Rupert shifts uncomfortably. ‘I’ve handled this very badly, Fern. Perhaps you and I could go somewhere and have a coffee or a drink. Let me take you to my club. It’s quiet there.’ Rupert looks at the shabby surroundings of the King’s Head and leans in towards me. ‘There’s something else I want to talk to you about.’
‘I don’t have time. I’m sorry,’ I say, but I’m not sorry at all. I just want to get away from this creep who doesn’t mind doing Evan David’s dirty work. My judgement of people is all skewed these days, because previously I’d have told you that Rupert was quite a decent guy. ‘I have to get back behind the bar.’
‘You haven’t spoken to Stephen Cauldwell?’ There’s genuine concern in Rupert’s eyes.
‘Stephen Cauldwell? No.’ Then I remember that the pop impresario had left a business card with my dad and that this was what had started off the chain of events leading up to Dad’s heart attack. What a klutz! How could I keep a guy like that dangling? The knowledge hits me on the head like a hammer. ‘I haven’t had time to do that, either,’ I say briskly, fully appreciating that my time has, once again, passed. ‘I’m a very busy person.’ How lame does that sound?
‘Then I’d like to offer you a contract.’
‘What?’
‘I’d like to offer you a contract.’
‘Fern!’ Ken the Landlord shouts. ‘You’ve customers waiting.’
I turn back to Rupert. ‘I have to go.’
He pulls some papers out of his jacket pocket and forces them into my hands. ‘Read this,’ he says. ‘Read it carefully. You have a rare talent. Tonight I’ve seen it in action. Evan made me promise to come here, but I’m glad that I did. He’s right—you’re very special. I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. There are a thousand women with pretty faces out there who can sing, but none of them have your potential.’
‘I don’t want anything from you, Rupert, or from Evan David.’
Rupert is going purple with exasperation. ‘As well as being special, you’re also a very stupid and stubborn woman.’
‘It’s not the first time I’ve been told that.’ I blurt this out with some sort of pride until I realise what I’m actually saying.
‘Forget Evan,’ Rupert snaps. ‘This has nothing to do with him. It’s between the two of us. Do this for me. Do this for yourself.’
I shake my head and I go to hand him the papers back.
‘Keep them,’ Rupert insists. ‘You have two days to call me and change your mind. If I don’t hear from you, then I’ll take it you’ve decided to remain a pub singer for the rest of your life.’
That stings and I take a step back.
‘Phone me,’ he says. ‘Don’t let me down.’
Then Rupert Dawson spins on his heels and walks out of the pub. The door reverberates on its hinges in his wake, and a shiver goes down my spine as everyone turns to look at me.
Sixty-seven
‘Fern!’ Ken the Landlord shouts again. ‘Could I trouble you to do some work?’
I walk back to the bar with shaking legs and shaking hands. There’s a queue of thirsty punters a mile long. Ken is single-handedly pulling pints as if they’re going out of fashion.
Carl gives me a slow handclap as I approach. ‘Oh, man.’
‘What’s your problem?’ I snarl as I push the contract into the depths of my handbag. I might as well rip it up and put it in the bin, but that seems like an empty gesture too far.
‘Would you like me to put a gun to the other one?’
I give Carl a puzzled look.
‘That was the best case of shooting yourself in the foot that I’ve ever seen,’ he tells me.
All the fight floods out of me. ‘Don’t,’ I say. ‘I don’t want you on my case as well.’
‘He’s right, Fern. You’re running out of chances to get out of this place.’
‘This has Evan David stamped all over it,’ I counter. ‘I don’t want anything to do with him. You, of all people, should be supporting me in that decision.’
‘Do you know who that guy is?’ Carl asks. He nods his head towards the door where Rupert Dawson has recently departed, taking some of the paintwork with him.
I shrug. ‘It’s Rupert Dawson. He’s Evan David’s agent.’
‘He also represents Carrion Ten, The Spiel, Culture Clash, Aimee…’ Carl reels off a list of the hottest indie bands of the moment. ‘Shall I continue?’
I hold up a hand. ‘I’ve heard enough.’
‘So, you see, I don’t think he’d simply be offering you a contract because your precious Evan David told him to. I think the guy’s probably capable of spotting talent all by himself.’
I feel myself gulp. ‘I’ve got two days to call him.’
‘Then I suggest you do just that.’
‘So do I.’ Ken the Landlord is behind me. ‘Because you’re sacked.’
I look at him open-mouthed.
‘You’re the worst barmaid in London,’ Ken says.
‘You d-don’t mean that,’ I stammer.
‘I do,’ he says, handing me my coat and handbag. ‘Go on. Sling your hook. And you.’ By that he means Carl, too.
‘Ken. Man…’ Carl starts.
‘Bog off, the pair of you,’ Ken growls, and with that we do as we’re told and leave.
Carl buys me a cup of tea in the brightly-lit McDonald’s across the road from the King’s Head, and I nurse the scalding hot liquid in my hands. Thankfully, I do still have the ability to feel something other than numb.
‘This is desperate,’ I say with a nervous laugh. ‘You don’t think Ken’s serious?’
‘He sounded pretty serious to me.’ Carl distractedly unfolds the rim on his paper cup.
‘What am I going to do for money now?’
‘We’ll have to look for another gig. I’ll trawl around some pubs tomorrow. Maybe we could get a set at Monsters.’
‘Where?’
‘The club in Camden where Shelly sings.’
‘Oh, right.’ I’d forgotten about Shelly. ‘Yeah, maybe.’ I let the tea burn my throat. ‘Perhaps Ken will reconsider if I have a word with him in the morning. Or maybe you should talk to him. He likes you.’
‘He likes you, too, Fern,’ Carl says, ‘but I think it’s time that we moved on. We’ve used up all our lives at the King’s Head.’
‘I’m becoming a liability for you, Carl. Perhaps we should split up and go our separate ways.’
He laughs. ‘You’ve been a liability for me since we were fifteen. Why spoil the fun now?’
‘Jeez,’ I say. ‘I am such a fuck-up. Why don’t you push me under a bus when I’ve finished my tea and put us both out of our misery.’
‘Cheer up,’ Carl says gently. ‘Things could be worse.’
‘I love your optimism,’ I tell my friend. ‘I can never decide whether you’re very spiritual or just as stupid as I am.’
Carl takes my hand and pulls me up. ‘We’ll go and say goodnight to your dad and then I’ll take you home.’
I hug Carl to me. ‘I love you, you know. You’re the nicest man I’ve ever met.’
‘It’s too late for all that now,’ Carl tells me with a grin. ‘I’m already spoken for.’
‘She’s a lucky woman.’ I dig him sharply in the ribs. ‘I should have snapped you up when you were hot for me.’
He throws his arm round my shoulder and steers me out into the street. And I’m so pleased that whatever else is going on in my life, when it all comes crashing down around my ears, my relationship with Carl is the one thing that endures.
Sixty-eight
In the Coronary Care Ward the lights are turned down low and the nurses are settling the patients for the night. Over in the corner bed, I can see that my dad has his bedside lamp on. His little area is bathed in a warm glow, and when Carl and I draw closer, I realise that Mum is there. Her chair is pulled up right next to the bedside and she’s snuggled up to Dad, her head resting on his arm. Dad’s eyes are closed,
but the expression on his face is one of contentment.
I stop Carl’s progress. ‘I don’t want to disturb them,’ I say.
He urges me forward. ‘They’ll be pleased to see you.’
Sure enough, they both look up and smile warmly as we arrive.
‘I thought you’d still be at the pub,’ Dad says.
I give Carl a silencing glance. ‘Early night tonight,’ I say lightly as I kiss my dad on the forehead. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘All the better for seeing your mum.’ He squeezes her hand as he answers and she looks up at him adoringly.
Now I do feel like we’re intruding. ‘I just wanted to say goodnight and then we’re off.’
‘I’ve spoken to the doctor,’ Mum says. ‘He says that your dad can come out next week if he keeps getting better.’
‘Good.’
‘And then he has to take up some gentle exercise. I thought we might go to ballroom dancing classes together.’ My mum silently wills me not to say anything.
‘Ballroom dancing?’ I can feel my eyes twinkling with mischief. My mum owes me one for keeping quiet about this. ‘You’ll like that, Dad.’
He looks rather sceptical, but rashly says, ‘It’s what your mum wants.’
The pretty little Thai nurse, Kim, arrives at the bedside. ‘Time to go to sleep, Derek,’ she coos. ‘We don’t want you overtired.’ She starts to tuck in his bedclothes.
Mum jumps up. ‘I’ll do that,’ she says briskly. ‘I’m his wife. I’ve been tucking this man up for longer than you’ve been on this planet. I’m sure you’ve got lots of other patients to attend to.’
I roll my eyes at Carl and stifle a smile. There’s nothing like a visit from the green-eyed monster to get love all stirred up again, it seems. Kim, trying not to look put out, bustles away but not before saying, ‘You call me, Derek, if you need me. Just press the buzzer.’
‘I thought they were supposed to be overworked,’ my mum says with an impatient tut to her retreating back.
My dad, of course, like all males is lapping up the attention.
‘Shall we wait for you, Mum, and see you home?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘I’ll stay here a little longer. Your dad and I have a bit more to talk about. Give me a ring in the morning.’
‘Okay.’ I kiss them both warmly and Carl gives them both a peace sign. My mother gives him a fuck-off sign in return, but we don’t bother to correct her.
Out on the street we jump on a passing bus, even though we’ve only got a few stops to go before we reach my skanky flat. It’s great to see that my parents are finally making up, but I feel as if I’ve had all of the stuffing knocked out of me today.
The late-night bus is empty so Carl and I sit on the top deck like we used to do when we were kids. I hate the thought that the council is going to do away with the double-deckers and replace them with these new-fangled bendy Eurobuses—overlong, single-storey snakes. The red double-decker is part of London, part of my life. Tourists aren’t going to come and marvel at the new ones. I snuggle against Carl and rest my heavy head on his shoulder, relaxing into the jogging motion of the bus.
‘I need my bed,’ I say. ‘I’m absolutely knackered.’
‘Me, too,’ Carl agrees.
‘Do you think we’ll ever manage to keep a relationship going for forty years?’
‘I’m not planning to live that long,’ Carl says. ‘I’m a rock ’n’ roller. We live fast and die young.’
‘Oh, yes. I keep forgetting.’
‘Plus you’ve got to find someone that you can stay in a relationship with for more than ten minutes.’
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Your track record isn’t much better.’
‘I can blame my lack of success on extenuating circumstances,’ my friend tells me. ‘What’s your excuse?’
I look up at him. ‘That I can’t recognise a decent bloke when one pokes me in the eye.’
Carl pokes me in the eye.
‘Ouch!’
‘Come on, rat bag,’ he says. ‘This is our stop.’
The night air’s sharp and I wish I had a warmer coat. I’m going to have to drop by ye olde charity shop tomorrow and see if I can pick up something cheap that doesn’t look like it comes with its own fleas.
We stroll along as if we’re walking on a balmy evening by the Seine or something and then when we reach the top of my street I see a sight that takes my breath away.
‘Oh, no,’ I say. ‘Oh, no.’
Carl follows my gaze and breathes, ‘Shit.’
All thoughts of strolling gone, we break into a run. Carl outsprints me and reaches the scene first, but I’m hot on his heels—if that isn’t a bad phrase to use.
Then we stand speechless, hands entwined, and watch as the flames leap out of the space where my flat used to be. Orange tongues lick at the sky while two firefighters at the top of ladders spray them ineffectually with gallons of water. On the ground their colleagues fight the flames that are spreading to The Spice Emporium restaurant below. I can’t even find the wherewithal to say, ‘That’s my flat’.
I feel a tug at my sleeve and turn to see the blackened face of Ali, my landlord. He coughs dramatically, clearly suffering the effects of smoke inhalation.
‘My God, Ali,’ I manage. ‘Are you all right? What happened?’
‘I think it was your boiler, Fern,’ he croaks. ‘We heard a boom from upstairs. Shook all the pictures off the walls in the restaurant. A minute later the whole place was on fire.’ He looks like he’s about to collapse on the pavement. Carl puts his arm round Ali and hoists him up. ‘I’d been meaning to fix that boiler for ages. Thank goodness you weren’t in there, Fern.’
The thought makes me go weak at the knees, too, but as Carl’s arms are already full, I lean against a nearby car. I think I’d like to cry, but tears won’t come. Perhaps they’re too stunned to make an appearance.
‘Mate,’ one of the firemen calls over to Ali. ‘We need a word.’
Ali looks gratefully at both of us. ‘I’m sorry, Fern. Really sorry.’ Then he’s gone, being led away by a burly bloke in a fluorescent yellow jacket.
Carl joins me, leaning against the car to watch my home burn down.
‘What do I do now?’ I ask him. ‘I’ve no job and nowhere to live.’
My friend slips his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him. ‘Looks like it’s Super Carl to the rescue once again.’
Sixty-nine
I don’t know how we get to Carl’s flat—we might have walked or taken a cab, I simply don’t know. My mind must have gone into shut-down mode, because the next thing I know I’m being ushered through his front door and the kettle is on and Carl is muttering to himself about clean sheets and kipping on the sofa for the second time. He’s in the process of plumping his cushions, which is so not rock ’n’ roll.
‘Stop,’ I say.
My friend stops dead and looks up at me. I take the cushion from him and throw it back on the sofa with a certain cavalier action, then I pull him to me and kiss him softly on the lips. He steps back from me, hands on my shoulders and gives me a quizzical look. I pull him to me again and kiss him once more. This time he doesn’t question it and responds to my kiss with a passion that leaves me reeling.
I take his hand and we walk to the bedroom. Without words, gently and carefully, Carl undresses me, touching me as if I’m a beautiful sculpture, letting his hands savour my curves. And then, when I’m naked, I undress him, too, slowly, my mouth travelling over his body as I strip him of his shirt and his jeans, making him gasp and shiver. He lowers me to the bed and we make love, tenderly and with a tantalising languidness that leaves me breathless with desire. His body feels so familiar, and yet this is a wonderful new experience, as if I’m unwrapping a present when I already know the delights it holds inside. When Carl breathes my name, I feel my soul sigh. Hours later we fall asleep in each other’s arms, and I wonder why it has taken us so long to come to this point. I could have died in that flat. I
could have died and never have experienced this.
I wake up early and lie watching Carl as he sleeps. Then I switch onto my back and stare at the ceiling, considering my homeless, jobless state. My friend’s curtains have a terrible swirly pattern, but the sun struggles through them, bringing a warm pink glow to the room. It’s cosy in here and it’s a long time since I slept with a hot, male body next to me. I slide across the bed to fit into Carl’s shape, relishing the feeling.
After a while, Carl starts to rouse, too. He stretches in his state of half-sleep and reaches out, throwing his arm across me. I plant a kiss on his forehead and his eyes open wide. ‘Do you know,’ he says, ‘I thought I was dreaming.’
I turn towards him and we snuggle down nose-to-nose. Carl brushes my hair from my forehead and gently tucks it behind my ear. I thought that maybe we’d be awkward with each other this morning, but it looks like the event has passed without too much fallout.
‘Are we still friends?’ I ask him.
‘I should think so,’ he says.
‘I enjoyed last night.’
‘Me, too.’ He moves closer to me. ‘I can’t believe we waited all those years to do this.’
‘Was it worth it?’
‘Almost,’ he teases.
I kick him in the shins for his cheek.
‘So what happens now?’ I want to know.
‘You could fall in love with me,’ Carl suggests. ‘That would make everything that bit easier.’
Perhaps I hesitate for a moment too long, as Carl’s eyes darken slightly.
‘Or,’ he carries on a touch too brightly, ‘you could continue your futile quest to make Evan David love you while I resume my search for someone who can begin to compete with the impossibly high standards you’ve set.’
‘I think we should try to sort out our current financial embarrassment and accommodation crisis before we worry about our relationship.’ Which nimbly avoids the situation, I believe.
Welcome to the Real World Page 28