‘A substitute would be when you really want Ken to play with Beach Babylon Barbie, but you can only find Horse Riding Barbie, so you use her to take Ken’s place. She’s the substitute.’ Grace looked at her Barbies and then at me.
‘It’s not the real thing then?’
I shook my head.
‘Oh, so Hattie wants a real baby?’
‘It would seem so.’
Grace nodded slowly. ‘They shout a lot, Mummy.’
I stapled my lips together to prevent an evil smirk. Trouble in Paradise…
*
‘Hello, I’m Debbie, I live next door to Francesca, and we met a few weeks ago at Jo’s. This is Samantha.’ I recognised them as the college professor going through a divorce and the TV agent – Francesca had given me a quick run-down on all the neighbours earlier. I was lingering by the food table, which was topped with so many culinary masterpieces I was worried I’d suffer buyer’s regret and overload on the wrong things.
‘Hi.’
‘I believe you got caught up in the drama with Carl on Good Friday?’ Debbie, the college professor, asked me in her soft Scottish accent. She was sipping a large glass of red wine and I admired her luxurious wavy shoulder-length blond hair.
Debbie’s much coveted hair complemented her biker-chic outfit of skinny black jeans and crisp white shirt with a well-worn cropped black leather jacket. She appeared to be in her late forties and I inspected for signs of ‘work’. It was unfortunately a bad habit I had picked up working in the fashion industry where ageing sometimes felt like a crime, and a nip and a tuck and a ‘little helping hand’ were all considered as normal as shaving your legs. I’d seen so many bad filler pillow faces, botched lifts and frozen shiny expressions that I could have made a horror film trailer to be shown in schools to prevent young girls asking for Botox as a sixteenth birthday present. So far I hadn’t succumbed and was staving off the inevitable until the last possible moment. However, Debbie appeared unfilled and genuine.
‘I didn’t hear anything,’ she added, I hoped not clocking my critical stare.
‘I was away at my parents, so missed the entire thing,’ Samantha joined in. ‘I’ve seen it all before, though.’ I was trying to work out her age too but it was tricky. She was one of those women who could have easily glided between late forties to late fifties. Her baby-smooth skin was most likely the result of winning the genetic lottery rather than Botox.
‘Where is Carl now?’ I asked. I hadn’t seen him since Friday’s ambulance had spirited him away.
‘Jo said he was in hospital overnight, then he went to stay with his parents in Kent,’ Debbie offered. ‘It’s such a shame, so sad. I guess we’ll all have to keep an eye out now.’
‘I have a client who needs some fashion advice,’ Samantha said, abruptly changing tack. ‘Are you around for a chat this week?’
‘Wow, er, yes, of course. I’m free Friday…’ Before she could answer, I felt someone blow in my ear – it was Jo standing on her tiptoes, dressed in another memorable ensemble of neon-pink T-shirt dotted with black flamingos and knee-length silver shorts. Instead of the Crocs, she was wearing black suede crepe shoes and pink towelling socks, like an extra from Grease.
‘Wow, your, er, outfit, is rather special,’ I said, in awe of her nuttiness.
‘Thanks, I aim to please. Can I steer you over here for a moment? We need to have a quick chat. Excuse us, ladies.’ She guided me by the elbow and took me out to the back garden where a few more people I hadn’t seen before were gathered further up the lawn. Francesca sat wrapped in a black poncho on a deck chair by a rusty lit brazier that was belting out some serious heat. Elinor sat next to her, a grey furry throw draped round her shoulders. Her granddaughters were playing with Grace in the living room, and Grace was in seventh heaven bossing them about.
‘Carl returns tomorrow and I really want to talk to him about facing this and committing to AA. We’ve all been here before when he promises to stay clean and then binges, then he stops too suddenly, then has a seizure, some worse than others.’
‘Can I just say something?’ I asked, putting my hand up like I was at school. ‘Why am I here? I don’t know Carl.’
‘You’re his nearest neighbour.’
‘I’m not, he has the two guys next door who share the hallway.’
‘They keep themselves to themselves.’
I wondered if they had forcibly opted out of the Mews co-operative to keep themselves safe from scrutiny.
‘OK, but I still don’t see what this has to do with me. I have no idea what’s going on.’ And I genuinely didn’t want to. My own life was enough of a car crash at that moment. I didn’t feel I was in any place to help someone stay sober when my own relationship with alcohol was so shady.
‘That’s why we’re having this chat, to fill you in,’ Jo insisted, picking up her beer from the damp grass and draining it. ‘I like you; you’ve been around the block. Carl needs people like you on his side.’ In a normal version of my life, I would have just got up and walked away, but something indefinable was keeping me rooted to the spot. I felt obliged and I had no idea why.
‘Just to get you up to speed, Carl is my best friend. I’ve known him since we were kids. His wife died four years ago – he’s never really got over it. I know I still feel terrible about it so fuck knows how he feels. Well, I think we all know how he feels – horrific, which is why he drinks to block it out. Anyway, he lives here now after I managed to secure the house for him. I wanted him to be surrounded by good people. I thought it might help.’
The energy it took to live your own life was immense, but living and organising everyone else’s like a sergeant major must be draining.
‘So his drinking has slid downhill in the last year, work is drying up, due to his addiction, his agency can’t cover for him any more and pretty soon he’s going to end up in the shitter.’
‘Maybe he wants to,’ I interjected. ‘Sometimes that has to happen before you pick yourself up again.’
‘We can’t let him!’ Jo barked like she was on the drill field.
‘I think what Jo is trying to ask is, will you help?’ Elinor asked me gently.
‘I don’t know what you want me to do. Hasn’t he got a girlfriend? Can’t she help?’
‘Betsy?’ Jo laughed hollowly. ‘She’s a child. If they haven’t already broken up, they will soon, just like all the other ones. We need to sit him down and tell him we’ll draw up a rota of who will go to AA meetings with him. He doesn’t keep it up on his own.’
‘You can’t force someone to go,’ I pointed out. I could feel my own capricious anxiety flare up at the thought of taking on someone else’s life.
‘We know that,’ Francesca said. ‘It will be more of a friendly suggestion, in a rota. He will probably keep drinking for a while because you can’t stop suddenly when you drink like he does, so the advice is to carry on, but sooner or later the message has to get through.’
‘I’ll tell the others later. There’s one most days so we should only have to go to one a week if we all chip in. We just all need to sit down with him tomorrow morning and let him know.’
I didn’t want to get roped into an AA press gang. I just wanted to get on with my life with Grace. The mere thought of facing Carl and telling him what was going to happen made me break out in a cold sweat. What if he went crazy? I didn’t say a word and decided to try not to get involved. But that could mean I might fall out with everyone after only just moving in. Argh, I hadn’t signed up for this shit!
10
Jo
Jo rubbed her eyes as she scrabbled around the kitchen drawer for the Nurofen. She’d had one too many beers, followed by red wine yesterday. Then she’d stayed late at Francesca’s once most people had gone and started on the crème de menthe she’d found rammed at the back of Fran’s odds-and-ends drinks cupboard in the living room. She never understood why people bought it – like drinking mouthwash. She laughed to herself and checked her phone.
Carl had texted her. His mum was driving and they were five minutes away. That was two minutes ago.
Caro hadn’t answered any of her texts yesterday. She had meant to come to the party but had texted at midday with some limp excuse about being double-booked. Jo blamed Caro for her stepping over the line with the crème de menthe. If she’d been there, Jo wouldn’t have felt the need to stay out late and drown her sorrows. She’d ring her later and see if she was OK. Maybe take her out for dinner to that nice new Italian place in Dulwich Village. But knowing Caro, she would be busy, unless she needed her to put up a shelf. Were all relationships such hard work?
Jo heard the front door shut opposite at Elinor’s. Ali was hurrying with Grace somewhere, leaving her car. Where was she off to? Jo had told her about the intervention. Ali glanced over her shoulder as she turned the corner at Fran’s and Jo caught the furtive look on her face: she was escaping. Ooooh, Francesca had been right – it was too soon to get Ali on board with this. Francesca was usually spot-on with these things. She could read people; it was a real talent. She wondered if she had ever tried to read her. Not much to see. Maybe some sexy burlesque dancers and pug dogs doing the cancan inside her head.
Jo actually liked Ali. For one thing, she was right up her Strasse physically, but she was also fun, lively and had a great sense of style. To top it all, she could tell she was a team player, and Jo loved a team player, which was why she’d asked her to help with Carl. She’d like to see Carl settle down again, maybe have a family; she knew he was keen. She thought he might make more effort to stay sober if he had a reason, like a reliable girlfriend, not one of those models he kept chasing.
There was something about Ali that put Jo in mind of Janey, so she would bet that Carl already had a little crush on her. They would certainly make a handsome couple – imagine their baby! She’d keep an eye on them both and see if she could subtly push them together without their realising. She could drop a few hints to Carl, see how he felt once he’d been clean for a month.
Just as Jo pressed the plunger down on the coffee, Lorraine pulled up in her Datsun Sunny. She’d give them a minute then she’d pop over. She busied herself warming up the milk in the microwave, then poured everything into a mug, slipped on her furry Crocs and headed out. Lorraine opened the door.
‘He’s in here,’ she said after she’d hugged Jo in the hallway. There was no chat of how Lorraine could tell this time it would definitely be the last. Jo knew they’d all been here too many times to expect anything. Carl was sitting on his sofa, looking like the twelve-year-old new boy he’d been on the first day of school in 1984. The day Jo had decided he was going to be her best friend. Jo had always collected people together, even at that age, but she had never managed to find someone she wanted as a partner in crime. Steve, her brother, had always tried too hard and, bless him, she’d let him think he was in that role, but he wasn’t. The post had been vacant, until Carl. He’d possessed a certain magnetism that drew her in like a tractor beam. She loved him in a way that she knew wasn’t sexual. It felt familial and always had. Their histories were so entwined that she couldn’t imagine her life with him not in it. When the shit had hit the fan, something she never let herself think about, Carl had stepped up to the plate, taking on that brotherly role for real. She’d do anything to get him well.
‘Oh, Carl, you gave us all a bloody fright.’ Jo sat down next to him and gently touched his knee with hers.
‘I’m sorry, Jo,’ he said matter-of-factly. She could tell he’d said those words too many times now for them to have any meaning, so he kept it brief. ‘Back to AA.’
‘Ah, I’m glad to hear it. We’ll all be here, you know that. In fact, a few of the others will be round in a minute to offer support.’
He looked at her then, unclenching his hands from his lap. ‘Not the new girl?’
Jo inwardly sighed in relief: her instincts had been right. For a split second he looked like he did when he talked about his beloved Janey.
‘No, Ali’s not coming, don’t worry.’
He nodded and relaxed his shoulders.
‘Shall I get the kettle on?’ Lorraine said brightly, changing the mood to one of efficiency. ‘We’ll need lots of mugs and I brought some chocolate Hobnobs and M&S cookies. Thought I’d splash out.’ She chuckled to herself and clattered around in the kitchen, gathering everything she needed.
Jo smiled and sipped her coffee, suddenly transported back thirty years to one of the many times they’d waited for the rest of the gang to rock up and plan the next party. Lorraine had always been home and had handed out snacks and glasses of Soda Stream cola from her little kitchen, earwigging what they were getting up to.
There was a soft knock at the door, jolting Jo back to the present. No more parties for Carl for a while…
11
Tinder
Hi, wondered if on the off chance Grace was free today. Was thinking of taking her to a breeder to look at puppies.
I’d ignored Jim’s text when I was at Amanda’s earlier, hiding from the intervention. However, traipsing back up the hill at lunchtime, Grace whinging because she wanted to stay with Meg and Isla, I checked it again. Fuck it, why not? I could have an afternoon to do some paperwork and not think about Ifan. But first I had to make it back into the Mews undetected. I walked round the long way and up through the secret gate, much to Grace’s annoyance. Debbie was in front of her house tending to the terracotta pots and waved. I waved back, then noticed a car pull up outside Nick the Spy’s house at the end of the block next to Nosy Norman in the cul-de-sac. A man jumped out and ran round to open the passenger door for an older lady, whom he helped out. I tried to get a better look at him, even though I was risking being discovered by Jo if I hung around on the doorstep. Just as I was about to turn away, he looked up and caught my eye. His thick-rimmed geek glasses were the first thing I noticed. His hair was hidden under a baseball cap and he wore a nineties throwback get-up: zipped-to-the-neck gunmetal-grey anorak and jeans. He could have been going to a rave. He didn’t smile but I felt like I was receiving a once-over. I returned to fiddling with my key, trying to get it to turn silently so as not to alert Elinor. I swear I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head from Jo’s kitchen window opposite.
As soon as we made it inside my doorbell rang almost immediately, making me jump. Fuck it, we’d been spotted. A creepy thought crossed my already paranoid mind: maybe Jo held a skeleton key for all the houses just in case of emergencies, and she was ringing to check before she used it. I poked my nose through the curtains to find Jim on the doorstep, and he waved when he noticed me.
‘That was quick,’ I said, looking around when I let him in.
‘Well, these puppies are going to go like hot cakes if we don’t make up our minds.’
‘Isn’t Hattie going with you?’ I asked, stirring the pot.
‘Er, no, she’s busy. We’ll surprise her!’ Jim corralled Grace out of the door. ‘See you later.’
A pin pricked my already withered inner balloon as the door shut behind them. I curled up on the sofa, wanting to stop feeling affected by everyone else carrying on with their lives. Seeing families in the park walking their hairy ‘babies’ (often facetiously called Judy or Dave) with their natty little neckerchiefs, tugged at my own dashed dreams. I’d been one of those people. I’d walked round Dulwich Park with my burgeoning baby belly, Max lolloping across the grass to retrieve a slobbery stick, guessing he’d lick the new baby to death once she arrived. Max had since retired with Jim’s mum in Southsea to chase seagulls. Now I had to watch as Grace got to pick her own puppy for her life with Jim, a life I knew very little about, and that bothered me more than I cared to admit.
I found it oddly upsetting that Grace met people I would never meet and spent time with her half-sister, Freya, who, after Jim left, had pretty much disappeared from my life overnight. I had adored Freya; she was my little shadow, coming everywhere with me when she stayed at ours. Our relationship had been rooted
in friendship; I’d left the parenting up to Jim – I didn’t want to be the wicked stepmother. I’d watched her grow from a gauche seven-year-old into a preteen girl who couldn’t wait to meet her baby sister. Regretfully I never got to experience that part. At seventeen Freya was now approaching adulthood, and I had missed it all. I’d never witnessed her and Grace’s day-to-day blossoming sibling friendship or showed her how to change a nappy or help Grace get dressed. At the time, I was buried so deep in grief that I hadn’t immediately registered that a kind and earnest young girl with freckly cheeks had also left a huge gap in my life. It wasn’t until I’d been on a catalogue shoot five months later that it hit me. I’d been styling a small twelve-year-old girl in an outfit Freya would have loved, and before I could stop myself, I said: ‘You remind me so much of my stepdaughter. She’d love that skater-girl look.’ As soon as the words had escaped, tears had started spouting and I’d had to run off to the toilet to sob silently in one of the cubicles.
Freya was my daughter’s sister, but what was she to me any more? Technically nothing, and I rarely saw her apart from the odd drop-off where she would awkwardly smile and ask how I was. Jim scarcely volunteered any snippets about her and Grace was very careful not to reveal much of what went on at Jim’s house. Freya remained mostly a mystery no matter how many times I asked if she was OK.
At one time Freya had been like a daughter, a cheeky monkey who had loved After Eights and chicken ramen. She’d let me curl her hair and paint her nails and we’d watched The Wizard of Oz a zillion times snuggled up on this very sofa. On her tenth birthday I had called in many favours and hosted a sleepover for her with professional hair and make-up artists. She’d hugged me when everyone left the following morning. ‘That was the best birthday ever, Ali. Thank you.’ My eyes prickled from the memory. I knew I would forever love that little girl who had tightly held my hand when I’d sobbed at The Railway Children (‘Daddy, my Daddy!’); who’d spent her pocket money on the perfect nail polish to match a dress Jim had bought me for my birthday; whom I’d overheard telling her best friend she couldn’t wait for me to marry her dad. She’d made my heart sing countless times and now I just had to be content with finding her face reflected back at me whenever Grace smiled.
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