Cupid's Way

by Joanne Phillips

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Sarah said as they headed out of the gate. ‘Better to make him suffer properly than just drive him away.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ But Evie wasn’t quite as ready to forgive as the others. Zac’s proprietorial manner with her the day before hadn’t helped relations with Michael one bit. Not that there were any actual relations to speak of, but still. That wasn’t the point. Zac had no business acting like they were old friends – or worse, more than friends. She thought about the way he’d been sizing Michael up, and wondered whether Zac’s arm around her had been for support or for effect.

  Not that it mattered a jot anyway.

  Sarah and Evie had just walked out of Cupid’s Way when Eloise pulled up in a soft-top car with its roof folded down. She leaned her arm on the open window and smiled up at Zac, who waved from the top of his ladder, nearly toppling off again.

  ‘What’s he doing up there?’ Eloise asked.

  ‘Penance,’ Evie said.

  ‘What the hell for? Isn’t that Stig’s house? Ugh, I bet those windows are rank. Whatever he did, it must have been really bad.’

  ‘Where have you been, Eloise?’ Evie said, laughing. ‘You’ve missed all the action.’

  ‘Story of my life. Where are you girls off to? Fancy coming into town for a coffee?’

  ‘Do we?’ Evie stepped forward and opened the car door before Sarah could argue. Sarah hesitated for a moment, then gave a little shrug and jumped in the back.

  ‘Where on earth did you get this car?’ Evie stroked the leather seat appreciatively. ‘It’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not mine,’ Eloise said blithely, firing up the engine and revving it with relish. ‘Come on, girls, time for a bit of cruising.’

  Sarah met Evie’s eyes in the rear-view mirror with a ‘What are we letting ourselves in for?’ expression, but Evie threw back her head and laughed out loud. The wind picked up her hair and began to whip it into a bun, while Zac waved from the top of his ladder and Eloise gunned the engine. Evie gripped the leather seat and let out a whoop of excitement. This was better than sitting in an office in dull old Manchester; this was better than worrying about Michael-bloody-Andrews and what he thought of her. This was better than anything.

  *

  Eloise’s choice of coffee shop was more lowbrow than the flashy sports car had promised, but the cappuccinos were frothy and strong, and with a hangover still ravaging her brain, Evie knew she shouldn’t be fussy. Eloise sat by the window inspecting her nails. They were painted bright red today – probably to match the car, which belonged, she confided, to an ex-boyfriend who was trying to win her back. Evie watched her, trying to ignore the mild tug of envy that pulled somewhere inside. Eloise was just one of those women. Evie would lay money on the fact that there wasn’t one of Eloise’s exes who didn’t yearn to get her back, and she imagined there must be a pretty insurmountable reason why Eloise wasn’t currently living in lavish harmony with the father of her two wayward sons. But she didn’t inquire as to what that reason might be. She figured it would just be too depressing. Because if someone as stunning as Eloise couldn’t get it right, what hope was there for the rest of them?

  ‘What’s up, chicken?’ Sarah said, an understanding smile on her face. ‘You still thinking about our Roman ruins?’

  Evie rolled her eyes to the ceiling and picked up her coffee. ‘Oh, my lord. What a farce. Honestly, I thought that lot were going to lynch poor old Bob before Zac owned up.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Eloise piped up, hearing her dad’s name. ‘What’s the old fool been up to now?’

  They filled Eloise in on the story of the faked Roman settlement.

  ‘And Zac honestly thought he could get away with it?’ Eloise asked, laughing.

  ‘He said he thought it might have stalled things,’ Evie explained. She recalled the aftermath of Zac’s revelation – the expression of embarrassed amusement on his face. ‘It was worth a try,’ he’d said, shrugging. As though that made it okay.

  ‘The guy’s an idiot,’ Sarah said. ‘He didn’t even know there were different eras of the Roman occupation.’

  ‘Or that an archaeologist can tell how long something’s been in situ by exactly how it’s buried,’ Evie added.

  ‘Shame,’ Eloise said.

  ‘I know,’ agreed Evie. ‘Everyone was pinning their hopes on that find being genuine. It would have given us some ammunition with the planners. It might have stalled things, at least.’

  ‘No, I meant it’s a shame he’s turned out to be a dick. He’s the best looking guy to have walked into Cupid’s Way for a long time.’

  Sarah and Evie looked at each other and burst out laughing. Evie didn’t agree, of course. Michael was far more gorgeous. Even if he was just as untrustworthy as Zac.

  Sarah was telling Eloise about the penance the residents had come up with for their resident builder.

  ‘Doing up Stig’s house is the worst kind of punishment,’ she said. ‘You know, I saw him a couple of weeks ago going through the bins at the back of the retail park. I bet his place is full of all sorts of junk, and if it smells as bad as he does, Zac’s in for a real treat. Not.’

  ‘I feel sorry for him,’ Evie said. She wasn’t going to admit that she had seen the old man going through McAllisters’ dumpsters. ‘And I think it’s nice that he’s getting a bit of help with maintenance. He deserves it as much as anyone.’

  ‘But what’s the point?’ Eloise said, stretching out her long legs under the table. ‘I mean, the whole place will probably be dust in a few months. What difference will a bit of paint and a few roof tiles make?’

  Sarah’s shoulders slumped, and Evie felt a rush of blood to her face. Eloise was right, but hearing it said like that – out loud and so matter-of-fact – hurt in a way she hadn’t expected.

  ‘It makes a difference, okay? And frankly, I’m surprised to hear you talking that way, Eloise. You lived there most of your life – you know what that place means to people. Your mum and dad, Rolo, Alun. My grandparents. They’ve got to fight for it. And they’ve got to believe it’s a fight they can win.’

  ‘But can they win it?’ Eloise seemed unperturbed by Evie’s angry outburst. She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow and turned her lips down at the corners. ‘It seems like a done deal to me. Besides,’ she added, picking up her designer handbag and standing, ‘I think my dad will agree to sell up soon. You know what he’s like. The money will turn him, like it will turn them all. You’ll see. Coffee, anyone? Sarah, do you want another latte?’

  Evie and Sarah shook their heads and watched Eloise glide towards the counter, her handbag draped over her arm in a manner reminiscent of Zac’s paint kettle. Evie let out a puff of air and slammed her palm on the oak-effect table.

  ‘Can you believe that?’ she said, seething.

  Sarah regarded Eloise’s retreating form, then nodded. ‘She’s just a bit insensitive, that’s all. She doesn’t have a lot of what they call “emotional intelligence”.’

  Or any other kind of intelligence, Evie thought, not exactly kindly. She shook her head at Sarah. ‘I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about Bob Peacock selling up. I had my doubts about him at first, but I’d started to think he was on our side. Wasn’t he doing some kind of video of the street or something? Trying to big-up the history?’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘I guess he’s changed his mind. Being accused of staging the whole Roman artefacts thing probably didn’t help much.’

  Evie sank back in her seat. The imitation leather felt sticky on her back, even through the cotton of her T-shirt. Outside, someone was smoking a cigarette and the smell drifted into the cafe through the open door. Couldn’t they have closed it behind them? Was it too much to ask that people had some kind of basic courtesy to others? Her left hand rose unconsciously to her mouth and she began to chew on a nail. The relaxed, upbeat mood of less than half an hour ago had evaporated.

  She looked up and saw Eloise on her way back, weaving around the
tables like a ballet dancer. Evie sighed, then sneezed.

  ‘That smoke is driving me insane,’ she said, glaring out the door. The woman outside, oblivious, was drawing on her cigarette with relish. Eloise detoured past the entrance and shut the door with a kick of her high-heeled foot.

  ‘Sorted,’ she said. ‘Evie, you need to chill a bit, you know? You’re not looking too good on all this stress.’

  Evie was about to come back with a witty retort when her mobile buzzed in her pocket. She pulled out the phone and read the name on the screen. Michael. With a quick glance at her friends – neither of whom were taking the slightest interest in her – she opened his text, aware that her heart had begun to beat just a little too fast for comfort.

  Some stunt you pulled there, Evie. What else have you got up your sleeve?

  Evie stared at the screen, mortified. He thought she was behind the faked artefacts? Not possible. But then she replayed the scene, viewing it from his perspective. Her own clear desire to get rid of Michael and obfuscate the issue, trying to stop the waiting crowed from hearing Dr Frederick’s findings, Zac’s arm around her shoulders. Zac’s confession must have sounded so complacent and unconcerned, and her own reaction hadn’t exactly screamed of shock – she’d been too focused on Michael to react properly. She groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Sarah asked, sharp-eyed as ever. Eloise didn’t even look up, engrossed in reading a glossy magazine she’d picked up at the counter.

  ‘Nothing,’ Evie said, flashing a toothy smile. She turned back to her phone, and quickly typed a response, telling Michael it had been nothing to do with her, that she was as shocked and disappointed as he was.

  He must have been waiting for her to answer – his return text appeared with lightning speed.

  Fair enough. You and builder-guy seem pretty pally, though. Also fair enough. See you around, Phoebe Sloan. It’s been fun.

  Chapter 19

  The Bristol archives were housed inside an impressive nine-storey red-brick former tobacco warehouse, sited at the entrance to the city’s floating harbour. ‘B’ Bond, as the warehouse was idiosyncratically named, was Tim’s destination for further research into the history of Cupid’s Way. So far he was keeping his findings to himself, which irritated Evie no end.

  ‘I’m not going to do a Zac,’ he said every time she pressed him for answers. He said it again now, as they pulled into the record office car park.

  ‘I don’t think anyone is about to confuse you with Zac,’ Evie countered. She wasn’t entirely sure whether she meant it as a compliment or an insult.

  Evie had dragged her gran along for company after Tim had roped her into coming with him, figuring a trip to the city archives would be about as exciting as watching paint dry. Mavis, glad to get out of the house, pointed to various landmarks on the way into town and reminisced about Bristol in the good old days.

  Tim reversed into a parking space and bounded out of the car to open the doors for Evie and Mavis. He was more animated today than Evie had ever seen him, including back in the day when she’d had her minor crush at school. But whatever she thought of Tim now, he certainly seemed to do it for Sarah, and Evie was desperate to see the two of them get together. Vicarious romance was better than no romance at all.

  She wasted no time in grilling him – once they were signed in and on their way to the fifth floor, Evie dropped her friend into the conversation as casually as she could.

  ‘So, have you seen much of Sarah this week?’

  Well, maybe it wasn’t very subtle, but Evie was rewarded by a flush creeping up Tim’s pale neck and a unmistakable pinking of his cheeks. Oh, yes, there was definitely something going on there.

  He stammered a reply, before changing the subject back to the job in hand.

  ‘One of the librarians recommended a woman called Linda Manners,’ he said, looking up at the mirrored ceiling of the lift. ‘She’s really hot on local history, and apparently she’s got a special interest in Victorian architecture.’

  ‘Is that her real name?’ said Evie. Tim shrugged, but Mavis took up the topic.

  ‘It’s certainly unusual. I went to school with a boy called Florian Popup. Now, that’s an odd name.’

  ‘You did not,’ Evie said, laughing.

  ‘I did too. I can see him now – great big ears, he had, like the handles on a jug.’

  The lift came to a stop and Tim stepped out. He held a door open for Evie and Mavis, who were still discussing strange names, and they all traipsed across a room filled with blonde wood tables and uncomfortable-looking metal chairs.

  ‘Where are all the records and stuff?’ Evie had imagined something similar to a film she saw once: dark panelled rooms filled from floor to ceiling with dun-coloured boxes and manila folders, and ancient books that might turn to dust if you so much as sneezed near them.

  ‘You ask for the records and they bring them out for you,’ Tim explained.

  Evie turned up her nose. ‘That’s no fun.’

  Tim’s expression told her that the concept of fun was entirely alien where archives were concerned, and then he walked over to an unmanned desk and pressed a silent buzzer. Mavis leaned over and whispered in Evie’s ear.

  ‘I know what you’re up to, young lady.’

  Evie raised her eyebrows and shook her head. ‘No idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Playing matchmaker. Just leave it alone. I’ve told you before – it’s your own love life you should be worrying about.’

  Evie pulled a face her gran couldn’t see. Yes, she should be worrying about her own love life, but as the only man she’d been attracted to for over three years was also public enemy number one, there didn’t seem to be much point. Evie hadn’t heard from him since his last text on Sunday – It’s been fun – and was dismayed to discover just how much that hurt. Her days were spent in stomach-churning anger – how dare he play fast and loose with people’s lives, destroying so much beauty and history; how dare he jump to conclusions about her and Zac, and it was none of his business anyway; and who the hell did he think he was making her feel the way she was feeling about him? But when the evenings drew in, when Mavis and Frank cuddled up on the sofa, Evie’s thoughts returned to the strange intimacy they’d shared, the heart-stopping attraction. Her dreams – like the first dream in her hotel suite four weeks ago – were full of erotic imaginings and lingering looks and lips pressed longingly together.

  Which didn’t make for happy awakenings each morning, and usually resulted in a bad mood the moment Evie hit reality and remembered all over again how impossible everything had become.

  Mavis was still talking, and Evie tuned back in just as she said, ‘So I do think we should forgive him and move on. He could be perfect for you. And I can tell he likes you. Well, anyone with eyes in their head can see that.’

  For one crazy moment, Evie thought her gran was talking about Michael. Then she shook herself mentally and focused in again.

  ‘He’s trying so hard to make up for his mistake,’ Mavis said. ‘And he did only do it to try and save our street. Which, you know, makes him kind of a hero in my book.’

  Evie groaned. She should have guessed her gran would be banging on the Zac drum again.

  ‘It would mean the world to me, Evie, to see you settled. And what better way to be settled than with one of our own? Maybe even living in our very street.’

  ‘It’s not going to happen, Gran,’ Evie said. ‘Give it up already.’

  Mavis sat back with a huff and folded her arms across her chest. Evie reached over to take her hand but her gran snatched it away. Tim returned to their table, a slightly-built woman with tight brown curls following in his wake.

  ‘This is Linda Manners. Linda, these are my friends Evie and Mavis Stone.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ the woman said with a deferential nod of her head. ‘I’m looking forward to helping you with your research.’

  Evie said hello with extra brig
htness to make up for her gran’s sullen expression, and Tim pulled out his list of questions and offered it to the woman hopefully. She nodded her head, making her fringe bounce up and down on her forehead, then turned on her heel and strode away towards the far corner of the vast room. Tim sat back and laced his fingers together.

  ‘She had nice manners.’ Evie threw her gran a look. Mavis managed to hide her grin, but not before Evie had spotted it. Tim, not getting the joke at all, said,

  ‘She is very helpful. And she had the most amazing idea for Cupid’s Way.’

  ‘Oh?’ Evie stood up and took a position on the edge of the table, which had to be more comfortable than the metal chair. There was only one other person in the room – an overweight man with a ponytail, scribbling furiously on a large sheet of blue paper. ‘What kind of idea?’

  ‘A cooperative. They’re all the rage, apparently. The new hot topic.’

  Evie blinked and looked around again. All the rage and hot topic were not the kind of words you expected to find bandied about in a place like this.

  She said, ‘A cooperative? Like the Co-op?’

  ‘Not the place where you go shopping, no.’ Tim leaned forward and rubbed his hair, making it stand on end with static. ‘She was telling me about this Victorian terrace in Milton Keynes. Years ago the Development Corporation wanted to knock it down.’

  ‘Sounds familiar,’ Mavis put in morosely.

  ‘Anyway,’ Tim said, throwing Mavis a sympathetic glance, ‘the residents all got together and came up with the idea of a housing cooperative. They convinced the corporation to sell it to them and now they manage it as a sort of charity. Well, I’m hazy on the details to be honest, but Linda knows all about it.’

  Evie pursed her lips. ‘It sounds really interesting. You know, I’ve always seen Cupid’s Way as a community, not just a street – like with the allotment that you’ve got going, and the idea you all had for getting Zac to do repairs to make up for being such a jerk.’