Some Like it Hot

by Amanda Brobyn

  The guy on reception looked up to see Kath mouthing at him through the glass. He couldn’t understand what she was saying to him but he guessed that she wanted the volume lowered. It was the fingers in the ears which gave the game away.

  “That’s better.” Kath relaxed under the hypnosis of her own pipe music as the external beat was lowered to a barely audible volume. Its hollow softness soothed her tired body. This was her fifth class of the day and she could think of nothing better than going home, plunging into a hot bath with a glass of Chardonnay, and having an early night.

  She had been going through money at an accelerated pace lately and was putting in all the extra hours available to make up for the apparent hole in her purse, but the added hours were taking their toll on her energy levels.

  “Jean, you really must try to stand on one leg. This move is called a single weighted stance for a reason. It won’t work while you’re on both feet. Surely the name gives a clue?”

  Kath manhandled Jean into position, holding her while she wobbled comically. Touching was against the rules but Kath didn’t care – sometimes people needed a little physical help and she for one wasn’t afraid to get stuck in. It was something Marina Young, The Hamptons’ manager, disapproved of, however. ‘If they get injured, Kath, it’s you and the club they’ll sue. Don’t touch the members!’

  But Kath rebelled against the protocol of the club’s rules. How on earth could you teach fitness without some degree of physical interaction? ‘Don’t touch them?’ What on earth was the world coming to with its ridiculous health and safety regulations and its over-the-top political correctness?

  “Jean, just pretend you’re a flamingo or something,” Kath teased her. “Worse, pretend you’ve had your other leg amputated!”

  Kath continued to hold Jean’s hand until she was suitably balanced, then let go. “Keep all your weight on the back foot, Jean. Good.”

  Kath walked around the heaving class, squeezing through barely there gaps, observing the techniques of the participants.

  “Fingers extended, everyone, please – left palm facing the inside of the right elbow, Jude.”

  Kath winked at Jude. She hated telling her what to do but she understood that she had to treat everybody the same way. She had yet to talk Roni into coming to the gym, despite the exorbitant monthly payments which were debited from her bank account. Or Peter’s. It was a joke. But The Tudors was already equipped with a state-of-the-art gymnasium. That too wasn’t used by her. Kath often thought about what she would do if she had Roni’s money. She would put the world to rights with it. She also surmised that Roni could do with a little Tai Chi in her life. Heaven knew she was so uptight that a little relaxation and chanelling would be a perfect remedy for her. But there was a lot about Veronica Smyth that Kath would change. She liked her but for some reason she just couldn’t quite relate to her. They were polar opposites and not just financially but in their contrasting outlooks on life. Roni’s wasn’t a life as far as Kath was concerned. It was an existence.

  Kath scanned the room again. She was a perfectionist and her job was not only to deliver fitness and relaxation classes to the members of the exclusive gym. In her opinion it was her job to educate, to correct, and to encourage members into looking and feeling more confident – and if they improved their sex life in the process then that too was a massive boost.

  Kath made no attempt to hide the joy she felt in sex and all it stood for, and she swore that exercise was the principle element behind her religous three times weekly. Needless to say, Kath’s classes were packed and booked out two weeks in advance.

  But an improved sex life wasn’t the members’ only reason for attending – it was because of the contagious joie de vivre that Kath had, which was incomparable to anything they had ever encountered before. She was strangely serious and yet animated in corresponding measures, a rare breed indeed. She certainly wasn’t a millionaire’s wife like many of The Hamptons’ members, but what Kath and James had was something that the members’ combined fortunes couldn’t ever buy. Their endless love.

  But it hadn’t always been like that. At nineteen when Kath became accidentally pregnant with James’ child, there was uproar in the Hamilton household. His mother had labelled her a ‘slut’ and banned her from the family home with clear instructions that none of James’ brothers or sisters were to have anything to do with her. Neither was James. Only things had progressed a little too far for that.

  On the day of the delivery, Kath had received a surprise visit from Elizabeth, James’ mother. She had rubbed her eyes disbelievingly as she saw the slightly built, dark-haired woman walking towards her with a clear purpose. She watched her wilful stride and her heart had pulsated with terror.

  “How much will it take to keep you away from my son?” she had asked with all the nonchalance of someone asking a stranger the time.

  Kath was speechless.

  “Name your price – it’s as easy as that,” Elizabeth said calmly. Her eyes dared to glance over at the plastic crib covered in a white hospital blanket. “You get the money and James gets the child.”

  A fire welled up inside of Kath like nothing she had ever experienced before. She grabbed her son from his sterile crib, her chin trembling with a fierce protectiveness that almost winded her, shaking her head in utter disbelief.

  “You witch!” she snarled with uncontrollable venom. “Take your money and get out of here!” She gripped the baby to her chest, burying his head from sight. This horrible woman didn’t deserve a look at him. “How dare you! Just stay out of our lives!”

  Elizabeth stood calmly, compared to Kath who shook with violent rage.

  “You’re dead as far as we’re concerned!” she spat at the woman who was supposed to have become her mother-in-law.

  “And my son is dead as far as I’m concerned,” Elizabeth retaliated with alarming calmless. “And it’s all your doing.”

  Kath watched her walk away and her body convulsed with both shock and fear. What had she done? She had come between a son and his mother and left nothing but past memories and an empty future. His life would never be the same again because of her and the angry words which had spilled out.

  But as Kath stared down at her precious bundle of joy it all made sense. Life made sense. At that very moment Kath had turned from a young girl into a woman – a mother who had carried and given birth to her first descendant. She had stretched her skin for him and bore the permanent evidence to prove it. She had offered her breast to nourish him and her body still ached from when she had pushed him out into the world until her skin down below was ripped apart. And Kath swore with a vengence that nothing and no-one would ever come between her and her own family. What type of mother could abandon her own son, punishing him for simply falling in love?

  As Kath clutched hold of the writhing baby, kissing the soft down of his head, he gripped her finger with such intensity that she was sure he understood what had just happened. She looked down at his minute flaky hands and extraordinary long fingernails and smiled. “I love you too, son,” she whispered. “Always.”

  Jude removed her leather jacket and flung it over her spare arm. Its Burberry label gazed at her sulkily – it was far too expensive to be tossed to one side – hidden from sight.

  Clive had indulged her after a hefty bonus and treated her to the brown leather longline aviator coat, double-breasted with Burberry-engraved buttons. Jude liked it, she liked it a lot, but when she saw the price-tag she gasped. You could have a fed an entire developing country for a week on what it had cost. But she hadn’t complained, no, that would be impolite and she accepted the gift with geniune thanks and appreciation. She would have done the same, however, had Clive presented her with last week’s newspapers.

  She glanced at her watch once more. It was just past midday.

  Sophie had called her yesterday to arrange the meeting but Jude had no idea why and Sophie would give nothing away.

  Jude knew that Sophie’s silence
was out of character and that she had something up her sleeve. She just didn’t know what.

  A thought passed through her innocent mind and she shook it off immediately. Why would Sophie have something to confess? She was thinking a load of old nonsense she was sure of it – but the last session of the Curry Club had left her shaken and suspicious like never before. Was Clive sleeping with one of her friends? He couldn’t be. Could he?

  Jude tutted aloud at her stupidity. Sophie was one of the most reliable people she had ever met, and yes, those who knew her well enough also knew of her animalistic capabilities, but not with her friends’ husbands. And surely not Clive with Sophie either? She could trust her husband with her life.

  Sophie pressed the button on the dashboard to heat up the driver’s seat of her Audi TT roadster. Outside, its bold red colour made a statement to passersby as it flew past them at law-breaking speed using all six gears.

  Sophie had been stopped for speeding more than once, but she had only to smile at the many male officers who, dazzled by her beauty, let her off with a warning each time. The girl had nothing on record. Anyone else would be behind bars.

  She was late and she hated to keep anyone waiting. She spotted Jude waiting patiently on the busy high street. At least she won’t have been bored, Sophie thought. There was so much happening on Alderley Avenue that you could spend the entire day simply people-watching.

  She watched Jude resting against the old wooden windowsill of the derelict shop. Its racing-green paint was peeling away and Jude was picking at it, desperate to see the quality of timber beneath. Sophie could see as clear as daylight that Jude would kill to get her hands on a project like that. Jude’s mind never stopped when it came to anything related to design.

  She smiled and flung the car across the pedestrian pavement. Its angular, anarchic parking demonstrated clearly her inability to respect the law and its simple regulations. Nobody told Sophie Kane what to do.

  Jude looked on as a thick mane of blonde hair thrust its way out of the pillar-box-red vehicle. Sophie’s hair was tousled to perfection, edged with a just-out-of-bed look, and Jude knew that Sophie would have spent the entire morning achieving a look which at first glance seemed effortless and understated. What Jude didn’t know was that, as beautiful as Sophie was, she herself was everything that Sophie Kane was, only ten times more. But she was as natural as a rainbow following a sunshower, a vision of colourful beauty which captured the attention of many.

  At five-foot-nine, Jude was very slim, with never-ending legs and sallow skin which carried an all-year-round tan. Her olive-green eyes were complemented by a backdrop of dark-blonde hair which fell like a sheet of silk halfway down her perfectly arched back and when Jude smiled her face illuminated, casting out rays of regal enchantment. The girl had it all and she was effortlessly stylish – she was also effortlessly humble.

  Jude stood with concern as she saw Sophie walking away from the car. She yelled out to her friend. “Won’t you get a ticket, Sophie? It’s on the pavement!”

  Sophie’s brisk walk meant that she reached Jude in no time. “Not if the traffic warden’s a bloke, I won’t!”

  Jude giggled.

  Sophie Kane was a law unto herself and Jude had often thought that she reminded her of a female version of Clive. They had so much in common. Perhaps that was why from the moment she had met Sophie they had hit it off like lifelong friends and they took no time at all to fill the empty pages of their short history together.

  Jude erased once more that feeling of apprehension when she thought of Clive and Sophie together. Damn the Curry Club with its painstaking honesty and damn the question that she had pulled from the bowl. She was usually impregnable against insecurities and she listened to mindless gossip with closed ears. Perhaps, she thought, she was feeling rather exposed and slightly rocky with the children being away?

  Tom and Anna were her lifeblood and without them she felt drained and redundant.

  The girls embraced, uninhibited and fuelled with genuine affection. They adored each other. Sophie glanced down at Jude’s coat, still draped over her arm.

  “Is that a Burberry, Jude?”

  She grabbed the coat from Jude, slipping into it immediately. In length it drowned her, stopping at her ankles whereas on Jude it came to mid-calf.

  Sophie admired her reflection in the empty shop window.

  “I’ve never seen you in this before, Jude – it’s amazing.”

  Jude looked a little embarrassed. “Thanks, Sophie, I do wear it . . . but it just feels a bit, erm, flashy sometimes.” Her cheeks flushed.

  Sophie just laughed, shaking her head. “Jude, there’s nothing wrong with being a bit flashy, you know.” Sophie kept the coat on as she removed a set of keys from her oversized Anya Hindmarch bag. “I would have thought that someone with an interior-design background would understand about taste and opulence?” she teased.

  Jude grinned at Sophie. She wasn’t easily wound up. In fact, she couldn’t be wound up full stop. She was as chilled as the Arctic Circle on the exterior while inside her heart burned away, fuelled with a fire of magnanimity.

  “That’s different though, Sophie. Decorating a room is about bringing it to life or applying a thematic approach which suits the natural aura of the place.” How she was lost in a temporal world. “It’s about discovery and reveal and salvaging mor –”

  “Okay, I get the point.” Sophie clicked her fingers just inches in front of Jude’s face. “When I count to three I want you to wake from your short-term hypnosis!”

  Jude chuckled as she ducked from the close proximity of Sophie’s clicking fingers.

  “I did it again, didn’t I? You know what, Sophie, I can’t help myself . . . it’s like I become sucked into a strange universe and nothing else exists. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  “It’s a good thing. A very good thing.”

  Sophie scanned the bunch of keys in her hand, singling out a simple silver Yale key. She shoved it into the Georgian wooden-framed glass door.

  Through the glass, a pile of post lay scattered and messy on the bare concrete floor and Sophie pushed the door hard against the resisting mail, kicking it away, careful not to scuff her designer riding boots. The weather was becoming a little too warm for boots, she thought as she admired the tightly fitted Louis Vuittons, the soft calf-leather wrapped around her slender legs. She smiled, noticing how complementary the mokka-coloured boots were against Jude’s Burberry jacket. She might have to make Jude an offer. And grow a foot in height.

  “Sophie, what are we doing here?” Jude asked, her forehead furrowed with curiosity.

  “Wait and see.”

  As Sophie beckoned her friend towards the rear of the building, her mind cast back to the day they had all met. The forge of five unlikely friendships, which somehow worked.

  Jude’s garden party would always be remembered as the day where keeping secrets and suffering embarrassment at discussing ‘taboo’ subjects was brought tumbling to the ground, aggressively decimated by the strength of five women. That was the day the Curry Club was conceived.

  Sophie remembered it like it was yesterday, every minute detail of it.

  A huge marquee had been erected centre-stage on the immaculately mown lawn of The Firs rear garden. It was clear to see that the grass had been treated with tender loving care and its shade of green was the perfect prototype for any serial grass-lover. Sophie recalled commenting on how jealous Alan Titchmarsh would be at the grandness of the garden and Jude had simply smiled away her embarrassment.

  To the left of the white circus-style marquee was a pond-cum-lake thick with water lilies and obese carp and an old wooden rowing boat which bobbed merrily along backed by a mild supportive breeze. A charity auction was taking place inside the marquee with ostentatious sums of money being verbally exchanged inside its decorative, voile-curtained walls.

  Jude had arranged it. Single-handed. Since her father died, she had become a supp
orter of The Michael Stern Parkinson’s Research Foundation, and Jude had done all she could to raise awareness of the debilitating condition of Parkinson’s disease while simultaneously raising huge sums of money. It made Jude feel closer to her father. There was not a day went by that she didn’t long for his presence. His comfort and wise words had borne all the hallmarks of a great leader but it was his quietness that had spoken volumes to Jude, a glance here and gaze there leaving her knowing and understanding him. They had shared a father-daughter telepathy which no amount of quantum physics could explain. They just knew each other and Jude often felt his presence around her. When she did, she knew she was safe.

  As Jude’s hairdresser, Sophie had been invited to the prestigious ‘invitation only’ event along with a guest. Sophie had brought Helena, her best friend. While it was true that she and Helena had little in common in terms of how they lived, they had shared twenty-five years of secret diaries and kiss-and-tell. They had been each other’s Agony Aunt as they had each announced the loss of their virginity, crying short-lived tears as each of them waited for the results of their HIV tests. Kenya was certainly not the wisest of places for them to have tried out the local talent and they had both learned a wise and valuable life-saving lesson. It could have been so very different and they knew it.

  Jude had also invited Kath, her fitness instructor from The Hamptons exclusive health club and spa, and Veronica Smyth – aka Roni – the wife of self-made millionaire Peter Smyth, one of Clive’s sailing companions and well-known Cheshire entrepreneur.

  As the women were introduced to each other, Jude noticed how Kath and Sophie gripped each other with a firm handshake, neither showing any weakness to the other while at the same time it became immediately obvious to both of them, and to those observing, that a new friendship had been born. They had met their match in each other and a natural chemistry sparked between them.