There was another pause: Melody held her breath. Anthony exhaled gustily.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Goodness. Fine. Well, Melody, this isn’t bad at all, is it? You look like yourself again!’
She relaxed, sinking into the white leather Eames chair below the window. Anthony was old-school posh: not bad at all, in his language, meant very good indeed.
‘I do, don’t I?’ she said happily. ‘It really isn’t bad! The surgeon was absolutely brilliant.’
‘And, erm, the other thing? Things?’ Anthony asked, sounding very awkward. ‘Romy, darling, can you just pop somewhere else for a moment? Daddy needs to talk to his friend in private... why don’t you go and bother Mummy for a little bit? God knows, you’ve been bothering me for ages. Ow! Don’t bite Daddy!’
Melody was giggling.
‘My chest area,’ she said demurely, ‘is back where it was. No more balloons.’
‘Well, frankly, that’s a huge relief, ’ Anthony said. ‘Leading ladies at the RSC don’t have, erm...’
‘D cups,’ Melody finished.
‘I don’t quite know what those are,’ he admitted, ‘but I get the general idea. So basically, I can reassure Martin that you’ve totally reversed everything you had done in LA?’
‘I’m the Melody from before,’ she assured him firmly. ‘Just like in Wuthering Heights.’
‘Okay. Leave it with me,’ Anthony said briskly. ‘I’ll ring you back as soon as I have any news.’
‘Sorry your daughter bit you,’ she said, smiling, as she heard Aniela’s knock on the door; getting up, she went to open it.
‘She’s obsessed with pretending to be a spaniel for some reason,’ her father sighed. ‘I keep telling her spaniels are good dogs and don’t bite their owners. I think she has them confused with pit bulls...’
Melody gestured Aniela in as she thanked Anthony, said goodbye and clicked off the phone.
‘You look very good,’ Aniela said with thorough approval, looking Melody up and down. ‘Not just your face, though that is healing very well. All of you. Your energy is very good and high.’
‘I’ve been up since eight, had a smoothie and porridge, then I went to the gym and walked for half an hour on the treadmill, came back, had a shower and rang my agent to tell him to put me up for the lead in Much Ado About Nothing – for the Royal Shakespeare Company next summer,’ Melody said, all in a rush. ‘He’s getting on with it right away – the auditions are happening this week.’
‘Wonderful!’ Aniela said approvingly, following her into the living room, leaning against the breakfast bar. ‘And the boyfriend? You have seen the boyfriend? How was that?’
‘You do get right to it, don’t you, Aniela?’ Melody said, smiling wryly. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
She went into the kitchen and filled up the kettle.
‘That would be very nice,’ Aniela said.
‘And yes, I’ve seen the boyfriend,’ Melody said, pulling a box of English Breakfast tea from the cupboard. ‘He’s screwing someone else. That blonde cow who was here a few days ago.’
‘The one who made you cry,’ Aniela said, remembering. ‘She is not nice at all.’
‘No, she bloody isn’t,’ Melody sighed.
‘You know,’ Aniela said seriously, pulling up one of the stools and sitting down on it, leaning her elbows on the counter and steepling her fingers, ‘it is easy for nasty girls like that to get hold of a man when he is sad. I have seen it many times.’
‘God, thanks, Aniela,’ Melody said faintly, as the kettle started to boil. ‘That’s not exactly—’
‘You will have to fight her for him, if you want him,’ Aniela continued.
‘Well, I’m going to be fighting her for this part in the play,’ Melody said. ‘I know she wants it too.’
‘Who is better?’ Aniela asked. ‘Her or you?’
‘Bloody hell— ’ Melody coughed out a laugh. ‘You don’t beat around the bush, do you?’
She dropped tea bags into mugs and got the milk out of the fridge.
‘But what is the answer? Who is better?’ Aniela persisted.
Melody writhed. ‘Aniela, I’m English. We don’t talk about how good we are, we’re not like Americans...’
She met Aniela’s clear, direct gaze, and gave up.
‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘I am. I really think I am. I was the up-and-coming star in our year, I beat out every actress of my age in the UK for Wuthering Heights. I have much better comic timing than she does, and I work an audience better, too. If it were between me and Felicity, I should totally get this part.’
‘Good!’ Aniela nodded with approval. ‘It’s good that you are confident. You must be confident like this with the boyfriend. You must be sure that you are better for him, nicer than her. You are nicer than her – you are not someone who makes people cry. Then you must go to see him – soon,’ she specified. ‘Because women like that move very quickly with men. She will have him engaged to her before you can turn around, to make sure of him while he is still confused.’
The kettle had boiled; Melody, filling the mugs, nearly let one spill over, she was so struck by the truth of these words. She could picture the whole thing. Felicity, having latched onto James – recently, it must be very recently, or Melody would have been told by someone eager to see her reaction to the unpleasant news – would immediately try to consolidate her position as the new girlfriend of Dr Who. She’d make sure the two of them were papped together at every opportunity, use the publicity to catapult her up to the next level of fame. It would have been naïve to pretend that theatre, TV and film producers weren’t acutely aware of an actor or actress’s public profile; in order to cover their costs, put more bums on seats, as the expression went, they would almost always pick the most well-known face that they could.
Melody couldn’t blame Felicity for wanting to make sure the viewing public recognised her name and her face. But I can when it means she’s trying to push me out of the way with James by making horrible comments about my surgery. And if she tries to take advantage of his being lonely without me, pushing him into an engagement – the mere idea made Melody livid. James was that very rare thing in their profession, a young man who truly wanted to settle down, happiest living in domestic bliss with a woman he loved. And someone unscrupulous could definitely exploit that, rush him into a commitment before he realised what was happening. Aniela’s absolutely right.
‘Aniela, you’re really good at giving advice,’ she said, bringing the tea over to the counter. ‘Making people see things clearly. You should be a life coach or something.’
Aniela’s smile was crooked, twisted at one corner, as she pulled the milk container towards her and poured some into her mug.
‘I am good at giving advice, yes,’ she said. ‘But that is easy, to give advice. I must also tell myself what to do, and follow it.’
She took her time spooning some sugar into her mug and stirring it in, three teaspoons; like most nurses, she had a sweet tooth. Melody had the good sense not to prompt the other woman; she waited, eyebrows raised – she was getting more and more movement in her forehead now that the Botox was wearing off, it felt wonderful – for Aniela to continue.
‘I tell you to go to your boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – and tell him you love him, you want to be with him,’ Aniela said finally. ‘I tell you to be brave. But I must be brave, too, with the man I like.’
She blew on her tea.
‘It’s hard to do,’ she concluded. ‘Very hard.’
‘It is,’ Melody said determinedly. ‘But we’re both going to do it, aren’t we?’
Aniela’s chest rose and fell.
‘I want to,’ she said. ‘I want to very much.’
The mugs had cooled down enough to pick up by now. Melody took hers by the handle and clinked it against Aniela’s.
‘We’ll make a pact,’ she said, her sapphire eyes shining. ‘Okay? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. We’ll both be brave.’
&nbs
p; Slowly, Aniela picked up her own mug and clinked it back against Melody’s.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘We will both be brave.’
Aniela
It’s all very well, Aniela thought forty minutes later. Melody can take her time, work out how to approach her ex, strategise a way to win him back. While Jon, I have to see right now.
Melody had no idea, of course, that there was something between Aniela and Jon. Why would anyone guess that a sane, sensible nurse like her would be obsessed by a patient with a face like a plateful of meat? Not to mention the fact that he used to be a hitman, and that Dasha Khalovsky’s trying to blackmail him into killing her husband. I should be running away from him as fast as I can.
Every single health professional that Aniela had ever worked with had considered her one of the best nurses they had ever encountered. She was serious, proficient, extremely hard-working and completely unsentimental, quick-thinking and unflappable. She’d lost count of the times she’d been told approvingly by doctors and managers that she had a good head on her shoulders, an English expression that she had never quite understood.
And here I am, with my good head, about to throw myself at a man without a face who used to kill people for a living. Very good decision, Aniela. Very sensible.
She couldn’t help smiling. In my work, I do everything right. And in my private life, I do everything wrong.
It was one minute to noon. She waited until her watch read exactly the right time, both hands clicking together, before she raised her hand and pressed the bell button on Jon’s door.
He wouldn’t hide from her, she knew. Even if he didn’t want to see her, he would open the door and tell her so. He was a man; he wouldn’t behave like a child.
Sure enough, the door swung open. Jon stood there, his entire affect as awkward as a man who can barely move his face can look.
‘May I come in?’ she asked, feeling suddenly very formal with him.
‘Sure.’ He stood back to let her pass. She went into the kitchen and sat down at the breakfast bar; it was the same stool, the same Corian counter, in exactly the same position in the apartment as Melody’s, which never stopped being strange to her.
‘Can I get you something?’ he asked, padding up behind her.
He’s being formal too, she noticed.
‘I am okay, thank you,’ she said politely. ‘I had some tea at my other patient’s.’
‘The actress,’ he observed. ‘How’s she doing?’
‘Very good. She is healing very well, her swelling is going down fast. Dr Nassri is excellent at what he does,’ Aniela said approvingly.
She looked at Jon, who was leaning against the fridge, hips propped back, his arms folded across his chest. This made his biceps swell, the corded veins on his forearms stand out, and Aniela stared at his body longingly, but she knew that his stance wasn’t a good sign; crossed arms clearly indicated defensiveness.
‘How is your head?’ she asked. ‘Shall I look at it?’
He shook it. ‘I’m fine,’ he said simply. ‘Healing good.’
Well, that’s the preliminaries over. Now you leave, or you get down to it.
Be brave.
‘I know you will be gone soon,’ she said, wishing now that she’d asked for a glass of water, a cup of tea, so that she had something to do with her hands while she struggled to get out what she wanted so badly to say. ‘I know you will go to America and live on your ranch and never come back. I understand that. I understand that after you go, I will never see you again. But while you are here, I would like to be with you.’
She couldn’t look at him directly: she wasn’t that brave. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shift at the last words, as if he’d been surprised by them.
‘I like being with you,’ she went on. ‘You are very peaceful. And you are very good at sex.’
Jon made a choking noise; when she glanced at him, she saw that he was coughing in shock.
‘My – my ex-boyfriend—’ Aniela didn’t know how to refer to Lubo; he didn’t really qualify as a boyfriend on almost any level – ‘he was loud. He had the TV on all the time, he talked, he burped, he farted. But you are very quiet. I like that. And like I said, you are very good at sex.’
Jon’s coughing fit was only slowly abating. He put one hand up to his throat, easing the soreness.
‘You know, Aniela, I haven’t hung out with many women,’ he said. ‘There weren’t that many in the Unit. But somehow I think that even if I’d met a ton of ’em, you’d be pretty damn unique.’
‘Is that good?’ Aniela asked, looking him in the eyes now.
He pushed off the fridge and took a couple of steps towards her; her heart raced in excitement. This is good... surely this is good...But his trajectory took him to the other side of the breakfast bar, putting its width between them. Not so good.
‘Aniela,’ he said simply, ‘I don’t know what to say to you. I’ve got no experience of being with a woman, apart from the ones I used to pay to be with me.’
Another woman would have burst into reassurances about how great he was. Aniela retorted instead:
‘You can pay me. If you want. I’m very poor – I’ve lost all my savings. So I could use the money. I bet prostitutes make much more than nurses do,’ she added thoughtfully.
Jon stared at her incredulously. She felt dizzy, light-headed; as if she could say anything, anything at all, throw words up into the air and let them fall in showers all around them both. And then she realised why she liked spending time with Jon so much, why she was putting her pride on the line for him; because with him, and only with him, she felt utterly and completely free for the first time in her life.
Jon was speechless at this point. His eyes were goggling, his mouth open. The livid bruising on his face was, she saw, slowly beginning to fade, the purple around his eyes lightening to a pinky-mauve, and she could see their colour more clearly, the grey-blue of Atlantic waters.
‘I could bring the condoms,’ she suggested, almost giggling now with her own audacity. ‘I would include that in the price.’
Jon’s lips moved: he was trying to say something and failing utterly. Instinctively, Aniela pushed back her stool and slid off it.
‘I will leave you to think about it,’ she said. ‘You can page me whenever you want.’
She walked towards the door, hoping for some stupid romantic gesture, and knowing that it was idiotic. Jon wasn’t going to run towards her, sweep her off her feet, cover her face with kisses, tell her he was madly in love with her; she wouldn’t have trusted it if he had. And yet, she didn’t want to leave like this, not without him having said another word—
‘Aniela?’ Jon said behind her, and she turned a little to look at him. He was standing in the corridor, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, shaking his head very slowly in disbelief.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been as confused in my life as I get around you,’ he said.
‘Good,’ she said, smiling.
She walked out, closing the door firmly behind her. And then she did something just as stupid and romantic as the gesture she’d been imagining; she leaned back against it, the smile still on her face.
He thinks I am unique. I confuse him. And I make him laugh.
Not bad, Aniela. Not bad at all.
Jon
Maybe I could tell her. Maybe she’s the one woman in the world who’d understand. I mean, look at the stuff she comes out with! She sure has a different way of seeing the world! Hands still stuffed in his pockets, he walked to the far end of the living room and stood there, staring blindly at the extraordinary view of the skyscrapers surrounding Limehouse Reach; they seemed almost close enough to touch. But Jon wasn’t seeing them at all. His eyes were open, but the scenes that were scrolling before his eyes were from almost twenty years ago, when he’d been seventeen. He was remembering the last night he had ever spent in the Hollow, the last time he had ever seen his family. The night that had changed his en
tire life, and made him who he was: a man who not only had no relationships, no human contact, but managed very well without them.
That night – well, more like four in the morning – his father Mac, who’d been out drinking and playing cards with the local moonshiners, had staggered home, crazed on meth, moonshine and bootleg Hennessy, and yelled for everyone to wake up, because he had something real important to tell their stinking asses. And when they clambered out of bed and made it through to the kitchen, wiping the sleep out of their eyes, they’d found Mac loaded for bear.
Young Drew, as Jon had been then, had spent his childhood doing whatever he could to be a bulwark between Mac and his younger brother, Davey. Drew had taken blows that were meant for his younger brother, stepped in when Mac was picking on Davey, diverting his anger, provoking the wrath in Drew’s own direction. He’d learned to ride the blows as best he could, dodge the worst ones and take the lesser full on. He’d watched and he’d waited, he’d grown stronger and more alert. Because Drew had known that, one day not too long distant, a reckoning would come between him and Mac, and Drew would need to be ready.
Drew didn’t have much time for a mother who had wilfully refused the offer of rescue by her sister Eileen, who had turned down her only chance to save herself and her children from her violent husband, and let him beat them and her into pulp. But he wouldn’t let Mac kill Ma, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let Mac kill or cripple himself or Davey.
So that night, when Mac, yelling abuse and threats, set off by the devils inside him and the drugs and alcohol coursing through his body, had picked up a poker and gone after Davey with it, Drew, seeing the madness in his father’s eyes, had stepped in, as he did so often, and wrestled Mac for the weapon. He’d got the poker out of Mac’s grasp, and backed away, panting for breath, holding it like a baseball bat, more than ready to slug Mac if he came for him.
Mac had been on the verge of lunging for his older son, ready to wrest the poker from his grasp, furious at this challenge to his authority. Mac had age, weight and experience on his side; he was in the prime of life, muscled and strong, and Drew was a stripling by comparison. But there had been something in Drew’s stance, the set of his feet, planted firmly on the dirt floor, the steady look in his eyes, that had made his father hesitate. For the first time, he wasn’t sure if this was a fight he could win.
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