served in here!’
‘Years of practice, darling,’ Lily drawls as everyone leans in to listen to her. ‘Back in my day a bartender had your drink ready for you before you even came in, and if they didn’t, all it would take was one flick of my hand and two would arrive to compensate for my wait.’ She waves her hands. ‘Of course, I always stuck to Dorothy Parker’s rules and only drank the two.’ We all look perplexed and Lily gazes around in mock horror at us. ‘Have you never heard her famous saying?’ We shake our heads and she tuts and begins to recite: ‘“I like to have Martini, two at the very most. After three I’m under the table, after four I’m under the host.”’
Everyone laughs and Lily uses this as a cue to start telling one of her stories from the Good Old Days, with extra details thrown in by her new sidekick, Felix, who has returned from the bar. They appear to be in their element telling everyone about life working at the Hardy’s of old.
‘People used to flock there,’ Felix says nostalgically to his captive audience. ‘They’d chat and browse and have lunch or tea; it was a whole day’s outing for them.’ Lily nods in agreement.
I’ve heard this potte
d history several times before from Felix but am enjoying it as much as everyone else. I remember the first time Felix filled me in on Hardy’s background. It was the January after I started, a particularly quiet month, and he was telling me how back in the sixties and seventies, the Hardy’s sale used to draw a crowd as big as Harrods’, and you’d see streams of people leaving the store clutching handfuls of Hardy’s distinctive cream and gold carrier bags. Unable to believe it, I asked him what had gone wrong.
‘People have lost sight of what Hardy’s stands for,’ he replied sadly. ‘I mean, Walter Hardy, senior, opened the store with the belief that he could change the way that people shopped. He wanted Hardy’s to be an extension of customers’ own homes. It would put public service over profit and there’d be no hard-selling or store snobbery.’ He told me that under Walter’s watchful eye it became London’s most popular department store. So cherished was it by customers that it became a symbol of hope through two World Wars, as it somehow miraculously survived the bombing that changed the city’s panorama so dramatically. As their own homes were destroyed, so Londoners flocked to Hardy’s, the warm, welcoming store whose doors were always open to them.
Lily has now been handed the reins of the story by Felix, who is sipping his pint with satisfaction as she talks. ‘In 1945, Walter senior retired and his son, Walter junior, took over the running of the store, promising to carry on his father’s legacy. And he did for over forty years. But when he passed away his son, Sebastian, became the new owner, but he didn’t share his father and grandfather’s vision. Under his tenure it became a wealth- and status-obsessed store aimed at serving an élite customer, namely his Sloaney friends.’ Felix pipes up that it’s the reason he originally left Hardy’s. He’d worked there for over thirty years but ‘couldn’t work for someone who didn’t have the best interests of the store at heart.’
Lily pats him on the hand and continues. ‘Sebastian always blamed the store’s location for its drop in profits under his ownership but it was its loss of values that was the problem, not its position.’
