“That sounds heartfelt. Have you and your boyfriend just split up?”
This was totally inappropriate. So she ignored it. But something about his camp rudeness was making her start to relax. “How long have you worked here?”
“Five years this Christmas.”
“So you like it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t, would I?”
This annoyed her. “I don’t know. You might need the money. Or be too lazy to look for something else.”
“You don’t hold back, do you?” He smiled. His front teeth were crooked. It was endearing in a way she didn’t quite understand. “So go on, then. If we’re going to work together, tell me all about yourself.”
“You first.”
“Twenty-eight, born in Aylesbury, Bristol University, came to London, worked for Lambeth Council, got the job here, live in Stockwell, like cats, play the trombone, spend my weekends as a volunteer restoring windmills.”
Eva likes a 1960s song about windmills, thought Kim. Something to do with circles and your mind.
“Where are they?”
“What?”
“The windmills?”
“All over Britain. All three types—post, tower, smock. Your turn.”
Kim thought for a moment. “Twenty-one. Born in London. Graduated last summer. About to move to New Cross. I like independent publishers, KT Tunstall, and Guinness. And my sister’s having a baby.”
“Which explains the maternity dress. Unless you’re having one, too.”
Kim opened her mouth to protest and shut it again.
“So where does she live, this sister?”
“Peckham Rye.”
“The nice bit?”
Kim nodded.
“With a nice husband?”
“No.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do tell.”
“Her boyfriend’s paying for the flat.”
“But not living in it?”
Kim shook her head.
“How very modern,” said Jake.
To her great astonishment—staring at this odd, awkward man with straw hair and thick thighs—Kim found herself awash with desire.
• • •
Harry came out of the gym and stood there for a moment, readjusting his eyes to the shadows. The city was now in the grip of a dull, gray winter. That’s why Londoners act so completely out of character when the sun starts shining in March, thought Harry. They’re so relieved that life has gone back into color that they forget about being aloof and aggressive and start bouncing about like spring lambs.
It took him a while to realize that there was someone else outside with him, leaning against the wall, huddled into a hoodie. Ethan was about seven or eight, but so small and skinny he could have been much younger. He’d been coming to the kids’ class at the gym for about six months. He never looked you in the eyes if he could help it. Just a quick glance in your direction sometimes, checking you out.
“Waiting for someone?”
Ethan nodded. Or it might have been an involuntary shiver.
Harry put down his sports bag and leant back against the wall as if he, too, had all the time in the world. He took out his mobile and pretended to check his messages. He didn’t want to leave until he knew Ethan was safe. There were no other kids around. They usually stayed inside until they were picked up. What was he doing out here on the street? You could tell just by the way he was standing that he was nervous.
Above them, a suburban train rattled to Victoria.
On the other side of the road, a gray car came to a stop. Ethan tensed so suddenly that his body seemed to bounce back against the wall. Harry made himself stay very still. He looked up. A young woman, laughing, got out of the car, waved, and turned off towards the station. The car ground off at speed.
Ethan slumped back against the brickwork.
It was getting darker. It was as if someone had turned down the dimmer switch. The gym door opened. A huge man, about six foot four, two hundred and thirty pounds, swung out, nodded at them both, and disappeared into the gloom.
Across the road, a car slowed down, then sped up again. Ethan cringed even more deeply into his hoodie.
An arc of lights swept round the corner, temporarily blinding them. A battered blue Toyota drove up on the wrong side of the road and stopped right in front of them. There was no one in the car but the driver. She reached back over the seat to the passenger door behind and pushed it open. Harry looked at Ethan. In the light from the car, Ethan’s face was happy, flooded with relief.
What’s going on? Why was he so frightened? Who did he think might be in the car?
Harry said, “See you next week.”
For a moment, their eyes met. Then Ethan ducked into the car, slamming the door, and Harry watched it speed off, veering out into the oncoming traffic.
It doesn’t take much, Harry thought, to remember how it feels to be small and terrified.
He bent down and picked up his sports bag. But I’m grown up now, he thought with a surge of joy. And I know how to fight.
• • •
Alisha looked nervous. “Unfortunately, due to a sudden unforeseen emergency situation, our CEO can’t be with us in person today.”
Jake frowned.
“So she’s asked me to introduce you to Jake and”—Alisha studied her notes—“personally welcome you aboard as the newest members of the team at this exciting stage of the charity’s future development going forward.”
They were five of them sitting in a tight circle of chairs by the fire escape. The offices were on the top floor of a concrete block next to the main road. One of the double-glazed windows behind them had rivulets of condensation running down between the sheets of glass. The thin brown carpet beneath their feet was blackened with what looked like burn marks, and the leaves of the office palm were yellow brown, like old bananas. But this is a charity, thought Kim. You wouldn’t want to waste money on inessentials.
“So, as a team-building exercise, Louisa would like us to go round and introduce ourselves, and say what made us want to work here.” Alisha looked up, her eyes anxious. “And then we have to come up with an interesting fact about ourselves.”
Kim felt hot and awkward. She wasn’t sure that anything in her life counted as interesting. You’re the only person I know, Izzie had said recently, who copes with stress in her life by working even harder.
“So I’ll start, shall I? My name’s Alisha, and I’m Louisa’s executive personal assistant.”
“Why?” said Jake.
Alisha blinked. She had very smooth brown skin, gold-rimmed spectacles, and bright red lipstick.
“You’re meant to say why you wanted to work here,” said Jake.
Alisha seemed to shrink back into her chair.
“Perhaps we should move on,” said Jake, “and come back to you in a minute.”
To Alisha’s left was a thin man with bushy gray hair. His face was scored with deep lines, as if he’d spent most of his life in a desert. “I’m Brian. New IT support manager. Step up from the last job. My interesting fact is that I once had a cup of tea with Keira Knightley.”
Alisha burst back into life. “How come?”
“I was an extra on Pride and Prejudice.”
“No,” breathed Alisha.
Kim, aware that Jake was watching her, frowned as if she was unimpressed by name-dropping.
“You can see me in one of the crowd scenes. Breeches and a red waistcoat.”
“I loved her in Pirates of the Caribbean,” said Alisha. “I kept hoping she’d end up with Johnny Depp.”
Jake looked at his watch. “Perhaps we ought to move on?”
“I’m Steve,” said the large man sitting next to Brian. He had a film of sweat across his forehead. “Communications manager.”
“And why did you want to work here?”
Jake’s taken over, thought Kim. He must be one of those people who like meetings.
“It seemed like somethi
ng I could get my teeth into. A good opportunity. Career progression—”
“So, Kim,” said Jake, cutting him off. “Over to you.”
Everyone was looking at her. She took a deep breath. “I’m Kim. Research assistant. I wanted to work here because I believe it’s wrong that people should be homeless in Britain in 2006. A home is not just a roof over your head. It’s the place where you feel safe and secure, where you can put down roots and feel part of your community. I want to make a difference. I want to stick up for people who don’t have a voice.”
She was conscious of everyone staring at her. Oh no, she thought, her heart sinking. I’ve done it again. Misjudged the mood. Played Hamlet when everyone wanted Wallace & Gromit.
“And the interesting fact?” said Jake.
Kim looked at him, her expression desperate.
Jake smiled. “We’ll come back to you when you’re ready. I’m Jake. Head of research. I joined the charity some years ago. But these are exciting times. With Louisa as CEO, we’re going to change the way we view homelessness in this country.”
What a brilliant answer, thought Kim, wishing she’d said something similar.
“And what’s your interesting fact?” said Alisha.
“Catherine Zeta-Jones,” said Jake casually, “is my cousin.”
After the meeting had broken up and the others had gone back to their desks, Kim said, with some surprise, “I had no idea.”
“What?”
“That you were related to Catherine Zeta-Jones.”
Jake shot her quick glance from his pale blue eyes. “Oh,” he said, “were we supposed to be telling the truth?”
• • •
Sitting in the stalls at the Royal Opera House—the first night of a new production of Bizet’s Carmen—Harry checked his phone was on vibrate. It was too early, obviously. A month too early. But these days he didn’t want to be out of contact. She hadn’t asked for him to be at the birth. But he wanted to be on hand, in case.
In case of what? He didn’t know. Which made it worse. Sometimes the thought of Eva facing a danger he didn’t understand made him light-headed with fear.
He glanced sideways. This particular client—a fund manager who regularly gave him a lot of business and always voted him best analyst in the Extel and Institutional Investor surveys—liked culture. So Harry had done his homework. Over drinks beforehand, they’d discussed Tomma Abts winning the Turner Prize and the forthcoming production of Giselle at the Coliseum. Should they book tickets for Gilbert and George at the Tate in February? I will be whoever you want me to be, thought Harry. I will discuss Italian sopranos, prima ballerinas, and career retrospectives. I will be as educated, cultivated, and sophisticated as you are.
“You are a complete fraud,” Eva had said, her eyes full of affection.
“You could think of it another way. I’m like your best-ever reflection in a mirror. Making you feel good about yourself. Giving you hope. Who knows? I might be the invisible angel of the City. The little ray of sunshine that keeps people going.”
“You? A little ray of sunshine?”
“Some people quite like me, you know,” said Harry, pretending to be offended.
In the seat next to him, his client settled back with an air of excited anticipation. “I think we might be in for a treat, you know.”
“I’m looking forward to hearing Anna Caterina Antonacci,” said Harry. “Such an incredibly versatile voice.”
“Power, passion, and sensuality.”
As the lights went down, Harry curled his fingers round his phone.
• • •
“That’s it, then,” said Jake. “Checked, referenced, and legaled. In print and online. The London Homelessness Report.”
“Ready for the media launch.”
“Which our esteemed patron will deliver next month.”
Kim leant back in her chair. “Will we be allowed to go?”
“To the House of Commons? You bet.”
“I’ve never been to the House of Commons. I mean, not inside it.”
Jake smiled. “It’s not as grand as you’d think. Just big rooms with nice stone windows. And you have to queue for hours to get past security.”
“I don’t look like a terrorist, do I?”
“Nobody looks like a terrorist,” said Jake. “That’s the point.”
He stopped smiling. For a moment, neither could look away.
Jake turned back to his screen. “Right. Enough. Let’s close up and get out of here.”
It was eight o’clock. The offices were deserted. Kim, keeping her voice light, said, “Do you have time for a drink?”
“A drink?” Jake was looking at his keyboard.
“If you’re not busy.”
“Don’t you have to get back to that hugely pregnant sister of yours?”
“She’s fine. She’s got a friend over for supper.” She’s got Harry over for supper. “I don’t live with her, anyway. I live with Izzie.”
“Ah, yes,” said Jake. “The one with the secret love life.”
“Well, I don’t know she’s got a secret love life. She’s just never at home.” Home? Who am I kidding? It’s a smelly bedsit.
“I bet he’s gorgeous,” said Jake, peering round the screen. “Brad Pitt meets Will Smith.”
Kim laughed.
“What about you?” His voice rose out of the darkness somewhere behind the monitor.
“What?”
“Do you have a secret love life?”
She heard the sound of a drawer shutting. After a while, she said, “I don’t have any kind of love life.”
Jake pushed back his chair so that he sat in the pool of light from the desk lamp. “I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true.”
“Someone pretty like you.”
Her heart gave a little skip of delight. People called her tough. People called her uncompromising. No one had ever called her pretty. “I find most men very boring.”
After a long pause, during which they both carefully examined each other’s expression, Jake said, “Including me?”
“Oh no,” said Kim, in a clear voice, “I don’t find you boring at all.”
• • •
“You sit down here now, Eva,” said Christine. “There’s plenty of room.”
This was a lie. It was always a lie. There was never any room in Christine’s kitchen. She had four children and nine grandchildren, as well as cousins, second cousins, and family friends all over southeast London, and she believed it was her duty to feed them all. Jamaican food, of course—jerk chicken, rice and peas, saltfish with cabbage. But she was equally at home with roast beef, sweet and sour pork, spaghetti bolognese, and Thai curry. Christine was always at the stove. She moved the pans around from ring to ring like a juggler spinning plates, admonishing those that failed to boil and congratulating those that were simmering just nicely. She coaxed her food. She urged it to excel. She did the same with people. Stand in Christine’s kitchen long enough and you found yourself with goals you didn’t even know existed. Work in a shop? No, you want to own a shop. Own a shop? No, you want a nationwide chain. A nationwide chain? What’s wrong with you? There’s a whole world out there. All you need is hard work and determination. Haven’t you heard of Lady Scotland? Andrea Levy? Sir Trevor McDonald?
So far, Christine had produced an IT consultant, a teacher, a social worker, and a junior doctor. If everything went to plan, she had in the pipeline a barrister, a bishop, and the first black prime minister. She excused the smallest grandchildren. But the youngest member of the family, just six months old, had hands big enough for a concert pianist.
“So how are you, Eva? Ready for that baby to be born?”
“Oh yes,” said Eva, with feeling. It was hard to believe that someone so slight was managing to carry such an enormous bump. The huge mound of her stomach stuck out at right angles. It looked as if only willpower was keeping her upright. “Nature’s very clever. Towards the end, y
ou don’t even worry about the pain. You’re so desperate for the baby to come out that you’d hang upside down from the ceiling if someone told you to.”
The noise in the kitchen was incredible. It was the afternoon of Christmas Eve and Christine was minding some of her grandchildren while she peeled potatoes, made bread sauce, and stuffed the turkey for lunch the next day. While she clattered about with pans and knives, a small boy was racing a fire engine with a high-pitched siren round the table legs, a baby in a high chair was banging the fridge door with a metal spoon, and someone in the hallway was playing the recorder. By the back door, apparently oblivious to the pandemonium, sat Lewis, reading the paper. Once, years ago, Kim had asked Damaris—her best friend at school and Christine’s youngest—whether her dad minded living in a house that was always packed full of people. Damaris, frowning, had said she didn’t think he even noticed.
Kim had never heard Lewis speak. He was, as Christine always said, a man of few words. But when Damaris got her letter accepting her into medical school, and Kim had danced her round the kitchen shouting, “You did it! You did it!,” he had looked up from his paper and smiled.
“So are you girls ready for Christmas?”
We would never have managed without Christine, thought Kim. In the early days after Dad left, when Mum was out somewhere drinking cocktails, Christine would appear at the front door—small, round, and fierce, glasses falling down her nose—and somehow, with a few disapproving tuts, would usher us from our cold and empty house to the chaos of family life next door. After supper, Damaris and I would be packed upstairs to do our homework, and Eva would stay at the kitchen table, gradually thawing in the warmth of Christine’s concern.
Eva pulled a face. “Not really. I can’t face the crowds.”
The baby threw the spoon to the floor. It’s not shopping we can’t face, thought Kim, bending down to pick it up. It’s Christmas itself. It will be the first one we won’t be spending next door to Christine. Although Eva’s flat in Peckham Rye looked quite festive with its red tinsel and white fairy lights.
Don't Get Me Wrong Page 8
