by Cocktails
‘Then you should go and open your tapas bar,’ I said simply.
‘Trying to get rid of me already?’ Milo was smiling, but his eyes were serious.
I kissed him then, forthright and insistent, because I didn’t want him to go anywhere.
The journey back to his was fun and ridiculous, in that way it is when you’ve just met someone new, and their kisses are like oxygen. I needed to be touching him in some way, holding his hand as we ran up the stairs, or resting my legs over his as we sat on the train, trying not to be those people in public, but failing and barely caring.
* * *
That night, I lay there next to him, tracing his outline in the light from the streetlamp that shone through the window, all shadows and edges. I felt the curve of his lips and cheekbones against my fingertips.
‘Tell me something real,’ I said pointlessly, imagining him to be asleep.
‘All we’ve done is talk about real things. Bad mothers, and food and rubbish housemates who steal your couches. What kind of real do you want?’ There was humour in his voice, and as I tried to pull away, he kept me close.
‘I don’t know. I guess… I spent years with someone, and it wasn’t until he left that everyone told me how wrong we were. I… I don’t know what I’m asking.’
Milo rolled onto his side, one hand still resting on my hip.
‘I know what you’re asking.’
‘You do?’
He nodded, and I could see the curve of a smile in the dim room, those green eyes soft but intense.
‘I was meant to be on a flight today, you know? Rome. Booked it months ago. Got itchy feet, tired of those stuck-up customers and making Margaritas for celebrities who thought they were doing me a favour. I had let Charlie know – Dan was gonna get upgraded to the spare room.’
‘You were leaving?’
He nodded again. ‘No purpose, no plan, same as before, I just… hadn’t found what I was looking for. And then this girl arrived in my life a few weeks ago, and I felt like maybe this was what I was looking for.’
I said nothing, my heart beating wildly as he pushed back a strand of hair from my face. His smile was sad.
‘But the problem is, this girl is just starting her adventures, and she’s got places to go and things to see and stuff to learn. That’s what she’s looking for. But I cancelled my flight anyway, because I wanted to see where this goes before she leaves on that adventure.’
I held him close then, my lips against his neck, the overwhelming desire to cry suddenly.
‘That sounds a lot like a goodbye,’ I whispered and I could feel him shake his head, snaking both arms around me.
‘It’s not, it’s just knowing that good things have expiration dates. Savvy, you spent most of your life sacrificing your dreams for some guy. I won’t let you do that again.’
‘I won’t let me do that again either,’ I insisted, wriggling against him.
‘Well, good.’ His voice was amused, as if he’d never doubted it. ‘The real thing is, you’ve given me something back. Something that makes food and drink this joy again. This thing I loved has suddenly come back, and that’s because of you. You’re working on your dream, and I’ve wasted enough time, so I’m gonna work on mine too.’
‘How did I do all that?’
‘Might have something to do with making killer Espresso Martinis in a sparkly corset, but I think, it might just be who you are.’
‘Oh,’ I laughed, kissing him. ‘Well, aren’t you lucky then?’
‘I really am,’ he grinned against my lips.
Chapter Twelve
Something changes when you sleep with someone. It’s like that tightness behind every movement they make dissipates, and yet there’s now a cord between you, telling you either there’s something real, or the cord is attached to nothing, and it was all a lie.
I couldn’t stop myself from touching him, reaching out and running a finger across his tanned stomach, burying my fingers into his thick hair, tracing the curve of his lips. And when he woke, almost immediately, blinking twice before he saw me and smiled, I felt like I wanted to be seen that way for the rest of my life. To be in that moment, in the still, silent morning, where someone suddenly remembers you’re there and is thrilled – that was more than I ever expected.
I spent the morning wearing his shorts and some baseball T-shirt, thrillingly authentic, and we made ‘Eggy in a Basket’, a fried egg sitting in a piece of toast with a hole cut out of it. It was fried in butter, like French toast with a protein hit, and it was messy and ridiculous, but I ate it, sticky-fingered and laughing. He made coffee in a cafetière and the sunlight streamed through the window whilst he played the kind of music Jen loved on the radio.
‘This is a perfect morning,’ I sighed into his neck, grasping my mug of coffee. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever had such a perfect morning.’
‘Really?’ His arms snaked around me again, pulling me tight against his taut body. ‘Well, neither of us have to work till this evening, so I’m pretty sure I can make it a perfect day, too.’
‘What did you have in mind? I’m feeling very amenable.’
‘I’m thinking maybe nothing to do with cooking,’ he smiled against my lips. ‘Let’s go out into the world and have adventures and eat food other people have made.’
‘Really? Leaving the house?’ I whined. ‘But here there’s… warmth and quiet and no other people…’ I kissed his neck.
‘And a bed…’ he said simply.
‘Jeez, I hadn’t realized!’ I said, faux-shocked.
‘Okay, well, how about we leave the house for coffee and supplies?’ he bargained.
I nodded. ‘And then we can come back and I can be drinking wine and cooking and feeling you next to me, quipping away about ridiculous things?’
‘I’m glad you’ve adequately summarised my role in this then,’ he laughed. ‘Just here for the pointless sarcastic comments. I’m offering to take you to dinner, Savannah. Don’t you want to go out for dinner?’
‘In the world, where there are other people, and we have to wear clothes?’ I said simply.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You make an excellent point.’
‘And surely the best way to get excited about this tapas bar is to cook.’ I put my arms around his waist, almost pleading. ‘I will make you my famous risotto.’
He made a doubtful face. ‘You’re gonna make risotto for an Italian? You think it can hold up to my nonna’s?’
‘Your nonna make it in the kitchen wearing a pair of pyjama shorts and a T-shirt?’
‘I fucking hope not and thank you for that image, by the way,’ he winced. ‘You’re lucky if I’ll ever be able to eat risotto again.’
‘The emotional damage will be worth it when you taste it, I promise,’ I grinned. ‘Okay, the market.’
I ended up wearing one of his T-shirts tucked into my black jeans from the night before, with my standard work boots, worn in from hours of standing on my feet, but still outwardly acceptable. I wore his hoody instead of my leather jacket, and looked more like a relaxed hipster than a burlesque bartender, which was something, at least.
We walked through the market arm in arm, touching vegetables, letting the scent of the different ingredients and the dishes they might become wash over us. I watched him haggling, all hand movements and wry smiles, knowing the game without a shadow of a doubt, like there was no question in his mind that he’d get the best deal, and they’d thank him for it.
The market was thriving, ancient and excellent, full of colour and life as it had been for years, the collection of bold, bright produce from mangoes to tomatoes, asparagus to bananas, each as vibrant as the other, jostling for attention and whispering with possibility. I will offer possibilities, I can be something you want.
* * *
We spent the afternoon exactly as I wanted. I stood in his pyjamas cooking risotto in the kitchen, swaying back and forth to the music from the radio, his arms around me as he kissed my neck a
nd said nothing at all. Occasionally he asked what I was doing, joked about the amount of wine that glugged into the pan, questioned my choice of cheese, about how many ingredients I was adding.
‘Italians keep it simple, babe.’
I swallowed the smile at his choice of words, and instead grinned at him, ‘Well, I’m not Italian. And I’m goddamn well making risotto.’
‘May God have mercy on your soul,’ he said seriously, before bursting into a grin that was pure sunshine. I almost loved him in that moment, that glorious stranger in the sunlit yellow kitchen, his warm smile as he rested his chin in my neck, hip parallel to mine, arms around me. Time stood still, and I wondered how I, Savvy, had ever reached this place, drunk with lust for someone, sleeping with a man who wasn’t Rob, feeling everything and absolutely, completely alive on the idea that she was wanted. I had never felt sexy before, and I wanted to thank him for it without releasing that information.
We sat on his bed, leaning up against the headboard, large bowls of risotto on our laps (and one for Charlie on the side in the kitchen), a bottle of red drunk from mugs. It was simple and fun, a world away from that life I’d imagined, with set wine glasses for every type of wine, and I loved it. We settled down to watch a movie that we would miss most of, because I was obsessed with his mouth and his chest, and his fingertips and every other important part of him, and we were drawn together like magnets, the way you are when you’ve discovered something new and wonderful. You imagine no one else has ever felt that way about a love the way you do at the beginning, like it’s some intoxicating magic you’re half drunk on, but the half of you that’s sober is smart enough to know that it’s fleeting and wants to nuzzle into that warmth for dear life, and revel in it.
And in those moments before I reached for him, giggling like a lovesick moron, I watched his face as he tasted the risotto, chewing, considering and thinking. He turned to me. ‘My nonna’s gonna hate you.’
‘That’s okay,’ I said, lying back on the bed and laughing.
Chapter Thirteen
The days passed easily enough. I went to work, I browsed charity shops for cookery books, I checked my email for training application responses. I cooked at Milo’s, smiled at work, and avoided my mother at all costs. It didn’t seem to work. The less she saw of me, the more she tried to goad me into giving her attention. It was like dealing with a 5-year-old, and I wondered whether I’d ever been allowed to be the kid, even when I was a kid.
She lazed around, watching TV, throwing out irritable comments about our life, how exciting everything was, how she wasn’t at all surprised that I’d chosen this over a life on the road, having adventures with her.
In the kitchen one morning she hovered over my shoulder as I made coffee, telling a long story about some roadie she used to know.
‘You remember him, Savvy, right? He gave you a doll.’
I shrugged. ‘How old was I?’
‘Oh, I dunno – a baby, I think.’
‘Well, I’m not likely to remember then, am I?’ I rolled my eyes, reaching for the milk. She got there first, handing it to me.
‘Well, anyway, he left. Said he wanted something more. I saw him last week! He’s waiting tables at a restaurant!’
‘Uh… huh.’
‘The man was on the Utter Darkness tour! Do you remember that tour? I was my best, then, baby, I was… and he left! To wait tables in a restaurant. And he got married and had two kids. Has a mortgage and a kid-friendly car. Everyone says it’s women who have a biological clock – it’s men! Giving up brilliance for the same mediocre existence everyone else has!’ She huffed, arms crossed, like she expected me to agree.
I rolled my eyes again. ‘Do you hear yourself sometimes? Like, do you have any ability to feel empathy? To understand that maybe someone doesn’t have the same dreams as you?’
‘But what is it? I mean, it’s exactly what your dad did. Got old and chubby and… dad-like. With the thinning hair and the house and the sensible car. And what is it with him and Jen? She’s so much older than him and he ferries her around like an elderly aunt. Did you ask him to look after her?’
I snorted, enjoying her discomfort. She glared at me, long blonde curls falling over her shoulders, looking so much like a petulant teenager that I laughed.
‘Jen and Dad are friends. They’ve been friends for ten years. Dad’s become a dad because that’s what he wanted. He wanted to have a relationship with me, a relationship we could have had years before, if you’d bothered to tell him I existed. But no, everything’s about Persephone Black and her big, exciting life.’ I tightened the lid on my travel mug and smirked at her, ‘Well, sorry, babe, but in this house, it’s our lives, and you’re not the star of the show. Dad and Jen care about each other, me and Dad have a great relationship, and that boring, sensible car is what he picked me up from prom in, took me to Cornwall for the week in, and drove all my stuff home in when my boyfriend dumped me. We have a life, and you’re just squatting. If it’s too boring for you, leave.’
I looked at her defiantly, my own crossed arms mirroring hers, my own blonde curls just as vibrant and heavy. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, and mumbled to herself inaudibly.
‘Just as I suspected. The superstar with thousands of dedicated fans and hundreds of Instagrammable super awesome best friends doesn’t have anywhere to go. Because none of them are real.’
She blinked at me, not a single thing on her face changing, except for something in her eyes that flickered and then was gone.
‘Have a good day at work, Savannah,’ she said, before leaving the room.
* * *
Somehow, the victory felt empty, but I left the house with a spring in my step anyway. I was going to watch Taya and Charlotte practise at the Martini Club, and then they were taking me out for lunch with Bel. I’d never really been included in work-friends outings before, and when they invited me, I stood silently, trying to rack my brain for a reason they would bother. They were these mystical, shiny creatures, all shimmy and sparkle, and… well, I was just me.
‘Why… why are you inviting me now?’ I had said, overly suspicious, like they were mean girls in a teen movie who were going to put chewing gum in my hair or steal my clothes when I changed for PE.
Taya frowned, raising her eyebrow at me. ‘Because you were never around before. You never spoke to us. You were polite, and you came to work and did your job, and went home to your boyfriend. Now you’re actually letting us get to know you.’
Charlotte nodded. ‘You brought me those kids’ books for Felicity, and you’ve told us about your goals and you’ve sniffled over your ex. You’ve cooked us food and drunk with us. That’s how friendships begin.’
She nudged me with her shoulder. ‘Amazing the time you have for fun and friendships when you’re not babysitting a selfish man-child.’
‘I do have a lot more free time,’ I nodded, grinning. ‘Okay, well, great!’
So there I was, sitting in a booth at the club with Bel whilst the girls rehearsed.
‘God, I wish I could make people notice me like that,’ I said suddenly.
Arabella looked at me. ‘You do. You just do it through your fingertips, darling.’
‘I guess so – not as pretty though.’
‘But longer lasting. You could be impressing people through food until you haven’t got teeth to taste anything any more.’
‘Maybe longer,’ I agreed.
‘Here’s to talent that pays the bills.’ Arabella smiled, perfectly white teeth bared as she tapped her glass of Champagne against mine.
‘Is… is the club doing okay?’ I was tentative. This new, sort-of friendship with my boss still had boundaries and limitations.
‘She’s okay. She’s always okay. She’s my baby,’ Bel said fondly.
‘She’s magic,’ I agreed. ‘The Martini Club has changed my life, really.’
Bel smiled at me. ‘I don’t think it has, darling. You changed your life and it was here. The rest i
s just sparkle.’
‘No, you guys looked after me when Rob dumped me, Jacques set me up with the food app, Ricardo got me to cook, and all of you were kind, and supportive.’
‘It’s not hard to be fed delicious food, but I get what you mean,’ Bel nodded, then paused. ‘The club’s not doing as well as she needs to. It’s an expensive area and we’re small fish. But things will be fine, because they have to be. This place is my home, and you’ve done a lot to help too.’
‘I have?’
‘Those special cocktails? Cooking for everyone, supporting Ricardo. You’ve stepped up and proven yourself. And it’s helped.’ Bel patted my hand briefly, before turning to Charlotte and Taya as they jumped down from the stage, grabbing their bags.
‘I’m not sure about that track. I might feel better about it tonight,’ Taya shrugged. ‘We ready to eat? I’m starving!’
‘God, yes!’ Charlotte agreed. ‘You guys ready?’
Bel looked at me briefly. ‘Hey, I wanna throw a party.’
‘Now?’
‘Tomorrow night,’ she said simply, ‘and I want you to cook.’
‘Don’t we have a show tomorrow night?’
‘It’s slow. We have three tables booked and they’re all friends of friends, or repeat customers,’ Bel said. ‘I want to close it and make it a private party, celebrating the Martini Club and her lovely workers. To thank everyone.’
Charlotte and Taya looked at each other. ‘Is everything okay?’ Charlotte enquired.
Bel suddenly resumed her normal boss persona, raised eyebrow, tilted head. ‘Darling, doesn’t everything look okay? And if it didn’t, would I tell you?’
She avoided our gaze as she spoke, and we looked at each other, saying nothing.