Divas

by Rebecca Chance

‘Shoo!’ Lola said hopefully. She advanced a pace closer to the goose, waving at it impatiently.

  But the goose didn’t shoo. Instead, it picked up its rubbery feet and took a couple of steps towards Lola. And it opened its bright orange beak and made the same awful squawking sound, even louder and more threatening now.

  ‘I’d be careful, miss!’ yelled the first driver.

  ‘Those things can break a man’s arm with their wings!’ added the second driver. ‘Nasty, they are!’

  ‘Nah, that’s swans, you pillock, ’ called the third driver, not wanting to be left out of the fun. ‘Geese can’t break your arm.’

  ‘They could bite, though, ’ the second driver retorted. ‘Look at the beak on that!’

  ‘Shoo!’

  Lola windmilled her arms at the goose, trying to scare it off. It paused for a moment, and she thought she’d won. Then it lifted its wings menacingly, hunched its back, and went into a tirade of squealing and hooting as another goose appeared from round the side of the house. And this one was hissing.

  Lola stared at them in horror. The first goose had now started hissing too, and that was even worse than the squawks. Their nasty beady eyes were fixed on her, and what she could read in them chilled her blood.

  For a moment, there was a standoff. And then the geese started advancing on Lola, both hissing worse than the snake in The Jungle Book, and Lola let out a terrified scream and started to run.

  ‘Come on, miss!’ yelled the first cab driver, reaching out his arm to unlatch the door for her.

  At least Lola hadn’t worn stilettos to visit her mother. She was in her version of casual wear, which meant that her stack-heeled boots were only two inches high, and her jeans weren’t so tight they cut off circulation to her crotch every time she sat down. She managed a sort of sprint, her boots crunching on the gravel, the geese hissing like demons after her. As she fell into the open cab and the driver heroically slammed the door behind her, the lead goose went for the driver’s arm. It just missed, but its fury was such that it slammed its beak against the paintwork of the taxi.

  ‘Little bastards!’ the driver said in amazement. ‘Little fucking bastards!’

  Then he had to jam his finger on the button to close his window, as the goose was trying to stick its beak into the cab, squawking furiously.

  ‘Fucker!’ he yelled. ‘You little fucker!’

  Scrabbling up to the seat, Lola looked behind her and saw that the second cab driver was doubled up with laughter, his face bright pink. And the third cab driver – oh God, the third cab driver, damn him, was holding out his mobile phone, recording the entire thing. Lola muttered a heartfelt ‘Fuck!’ under her breath.

  Lola practically never swore. But she knew exactly what was happening: the driver had recognised her and was going to sell the mobile phone clip to the tabloids. Her inglorious scramble across the gravel was going to be front-page news tomorrow, posted on all the internet gossip sites. She was so angry she wanted to get out and punch that bloody goose right in its mouth. Beak.

  ‘Honk your horn, OK?’ she instructed the driver. ‘My mother never answers her bloody phone, I’ve been trying all the way here.’

  The driver leaned on the horn. The loud parp-parp drove the geese into a frenzy of hissing. Somewhere in the distance, dogs started barking. Lola thought she could hear the donkeys, in a field below the house, braying in response. And into the middle of all this noise, from the walled orchard on the opposite side of the house, strode Lola’s mother Suzanne, in faded jeans, Wellington boots and an ancient T-shirt, her famous blonde hair now streaked with grey and pulled back from her face in a frayed hairband, her equally famous face lined and worn by years of working outside in the wind and the sun.

  But her legs were as long as ever, her waist as slim, her breasts as high and small as they had been in the glory days of her early twenties, when every man and quite a few women all over the world had looked at the gigantic billboards of her in a royal-blue swimsuit, holding a bottle of Sunsilk shampoo, her golden hair tumbling down her back, and fallen in lust with her on the spot. And her face was still so beautiful that the cabbie jerked his hand from the horn and said: ‘Fucking hell, that’s your mum?’ in reverent tones.

  ‘What is this racket?’ Suzanne said furiously. She walked up to the first cab. ‘Lola? Is that you? What on earth do you think you’re doing? The animals aren’t going to settle down for days now!’ She looked over at the geese, who were both waving their wings and hissing like banshees. ‘Hamlet and Ophelia are both very sensitive!’

  Lola watched the three cabs disappear down the steep hill, taking a substantial amount of her money with them. She couldn’t believe how much it had cost.

  But right now, she had a more immediate problem to sort out: her suitcases, which were piled in a heap in the middle of the drive, looking like the lost luggage for an entire business-class-only airline.

  ‘You can’t leave these here!’ Suzanne was insisting, her hands on her waist. ‘I should never have let you get those cabbies to unload them.’

  ‘Mummy! What was I going to do, turn round and drive round England in a procession of black cabs, looking for someone with a big house and a lot of room?’

  ‘There are such things as storage units, you know, Lola, ’ her mother protested.

  Lola’s face went completely blank.

  ‘Are there?’ she said. ‘How do they work?’

  Suzanne threw up her hands in desperation.

  ‘We’ve ruined you!’ she cried. ‘Your father and I have ruined you!’

  ‘Oh Mummy, not that again—’

  ‘We’ve spoiled you so much you don’t know how to do the slightest thing for yourself!’

  ‘I do!’ Lola said crossly. ‘I worked out how to get all my stuff packed, and how to bring it here—’

  ‘In black cabs! How much did that cost you? Did it never occur to you to rent a van?’

  ‘Eeeww!’ Lola was visibly taken aback. ‘No! How would I even do that?’

  ‘I need a cup of tea, ’ Suzanne moaned, and turned away, walking round the side of the house.

  Lola followed her nervously.

  ‘But what about my cases?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll give Neville a ring. He’s the gardener, a total godsend. He’ll find somewhere to put them, ’ her mother said over her shoulder.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Mummy! Um, are you sure the geese are—’

  ‘They’re safely in their pen, don’t worry, ’ Suzanne said. ‘But I don’t know what you can have done to upset Hamlet and Ophelia. They’re the gentlest creatures.’

  ‘Mummy, one of them attacked the cabbie when he was slamming the cab door for me! It tried to take a bite out of his arm!’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Lola, ’ Suzanne said, sighing. ‘You’ve always been jealous of my animals. I can’t understand why. You know I loved you best.’

  They paused for a moment to look over Tankerton Bay, which was laid out below the cliffs, shingle beach stretching away as far as the eye could see. It was an overcast day, and the tide was out, which meant that the grey shingle sloped down to sloppy-brown mudflats, studded with old pieces of shell that would cut your bare feet. The sea, which would have made the scene much prettier, had withdrawn far in the distance, as if wondering whether it could really be bothered to come back in and cover all that dirty mud up again. Round the edge of the shingle beach was a line of brightly painted beach huts, little shacks without running water or electricity, which Lola had heard sold for a relative fortune.

  Standing on the cliff, looking down at the bay below, Lola shuddered. Having to spend her summer holidays here would be the worst torture she could possibly imagine. She looked over at Suzanne, whose beautiful face had momentarily been washed clean of annoyance by the sight of her beloved sea view. Lola shrugged. Well, each to her own, she reflected. If everyone wanted to stay in lovely hotels on the most exclusive Thai beaches, they’d get awfully crowded, wouldn’t they?

>   Suzanne took a deep breath of sea air, and reluctantly turned away from the prospect of Tankerton Bay.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on and ring Neville, ’ she said, pushing open the kitchen door.

  The house was accessed through a mud room, crowded with old Wellington boots, frighteningly sharp-looking racks of gardening paraphernalia, and dirty old raincoats. Lola shuddered again. She wished her mother wouldn’t live like this. Even the kitchen, which, with its huge picture windows, could have been very nice if done up with the latest granite worktops and brushed-steel fittings, was resolutely rustic: an old cream Aga, acres of faded wood cupboards, and a huge old oak dining table. For Lola’s tastes, it was horribly rustic. There was even a smelly old spaniel curled up in a basket next to the Aga, which whopped its tail on the floor at the sight of Suzanne.

  ‘That dog really pongs, Mummy, ’ Lola said disapprovingly, pulling out a chair and inspecting it for cats before dusting off the animal hair and gingerly sitting down.

  ‘He’s old, Lola. We all get old, and then we die, ’ her mother said, as if this were somehow news to Lola.

  Lola grimaced. Her mother would never change. She eyed the stinky spaniel, which responded by raising its upper lip to show her its teeth and growling faintly. Very friendly.

  ‘So your father’s ill?’ Suzanne asked, sipping at her tea. ‘I don’t even quite understand what’s going on yet – you were babbling away outside hysterically, and I had to calm poor Hamlet down—’

  ‘Daddy’s in a coma, ’ Lola blurted out. ‘And Carin’s in charge of everything and she’s kicked me out of my house. Apparently it’s not mine technically, it’s all in trust—’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Suzanne’s hand shook as she lowered the mug to the table. ‘In a coma?’

  ‘A diabetic one, ’ Lola explained, taking off her Gucci sunglasses, which were propped on top of her head, and putting them on the table.

  ‘I told him!’ Suzanne wailed.‘I warned him! He was getting more and more unhealthy! But he just wouldn’t stop eating. It was compulsive. I couldn’t bear to see him like that.’

  ‘He was getting pretty big, ’ Lola admitted, fiddling with the arms of the sunglasses.

  ‘Well, why didn’t you say something, Lola? He’s your father! Couldn’t you see his weight was out of control?’

  Lola looked blank again. The idea of acting like a responsible adult around her father was completely alien to her.

  ‘I did tease him about it, ’ she offered.‘You know what he was like, he didn’t like me to put on a pound, and sometimes I’d say, “Well, Daddy, you try living on edamame beans and sashimi and see how you like it!” He wouldn’t have lasted an hour! But he was Daddy. I mean, what could I have said to him? Why would he have listened to me?’

  Lola knew perfectly well what her role in her father’s life had been: to look pretty, to be frivolous, to lead a sparkling social life and be photographed in fabulous dresses at fabulous parties, to be a glittering butterfly, demonstrating by her appearance how successful Ben Fitzgerald was. It certainly hadn’t been to tell him the truth about his lifestyle.

  ‘I despair, Lola. Really I do, ’ Suzanne said, sighing. ‘That woman was feeding him up like a pig to market, and you didn’t say a word. Lola, do you know what a diabetic coma is?’

  God, how Lola hated it when people asked her questions like that in a patronising tone of voice, indicating that she was too stupid to know the answer. George, Daddy’s old lawyer, had done it too.

  ‘It’s a coma!’ she said crossly. ‘Like—’ Her only references were people in comas on TV, so she tailed off at this point.

  ‘He’ll be lucky to come out of it at all, ’ Suzanne informed her. ‘And if he does, he may well be brain-damaged. I don’t think you’ve quite realised how serious this could be, Lola. Your father could die.’

  ‘Oh no, Mummy.’ Lola shook her head so vigorously that her blonde ponytail danced and her yellow diamond earrings sparkled in the pale light trickling through the window. ‘I’m sure you’re wrong. Anyway, I’m shooting off to New York, and I’m going to go and see Daddy and talk to the doctors and hopefully get my trust fund unblocked and get everything sorted out, so . . .’ She looked hopefully at her mother. ‘I sort of need to borrow some money for all of that.’

  Suzanne, who had been reaching for her now-cooling cup of tea, paused, turning to stare at her daughter.

  ‘Lola, ’ she said, ‘I really don’t understand this. Why on earth do you need money?’

  ‘Because Carin’s cut off my trust fund, Mummy!’ Lola’s voice raised to something like a wail. Her parents always had this effect on her: she ended up sounding like a small child in their presence. ‘I don’t have any money! My credit cards don’t work – all I’ve got is what’s in my bank accounts, and that’s practically nothing! And she’s kicked me out of my house! I don’t have anywhere to live!’

  Lola wasn’t surprised that her mother had absolutely no idea of the dramatic events that had recently engulfed her daughter’s life. Suzanne had a basic internet connection, but she only used it for email.

  Lola knew her mother would much rather she was working as a volunteer for a refugee organisation in some war-ravaged area of the world. Or saving baby crocodiles from extinction. Well, then Suzanne shouldn’t have married a multi-millionaire! She should have picked some Green Party worker instead, and brought their daughter up in some crunchy-granola Stoke Newington commune!

  Thank God, at least, that hadn’t happened.

  ‘What about Jean-Marc?’ Suzanne asked, her beautiful face baffled.

  ‘He’s in rehab in Arizona, ’ Lola said impatiently.

  ‘Oh my God! Poor Jean-Marc! What happened?’

  ‘He overdosed in the flat of some sordid tranny, ’ Lola explained. ‘He’s fine now. I mean, they’ve pumped him out and now his horrible brother’s packed him off to rehab and said I can’t see him any more, which means—’

  ‘Lola! You must be so upset!’

  ‘Actually, we decided we were better off as friends, ’ Lola said blithely, ‘so that part’s all OK—’

  ‘How much is in your bank account?’ her mother asked, frowning.

  ‘Barely fifteen grand!’ Lola said, throwing her hands wide to show how desperate the situation was. She decided not to mention Niels van der Veer’s cheque. That would just make the waters even muddier than they were already.

  ‘That would be a lot of money for most people, ’ her mother observed.

  Lola rolled her eyes.

  ‘I’m not most people, Mummy. And neither are you, ’ she snapped.

  ‘Oh, Lola—’ her mother started.

  ‘Mummy! You were the Sunsilk girl! People recognise you on the street thirty years later! You married a multi-millionaire and you live in a ginormous house! And I can barely move without a ton of paparazzi chasing me. We’re not most people!’

  ‘Well, we should be, ’ Suzanne said, standing up and walking across the kitchen to the big sink, under the picture window. Leaning on it, she stared outside at the sea view, refusing to look at Lola as she said:

  ‘I’m not going to give you any money, Lola. You’re going to have to do this on your own.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe Carin’s right. I’ve always disliked her, but maybe this time she’s right. You do need to stand on your own two feet, and perhaps now’s as good a time as any. God knows, I told your father not to give you your own credit cards when you were barely fourteen, but he never listened to a word I said about you. You were his little princess, and nothing was ever good enough for you. And it’s turned you into an extravagant, spoiled . . .’ Suzanne sighed. ‘Go and see your father. Find out how he is, and let me know. But I’m not going to throw money at you like he did, Lola.’

  Lola was finding it hard to get the words out, because she was gasping at her mother’s hypocrisy.

  ‘How dare you!’ she said finally. ‘You’re living in a huge house and you don’t have to lift a fing
er if you don’t want to – you haven’t worked since you met Daddy—’

  ‘And I regret that.’ Suzanne turned round to look at her daughter, bracing her hands behind her on the rim of the sink. The faint English sunlight lit up her hair, turning it into a halo around her head. ‘But I’m doing something good now. Saving animals, taking in the ones that no one else can look after. And if you find yourself running short of money, you could always get a job. This could be the making of you, Lola.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Lola grabbed her bag, threw it over her shoulder and stormed towards the kitchen door. On the fridge were stuck a series of magnets holding notes, cards, scribbled lists on torn pieces of paper. Lola reached out and grabbed one, a card from a local minicab firm. ‘I’m calling a car, ’ she announced. ‘I’ll wait outside.’

  ‘Lola!’ her mother called, her tone suddenly urgent.

  Lola spun on her heel eagerly, sensing that her mother was about to add something important – perhaps, seeing how upset Lola was, Suzanne was going to offer her some money after all . . .

  ‘If it doesn’t work out in New York, ’ Suzanne said, ‘as far as the money side of things goes – of course you’re going to want to see your father and check how he is, but what I mean is, if you can’t get any more money from your trust fund—’

  ‘Yes?’ Lola prompted impatiently.

  ‘You can always come back here to stay!’ Suzanne finished. ‘You’re my daughter. I’ll always make a home for you. You could help me with the animals. They always need someone else to love them.’

  Right, Lola thought as she marched back down the garden path. She pulled her phone from her bag and dialled the number from the card, ignoring the gasp of breath and then the sheer incredulity of the dispatcher that one lucky driver was about to make a fortune on a Heathrow run. That was all her mother had to offer? Living in rustic solitude while grooming geese and letting her nails chip and break?

  All that goose needs is a good punch in the mouth, she thought furiously. With a baseball bat.

  Chapter 8

  Lola had forgotten how much she loved New York: it was as buzzy as a hive of bees lit up with a firework display. London seemed very slow by comparison. Well, so did everywhere, apart from maybe Hong Kong. In New York, everyone was on the make, pushing and shoving for advantage, sharpening their elbows, desperate to be seen at the latest trendy place first, to know the gossip before anyone else, to snatch that coveted job or magazine cover out of someone else’s grasp. New York never slept, not because some bodegas were open 24/7 (New York wasn’t as much of an open-all-hours city as the myth had it: you just had to visit the Upper West Side at four a.m. to find that out) but because someone’s brain was always whirring, figuring out a way to gain a toehold in society, work their way up the ladder, be a bold-faced somebody on Page Six of the New York Post.