by Beth Miller
‘I was talking to myself,’ I said. Once I’d have been embarrassed to admit something like that to cool Gabby, but now it seemed pointless to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. There were worse things than having conversations with someone in your head, and Gabby should know; she had done lots of them.
She held out a takeaway cup. ‘Latte with skimmed milk, how you like it.’
I put the cup on the counter. ‘Thanks.’
‘Sorry,’ Gabby said. ‘I know it’s a pretty shit peace offering.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Cup of coffee in return for my boyfriend. Doesn’t seem quite enough, does it?’
‘Fuck, no. Sorry, Stell. Well, er, how’s it going? Your stall was the busiest, I saw the queues.’
‘Yes, we did well,’ I said, dishing out my words in small portions.
‘Was that Piet I saw out front, serving?’
‘You know it was, Gabby. No one else looks like Piet. And you’ve seen him up very close, you know how he looks.’
‘Bam! Pow!’ Gabby swerved her head from side to side, as though avoiding imaginary punches. ‘You’re totally bossing it.’
‘Look, I’m a bit busy, and you must be too, so…’
‘Stella.’ Gabby looked at her feet. ‘I wanted to say sorry properly. I know I fucked up, and I don’t even know how it happened.’
‘How can you not know? How can you sleep with someone’s boyfriend and not know how it happened?’
Gabby’s shoulders sagged, and out of nowhere, she started to cry. ‘I’m – sob! – such – sob! – a fucking – sob! – idiot – sob!’
At least there was something we could agree on.
It felt weird seeing her cry, because she’d always given the impression of being made of granite. I tentatively put my arms round her, and she immediately gripped me tightly back and continued sobbing.
I patted her shoulder and muttered, ‘there, there,’ in an attempt to speed this along. When her crying seemed a little less intense, I asked, ‘Who’s helping you on the Yummi Scrummi stall?’
‘No one,’ she mumbled.
‘You’re not running it on your own, are you?’
‘Yes,’ Gabby said, leaning heavily against me. ‘Three drunk women shouted at me because I didn’t do their order quickly enough.’ Her words were interspersed with little sniffs.
‘Gabby, it’s far too hectic here for one person. That’s insane.’
She moved out of my arms. ‘I guess I am insane, right?’ She wiped her face with her apron. ‘Why did I mess things up between us?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not a therapist, Gabby.’
‘Please tell me, Stella.’
‘Look, I don’t have any special insight into your brain. Perhaps you wanted to run the business alone. Maybe you were sick of living with me and didn’t know how to say so. Maybe you secretly wanted to sleep with me, so slept with my boyfriend instead.’
‘Wow, steady on there, Dr Freud. You’re not that hot.’
‘Perhaps,’ and this came to me in a flash, by far the most likely explanation for Gabby’s unfathomable behaviour, ‘you’re in love with Theo.’
‘Sorry, what?’ A red blush started to rise up her neck.
‘You’re in love with Theo. You’ve loved him for years. You jumped at the chance to have me move in because it meant you could get closer to him, then you couldn’t work out how to play it.’ This came out fully formed, as if it had been pre-prepared in my brain, the ingredients all in place, ready to be served up.
‘That’s absolute bollocks.’ Gabby’s face was completely tomato-hued now.
‘Well, take it or leave it. There are a lot of possibilities, Gabby, but it’s up to you to work it out. It was Theo who hurt me, but you were part of that, and that’s not what friends do.’ She didn’t say anything, and I added, ‘Why don’t you tell Theo how you feel? Be completely honest, see what he says. I don’t think he has any idea how much you like him.’
If this was a therapy session, Gabby would soon have to fork over fifty quid.
In the distance, I saw Newland making his way towards the food area, and my heart lifted. ‘Sorry, I have to get on.’
I moved towards the sink, in the hope that Gabby would go, but she stood there looking sad.
‘Stella, everything’s gone to shit since you left.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘I know, I know, it’s my own stupid fault. I was wondering though… would you consider trying again? With the Sri Lankan food? I know you won’t want to move back into the house, though you can if you want, like a shot, these unfriendly people are living there, and…’
Newland was close enough for me to see his face now. He was scanning the stalls, looking for me. I waved, and Gabby turned to see who I was signalling to.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Someone you’re not allowed to sleep with,’ I said, and a moment later I was in Newland’s arms. It felt really natural; no one looking at us would guess that it was the first time we had really held each other tight. When we broke apart, I was gratified to see on Newland’s face that he too got the significance of the embrace.
‘Hey, this looks fantastic!’ he said, sweeping his arm round the stall.
‘It’s going amazingly well,’ I said.
Newland stepped back, and looked at Gabby. ‘Hello,’ he said.
‘This is Gabby.’
‘The Gabby? Man, I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘Oh cool, I’m famous,’ Gabby said with a flirtatious smile.
‘I’ve heard a lot of toxic stuff about you,’ Newland clarified.
I stifled a smile.
‘I’ll be going then, I guess,’ Gabby said, not moving.
She looked so pathetic that I took pity on her.
‘Look, here’s something that might help.’ I took out my phone. ‘I’m texting you the number of my old therapist. She’s in London so it’s a bit of a trek, but I really recommend her.’ I sent her Bettina’s contact details, then put my phone back in my pocket so decisively that Gabby had no option other than to go.
‘Bye, then.’ She turned to Newland. ‘Good to meet you.’
‘Mmm,’ said the usually polite Newland, and he turned and started washing his hands at the little sink.
Once Gabby had gone, I kissed Newland on the cheek.
‘What was that for?’
‘For not falling for Gabby’s charms.’
‘I didn’t notice any,’ he said.
‘I like you, Mr Davies,’ I said, as I helped him tie on his apron.
‘I like you too, Ms Bright.’
‘I’ve been thinking…’ I said.
‘I’ve been thinking the same,’ he said.
‘How do you know it’s the same?’
‘Because I see a twinkle in your eye.’
There was no need for me to put my reply into words. I threw my arms round his neck and kissed my answer instead.
* * *
The evening was even busier than lunch and I was extremely grateful to have Newland with us. He and Piet were a brilliant front-of-stall team, and Nita and I got even more efficient at the back, dancing round each other like Strictly professionals. Even with the extra supplies, we came close to selling out. Plenty of people came back more than once.
One family returned three times to try everything; and a frazzled-looking mum confided in Piet, with tears in her eyes, that her young daughter had eaten the bubble and squeak, the first time ever that she had liked cooked vegetables. ‘It’s a bloody miracle,’ the girl’s father said, and it seemed as if he was speaking for the entire day, our entire enterprise.
It wasn’t all smooth sailing, of course. At one point the oven stopped working, having come apart from the gas supply and we had to temporarily shut up shop while we reconnected it. Then we ran out of wooden cutlery. Piet abandoned his post and dashed to the nearest supermarket to buy up what he claimed was their whole supply, while Nita ran round nearby stalls asking to borrow some to keep u
s going.
But undoubtedly, it was a triumph. I couldn’t remember ever being so physically exhausted, yet so mentally energised. When we finally brought down the shutters at 10.30 p.m., we smiled at each other with the incredulous smiles of people who have got away with something. It turned out that there wasn’t a limit to what we could achieve that day.
‘That was fricking awesome,’ Nita said. Even her bubbliness, which generally operated on a 24/7 basis, was slightly dimmed. She spoke more quietly than usual, and sat on the trailer steps looking as if she could go to sleep right there and then.
‘Never thought we could do it,’ I said. I sank down onto the steps next to her, and we gave each other a tired hug.
Piet had been counting the card and cash takings. He said, ‘It is clear from this profit that British people really love root-vegetable-based dishes.’
‘A big profit?’ Nita said.
‘Enormous,’ Piet said, with a smile just for Nita.
Nita and I slapped our palms together feebly. ‘Let’s get packed up,’ I said. ‘It’s another two hours before we’ll be allowed off site and I want to be ready the minute we can move.’
Nita heaved herself into a standing position. She looked across at Lan, who was leaning against a counter smiling at us. ‘You’re awfully quiet, New Boy. Whatcha thinking?’
‘Oh, just what a brilliant achievement this was, and how well we worked together, and how superbly you two planned and executed the whole thing.’ He beamed at me. ‘I couldn’t be more impressed.’
I beamed back. ‘We had a lot of help,’ I said, ‘from some terrific young men.’
‘That’s us,’ Piet said proudly, shaking hands with Newland.
‘It’s a hell of a team,’ Nita said. ‘Shame you two have real jobs.’
‘I don’t,’ Piet said. ‘I can combine my studies and my bar and courier work with this splendid new business venture.’
‘And I’d love to help on weekends,’ Newland said.
‘Yes,’ Piet concluded, ‘we would very much like to be part of Rooty-Tooty.’
‘You know that’s not its name, don’t you, Piet?’ Nita put her arms round Piet’s neck.
‘It should be, though, Madame Nita.’ His arms went round her waist.
‘Well!’ I said, jumping up. ‘Shall we have a little walk round the site, Newland?’
* * *
Nita and Piet were already locked into a massive snog as Newland and I hurried down the trailer steps, giggling. Outside, the festival was winding down. The main stage was empty, though a couple of smaller marquees were still blasting out music. The site was dark, and I looked up at the sky, speckled with stars. Arm-in-arm, we wandered round the few stalls that were still open, and got a couple of beers. Most of the younger festival-goers had been taken home, and there was a sense of several small, intense parties going on in various corners of the site.
‘What about Piet and Nita, then?’ Newland said.
‘Ah, I saw that coming a while ago. I hope they’re not going to be committing PDAs like that at home. I’ve already seen enough of Piet in the buff to last a lifetime.’
Newland laughed. ‘You’re a brave little soldier. Perhaps you’d better come back with me tonight. I have a feeling there might be some serious romping at your place.’
‘And at yours too, I hope.’
‘Is that a promise?’
I shivered with anticipation. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘That makes me very happy. And it’s Sunday tomorrow. We can have a long lie-in, and I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.’
‘And then will you bring me a Newland in bed?’
‘It would be my pleasure. Literally and metaphorically. Stella, I am honestly so proud of you. You had a vision and you made it happen.’
I stopped and turned to him. It was too dark to see his face properly. But that was a blessing, because he couldn’t see mine either. ‘If I said it happened because you believed in me, would you think we were on an American soap opera?’
‘Yes. Are we?’ He put his beer down on the ground and wrapped his arms round me. ‘Is your mother really your sister?’
‘Is that always what happens in American soap operas?’
‘I believe so,’ he said, his voice a little muffled as he buried his face in my hair. ‘And talking of mothers, I bet yours will be really proud of you too.’
‘She’s sent me loads of nice texts.’
‘I know you were really upset with her,’ Newland said. ‘But she has always been there for you, hasn’t she?’
‘I suppose…’
‘When my parents split they were so self-obsessed. Perhaps they were like that before. But they never ask how I’m doing, never check in with me, never have anything much to say to me unless it’s to slag each other off. Your parents, on the other hand, it’s been such a short time since they separated, but they are both still right there with you. Especially your mum.’
‘Damn!’
‘Why damn?’
‘You’re right. I’m going to have to do some proper grovelling to Mum.’
‘I’ll help. I’ll do back-up grovelling.’
‘What does that look like?’
‘I’m not sure. I’ll hold all the bunches of flowers for you, or something.’
I tightened my arms round him. ‘Newland?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I, er, I think I love you, you know.’
I felt him breathe out against my hair, a long warm sigh. ‘I think I love you too.’
It felt as if we were quite alone, though there were hundreds of people milling about, weaving past us. One woman, a little the worse for wear, bumped into us and we broke apart. ‘Oops! Sorry! Didn’t see you! God, it’s so dark!’ She reeled away, and I reached for Newland’s hand.
‘We’re standing in a thoroughfare. Let’s go back and see if the others have stopped kissing yet.’
‘I don’t think we’ve quite stopped ourselves, yet, have we?’ Newland said. He bent down and gently kissed me on the lips. I responded enthusiastically, and it was only when someone else almost walked into us that finally, hand-in-hand, we strolled back to the trailer to pack up and go home.
Twenty-Five
Kay
‘Ah, it’s amazing to see this again.’
Rose nodded. ‘Gorgeous, weren’t we?’
The photo was a little crumpled round the edges, but – please excuse my lack of modesty – there was no denying the quality. It was a tight headshot in black and white of three pretty young women: Rose on the left, smiling and looking sideways at Bear next to her; me on Bear’s right, looking simultaneously pleased and harassed. Setting up the camera timer and making sure everyone stayed in the right place was a bit stressful. With film, you couldn’t keep trying again and again till you got it right. You had to get everything in place, then hold your breath and hope.
The photo was from the one visit to Australia that Rose and I took together, during our gap year, when we were still in our teens. When everything in life was there to be looked forward to, and it was too early for us to have made any mistakes. Before I met Richard, or David; before I got pregnant and crashed out of my degree. I looked again at our unlined, hopeful faces. So beautiful, so young.
Bear’s laughing face, in the middle, made that photo. The eye was drawn to her. It was absolutely impossible to believe that this radiant, lit-up person was no longer alive.
I’d assumed that trip would be the first of many, as per my list, but less than two years later I was pregnant and the free lazy days of my youth came to an abrupt, juddering halt. It had been years since I’d seen this photo, but I remembered that cheeky version of Rose so well, before marriage and life knocked the stuffing out of her. Not permanently, as it turned out. Fifty-something Rose had started to find her old groove. I remembered that version of Bear, before illness cropped her hair and radiated lines of pain onto her face. And that version of the other girl, Kay Hurst, before her life turned into a series of com
promises – whatever happened to her?
A tear dropped onto my hand, and I placed the photo carefully on the table so it wouldn’t get wet.
‘Ah, darling,’ Rose said. She put her arms round me. Her eyes were damp too. We’d done plenty of crying about Bear’s death, and you’d think there would be no more tears left, but we both kept welling up whenever we thought about it. Which was most of the time.
‘You know,’ I said, against Rose’s shoulder, ‘if she was alive, I’d be writing to her about now.’
‘There’s nothing to stop you writing letters to her,’ Rose said. ‘Nothing says you have to send them. Or you can start writing to me, now. Keep me up to date with your Welsh student adventures.’
I let Rose go, and wiped my face with the edge of a tea towel. ‘How come you ended up with the photo?’
She sat next to me. ‘You gave it to me, along with the negative. I think I’d offered to get copies done for all of us, but I must have forgotten.’
‘I don’t suppose you still have the negative?’
‘No, but you don’t need them anymore, David Bailey. Photography’s moved on a bit since then.’ Rose triumphantly produced two copies of the picture. ‘You just scan it in and print as many as you want. The quality’s pretty good.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’ll send one to Murray, ask him to pass it on to Charlie.’
‘Did he put a note in with the, er, the…’
‘Ashes? Yes, very brief, thanking me for doing it. It was all unofficial, you know. I assume he couldn’t be arsed with the paperwork and expense to do it properly, so I opened a jiffy bag that came via normal airmail and found—’
‘Oh, Christ.’
‘A small amount of Bear in a Ziploc bag.’
‘Please don’t show me.’ Rose shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe she’s… you know. Left the planet.’
‘I know, chick. Me neither. I don’t know if she got my last letter, from Venice. But that letter she left there for me was the last I heard from her. When she said goodbye, she really meant it.’
Rose let out a long sigh. ‘Wish I’d come with you now.’
