I didn’t tell her how it ended, with tears and hugs and promises to stay in touch, and that terrible, impulsive decision of a 17-year-old who was so tired of waiting for fate to catch up with what she wanted. I kissed him, the night he left. One perfect kiss.
He had kissed me back, stepping forward into my space, his hand cradling my cheek as he kissed me so softly, so tenderly that I thought I might cry with joy, with relief.
And as soon as it was over, he took it back.
All apologies and misunderstandings, moments of weakness and empty excuses. He hadn’t wanted that, he hadn’t wanted me that way. He was my friend and he would miss me, and it had gotten out of hand.
I was left with an awkward hug and a humiliating walk home, knowing that I’d ruined any future phone calls, messages or visits. I had crossed a line, and now things couldn’t be the same.
‘You saw this boy tonight?’ my mother asked, gesturing with her third cocktail a little too forcefully, leaving half of it soaking into the carpet. A waiter made eye contact with me, and I twisted my lips into an apologetic smile, coupled with a one-shouldered shrug. He came over to mop it up, and refilled the peanut bowl without a word.
‘Yes, timing decided to once again smack me over the head. Sam asks me to hear this musician – there he is, the musician Sam’s been talking about.’ I sipped at my own drink, thinking it could do with a little more cassis in it, and a frozen blackberry would offer a better garnish than the sad bobbing blueberries in the champagne flute. ‘I’ve lived in this city over a decade and now, he turns up. Something’s happening here. Someone’s playing a joke on me.’
‘No, I don’t think you understand, darling. You saw this boy again, the one boy you said you’ve truly loved all these years. And you decided it was better to come home and have an argument with your mother?’
‘We didn’t argue!’ I retorted. ‘And yes, I thought it was the grown-up thing to do.’
‘Oh, screw being a grown-up, there’s more than enough time for that. You keep saying the world is trying to tell you something? What if it’s trying to tell you to jump? That now is your time and you shouldn’t let it go?’
‘I don’t think—’
‘Take it from someone who spent her life pushing people away, being scared is not a good enough reason to run. You will always find a reason to avoid happiness. It’s so much more scary to stand there with open arms and take the risk that it’s not quite everything you’ve dreamed.’
I looked at her in astonishment. ‘Wow, Mum.’
She furrowed her brow. ‘What, darling? I can’t be deep? Look, that’s not the point – do you get what I’m saying?’
‘I have to take chances. I have to run towards instead of away.’
Mum nodded. ‘So, are you going back to that music place, all dressed up and ready to impress?’
I made a face. ‘I don’t know if he’s still there, or if he’s still playing, or if he’s angry I left…’
‘Darling, you need to stop that. Aren’t you Arabella Hailstone? You eat big bad businessmen for breakfast. I think you can handle one boy with his guitar.’
She said it so casually, as if she’d never once doubted or criticized me before. I knew it couldn’t last, this enforced carefulness, powered by a desperate need to be close, to be happy together, but I laughed in delight.
‘You’re right. I guess now I just have to find him.’
My mobile phone started ringing on the table, and when I picked it up to look at the screen, it was a number I didn’t know.
My mother pressed her lips together. ‘Do you think perhaps fate is calling again, telling you not to fuck it up this time?’
‘There’s the mother I know and… well, you know.’
‘We don’t have time to be sassy, pick up the telephone!’ She laughed, lunging for my mobile.
I answered it, my heart crisscrossed like fingers, hoping and wishing that she was right. This whole thing had been fated. Timing had come together to bring good and bad, and the possible and the impossible. I had spent an evening laughing with my mother, appreciating her, feeling loved. If that could happen, anything could.
‘Hello?’ I asked, desperate to hear that voice, warm and insistent and always on the edge of laughter.
‘Well hello there, darlin’, know anywhere good to get a drink in this fine town?’
Chapter Twelve
I met him at a rooftop bar in the city, not far from where he’d been playing. I almost felt bad leaving my mother, but she laughed and told me to go. I had a feeling she might call Sam to keep her company, and perhaps, strangely, she was exactly the person he would want to hear from, on a night like this. A night to talk about daughters and family and fate and love.
Skyline was one of those bars that was so beautiful, you almost convinced yourself the scenery was worth the surcharge. The drinks were expensive, and often I dreamed of moaning about how pretentious everyone was, how even the clientele seemed to be unnaturally beautiful. But everyone was always so pleasant that it was impossible to moan. I seated myself at the bar, admiring the huge display of fresh pink lilies in the glass vase. At least I’d dressed myself up a little before Mum and I came out again. I felt more like Bel. Like I could stand tall and prepare myself.
‘What can I get you?’ the bartender asked, flipping his gorgeous blonde hair and giving me a dazzling smile.
‘Vodka Martini, please.’
He nodded and set about his work, placing a little tray of nibbles in front of me, next to the coaster.
‘Well, hello there.’ Brodie slid onto the bar stool next to me. ‘Didn’t know if you’d show.’
‘I said I would.’
‘You also ran out on my second set. Totally missed my excellent rendition of “Time After Time”. Ya know, once people started getting bored of new material and demanding covers. What every musician dreams of.’
That smile was as cocky and easy as it had ever been. It was like no time had passed for him. The beautiful bartender appeared, as if out of thin air.
‘Can I get you a drink, sir?’
‘Your most poncy beer, please, pal.’
The bartender hid a smile and nodded before placing my drink down in front of me. I checked for fingerprints and smudges on the glass immediately. Finding it sparkling, I touched the glass to check the temperature.
‘Well isn’t someone the classy lady now?’ Brodie laughed. ‘Long way away from cans of cider on the sea front.’
‘It was a long time ago,’ I said needlessly, staring at the drink, trying to stop my heart from thumping as I heard him say it quietly.
‘Feels like yesterday to me.’
The bartender served Brodie’s beer and checked back with me, almost nervous after noticing my inspection. ‘Everything all right with your drink?’
Both men waited in silence as I lifted the drink to my lips and sipped. I took a second sip just to be sure. The bartender flicked his hair, and I noticed the eyebrow piercing.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked innocently, and watched as a worried look crossed his face.
‘Billy.’ He paused, looking around. ‘Madam, if you’d like me to remake your drink…’
‘Billy, I think you should come and work for me.’
‘Oh, should I now? And what should I do?’ He laughed in disbelief, but I could tell he took the compliment the way it was intended. Plus, it made me feel important, plucking people from places and offering them something. Seeing potential.
‘Well, you could be my personal cocktail maker, but actually, I run a club.’ I handed him my card. ‘This place is pretty wonderful, darling, but if you ever want something a little on the darker side, let me know. That’s the best Martini I’ve tasted in a long time.’
Brodie reached over to take the business card from the bartender. ‘Arabella Hailstone? The Martini Club.’
A laugh seemed to hover around his lips, as if he wasn’t sure what to say.
‘So, I guess you’re not a b
allerina.’
I gestured at myself, too short, too round, too much of everything. ‘Do I look like a ballerina?’
‘I don’t know, you look like Bel. You look like someone I’m glad to see.’ Smooth. He paid for the drinks and Billy waved at me as we walked over to the terrace, my business card between his fingers like he was about to do a magic trick.
We seated ourselves on soft cushions on an L-shaped sofa, a breathtaking view of the city beneath us. It was a quiet night, which was a relief. Somewhere I didn’t have to compete with a crowd or struggle to hear. We had enough stories to share.
‘So,’ Brodie said, sitting an arm’s length away from me. He could reach out his fingertips and touch my neck. Not that he would. But still, even a respectable distance apart felt a little too close.
‘So,’ I repeated. I tried to ignore that spectacular view twinkling at me. ‘It seems impossible to know where to start.’
‘The new name, maybe?’ He grinned, sipping from his bottle of beer.
‘It’s not new, it’s years old now. And it’s a version of the truth. I’m still Bel. I just didn’t want to be Annabelle Stone any more. I wanted something of my own.’
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I get that. It was always weird that she named you after herself. How is she?’
‘Mum?’ I blew out my breath in a strong low sigh. ‘Well, she turned up on my doorstep a few days ago after I tried to cut off her pocket money, so… I’m slowly losing my mind. But actually, we had a bit of a breakthrough this evening. We may get somewhere near normal. How’s Tina?’
A sad smile flickered across his face. ‘Passed away a few years ago.’
‘Oh God, Brodie, I’m so sorry.’
I’d loved Tina. She was exactly what I thought a mum should be – warm and kind and funny. She’d always made me welcome in their tiny house full of smelly, loud boys. She used to give me her pink mug for a cup of tea, and always sneaked me biscuits before the boys got hold of them. She had MS, and she was very aware of getting weaker, but when I knew her, it was more like something that hovered around her shoulders. We knew she was getting worse, but I’d never really considered that she would ever not exist.
I felt a little pang for Brodie, who had always been her hero, always protecting her and wanting the best for her.
‘She had a good run, she was happy,’ he said, but shifted in his seat a little, looking past my left ear rather than my eyes. ‘The boys are doing well. Jason’s a landscape gardener, happily married, got a gorgeous little girl. Tom’s finally finished travelling and is using his degree, working as an architect.’
‘Wow.’ I blinked. ‘They were babies five minutes ago. Tom was always smart, you could tell even then, that look of intense concentration when he used to play with his toys, colour coding, drawing maps and colouring them in.’
‘Remember that summer you set them up an epic pirate trail?’ Brodie grinned at the thought of it, shaking his head. ‘You hand drew and coloured all those little maps, and buried sweets and toys at different parts of the beach and parks, and made all those rhyming clues—’
‘And you kept singing each one in a weird pirate voice, and we both wore eye patches and kept walking into each other?’
‘The boys couldn’t breathe for laughing.’ He smiled at me, those crinkles around his eyes more pronounced now, signs of a life lived, and one spent smiling.
‘We had some good times,’ I said unnecessarily. Even now, something about this man made my stomach itch, and I crossed and uncrossed my legs before sipping at my drink. I didn’t know how to be. It felt wrong to try and be Bel in front of him, and yet I couldn’t be that awkward, angry girl I was back then.
‘So… you came to London. Was it to dance?’
I shook my head, then shrugged. ‘Sort of, but also not really.’
‘Good.’ He nodded, laughing. ‘Very clear and straightforward.’
‘I… we… I needed to escape. I needed to do something. I modelled, acted, danced… and in the meantime I bartended, temped as a cater waiter… everything.’
Brodie twirled his hand, as if to tell me to go on. ‘And then suddenly you owned a bar?’
Nope, I got married, got sick, ran away… and I’d really rather you didn’t know that.
‘I… hit rock bottom, I guess. I wasn’t getting enough work, and the modelling especially made me feel worthless. I kept trying to lose more weight to get the jobs, I was gaunt and tired and sick all the time, and I had to quit. I had to get out.’ I took a quick glug of my drink before I stopped myself. ‘I’d started to hate dancing, you remember how it was back home? How something I’d loved became a horrible burden?’
He nodded, eyes round with concern.
‘It was the same with everything. And one of the photographers, he saw something in me. Not in front of the screen, but how I looked after the other girls, made them laugh. So I became his assistant for a while, and then he offered me a place and I became his tenant…’
‘Uh oh, I see where this is going.’ Brodie made a face, gritting his teeth. ‘Sugar daddy?’
‘No! Jesus! That was Sam.’ I shoved him half-heartedly, ‘Sam who you just met?’
Brodie blinked in shock. ‘Sam Callaghan is your landlord?’
I shrugged. ‘Yeah.’
‘Sam Callaghan, musical genius, frontman of Simple Injustice, is your landlord?’
‘They were a big deal, huh?’
Brodie vibrated in his chair. ‘Bel, I used to play their songs at the open mics. That man is brilliant. And now he’s a photographer?’
‘He’s got many talents. And he heard something in your music that made him drag me along tonight. If that means anything?’
Brodie nodded, taking a deep breath. ‘It really does. You have no idea. After a while it gets hard to keep slogging on. The number of mis-starts and false hope over the years. Finally, you realize there are no big breaks, there’s just being lucky, unlucky and continuing to work regardless.’
‘I don’t know, darling, you had a crowd of adoring people clapping for you this evening – seems like being lucky to me.’ I smiled and was shaken by those eyes meeting mine, piercing and grateful.
‘So, you didn’t finish the story. You were here, you were struggling, you met Sam… is that how you got the club, through knowing Sam?’
I shook my head. ‘No. I mean, the decent rent helped, of course, but it was actually discovering burlesque that changed everything.’
Brodie raised an eyebrow. ‘Right…’
I shook my head. ‘Don’t make that face. Burlesque is about celebration. It felt like freedom after years of constricting and control and diet and strength. Burlesque is about being strong too, but it’s also about softness and sensuality and flirtation.’
I grinned at him, noting his awkwardness. ‘Is that a blush there, darling? Don’t like the idea of a woman swinging her bazookas about onstage?’
He pressed his lips together to hold the laugh in, but failed, squawking slightly. ‘Bazookas!’
I shrugged nonchalantly, feeling incredibly like myself all of a sudden. I tilted my hip and finished my drink. ‘Shall we have another?’
He held up his empty bottle between his fingertips. ‘I’ll go. Same again?’
I should have said no. I should have been sensible. But the nostalgia and surprise and quiet, thumping joy was a little too much.
‘Same again. And a big glass of water, please, darling.’
That wide cat smile again as he mimicked me. ‘Absolutely, darling.’
It was okay. It felt okay.
It felt more than that, but I was trying to hold it together. There’s always that person you wonder about, the one your mind drifts to in quiet times. In most cases it’s completely harmless, a sense of nostalgia, fondness: I wonder how they’re doing, I hope they have a happy life. Brodie was that for me, the person I thought about every now and then.
Except that made it seem small. Brodie had been the one perfect thing
from my life back home. Those couple of years he was in Eastbourne I had laughed and dreamed and got to be a teenager. In some ways, being around his brothers, I even got to be a kid again.
My life with Mum had been structure and diet and control and perfect, perfect, do it again until it’s perfect. Sneaking off with Brodie, spending time with his crazy, loving, messy family – it was like a different world. A world with chocolate-glazed doughnuts with sprinkles, and chocolate digestives out of a huge cookie jar shaped like a polar bear. With cups of tea whilst Tina wanted me to show off my dance moves. When I was so exhausted from all my training, and Mum was never pleased, that thin line of a mouth as she demanded I spend the night remembering that I was meant to be better, that I had a legacy to fulfil, Tina’s delight at a basic pirouette was a balm. She’d clap her hands and whoop at the simplest moves, and one night after another second-place performance, they asked me to show them what I’d done, right there in their living room. The boys pushed the coffee table out of the way and squished onto the sofa to watch me.
I almost cried as I danced, remembering Mum’s look of utter despair, and how she wouldn’t talk to me in the car ride home. I had been such a disappointment to her.
I did cry in their living room when I finished, and each of them threw a flower at my feet. Little paper origami roses, in red and pink and orange, the twisted green stems attached with glue and still tacky. I’d kept them in my bedroom in a glass, as if they were real flowers, and I’d even taken them with me to London when we first moved, placed in the bedside drawer for safekeeping. I couldn’t remember if I’d thought to take them when I left. I hated to think of them rotting away in that smoky room, getting dirtier every day I wasn’t there.
Brodie broke my thoughts, placing the drink in front of me.
‘Can you still make those origami roses?’ I asked suddenly.
The smile on his face was pure sunshine. I’d forgotten what it was like to watch someone’s emotions in that way. I used to do it at the studio when Sam was taking pictures – identifying the exact moment someone remembered something wonderful, or sad, or painful.
Martinis and Memories Page 14
