Martinis and Memories

by A. L. Michael

  I nodded.

  Brodie’s grin was electric as he took my hand. ‘So what’s stopping us now?’

  I smiled.

  Chapter Sixteen

  There were few things I loved more than success, a well-timed sarcastic comeback and a decent glass of Malbec. The two that seemed to stick were dancing, and kissing Brodie Porter.

  Even as I woke, the memories of last night left me blushing. Even just kissing – oh, to be at that point where kissing felt more exciting and salacious than anything else. I didn’t want to waste that. Once you had sex, it was gone. You stopped kissing for the sake of kissing; instead it was a prelude rather than a main event.

  It had felt good to feel out of control, though. We had left the dance and gone round the corner to a dimly lit pub, where we ordered food we ignored and drinks we drank too quickly, and curled ourselves around each other in between stories and snippets about life.

  Yes, I wanted to know him, I wanted to talk and catch up and share secrets like we had before. But now, there was this chemistry that kept pushing that talking back to ‘later’. It was unimportant in comparison to the things that man could do with his mouth.

  I touched my neck as I woke up, wondering if I’d be stuck with some teenage-style love bite, and how I’d cover it up. Maybe I’d wear it with pride.

  I got a call from Jacques, reminding me today was the exciting day of my super excellent awesome surprise, so I’d better head over tout suite. After my shower, I started getting ready, noticing the smile on my face in the mirror, when my phone buzzed again.

  It was a text from Brodie.

  Often! That’s the bit I missed from the Gone with the Wind quote – often! xx

  I laughed, and texted back:

  The most important part xx

  I intend to follow it to the letter. xx

  I snorted to myself and carried on getting dressed, humming as I dried my hair and applied my mascara. The sun was shining fully today, London was in heatwave territory and I certainly wasn’t putting on a full face of make-up and my dark fitted dresses. I searched through my wardrobe and found an old white summer dress with thin straps. The skirt poofed out a little but seeing as I wasn’t travelling on the Tube and there was no breeze, it seemed like a safe choice.

  When I walked into the kitchen for my coffee, Mum was standing there, a fully prepared breakfast laid out on the table. Fruit salad, pancakes and bacon, with maple syrup and butter both on the table. Her smile was hopeful.

  ‘I made breakfast, do you have time?’

  I checked my watch, but knew already I wasn’t going to put her down – she was making such an effort.

  ‘I’m allowed bacon?’ I asked, slipping into the seat. ‘Is this some kind of trick?’

  ‘No, I’m just trying to be nice. Of course you get to have bacon. Sam said you liked bacon with your pancakes, so that’s what I did.’ She huffed a little but was desperately holding on to her cheery mood, and brought over the coffee pot to the table.

  ‘What’s going on, you’re not pregnant with Sam’s lovechild are you, because I’ve had a fairly stressful week,’ I whined, pouring a liberal amount of syrup over my pancakes.

  Luckily, she laughed, hooting with her head back until she recovered herself.

  ‘Oh God, no! There’s no news, I’m just… I’m trying.’ She sat down and helped herself to a hearty breakfast. My mother had eaten an apple and three almonds for breakfast ever since I could remember. She was the epitome of discipline.

  I tried not to think of how she was burning enough energy to be that hungry.

  Gross.

  ‘So in the spirit of trying… I’m going to hear or see some changes being made at the club. Once I know what’s going on, I’d be grateful for your opinion. You were right about a lot of things before.’

  It felt physically painful to admit that, and I waited for a victory dance, but it didn’t come.

  ‘I appreciate that, Bel, thank you.’

  We ate in silence for a bit, chewing and trying to figure out where to go.

  ‘So, what are you going to do today? Some sightseeing?’ Please don’t spend more money, I silently prayed.

  Mum looked sheepish. ‘Actually, Sam offered to take my picture. He said I have an interesting profile.’

  ‘Bet he says that to all the girls,’ I joked, expecting her to laugh along. Instead, strangely, her face fell.

  ‘Oh, do you think so?’ Her tone was tinged with disappointment, and I realized, perhaps for the first time, this wasn’t just another power play with her. Here, miraculously, was someone she cared about. Oh God, maybe this fate thing did exist and it was really all about getting Sam and my mum together and I didn’t matter at all?

  ‘No, Mum, I was only joking, I’m sorry. As far as I know, Sam has been an old recluse for many years now, and pretty happy with it.’

  My mother gave me a look like I was still incredibly young. ‘We all have ways of hiding loneliness, sweetheart.’

  The thought that Sam could secretly have been lonely all these years bothered me. He’d been a lone ranger, like I had. He was set in his ways and liked his own space, and didn’t see the point of settling for something less than… less than perfect.

  My God, I should have gone to therapy years ago.

  * * *

  I pushed open the doors to the Martini Club and saw a flurry of activity. Everyone stopped and turned to look at me, then looked at each other like they weren’t sure what they were meant to do.

  ‘Did I just walk in on my own surprise party, darlings?’ I asked, laughing at them.

  Aria came over, grasping her trusty file. ‘No, but the staff are all preparing ideas they wanted to present, so I think you shocked them. Jacques is waiting with your surprise in the kitchen.’

  ‘I don’t suppose that surprise is a free magnum of champagne, or him doing his routine in those little sparkly boxer shorts?’ I said, and watched as Aria wrinkled her nose.

  ‘No, I’m pretty sure it’s not.’

  ‘Well come with me – if Ricardo has broken something again, I’m going to faint dramatically like a southern belle who’s been overcome. I’ll need someone to break my fall,’ I said, pushing through the doors into the kitchen, Aria following close behind.

  Jacques was in deep conversation with the kitchen staff, who stopped when they saw me.

  ‘Ah ha! Perfect, exactly who I was looking for!’ Jacques grabbed my arm and pulled me over. ‘Taste this.’

  He held a fork up, and I opened my mouth automatically. The flavours were phenomenal, juicy mango with lime, fresh coriander and sweet cherry tomatoes.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Mango salsa with a hint of chilli,’ Jacques said proudly, crossing his arms, ‘to be served on grilled sourdough and drizzled with chilli oil.’

  I nodded. ‘Damn, that’s good. What’s that?’

  ‘Hand-made truffle arancini with a red pepper tapenade and a side of rocket salad,’ he pointed out. ‘Try the Dover sole with lemon cream, too – it’s to die for.’

  I stuck my fork into each dish, tasting and closing my eyes as I did so, trying to take in each flavour and element of the textures. I’d started the MC with a clear concept of French cuisine – rich and heavy and decadent, but in small portions. Sort of the way I liked to eat. But it was clear as time went on that people wanted hearty portions, and something lighter in the summer. They wanted flavour, but they wanted to feel like they were getting good value. It didn’t have to be fancy and tiny to be delicious.

  ‘I love them!’ I said, grinning, looking around at the staff. ‘Well done, darlings. Where’s Ricardo, is this his menu?’

  ‘Actually,’ a voice said from across the kitchen, ‘it’s mine.’

  I knew I was starting to slip into the old version of myself because when I saw Savannah Curtis walk out between the kitchen staff, I had to hold back a sob of relief.

  She threw her arms around me. ‘Surprise!’

  Savvy look
ed great, even better for being the answer to my culinary dreams. She was slightly tanned, with freckles across her nose. Her white-blonde bob still had pink tips but they were vibrant fuchsia rather than the baby pink they’d been before.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I could feel my throat thickening, so hugged her closer until I could compose myself.

  ‘Well, darling,’ she teased, ‘I heard my very favourite place in the world needed a chef for a bit, and seeing as I found myself at a loose end, I couldn’t say no.’

  I gave Jacques a look. It was clearly down to him, but he shrugged and mouthed ‘you’re welcome’.

  ‘You know, I think after a four-hour flight, coming straight here from the airport and cooking up a storm, I could really use—’

  ‘A shower?’ I interjected.

  She laughed. ‘I was going to say a decent Martini. What do you say, got time for a catch up?’

  I put my arm round her and led her back into the bar. ‘Darling, for you, I have all the time in the world. In fact, I’ll even make you the Martini.’

  It was a strange scenario to be in, me behind the bar amongst the liquors and mixers, her sitting on the bar stool and taking it all in.

  She looked so different. Not necessarily anything easy to notice, but it was in the way she held herself, her head high, her back straight. Savvy’s voice was not that soft whisper any more – she spoke with authority now, like she knew someone would listen.

  ‘So, you’re all done with cookery school?’ I slid the drink across the bar and watched as she sipped, almost anxious for some reason, before I walked around and sat beside her, drinking my own.

  She sipped, sighed and smiled. ‘Thank you. Yes, all done. We’re looking into opening our own place.’

  ‘Well, I’d say pick my brains, but apparently I’m not very good at this after all,’ I sighed.

  Savvy blinked, wide-eyed, before placing her glass carefully back on the bar. ‘Bel, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you talk yourself down, and quite frankly, I expect it to be the last time too.’

  ‘Ooh, stern Chef Savvy.’ I laughed. ‘It works, you know, this tougher you.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s an act, or it was. People didn’t listen, so I had to make them. No point being the best chef in the room if no one can hear what you’re saying.’

  ‘It’s not an act any more?’

  ‘It’s more like a habit. Gets the job done. But honestly, what’s happened here? Things got a little stale and you’re acting like you’ve tanked your business.’

  ‘I did. I have.’

  ‘One bad review, an accident and some bad luck?’ Savvy waved her hand. ‘Nothing a little sparkle can’t fix. Isn’t that always the answer, a little more sparkle, a few more sequins, a bolder shade of lipstick?’

  ‘Sometimes those things don’t solve the bigger problems,’ I said, ‘but I appreciate that you were listening to me for all that time, darling. Always felt like it was falling on deaf ears.’

  ‘I learnt more from you than you’ll ever know. Quietly watching you, the way you treated staff like family, how you looked after people without them even knowing. That’s how I want to be.’ She threw her hands up. ‘Hell, we can’t even decide on where to set up shop, because anything I come up with never lives up to this place.’

  ‘That’s very kind…’

  ‘Bel, I don’t know what’s broken you, but you’ve got to snap the hell out of it. It’s not kind, it’s true. This place is home for us misfit nobodies who are just trying to find our way in the darkness. And I’m here to make sure she’s restored to her former glory.’

  ‘Jacques filled you in?’

  She nodded. ‘Everything except the random guy behind us staring at you like you owe him something.’

  I turned behind me and saw Euan there, watching and waving whilst on a ladder, changing a light fixture.

  ‘Don’t worry, that’s just my husband.’

  Savvy choked. ‘Your husband?’

  ‘Long story. Long time ago, never quite got around to divorcing. I’ve put it on my list. Right after I get the club sorted.’ I put my hand to my heart. ‘Anyway, what about you, still with that charming bartender who thinks he’s Clark Gable?’

  ‘Ooh, Clark Gable, that’s a new one.’ She laughed. ‘Yes. Still him. Things are… good. Simple, fun, exciting. I’m happy.’

  ‘I can see that.’ I patted her hand. ‘I’m glad. How’s Mia doing?’

  Savvy’s smile lit up. ‘She is…’ She exploded her hands outwards. ‘She’s living her best life.’

  ‘Ugh, that’s cheesy. What’s she actually doing?’

  ‘An Italian called Salvatore.’ Savvy wiggled her eyebrows, but answered when I pouted. ‘She’s working at a cultural heritage site, and learning Italian. Been helping with the grape harvest, selling antiques. A bit of everything.’

  I nodded, somehow relieved that a woman I’d only met a handful of times was happy. She’d seemed so full of pain whenever I’d seen her. She was sassy and funny and sharp, and I had no doubt if you had the gall to pity her she’d bite your head off, but it was clear that she was having a hard time. When Savvy had told me about Mia’s dad being sick, it all clicked into place.

  ‘And what about you, Miss Arabella? I’m gone a few months and suddenly there’s a husband and an existential crisis?’

  I felt my jaw tighten. ‘What has Jacques told you, exactly?’

  ‘That your mother is a delight!’ Savvy made an angelic face. ‘And there’s some sort of saucy man from your past. Who I’m assuming is not the ex-husband.’

  ‘Ssh!’ I said automatically, looking back to Euan. I definitely did not want him to know about Brodie. I didn’t trust my husband as far as I could throw him, but I’d run out on him and he deserved not to feel like he was a loser.

  ‘My past has been arriving at my doorstop left, right and centre, it’s true. Not the most fun,’ I sighed. ‘My mother has been a nightmare but is loosening up. So much so that she’s shacked up with my landlord.’

  ‘It’s thoughtful of her not to take up your space…?’ Savvy offered half-heartedly, laughing at herself. ‘Sorry, trying to find the bright side.’

  I held up my hands. ‘Any advice you can give me on dealing with a difficult woman, I’ll take it. You did a decent job with your mother.’

  She snorted. ‘Yes, but unfortunately, they have to decide to have the personality transplant for themselves. She’s good, though, writing some new music, taking some time being normal. I think she’s even starting to enjoy not being recognized.’

  ‘Sam’s like that,’ I said suddenly. ‘My landlord. He used to be in some band back in the day, but now he’s a photographer. He likes the occasional ego stroke from someone who’s heard his music, but otherwise he likes being invisible.’

  God, I couldn’t remember the last time Savvy and I just talked, something that wasn’t problem-solving or trading quips. She seemed a little surprised too.

  ‘What band was he in?’

  ‘Umm…’ I wracked my brain, trying to remember what Brodie had said. ‘Simple Injustice?’

  Savvy’s eyes widened. ‘Shut the front door! Sam Callaghan?’

  I huffed in frustration. ‘You know him? You never even used to like music!’

  Savvy laughed, nodding. ‘Except that I know Sam Callaghan. He made a collaboration album with my mother in the nineties. Isn’t that weird? God, everyone in London is connected!’

  But it wasn’t London. It was just another set of weird circumstances that were starting to tell me everything was connected. Things were happening the way they were meant to. Much more of this and I’d be sitting with crystals in one hand, a pack of tarot cards in the other, talking about the meaning of life and fluidity of feeling. Or something.

  ‘Bel, you okay? You’ve got a weird look on your face.’

  ‘Just… a lot of coincidences the last few weeks, darling, nothing to worry about.’ I took a breath and rearranged my features. ‘So,
how long have I got you here for?’

  ‘As long as you need. I’m back in London, Milo too. We’re trying to figure out our next step. I’d never take Ricardo’s job, but as long as you need someone, I’m thrilled to be here. Plus, I like the idea of trying out some of my recipes on the Martini Club bill. If you’re happy with that?’

  ‘Honestly? I could cry, I really could.’

  ‘But you won’t, because showing weakness is not what leaders do.’ Savvy nodded.

  Ha, I wish.

  It was funny, realizing Savvy saw me the way I’d always designed myself. I’d presented a facade and she’d fallen for it. And yet, she also cared about me. Almost more importantly, she loved the club. She felt the same way I did about it. She wanted to save this little chunk of home in central London.

  ‘Anyway, I have an idea,’ Savvy said, turning towards me as she finished her Martini, making a face. ‘Ugh, I’ve always hated those.’

  ‘Then why…’

  She smiled. ‘I dunno, seemed appropriate. Plus I loved the idea of having a Martini with the woman behind the institution. You were always the one telling me to sit down, stop worrying and drink some decent champagne. I kind of felt I needed to return the favour.’

  ‘You’re warming my cold, dead heart, and I don’t like it one bit,’ I said. ‘What’s this idea?’

  ‘Testing the waters – I want to cook for you.’

  ‘You just did. Whatever you want to do is fine by me.’

  Savvy shook her head, ‘No, I don’t want fine. I don’t want nonchalance or making do – I want to relaunch the club with a new menu. I know some of the changes you’re making aren’t done yet, but what do you need, a week? For the upholstery and the small changes? I know the girls are ready with routines…’

  ‘We open to the public?’

  Fear gripped me. The idea of disappointing people again was almost too much. I was a coward.

  Savvy shook her head. ‘No, we open to our friends and family, people who have been working on the place, and maybe, if they’re very lucky, a couple of influencers and fans from Aria’s list might win the chance of being on the guest list.’