The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

  “You do realise it’s an absolute zoo,” Cass said. “I mean, a million people, or some other ridiculously huge number.”

  “Really?” She tried to imagine almost the entire population of Auckland crushed into the streets of Notting Hill. “That is a lot.”

  “Last time I went, I ended up with the most terrible hangover. Are you sure you want to go? It’s not a romantic occasion. Hugh won’t be there, you know.”

  It was no good fighting the blush that coloured her cheeks. “I know that! But I’d like to go, and we’re not opening on the bank holiday anyway.”

  “All right then. But you’ll have to rebook my Tuesday clients. There’ll be no getting out of there on Monday night.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, there could be, but you won’t want to, believe me. And I certainly won’t feel like doing any work on Tuesday. Ah, you sweet, wide-eyed country mouse. What a lot you have to learn about this big old world,” she teased, patting Livi’s shoulder.

  She got a shove in return. “Watch out, or I’ll be rostering you to work every Saturday night until Christmas.” But they both knew she was safe—after all, they needed some Saturday nights to go out together.

  “Will you bring your mum?” Cass asked. “Do you think she’d like to come?”

  Livi frowned. “Maybe. But she has a date on Sunday night.”

  “A date? Not with…” She made a whisker-twiddling gesture, and Livi shuddered.

  “Yes. Well, she’s not calling it a date. They’re both interested in theatre, apparently, so they’re going to see The Mousetrap. A cultural evening at the world’s longest-running play.”

  “Right, because Len is simply overflowing with culture.”

  “I would really, really like to stop talking about it now.”

  She could feel herself getting tense. Len was clearly a ladies’ man from way back, and normally she would have just had a laugh at the whole suave rascal routine. But things were far from normal.

  Cass was sympathetic. “Say no more.”

  On Carnival Sunday, Livi sat with her mum for afternoon tea at the little Formica table in the kitchen.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come too?” she asked. It was worth a try.

  But Evelyn shook her head, and dunked a digestive biscuit in her tea. “No thanks, I’m too old for all that.” She sighed as the bottom half of the biscuit disappeared into the mug. “Something more sedate will suit me better.”

  “That’s not true, you shouldn’t talk like that. You’re not too old at all. But if you feel like sedate, I suppose there’s nothing more sedate than a fifty-year-old play.”

  “Sixty, actually.”

  “That should make you feel young then, the play’s older than you are.”

  Her mum smiled. “Only just.”

  “We won’t quibble over numbers.” Livi gave her a hug, and picked up her overnight bag. She didn’t want to mention Len Mortlock, and she couldn’t bring herself to say anything about having fun with him. “Come home safely.”

  “You too.”

  * * *

  The mass of passengers compressed sardine-like into their tube should have prepared Livi for the scene at street level. But as they shuffled up the stairs and out of the station, into the music and buzz, she was amazed by the number of people. Around every corner, and the next, and the next, were people. People dancing, people singing, people eating, drinking, jostling, partying.

  Cass saw her face. “This is nothing. Wait until tomorrow.”

  They made their way in the humming evening air to Mia’s house just off Talbot Road, clutching their overnight bags in front of them. She had given them strict instructions to watch out for pickpockets. As they started up the steps, the shiny black front door flew open.

  “Finally! I’ve hardly eaten anything today, and now I’m starving.” She hustled them in and up the stairs. “You’re in my old room. Let’s just throw your things on the bed and go.”

  “Why haven’t you been eating?” Livi asked over her shoulder, as she propelled them along the hallway.

  “Carnival food. You have to try some of everything. You’ll see.”

  Before long, they were back out in the streets. As they wound through the crowds, past DJs pumping out hip hop, reggae, and music Livi didn’t have labels for, they were surrounded with laughter and sound and the smells of a faraway, tropical place. Stallholders called out as they passed by, urging them to try all kinds of Caribbean temptations.

  Livi breathed in deeply. “This smells amazing. What should we eat first, do you think?”

  Cass looked disappointed. “I was actually thinking about rum punch. But I suppose we should eat first. Not there though!” She came to an abrupt halt as they approached a stall festooned with flags.

  They both turned to look at her. “Why not?” Mia asked.

  “Honestly? Curried goat?” From her expression, they might have been asking her to eat curried slugs.

  “But you can eat a cow, or a pig, or a lamb. What’s the difference?”

  Mia had a point, but Cass stuck to her guns. “Curried goat just sounds seriously unappetising.”

  “What about jerk chicken then?”

  “Well, that’s just rude. It’s bad enough that we have to eat the chicken, do we have to disrespect it too?”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “You should know that you are the million-and-first person to make that joke. And it doesn’t get any funnier.”

  “Can I have my rum punch now?”

  In the end they all had plastic cups of rum punch, and paper plates of spicy jerk chicken, and rice and peas, and fried plantain, and Cass was even persuaded to try the goat, and then Mia was satisfied that they’d ‘done’ carnival food.

  They stopped outside the Duke of Wellington to watch a pair of DJs behind their turntables, playing up to the crowd. Although the Duke himself was unamused on the pub sign above them, collar stiff and arms crossed, they were quickly caught up in the music and atmosphere, bumping and jumping with the rest of the revellers. It felt like hardly any time before Mia announced over the thump thump thump that they should go.

  “But we only just got here,” Cass protested, balancing her drink as she swayed to the beat in front of the speaker stack. “Everything’s going strong.” She shook her booty in her best Beyoncé imitation, and the young men nearby whistled in appreciation.

  “And it will still be going strong tomorrow,” Mia said firmly, removing her from the enthusiastic advances of a hopeful partygoer. “Come on, we have to pace ourselves. You don’t want to be hung over for the parade.”

  So, with a reluctant Cass lagging behind, they headed back.

  Mia had converted her childhood bedroom into a luxurious guest room. Now she filled large bowls with ice cream, and they propped themselves up in the king-size bed with pillows and cushions and comforters. It made a perfectly cosy nest for the three of them.

  Cass passed a bowl across to Livi, a mischievous expression on her face. “Did you tell Mia about your date?”

  “Ooh, a date! Who did you go out with?” Mia leaned forward to savour the details.

  Livi sent Cass a scowl. “It wasn’t really a date. Well…I suppose it was.” She wasn’t keen to relive it. “I went out with Mattias.”

  “You didn’t!” Mia was a picture of astonishment.

  “I promised to go out with him because he helped a client with some translating.”

  “Oh, I got all excited on your behalf just then. I thought there was some fantastic new man on the scene.” She leaned back again, shaking her head. “But Mattias—no, you’re off the hook there. I’m going to tell him so.”

  Now she felt bad again. He’d made a lot of effort, after all. But Mia was definite.

  “No, Livi, we know he’s not the one for you, so don’t let him talk you into anything. You have other projects underway, remember.” Looking at their questioning faces, she added, “Like a rendezvous in Golders Green in a couple of days.”


  “Yes,” Cass said. “You have to go and find the one who is for you.” She settled happily back against the pillows, empty bowl wobbling on her knees. “The one who’s meant to be. Fate.”

  Common sense wrangled with fantasy in Livi’s head. “You’re both forgetting that we have no idea where in Golders Green this fated man might be. And that he might be completely twisted.”

  But as she stirred her ice cream into chocolate-chip-studded whip, a whisper of anticipation crept in. Maybe she did believe in fate.

  Or maybe it was just the rum punch.

  Fifteen

  The carnival was like nothing she’d ever seen. From their vantage point on Westbourne Grove, Livi watched, spellbound, as the endless ribbon of the parade wound past. Above them, locals hung from upper-storey windows, making the most of their elevated views.

  All manner of creations, animal, vegetable, and mineral, swept by. Colour-coordinated flocks of birds and assortments of flowers progressed exuberantly along the road. Richly adorned kings and queens preceded an enormous white dragon, and a truck laden with a steel band provided a deafening soundtrack for its joyful, bikini-wearing, flag-waving followers. Behind them, a metallic bronze and red and green tyrannosaurus rex stomped and flailed along, teeth menacing, a metal rooster inexplicably perched on its back.

  She did a double-take as a giant replica of Rio’s Christ the Redeemer statue was pushed past, teetering slightly as if in the spirit of the music. Equally gigantic Caribbean folklore characters jogged along, atop the heads of black-clad figures hiding underneath. Barely clad dancers with expansive jewel-coloured wings were followed by small girls dressed in samba outfits, snowflake costumes, and the fairy princess dresses of their dreams. She wondered what their innocent wee minds made of it all. And everywhere, feathers, feathers, feathers.

  It felt wrong to stare, but she was entranced by those exotic creatures wearing nothing but body paint, nipple sequins, gargantuan feather headdresses and teeny-weeny thongs. Well, some of them were thongs. Others were nothing more than a tiny triangle at the front—less than Eve got by with—and at the back, a little jewel emerging cheekily from the top of taut (and sometimes not so taut) buttocks.

  She grabbed Cass’s arm. “Look! How do you think those stay on? I can’t see anything around the sides holding them up.”

  “They must be totally wedged in. You’d think that would be uncomfortable.”

  “And unhygienic,” Mia commented, making them laugh.

  Even the police lining the parade route were caught up in the festivities, whether they liked it or not. Livi held her breath as a large policeman became the filling in a gyrating, sweating, drag queen sandwich. He struggled to maintain a neutral expression as he was swayed about. Then, just as Livi thought he would snap, they twirled away, winking and blowing kisses, leaving him resettling his hat, his earpiece, and his dignity.

  There seemed no end to the swirling, waving, drumming, flapping, bumping, and grinding. Anything that could be found in earth or sky or imagination seemed to be there, everything bigger, taller, wider, and more vivid than in the real world outside those streets. Watching the parade pass by in a happy daze, she did feel a little like that country mouse, though she wouldn’t admit it to Cass.

  Then she suddenly snapped to attention. On the other side of the road, in the gaps between a flock of enormous bejewelled birds, a figure caught her eye. Was that…? It couldn’t be. She craned to see as he began moving away through the crowd, further down the road. Dark, glossy hair, faded polo shirt, tan… Now a troupe of gold-painted dancers, shimmying and jiggling, completely blocked her view.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me.” She tried to move along a little, but she was jammed in on three sides, and there was no getting past the barrier and the policeman in front of her. Straining desperately to see past the swarm of extravagant headdresses, she thought she caught a glimpse of a perfectly white smile. A feeling of urgency overtook her and she struggled to elbow her way out. “Excuse me!”

  But Cass reached out and grabbed the back of her dress. “Where are you going?”

  “I thought…” She wobbled about on tiptoe, trying in vain to see him again. “I thought I saw the American.”

  She bobbed up and down, hoping for a clear view, but the parade rolled relentlessly past, oblivious to her drama, the very small drama of one in a crowd of thousands.

  * * *

  Late that night, merrily fortified, ears still ringing from the onslaught of samba, garage, steel bands, and calypso, they fell back in Mia’s front door.

  “Does anyone want tea?” she asked, playing the good hostess despite the hour.

  Cass groaned and clutched her forehead dramatically. “No, no. Definitely no more liquid. Why didn’t someone stop me drinking? I’m completely ruined.” She swayed a little, as if to prove her point.

  “Maybe horizontal would be better than vertical,” Livi suggested. “That was huge. I’m wrecked too.”

  “Bed bed bed bed bed.” Cass kicked off her shoes and began to climb the stairs, Mia and Livi trailing behind. In her late-night, rum punch state, Livi thought the staircase seemed to have grown extra treads since they left that morning.

  Finally in the bedroom, Cass pulled her pyjamas out from under her pillow. “Honestly, I’m all boobed out. I don’t even want to look at my own while I’m getting changed.”

  “At least yours bear looking at,” Mia said, perched on the end of the bed. “If I let mine loose they slump around like drunken aunties. Carnival boobs seem to be relentlessly perky.” She regarded her bust with despair. “Thank God for structural lingerie.”

  “It was full on in every direction,” said Livi. “Drunken aunties and all the other relations. That was a lot of bumping and grinding.”

  “Yes, little mouse.” Cass grinned, then ducked to avoid Livi’s well-aimed pillow and fell onto the bed. “You’d think it would put you in the mood, but it was just too much of a good thing.” She sent a theatrical sigh towards the ceiling.

  “You might not say that if you had someone to be in the mood with,” Mia pointed out.

  “Which reminds me, it’s a shame you couldn’t grab your American when you saw him,” Cass told Livi.

  She sighed. “I don’t know now, I don’t think it really could have been him. I mean, how many hundred thousand people were out there today? It must have been wishful thinking.”

  She finished buttoning her pyjama top and climbed into the big bed with Cass, who shook her head emphatically.

  “No, no, not wishful thinking. Clear sign if you ask me.”

  Mia played mother hen, adjusting pillows and straightening the covers. “You two look very sweet.”

  “More sweet if we were less drunk,” Cass replied.

  “Speak for yourself,” Livi said. “I’m always very sweet.”

  “More sheet and mess drunk,” she chortled. “Sore feet press hunk.”

  Mia shook her head. “Tragic. Definitely lights out time. Goodnight. Sov gott. Sleep well.”

  She flicked off the light as she went, leaving them giggling like twins awake far too late on a school night.

  * * *

  There was no giggling when they woke the next morning, heads bursting and tongues like desiccated dishcloths.

  Mia popped her head around the door. “Good morning! Come and get some breakfast when you’re ready to eat.”

  “Eat?” moaned Cass. “I’m never eating again. Or drinking again.” She rolled away from the light coming through the curtains, and wriggled further under the comforter. “Never. Again.”

  Livi swung her legs out of bed and sat up gingerly. Okay, not as bad as she’d feared. And was that feeling hunger? Maybe, after Nurofen and a drink, she could eat. She ran her tongue around her teeth. Ugh, toothbrush first.

  She emerged from the bathroom fresher, but still feeling shady. Mia, on the other hand, was bright and chirpy, laying out tea cups and pastries.

  “I can’t believe you’re in such good shape.” Liv
i lowered herself gratefully into a chair and leaned her elbows on the stripped pine table. “Do you not feel hung over?”

  “Pfft. Not me. I’ve had so much practice drinking snaps, a bit of rum punch is nothing.”

  “Oh, do you mean schnapps?” When she nodded, Livi said, “Don’t tell Cass that. She’ll probably want to embark on some kind of desensitisation programme, like for allergies.”

  But when Cass finally appeared, she swore that carnival rum punch would be the last alcoholic beverage ever to pass her lips. Well, until her birthday anyway.

  Sixteen

  By the time they left Mia’s house, Livi wasn’t feeling too bad, but it was a rough ride home for Cass. Every jolt and bump of the train brought forth a new moan or whimper.

  “Why so much punch?” she lamented. “Why the curry goat? Look what it’s done to me.”

  “You can hardly blame the poor goat.” Livi felt compelled to defend him or her.

  “I told you it wasn’t right,” Cass grumbled, clutching her stomach.

  “What’s not right is blaming an innocent wee creature for the after-effects of your indulgences.”

  She groaned and closed her eyes as the train lurched yet again. “Kill me now.”

  They were both relieved to finally stagger in the door and up the stairs. Cass made a beeline for her bedroom, with an apologetic wave to Evelyn, who was sitting where they’d last seen her, at the table with a cup of tea.

  “Cass doesn’t look very well,” she commented, as the door banged shut.

  “It was a pretty big day in the end. So much fun though. I think you would have really liked it.” She supposed she’d better ask. “How was the play?”

  “Oh, the play was great.” Her voice was bright and over-polite. “Great.” She looked away out the little window, across the rooftops on the other side of the road. “Lovely.”

  Livi didn’t know what to say next. Clearly something was not great, or lovely. Should she ask? She had no idea of the protocol for dating-related conversations with your mother—when your mother is the one dating. If it was a date. She prayed not.