by E. Earle
Brynn left early for London the next morning in his truck. He was staying with a friend apparently up there so there was somewhere he could park.
“Why don’t you just get the train?” I had asked him when I caught him on the stairs.
He simply raised an eyebrow. “If you had seen the amount of kit I have to take with me, you wouldn’t be asking that. You’ve been on the tube, right?”
I shivered at the memory. I had been to London a dozen of times- mostly to see my friends Chris and Helen. I had gone to college in Nuneaton with Chris and then moved to Norwich together for our stint at University- Helen had been my housemate in my last year, and my mutual rum buddy. I had been constantly promising to go and see them and wondered why Brynn hadn’t asked me to go.
But then again, why would he?
After discussing various things about the museum and Craggy’s, Brynn left without a word about our surfing lesson. I watched him drive away from the window with Ben attempting to climb onto me.
“What are you doing?” I asked him and he wrapped himself around my shoulders.
“Trying out something new,” he purred. “Why didn’t you go to London?”
“Someone’s got to take care of this place,” I lied. “And you.”
He flicked his tail in my face as response.
I threw myself into work at the museum while Brynn was away. I didn’t know what he was showing- he was very private about some of his portfolio. I guessed it was nudes or something that he didn’t want to offend me with. Ben came down to keep me company, watching me as I threw myself into the debris of what once was Old Marley’s museum.
I made sure I took Brynn’s wind up radio and a flask of tea with me each time I went down. Brynn was going to be away for a week, and I was determined to get as much work done as I possibly could. I made sure I went down in the morning and had something to eat back at Craggy’s as a break. The locals were excited that something was happening to the place, and always asked the same question.
“When will it be finished?”
I would just have to shrug, because in all honesty, I had no idea.
But it was a day of pride when I had to call the skip company to get them to remove their old skip and replace it with another. Things were getting done, and I was astonished that Brynn and I had done it alone so far.
“You need a holiday,” Ben said on the second day as he watched me eating a ham sandwich on the floor.
I threw him a bit of meat, hopeful that it would shut him up. “No,” I said. “I just need to carry on with this. That’s holiday enough getting away from Craggy’s.”
I gazed around the room I had just de-cluttered. Brynn and I had kept a pile of original woodwork we wanted to incorporate back into the build, but there was only so much we could do alone- I wasn’t what you would call a skilled labourer.
We had been trying to cut corners as much as we could- Craggy’s was slowly getting out of debt, bit by bit thanks to our increasing trade with lodgers, surfing lessons and the food. I think the explosion in the outbuildings had made us a bit of a local celebrity and gossip point.
Plus, we had Ben.
The ladies loved him, and Ben loved the attention- not forgetting the scraps.
I worked nonstop for the next four hours until the floor was completely free of debris. There was nothing more for me to do but to call the professionals in. It was a relief when I got back to Craggy’s and made a few phone calls about getting the place rewired and re-plastered- a job for Brynn’s uncle. We had already been given a quote and due to family rates, it would be cheaper than usual- if Brynn and I helped out with some of the labour.
“Ellena, have you seen my bank statements?” Jack asked, snapping me out of my museum-daydream at the bar.
I jumped and stopped stirring my tea with my spoon. “Huh?”
Jack was pulling the drawers open and shut beneath the till where we kept a load of papers and anything else we didn’t have a real place for.
“My bank statements- I had them in this drawer!”
“Why would you put your bank statements in the drawer here?” I asked with a sigh.
“Because my caravan doesn’t exactly have a post box,” he groaned getting on his hands and knees and searching the floor. “I was sure I put it in here- we had a load of post and I just shoved it in this drawer…”
I rolled my eyes and started to help him look. “You should put your statements somewhere safe,” I said impatiently, pulling out various books to see if anything had slid between the pages.
He gave me a look that said clearly told me I wasn’t being helpful.
I shrugged. “Look, you should do your banking online, it’s safer and it’s eco-friendly.”
He raised an eyebrow at me and shook his head, muttering under his breath.
Time for a lie down I think.
Chapter Two
“You’re insane.”
I stared at Jack, tapping my foot impatiently. “I don’t know what you mean,” I said stubbornly.
My small travel case was at my side with Ben sitting on top, swishing his tail in agitation.
Jack fixed his bewildered eyes on me for a second longer before a nervous laugh burst out of his chest. “You can’t take a cat to London!”
Oh yeah, by the way- I had bought myself a ticket to see my friends Chris and Helen. It was during a moment of madness and quite a lot of tequila, and the tickets had cost enough for me to think the next morning; ‘Oh crap, I’ve really got to go now.’
Dancing around my bedroom at one in the morning with Ben off his face on catnip and singing to Jimmy Buffet’s Lime in the Coconut seemed like a great idea. My old housemate and I used to do stupid things like that when we lived together and it had made me nostalgic. So after a drunken phone call to the both of them, it had been Helen who had persuaded me to come down.
“Do it!” she gurgled, out herself in Soho with friends. “Do it and we’ll sing rum songs!”
And we did.
“It’s genuine, it’s genuine, it’s genuine…. Rum, 1849!”
We cackled out the lyrics to a song we created years ago over a four stringed guitar and our third Chinese takeaway that week.
Good times.
So Helen and Chris were expecting me. They both lived in separate parts of London- Helen in Clapham and Chris in Mile End, but I swore to meet the both of them. And Brynn? Brynn could suck my toes for all I cared.
I had to admit though, curiosity of his photography installation had started to creep in and I half wondered where he was based. I would have to ask Charlotte later.
Aware that Ben hated the comparison, I said; “If they can take dogs on the train, then I can take Ben.”
Ben meowed lowly, displeasure of my words evident.
Jack just shook his head. “Can’t you just leave him here? Wouldn’t that be safer?”
“Look, mate,” I said, putting my purse on the bar, “if you want to try and stop him coming- by all means do- I don’t fancy having a kitty cat wrapped around my shoulders like a scarf on the tube, but I can assure you- if Ben wants to come, nothing- nothing is going to get in his way of staying with his catnip dealer. Capiché?”
Jack winced. “Did you just say capiché?”
“Let us never talk of this.”
To be honest, Jack was probably right. We got quite a few looks at the train station as we waited and I suddenly wondered whether it would have been a good idea to drive to London. But I knew Ben wasn’t going anywhere.
He contently sat on my lap, purring as the frozen wilderness whizzed past us in a flurry of condensation and mist. I put music in my ears to try and dissuade people from asking me questions about Ben but it didn’t seem to work.
“Do they allow cats on trains?” I heard someone ask.
I bristled and ignored them. If they allowed guide dogs, then Ben could certainly come. The amount of people staring made me feel obligated to make up a cover story; he was a show cat, and that’s w
here we were off to. I’m not sure many people believed me, no matter how beautiful I thought he was. He soon charmed people in his usual way, allowing them to stroke him and tickle him behind the ear, and I was then forced to listen to their stories about their own pets. It was like they saw a fellow crazy cat lady and felt they could pour their heart to me.
I was no crazy cat lady. I was a crazy Ben lady. It was different.
Luckily, as soon as we got to London I wouldn’t have to put up with their questions. Ben had agreed to stay put at Helen’s house- his own version of a mini holiday. There was another cat there anyway, and he had promised to be nice- and no hanky panky.
Helen was surprisingly ok about me bringing Ben- which I wasn’t too sure whether would stick now, considering it was something we agreed on when we were drunk on the phone.
I found it better to not bring it up.
I hadn’t even told Brynn I was coming up to London and was still unsure whether to do so. I wanted to ask Ben, but maybe talking to a cat in public was too far.
The tube was an absolute nightmare. Soon there was no choice but to have Ben as a scarf around my neck, the scent of cat strong in my nostrils.
Luckily, not many people asked questions. It was although pets around necks were commonplace around here. I saw one man with a snake around his neck stare at me as though I was a kindred spirit; a small nod exchanged between us as he got off at his stop. Fellow tube travellers asked to stroke Ben and they often did without waiting for an answer.
It had been two years since I had last come to London- and that had been the sunny period of my life- a time with no problems, no love life- no gun shot wound.
The thought of Rino being any one of these tube passengers filled me with an oncoming dread I associated with a panic attack. As if sensing it, Ben shoved his head in my ear and started to purr. It distracted me long enough to take a deep breath and shove it back to the black confines of the other things I was worried about.
Not now. Not here.
Stepping out of the tube station was met with a huge sigh of relief. It was soon knocked out of my lungs as a person dived for me and crushed my ribs with a ginormous hug.
“Ellie!” a voice shouted in my ear, making me blink in surprise. “What took you so long?!”
Helen- a 5ft9 young woman with a mass of tattoos and attitude. She had always made me feel invincible when we went out together- she never put up with nonsense from anyone. Straight talking, a loud cackler and with a filthy mind to boot, Helen could do things with my hair that I had never thought possible.
Helen is a hairdresser- when we had lived together she had superhero red hair. Now it was a natural dark brown, cut sharply into a bob that swung above her shoulders. I stared at it lustily, never containing the courage to cut my own hair. Pale with strong eyebrows above bright blue eyes, Helen looked like a model with her newly lost weight.
It was incredible.
I blinked again. “God,” I stuttered. “You look amazing!”
She smiled, knowing all too well she did; black tights and a black mini skirt adorned her lower half, with a stylish pair of old brogues for trusty footwear. A large vintage fur coat was wrapped around her, concealing what lay underneath. Helen flashed me a wicked grin.
“Thanks babes,” she said. She then caught eye Ben. “Oh my god… you actually brought your cat!”
Ben meowed, protesting.
He and I knew I was actually his.
Helen’s place was another tube ride away, and luckily no one bothered us- her loud chatter and defensive stance told people to back off away from me- I had always felt safe around Helen.
She asked me how things had gone, and I told her the basics. Her eyes flashed in the knowledge that there were some things to talk about that couldn’t be said on the tube.
“We’ll have a cup of tea and you can tell me everything,” she said giving me my hundredth hug. “It’ll be all right.”
I smiled, breathing in her perfume, and for the first time in a long time, I believed it.
Her apartment was kooky- like her. Above a shop was a warehouse like building with a huge communal area for absent housemates- the only evidence of there being any was a bicycle, cigarette butts and a pair of heels that I suspected belonged to a man.
Each to their own.
The decision to go to the pub was pretty much unanimous.
I was already nursing a bit of a hangover and I was craving carbs and hair of the dog. Ben thankfully decided to stay on the radiator, curled up in one of Helen’s old jumpers whilst we spruced ourselves up with a bit of lipstick.
I had been wearing my skinny jeans, knee high black boots and my favourite baggy black fluffy jumper for the train ride and after a few sniffs decided it was still good for London. I brightened it up with a pair of bright dangly earrings and a lick of red lipstick- hairspray did the rest. I had worn my favourite fitted blue coat on the way here- a tailored masterpiece fitted with a wide leather belt at the waist. I didn’t wear it often in Croyde- simply because there had been nowhere nice to wear it to and I was always either elbows deep in beer, bleach or grime from the museum. I was smiling at Helen as I pulled it back on, wondering if I could really afford a night out in London.
Chris couldn’t make it to meet me that night as he had to catch up on deadlines and had work the next day. It was a Thursday after all. He promised me we would meet up on Friday for after-work chat and drinks and that was good enough for me.
“Here we go,” Helen said, pulling out a flask from her fur coat on the train.
I stared at it, dread and excitement creeping from my pores. “What is that?” I asked her with a deadpan look.
She raised an eyebrow. “What do you think it is?”
“I have expectations.”
She made me have a swig of the damned stuff to confirm what I knew all along- Lambs Navy Rum. I coughed as I passed it back over her, her cackle loud in my ears.
The tube ride after that was a lot faster for some reason after a few more swigs of the rum. There was some confusion of how to get out of the station, and I was forced to buy an Oyster card to free myself.
There was a beauty about London that made me wish I had a whole day free to myself with no one around- not a living soul, just so I could stare at the buildings and take in my surroundings. To be in a place filled with so much history made my brain hurt with the thought of it. So much had happened here. The Ripper Murders. Boudicca burning down the city. The Lost Princes with Richard the third. So much history. As much as I enjoyed my visits to this ancient place, I could never live here. My dad said I would never survive the rat-race, and I suppose he was right. Despite the beauty, there was too much grey. Too many hard faces. Everything was too fast- too rushed. People survived here, they had been doing so for thousands of years.
I don’t think I could choose survival.
London was a place that Helen and Chris thrived- but it was a place where I had a short amount of time where I could put up with the loud noises, the fumes, the constant bustle of people and averted gazes.
But hell was it a good distraction.
We made our way through the tube station and into Camden to an amazing pub called ‘At World’s End.’ We’d been here once before- a brilliant time that ended up being disastrous for my oncoming date.
I had met a young man called James whilst I was on a stag do (I know, don’t ask me about it) and we had met up in London. I had been so nervous about meeting him that I had gotten drunk with Helen before attending the date. It didn’t take a genius to work out drunkenly making a rap to Lord of the Rings didn’t go down too well. I wished him a silent apology and hoped I wouldn’t bump into him.
We ordered rum and tequila as customary and continued to drink our sorrows into the ground.
Helen’s job was going pretty well so far- I knew she wanted her own salon in the future, but she was just happy to build up her résumé with successful salons at the moment until she had more money behind her.
Helen was the most talented hairdresser I had met- and although I hadn’t visited one for a while, I would trust her with any suggestion she posed.
She had been invited to a hairdresser award the following night and had even invited Chris and me to come. Helen’s good with meeting new people- simply because she doesn’t give a rat’s arse if someone doesn’t like her. What you saw was what you got with Helen- and that’s what I loved about her.
Her fiery spirit always gave me strength.
“So that’s my love life,” she sighed, finishing her glass with a wince. “A great big car crash. How’s yours?”
“Non-existent,” I snorted bitterly before telling her everything about Calloway.
“Wow, that sucks,” she said after I had told her about our short romance. “So you caught him with another bird?”
I frowned. “Yeah, he was having a drink with her.”
“They weren’t friends?”
“Didn’t look like it.”
“I see.”
I brushed the comments aside with frantic hands. “Anyway- that doesn’t matter- what matters is that I’m here, with you.” I patted her knee and hiccupped. “Now, what are you going to do with me tonight?”
I must have been nigh on near spending my entire bank balance on that bar before a businessman started buying us drinks. He bought us rum in return of Helen’s dirty jokes and my life advice and pep talks.
He was in his late thirties to early forties, well dressed but not my type. I think he just wanted company; who knows what he wanted to be honest, but there was no flirting and it was just nice to have friendly banter with someone you knew you were never going to meet again.
I was tempted to call the guy I had met on the stag do- I don’t know why I still had his number and I told Helen to not let me.
“How on earth am I going to stop you?” she slurred whilst motioning to the barman to get us another round of tequila.
“I don’t know,” I whined. “I’d better not call Brynn- that’d be a right pain.”