by Jenny Colgan
She pulled on her favourite stretchy D&G sale top and, whilst putting on her make-up in the unflattering bathroom mirror, realised she hadn’t put make-up on – at least not this much make-up – for absolutely ages. She put some glittery shadow on, just to make up for it. She didn’t trust Harry to make it through the wilds of North London by himself, so she was going to meet him at the Tube station and take him to hit London, then, after the show tomorrow, she could show him a few sights. Although she’d asked him what he wanted to see and he’d politely replied Stanfords, the travel bookshop in Covent Garden, she was sure they could do better than that, and he could see how much the capital had to offer. And tonight, of course, he could see how cool and stylish they all were and stop acting so damn superior the whole time.
‘Get ready, Louise!’ she said, seeing her chum still moping around.
‘Is there going to be a big queue for this and is it going to be overpriced and stuffed full of wankers shouting at each other about their bonuses?’
‘Yes,’ said Katie. ‘Everything you love.’
‘OK,’ said Louise. She pulled on a coat over her tattiest pair of jeans.
‘Are you going like that?’
‘Why, does it matter? What does any of this matter?’
Exasperated, Katie marched her in to the small bedroom. ‘Because, when we’re sad, we get dressed and go out and have fun, OK? And that’s what we’re doing now. So sort yourself out into something pretty or I swear, Olivia’s going to kick you from here to next Thursday. And you don’t need a coat either. We’re back down South, and it’s summertime.’
Katie went next door, put on some Donna Summer very loudly and mixed Louise a strong gin (with flat tonic).
‘Drink this!’ she ordered. ‘If you think you’re going to avoid London for the rest of your life just because some tosser behaved like a dickhead…well, you know, we could all do that, or we could all go out and be fabulous. So drink that, and shut it.’
Louise did as she was told.
‘And THINK how much more sex than Olivia you’ve been having since you’ve been away.’
Louise momentarily brightened.
They caught up with Harry at Green Park Tube, where there was already a line for the club nearly reaching around the block. He was wearing a thick fisherman’s jumper, even though it was much warmer in London, cloudy and muggy and a little unpleasant. He looked entirely out of place.
‘I don’t want to come across as a rube,’ he said, ‘but have you the faintest idea what I just paid for a taxi to get here?’
‘Complaining about the taxis! Rube error number one!’ said Katie. ‘We’re proud of having the priciest transport on planet earth.’
‘Error number one, huh? OK, what’s number two?’
They both watched as an entire folded-out newspaper bounced past them on the pavement, filthy pages taking flight, only to be trodden down by somebody else walking through them. Then they looked at each other.
‘The litter?’ asked Harry.
‘The litter,’ agreed Katie. ‘We’re tops at that too.’
‘Well, at least I catch on quickly.’
Olivia was standing at the front of the line, looking gorgeous in her usual mix of white and hippy new-age clothes.
‘DARLINGS!’ she screeched, causing everyone else in the queue – who were much more fashionably dressed – to turn around and eye them coldly as they walked to the front of the queue.
‘This isn’t nice,’ said Harry to Katie. ‘They’ve waited ages.’
‘It’s very nice,’ said Katie as Olivia signed them in at the door. ‘It’s called VIP.’
‘Ah,’ said Harry, apologising to everyone behind him, ‘I see.’
Inside was mobbed, heaving, with smoke wreathing the air. The bar was six deep and there was nowhere to sit except absurdly low couches that were already stuffed full of teenagers draped over each other in absurdly low trousers. Everyone else was standing or perched on stools, chattering wildly in tiny skirts and brightly coloured shoes. Katie’s heart sank. She’d wanted a quiet evening catching up with her friends, and introducing them to Harry, not a clusterfuck where you had to drink to make up for the fact that you couldn’t hear anyone’s conversation. The walls were made of jagged crystal and white velvet, and there were the most extraordinary spiralled mobiles hanging down from the ceiling that looked as though they could take somebody’s eye out.
‘Isn’t this great!’ Olivia was shrieking. ‘Damien Hirst made the ceiling.’
Katie wasn’t quite sure how great a recommendation this was, and glanced at Harry. He was staring all around him as if he’d just stepped into Wonderland.
‘What do you think?’ she said, nodding at Olivia who was indicating four martinis to the barman.
‘Wow,’ said Harry. ‘I can’t…’
Despite herself, Katie couldn’t help feeling a little pleased. Mr Grumpy Boots did see London, after all. Well, she supposed he hadn’t seen much like this, if the only pub he’d ever been to was the Mermaid (and she hadn’t even seen him in there).
‘Great, isn’t it?’
‘I admit it. I’m a rube,’ said Harry, ‘but those girls have got no clothes on!’
‘They’ll catch their deaths,’ she smiled at him.
‘They’ll catch something,’ he said. ‘Sorry, that was completely uncalled for. This place is freaking me out. I mean, they look like they’ve just stepped out of a fashion magazine…not that I ever read fashion magazines of course. They’re Derek’s.’
‘Well, here they all are.’
Sure enough, there were many more women than men in the room, although there was a small complement of men in pinstriped suits looking satisfied with themselves, and a few men whose suits matched the décor. Harry’s eyes were wide.
‘Follow me!’ commanded Olivia, and they disappeared into a quieter side area with a large bouncer standing in front of it. Behind him were little Turkish-style seraglio booths, with embroidered cushions and pink lighting. The women were, if anything, even slimmer, and it was, thankfully, quieter.
‘Wow!’ said Harry, bouncing onto one of the beds. ‘I could get to like this.’
Various women turned around as if preparing themselves to make supercilious expressions, but when they caught sight of the tall and rugged Harry, they clearly decided not to, and looked interested instead; even more so when Harry pulled off his sweater. Katie winced when she saw he was wearing a green checked shirt, but he certainly looked well-built underneath it.
Olivia raised an eyebrow at Katie. ‘How many cocktails has he had?’ she asked.
‘Sorry,’ said Katie. ‘It’s the big smoke. It’s overexciting his little country brain. Harry, this is Olivia.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Olivia. ‘Are you olive-intolerant?’
‘No.’
‘Well, you can have your martini then.’
A uniformed waitress – or possibly a model playing a waitress, so beautiful was she – handed over the drinks.
‘Thanks. Nice to meet you. Harry…Harry what?’
‘Barr.’
‘No, really?’
‘Uh, yes.’
‘Like Harry’s Bar?’
‘Um…’
‘In Venice. Bellinis, you know.’
‘Oh, no. I don’t know,’ said Harry, looking embarrassed. Suddenly Katie was a bit cross with Olivia for showing him up.
‘Huh,’ said Olivia. ‘So, what do you think of London so far?’
‘Well, I haven’t really had a chance to…’
A skinny elongated blonde girl was sitting with her similarly etiolated friends in the banquette alongside them. Wobbling her drink slightly, she leaned over.
‘That’s a lovely accent – where are you from?’
Harry flushed. ‘Uh, Sutherland.’
The girl stared straight ahead. ‘Cool. Is that in France?’
‘Scotland.’
Several of the other girls slouching on the Turkish Delight b
ed were deigning to crane their necks to check out the stranger, who, Katie had to admit, did look like the only straight man in the room.
‘Wow, cool! Come and tell us about Scotland! Are you the monarch of the glen?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Harry, looking apologetically at the others. He was clearly torn between trying to do the most polite thing in front of two groups of ladies.
‘Oh, go,’ said Katie, flapping her hands. ‘Fresh meat! Carrion alert!’
And Harry was submerged into a giggling blonde throng. He looked terrified but anthropologically thrilled.
‘OK,’ said Olivia. ‘Full gossip please!’
Louise was already at the bottom of her martini, but a model briskly appeared and replaced it. She started to look a bit happier.
‘We got laid!’ she announced.
‘Hang on,’ said Olivia. ‘I heard about you. But you’re not telling me our Katie here got herself entangled in the fiery wastes of love?’
‘Oh boy, did she ever.’
Katie rolled her eyes, although she’d known this would come up at some point.
‘Not with?’ Olivia indicated Harry.
‘God, no,’ said Katie immediately.
‘Why not? What’s wrong with him? He’s a bit of a hunk, isn’t he?’
‘NO,’ said Katie. ‘He’s miserable, rude and totally bossy.’
‘He doesn’t look that miserable at the moment,’ observed Louise. One of the harpies was showing Harry her tattoo and he was trying to look and not look at the same time.
‘Well, anyway, no. It’s with this other bloke. Who is gorgeous, but a bit fucked up, I think.’
‘Ooh, gorgeous and fucked up,’ said Olivia. ‘Nature’s sexiest creation.’
‘He is gorgeous,’ said Louise.
‘The problem is,’ said Katie, ‘because there’s no girls up there, they’re all a bit screwed up. It’s a bit like dating at an all-boys’ school.’
‘Better and better,’ said Olivia.
‘No, I mean, like arrested development.’
‘I don’t mind it,’ said Louise stoutly. ‘They’re all really grateful and loyal. Well, all the ones I’ve met.’
‘Hang on,’ said Olivia. ‘Are you in a town or at a petting zoo?’
‘It feels a little bit of both,’ said Katie.
‘Hmm,’ said Olivia. ‘Maybe that’s what the men down here think about us. Too many women spreading like topsy, and all going completely insane.’
‘Interesting theory,’ said Katie. ‘So it’s been quiet then?’
‘Not a sniff!’ said Olivia. ‘My aromatherapist reckons I’m not opening up my chakras enough.’
‘Not opening your wallet enough, more likely,’ said Katie.
‘Plus, I’ve just taken on this huge wallpaper consultancy. Wallpaper, I ask you. Have you ever met a straight man in wallpaper…and don’t mention painters and decorators, I’ve had it up to here.’
Katie looked around. Cigarette smoke was reflecting off the high-set mirrors and chunky glass, giving the whole place a feel of being encased in dreamy smog, as young women floated to and fro, honed, painted and dressed up to the nines, almost entirely for the benefit of other women.
‘The situation hasn’t got any better then?’
‘Yes, Katie, in the three weeks since you’ve been away, they’ve declared London a war zone and drafted in lots of American soldiers with chewing gum and nylons. It’s been fantastic’
‘Have you heard from Clara?’ asked Louise suddenly, out of the blue. She had somehow acquired another full martini in her hand. ‘Has she got sick and died and you’ve forgotten to mention it?’
Both Katie and Olivia looked down at their drinks.
‘Louise…you’ve got to put it out of your head,’ said Olivia. ‘I know you’ve been away, but you’re back now, and you’re just going to have to get on with things. Really. For your own good.’
‘Do you think?’ said Louise suddenly. ‘You know, it wasn’t until I came back here and back to more stupid bars like this and remembered all these endless, pointless nights out to meet someone new, even before I met bloody Max and you know, I just…I just don’t want to do it any more.’ She put her drink down. ‘I mean, am I so awful for being sick of it? Because I just wanted a husband and some children and some chickens. And I know it’s really unfashionable to say that and I know we’re all supposed to be career women and not give a toss and stand up for our feminist heritage that so many women fought so hard for. But I feel like I’m an idiot for wanting that, and there isn’t a single man in this stupid fucking town who feels like that or doesn’t just want a quick fuck, or doesn’t tell you one thing then do something quite different with someone five years younger than you. Is that fair? How is that fair? And I just…I just don’t want to do it any more.’
She dumped her empty glass on the table and got up and stalked out.
‘I didn’t realise it was this bad,’ said Olivia.
‘Me neither,’ said Katie. ‘Chickens?’
‘I’ll get her,’ said Olivia. ‘I think you remind her too much of someone.’
‘OK,’ said Katie, as Olivia got up.
For a while, she was content to sit, staring around, but worrying about her friend. Coming back to London seemed to have made her sadder than ever. But she’d seemed so different in Scotland. She’d seemed…happy. Katie had assumed it was because she was escaping from all her problems and ignoring them. Now she wasn’t so sure.
‘Hey!’ said Harry, sitting down beside her. ‘All alone?’
Katie reflected on this for a moment. ‘Well, I guess so,’ she said.
‘Those girls keep squawking at me. They want to go to some party at this place called Bouj…Bou something.’
‘Oh my God!’ said Katie. ‘You’re here for fifteen seconds and you’re eurotrash already!’
‘Am I?’ said Harry. He didn’t sound very pleased.
‘Yes, you are,’ said Katie, as the blonde girls watched, jealously. One of them gave Harry an ickle baby wave.
‘Anyway, no I’m not going out to a party. I’m on national television tomorrow.’
‘Ooh yes,’ said Harry. ‘Me too.’
‘I’m sure those girls would be happy to come back to your hotel room. Although your room service bill would be enough to buy your own fucking golf course.’
‘No thanks,’ said Harry. ‘They keep asking if I know Prince William.’
Katie grimaced and shook her head.
Harry looked at her. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ said Katie. ‘I just…I’ve just been looking forward to coming home to London for ages, but now I’m here, I…suddenly, I can’t remember why.’
‘Doesn’t it feel like home any more?’
‘Of course it does,’ said Katie, giving it emphasis.
‘God, I’m glad you’re not like those girls,’ he said suddenly.
‘Aren’t I?’ Katie was disappointed. She’d always thought that maybe, at least, she looked as if she belonged in London, even if she didn’t always feel it. She could take those girls any time.
‘I mean, that London “so cool”, don’t give a stuff attitude – it’s not very nice, really, is it?’
Katie shrugged. ‘It’s just ambitious people getting what they want, isn’t it?’
Harry squinted at her. ‘Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. That that’s supposed to be a good thing nowadays, nobody giving a toss and everyone pretending they don’t care and that everything’s shit. And it’s everyone’s right to “do their own thing”. Do you know where that gets you?’
‘Golf courses?’ hazarded Katie.
‘Golf…uh, yes. Exactly. I mean, I know we don’t always have the easiest of working relationships…’
Katie clinked glasses with him.
‘But I don’t think – you know, that you’re really that shallow or that you really don’t care.’
Suddenly he looked a bit nervous. ‘Wel
l, um, when you say what you mean, and so forth. Yes. But, maybe, you know, I’ve just got more used to it, and…’
Suddenly, out of the blue, Katie became conscious of the space between them decreasing. The blonde gaggle seemed to have dematerialised; in fact, it was as if there was no one else in the bar at all. She focused on his broad shoulders and, closer in, at his strong hands and, unmistakably, felt an awkward thrill run up her body. As the music faded to a trance-like haze in the background, she felt them, very slowly, inch towards one another.
‘OK,’ shouted Olivia. ‘I’ve got her! Just a bit of a crying jag in the toilets; exactly what’s needed to cleanse the aura. We’re off!’
As if a switch had been flicked, Harry and Katie moved apart rapidly and concerned themselves with making very innocent facial expressions. Which would have been lost on Olivia anyway, because she was concentrating on standing on her spike heels and guiding a floppy Louise out of the door at the same time.
‘Anyway, hurry up, Katie, surely you’ll want to be calling that green-eyed demon journalist lover of yours, or are you still waiting for him to call?’
Harry, who had stood up on reflex as the women had approached, instantly took a step backwards, as if he’d been pushed.
‘Excuse me?’ he said, holding Katie’s gaze.
Katie found herself in consternation, staring at the floor, trying to process what had just happened. She had been – what, attracted to Harry? Where did that come from, then? She had been – well, what had she been about to do, exactly? And anyway, it was Iain she was interested in, wasn’t it? Which clearly wasn’t exactly going to please Harry…His face was thunderous. Ah. Sticky. Well, she hadn’t been deliberately keeping anything a secret. He’d never asked, that was all.
‘Iain?’ he said, eyes wide in surprise.