by Jenny Colgan
“I’ve been phoning him nonstop for forty-eight hours,” said Minty. “There’s no way he can’t be in for forty-eight hours! And now it’s saying that that phone has been disconnected from the network! So he’s not going to know I’ve called!”
“I’m sure he’ll know you’ve called,” said Brooke. “Now, hey, the trick is to play it cool and let him come running.”
“They never do, though,” said Minty, looking confused. “They start running and then they go all funny. Why is that?”
“I’ve told you before,” said Brooke. “You’ve got to stop buying them pets and calling them Daddy.”
Minty stuck out her bottom lip. “I love my daddy.”
Penny and Lizzie looked at each other.
“Actually, we should get going,” said Penny. “Call us if you need us, Minty.”
“I can’t call you,” said Minty, as if explaining something really obvious. “I’m calling Kieran. I love him, you see.”
“You don’t think . . .” said Lizzie as they mounted the next flight of stairs.
“Don’t say it,” ordered Penny. “You weren’t there. Will’s a gold-digger and having a run-in with Minty the nutcase doesn’t change a thing. Oh, Christ.”
They had reached the top of the stairs. Outside the door were two old, stained suitcases, full to overflowing with their clothes.
Lizzie swallowed hard. “You know what? I think I’d rather be the nutcase with the daddy who loves her.”
Penny banged hard on the door, then opened it with her key, which still worked.
“Hello, little twins,” said Stephen. He was sitting on the patched armchair, a cigarette flickering in his fingers. “I thought I’d help you get a move on with packing. But you can leave a few things here, of course. In case you ever want to come and visit your old dad. How’s the old girl, then?”
Lizzie’s voice quivered as she spoke. “You’d better keep going to visit her and be really nice to her.”
“Yeah, whatever,” said Stephen. “Off back to your mum’s, then? That’s nice. Everyone lives with their mum and it all works out nice and tidy. Course Brandford’s not quite so handy, is it, but then, I think it suits you two better anyway. You’re more local girls than Chelsea types, don’t you think?”
Penny looked at him. “You’re unspeakable.”
“Course I’m not, darling. I only want what’s mine, don’t I? We’ve all got our lives to lead.”
Lizzie had telephoned Georges, reasoning that if there was ever a reason to ask for a favor from a friend who had a car service, it was now, but she’d got Maria-Elena on the telephone. She’d tried to explain the situation, but Maria-Elena affected not to understand a word she was saying, so it hadn’t got across. It had ended up with Lizzie hanging up in despair.
“That woman is—”
“Is probably going to turn Georges into a billionaire,” finished Penny, who was throwing tiny pieces of underwear into an ancient carpetbag with a fierce right hand.
Parkend Close had never looked quite as bleak as it did that night. They’d planned to spend a little bit more time in Chelsea while they figured out what to do, but it simply wasn’t possible; Penny said she couldn’t trust herself to spend a night in the same house as that man and not stab him with the bread knife, using the sleepwalking defense to help her get off.
It was getting on for midnight when the grimy, stinking bus deposited them, with their luggage, at the end of the road to the estate. It had been the journey from hell. Neither of them mentioned, or could bear to think of, their triumphant departure on that sunny spring morning, in the shiny black cab.
And now they were “home.” They’d finally gotten through to their mother, who was sad but, she said, not entirely surprised. Stephen had had a nasty streak then, and it didn’t seem to have mellowed with the years. She didn’t even show much interest in how he looked or what he’d been doing, which Lizzie found astonishing.
Oh, and she was going out tonight—an unmissable rehearsal, apparently. And the lodgers were still there and she wasn’t going to be able to get rid of them for a week or two. Sorry, darlings, but not to worry, she’d cook them up a huge stew the next day and everything would be much better.
Neither of them was convinced.
“I can’t believe we’ve both got to sleep on the living-room floor,” moaned Penny. “You realize this means we really are officially homeless? If I had been pregnant we could have thrown ourselves on the mercy of the council.”
“Christ,” said Lizzie. And she heaved her bags up the stairs.
Has the house shrunk while we were away? wondered Lizzie, lying on the patterned carpet between the ancient worsted three-piece suite.
Penny was snoring quietly beside her in an old sleeping bag that smelled of mold, but there was a banging coming from the loud rap music one of the pale weedy student lodgers was playing upstairs, and their mother wasn’t even back yet. Not to mention she was going to have to get up at five in order to reach the café in time. She could probably forget about sleep altogether. But she couldn’t get up and do anything either. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere at all.
Things seemed slightly better in the morning. But not much. At least the acned lodgers didn’t show their faces first thing, and the sun was peering, ever so weakly, through the dirty downstairs windows, and their mother was up, at the crack of dawn as always, making white bread toast and instant coffee.
“Hello, my girls!” said their mum, and at the sight of her face—still worn, but looking a lot less tired than the last time they’d seen her—kind and concerned, Lizzie felt like tucking herself inside her mum’s strong arms and never coming out again.
Their mother put some eggs on to fry. “Would you like some breakfast?”
“Uh, no thank you, Mum,” said Penny and Lizzie at the same time. Their mother looked up.
“So, changed with your new London ways?” she said pleasantly. “I knew it would get you.”
She put another couple of slices of bread in the toaster, and sat down with her arms folded.
“So,” she said. “Did you enjoy your experiment?”
The girls looked at each other and nodded.
“I didn’t expect it to end so soon,” their mother said. “But I’m glad you’re back.”
She was, it was so wonderful to see them, especially with Lizzie looking so well. But she’d hoped that this would be their chance to fly the nest.
“It’s good to see you again. Have you adopted lots of fancy ways?”
“I already had lots of fancy ways,” said Penny grumpily. “I haven’t changed at all.”
“Hmm,” said their mother. “You look different to me. What about you, Lizzie? You look different to me too.”
Lizzie shrugged. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said.
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” said their mother. “You’re definitely different. Slimmer . . . more grown up.”
Lizzie swallowed. Well, she supposed she had learned a few things. “Not really, Mum,” she said, giving her a hug.
“You’re not in love are you?” said their mother suddenly. “My little Lizzie?”
“No!” said Lizzie. “Of course not, Mum.”
Penny jumped in quickly. “So,” she said, “you never told us our father was such a prick . . .”
Their mother quickly turned back to the oven.
“I should have known something like this might happen,” she said. “I should have . . . never trusted your gran really. But she’s so old now, and he’s been gone for so long . . . I didn’t think it would matter. But when there’s some money, Stephen will be around for a sniff. Leopards don’t change their spots.”
She sighed and glanced out the dirty window.
“It’s the only reason you haven’t seen him, you know. Because I never had any money. Sometimes I think it’s almost what’s kept me down. On purpose, you know. If I’d won the lottery, well, your dad would have been around like a shot.” She turned to face
them. “And I’m not sure it would have done you any good.”
“No,” said Lizzie.
“He was a bad lot,” said their mother. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. You two, however, are my wonderful, gorgeous girls. And I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
Even Penny sniffed.
“Sloan,” said Penny in what she hoped was a winning tone. She had just managed to sell one of Tabitha’s paintings to someone who looked so suspiciously similar to Tabitha—and had swooned so extraordinarily over them, particularly when someone else had popped into the shop—that she could only be a relative or some kind of a plant. She hoped Sloan hadn’t noticed: he didn’t see so well in the mornings.
“Yes?” said Sloan. He was looking at his unrequested cup of tea and Penguin biscuit as if Penny were trying to poison him. She never made him anything without being asked, begged, then finally shouted at, and even then she usually disappeared into the back of the gallery and read Heat for half an hour while pretending to wait for the kettle to boil.
“What’s this?” He held up the biscuit.
“It’s a chocolate biscuit. I bought it for you myself. Well, out of petty cash.”
Sloan continued to look at it dubiously.
“I don’t understand,” said Sloan. “Has it got fish in it?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” said Penny. “Ordinary people eat chocolate biscuits all the time, you know. Just because you’re a big snob who only eats, I don’t know, swan.”
“You can only eat swan if you’re eating with the Queen,” said Sloan. “So, of course I have.”
“When did you last have chips?” asked Penny.
“Game chips?”
“What are they? Like, chips with gravy?”
“Oh, my little Penelope. I do love you so.”
“Good,” said Penny. “Because there’s something I need to ask you. You live just around the corner, don’t you?”
“Well, I just can’t wait to see where this is heading,” said Sloan. “Book me a cab to the Ivy, will you, darling, I feel the sudden urge to leave immediately and eat fishcakes.”
“I was just wondering,” Penny plowed on regardless, “if you’d be interested in a lodger.”
Sloan guffawed. “You?”
“What’s wrong with me?” said Penny, affronted. “I’m tidy.”
“And I know how much you can afford to pay me,” said Sloan. “Anyway, darling, of course I already have lodgers.”
“You do? Really?”
Sloan looked careless. “Well, yes. I call them lodgers. Helping out the young men in the vicinity. Builders, brickies, plumbers, that kind of thing.”
“Sloan,” said Penny, genuinely shocked. “You like a bit of rough!”
“Why do you think I hired you, my sweetness?”
“Bugger,” said Penny. The doorbell pinged and Tabitha glided in.
“Hello,” said Penny. “Where do you live?”
“I am a citizen of the sun and the moon, my dear,” said Tabitha. “I have no earthly shape nor form, and I sleep with the wild wind and the high seas.”
“Really?” said Sloan. “Because I’ve got your VAT address down as Watford.”
“And Watford,” said Tabitha.
“How’s that meant to help me?” grumbled Penny. “Would you like a Penguin?”
“I believe so,” said Tabitha gravely. “Now, tell me, my darlings. How is my party coming along?”
Sloan raised his eyes to the heavens. “I so have to be somewhere else.” And he picked up his cane.
“If you’re looking for a new lodger they’re putting up scaffolding at the corner of Sloane Square,” said Penny as he left.
“What a terrible loss not to have you living with me,” said Sloan, sweeping out.
“So,” said Tabitha, “do we have lots of people coming?”
“Loads,” said Penny. The party was only two days away and she’d been extremely busy, organizing drinks and snacks—she’d gone for bright cocktails and sausages on sticks, with pineapple and cheese, also on sticks, pushed into oranges to look like hedgehogs, which she’d thought would be a nice touch, what with Tabitha being a nature lover and so on. Sloan had laughed his head off and told her it was delightfully retro.
“Excellent,” said Tabitha, clapping her hands together so the rings rang out and made a noise. “According to my spirit guide it’s a most auspicious day.”
She cast a look around the shop. “But where is The Daily Unfolding Meridian of the Sublime Abyss, II?”
“That orange one?” said Penny. “Oh, we sold it this morning.”
Tabitha looked cross. “To a woman? Wearing a jeweled turban?”
“Do you know, I can’t remember what she was wearing,” said Penny. “Uh, yes, that was her.”
“Bugger,” said Tabitha. “She was meant to buy it at the party. No matter. Anyway, I have something for you.”
She looked mysteriously to the left and right, then drew something out from under the voluminous folds of the cloak she was wearing. It was a small burlap bag, which smelled strongly of herbs.
“Here,” she said.
“What’s this?” said Penny.
“It is a potion. To see off a love rival.”
“A what?”
“Did you forget our little magic chat?”
“Uh, no. But I didn’t realize you . . . you meant it.”
“You must slip it in the glass of the love rival, who will then appear spotted and horrible in the eyes of the beloved.”
“You are kidding?”
“Are you questioning the power of the spirits? Because, you know, they hate that.”
“No,” said Penny. “No, really, no. Thank you very much.”
And she took the sachet and slipped it into her pocket. Of course it was completely ridiculous.
“You are so sad this morning, Lizzie,” said Georges eventually. He hadn’t wanted to mention it. He felt slightly uncomfortable about why she might look this way, without quite admitting to himself why.
Lizzie had assumed he knew everything about it already from Maria-Elena, and hadn’t mentioned it for fear of being insensitive.
“I’m all right,” she said. “Well, you know.”
“I do not know,” said Georges. “I know that frittata is not made better with tears, huh?”
“Well, you know about my dad . . . coming back and taking the flat . . .”
When she saw Georges’s look of incomprehension, Lizzie realized he didn’t know at all, he didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about.
“I called you yesterday . . . when we had to move at short notice . . . I was wondering if we could have borrowed a car.”
“I did not get a call.”
“No, I spoke to Maria-Elena . . . but you didn’t call back, so I presumed you were too busy or it was too rude a thing to ask you . . .”
Georges was still staring at her, so, seeing as they were quiet, he made them two cups of tea and they sat down while she told him everything. By the end, she realized her eyes were once more full of tears.
“Oh, Lizzie,” Georges said many times. “Oh, Lizzie.”
He didn’t try and tell her what to do, or give her advice, or suggest that she be angry or indignant at her father or her grandmother. He just sat and listened thoughtfully. At the end he patted her gently on the arm. It was like being stroked by a friendly bear. Lizzie wanted to collapse onto him and stay there forever.
“This is a very sad story,” he said. “And you had to take the bus all the way to Brandford with all your things?”
“It wasn’t so bad,” mumbled Lizzie. She felt like she was telling tales now.
“Why didn’t Maria-Elena tell me?” wondered Georges.
“Well, you know . . . I thought, maybe she just didn’t understand me . . . her English, you know . . .”
“Her English is perfect,” said Georges. The door opened as some customers came in, and he stood up, looking annoyed.
“You know, I have some places . . . some homes around. I will be able to sort you out, I’m sure. Somewhere not so inconvenient as Brandford.”
“No . . . No, Georges, it’s all right. We really couldn’t . . . I mean. We couldn’t afford to rent a flat. At the moment. We’ll be OK.”
“Ah, but I’m sure we could sort something out . . .”
The idea of living in one of Georges’s properties for free as some kind of a favor was so awful and embarrassing, Lizzie couldn’t countenance the idea. Imagine having to work for the person who was putting you up for free.
“No, thanks,” said Lizzie, a bit stiffly. “We’ll be able to manage perfectly fine on our own, thank you.”
Georges had to turn to serve a customer, and Lizzie headed through into the back to wash her face. She let the cool water run over her brow and into her hair, completely unaware of Georges who, having said goodbye to the customer, had turned to watch her.
Chapter Fifteen
“So, you know. It was an interesting experience, I suppose,” said Lizzie. “Like a holiday, really. But I suppose it’s better to be back where we belong.”
Grainne stared into her glass of cider and chewed speculatively on a McCoys crisp. Lizzie remembered turning her nose up at the restaurant opening—really. And now, here they were back in Coasters. At least in the new restaurant her feet hadn’t stuck to the floor, and there wasn’t a bunch of feral thirteen-year-olds messing about with the darts. There weren’t any darts.
“Miss Friss says hello,” said Grainne. She was being kind, Lizzie noticed, and sympathizing rather than gloating that they’d been brought back down a peg or two.
“That’s nice,” said Lizzie. “Say meow from me.”
“She’s sulking,” said Grainne. “Doesn’t like her new kilt.”
Penny arrived. She’d never usually come out with them, but that hadn’t seemed to matter so much recently. She was wearing a smart, sober, Victorian-style blouse, which looked completely out of place among the muffin tops and pink tank tops of the bar.
“I need to plan the party,” said Penny. “There’s too much acne cream in the house and nowhere to sit.”
“Where’s Mum?”
“She’s at some play in an old match factory. It’s about worker exploitation. Why can’t she be the kind of actress that gets friendly with Sienna Miller and gets us invited to West End openings?”