Martinis and Memories

by Martinis

  The door creaked open and a gentleman walked in. He was tall, older, wearing a grey suit with his jacket still pristine even with the weather outside. His head was bald, not shaven, and he strode in with the set of his shoulders trying to tell me he was somebody important. Instead, I didn’t even need to wait for him to get across the room before I smelled the cologne. Another suit, another offer, another day.

  He slipped onto one of the barstools, and I didn’t miss the little smirk that appeared around his lips as he looked around. It was gone by the time he met my eyes.

  ‘Gin and tonic.’

  ‘We’re not open to the public yet.’ I watched and waited.

  ‘No? And you couldn’t offer an apology when you tell a potential customer that?’

  Ah, one of those tricksy ones. Seen a few episodes of Suits and thinks he’s a hotshot with the back and forth. Probably one of the older types trying to get in on the banter with the kids. They laugh because he’s their boss.

  Well, he’s not my boss. And I’ve got a mother, a bad review and a club to save, so quite frankly this man can kiss my perfectly rotund arse.

  ‘We both know you’re not a customer.’

  ‘Oh really, sweetheart? And what am I?’ He was enjoying the exchange, something a little different from his spreadsheets and reports. He felt like the big man, out on an expedition.

  I leant on the bar, counting out the options on my fingers.

  ‘Well, there are two possibilities. One – my ex-husband finally got the hint and hired an expensive lawyer for our divorce. But honestly, he’s too lazy and cheap for that, and you don’t seem the type to offer up legal services when you lose a poker game.’

  ‘And what’s two?’ He grinned, nonplussed.

  I made a face. ‘Two, which is much more likely, is that you’re one of those pathetic business types here to try and buy my club. You’ll come in all sympathetic at first, let me know how hard it is to run a club in central London, especially a little woman like me, all on her own. You’ll offer your knowledge, your backing, your experience. Maybe you’ll even tell me a little story about your wife or your daughter, so I don’t think you’re a misogynist. You’ll mispronounce the name of one of my cocktails, try and flap about some mumbo jumbo regarding my lease, and in the end you’ll desperately try to convince me that you’re making such a generous offer.’

  I sucked in air through my teeth.

  ‘But the thing is, it won’t be a generous offer. It’ll be just another trumped-up dickhead trying to trick someone out of something they’ve worked for. This place is family, and it’s not going anywhere. So really… I suggest you save your breath.’

  The man smiled in a way I didn’t like. Not at all.

  ‘Well, that is interesting. Anna said you were a livewire, stubborn as hell, and she was right.’

  ‘You know my mother?’ Sure, he looked rich, but portly finance types weren’t really my mother’s style. She wanted culture. Someone to take her nice places and adore her.

  ‘Oh, we had a very nice chat at one of the local bars last night.’ He smiled that smile again, eyes not settling in one place, but darting around the bar. ‘She told me about your club, and how it wasn’t doing well, how much you were struggling. How someone should just buy it from you so you didn’t go down with the ship… and I thought, well, this is fate. It was almost as if someone had plonked her in my lap. Meant to be.’

  ‘Why “meant to be”?’ I couldn’t even think quickly enough to refute the things she’d said, I just felt myself flush all over, red and angry. Of course she had to get drunk and tell strangers my business. Of course she had to tell someone who actually had the gall to come down here and try to make me an offer.

  I looked across the room at my staff, who were chatting and pretending not to notice the man at the bar. I should have spoken to him in my office instead of out here, in front of them.

  ‘Well, because I’m Derek Monaghan.’ He paused, as if that should mean something to me, then shrugged. ‘I assume you haven’t been listening when all these “pathetic business types” have been making their offers? They represent me.’

  ‘And what do you want with my club?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing.’ He smiled again, baring his teeth. ‘What I want is to level this place to the ground and build something new and shiny. A bunch of flats, maybe a members’ club. I haven’t decided yet. But I’m looking for a little chunk of space in this area, and this is it.’

  I blinked. ‘Well, it’s not it, because this is mine.’

  ‘You say that, sweetheart, but I’ve got years of experience in this game. I’ve also got unlimited resources. I can wait for you to crumble in a couple of months, or I can give you a generous payout now and we can all get on with our lives.’ He paused. ‘I’m sure that would stop your mother worrying so much about you. Charming woman.’

  I smirked, fighting the panic that was rising like bile in the back of my throat. ‘You’re a piece of work.’

  ‘So they say.’ He shrugged. ‘So, what’s it going to be?’

  ‘You just happened to bump into my mother?’ I stared straight at him, those dark eyes unyielding, that nasty little smile firmly in place. ‘You happened to know she was in town, you happened to be sitting at the same bar, and start a conversation?’

  He pretended to look embarrassed, but threw his hands up. ‘What can I say? When you’re in the business as long as I am, you make sure to do research on your opponent and everyone connected with them.’

  ‘Opponent?’

  He made a face, as if he was considering it. ‘No, opponent’s too… active. Obstacle is the better word. I want something, and you’re in the way of me getting it. And I always get what I want.’

  This man had tracked down my mother in order to get information on me. To show me just how powerful he was. I was all bluster and bravado on the outside – I needed to be, in front of my staff – but how could I compete with this? We were hanging on by a thread, especially since that review.

  ‘Well, spoiled little boys who always get what they want often need to be taught a lesson.’ I tried not to let my irritation show. ‘You know – life’s not fair, not everything’s about you, fuck off, all that kind of stuff.’

  He stood up, suddenly looking down at me, and I straightened my back to try and correct the disparity. Quite the power move.

  ‘Thing is, sweetheart, it is all about me. I can’t blame you not bothering to do your research; you didn’t realize you were in my way. But now you do. So find out about me, and you’ll find out what I’m capable of.’ He paused, tapping his fingertips on the bar. ‘I know you don’t think it, but I’m actually trying to be nice here. I can just wait it out until your little club goes under in a few months, but I’m offering something. I don’t have to, but I like your guts, how feisty you are. It’s nice to see.’

  ‘Wow, that wasn’t patronizing at all.’ I yawned, rolling my eyes. Let him think I’m bored and unruffled. Don’t let him see that pulse in my neck juddering and jumping.

  He tried that smile again. ‘I have the benefit of experience. And friends in high places. Like reviewers for The Daily, for example.’

  I felt my stomach plummet. ‘That was you?’

  ‘Didn’t take much, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have enough to work from, was it? But yeah, a little help to make it scathing? Probably sped up your close by a few months. A couple more reviews like that, inspection by environmental health, buildings regulations… I’ve been busy making friends, Annabelle. Where are your friends?’

  ‘That’s not my name,’ I croaked, when I found my voice.

  ‘Ah, yes. Arabella Hailstone. Of course. Your mother sees you differently. All those ballet classes when you were just too tall and chubby to get first place? She thinks if she’d just started you on a diet earlier, you might have actually succeeded at dance instead of lowering yourself to this. She blames herself, you know.’

  I honestly thought in that moment I might vo
mit. From the rage and the shame and the goddamn unfairness of it all.

  ‘Get out.’

  Derek pretended to look offended, holding up his hands in defeat. ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t try to play nice. I’ll see you in a couple of months, when you hand over the keys.’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ I spat out at his retreating back.

  He laughed. ‘Whatever you say, sweetheart.’

  I watched as the door swung closed behind him, and then turned to find all these eyes on me from across the room. My staff, looking at me in concern. I stamped down on the desire to do a shot of anything nearby to calm my nerves, and simply stared back at them. My hands were shaking and my heart was thumping in my throat.

  He was going to take this from me. He had everything he needed. Money, resources, friends in the right places… and information about my every weakness from my own mother.

  ‘Jacques!’ I called him over, my voice a little too shrill. ‘Can I borrow you for a second, darling?’

  He strode over, that same concern sitting in his furrowed brow.

  ‘Who was that wanker?’

  ‘More men in suits trying to steal our home,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Apparently they feel a block of flats here would be more profitable.’

  ‘Bastards.’

  ‘Oh, and you can stop feeling guilty about The Daily review – that prick right there was the one who set it up.’

  Jacques blinked twice, his eyes impossibly wide. ‘The bastards! I… I thought I’d set it up, but it’s true, it was almost like he wanted me to talk him into visiting. He was so enthusiastic about the club and its story… fuck! I’m so sorry, Bel. I was so eager to help…’

  I put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. But right now I need you to hold the fort. Collate the anonymous feedback, maybe get them talking a little about their concerns, and any immediate stuff they want to discuss? Do not mention any of this, obviously.’

  ‘Gotcha, boss.’ Jacques saluted. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to have a little chat with my mother.’

  Chapter Nine

  I had worked myself up into enough of a state by the time I reached my flat. I threw open the door and roared.

  ‘Mother!’

  Her bed was left perfectly made, folded back into a sofa with the blankets neatly stacked. For a moment, I thought she’d left, but her make-up bag sat atop her case in the corner.

  ‘Argh!’ I yelled, throwing my bag onto the table, frustrated. I had spent my march back home working out exactly what I was going to say, exactly how I was going to tell her she’d ruined my life, and now there was no one to yell at. I wanted to punch something.

  That bastard had made me feel small, and worse than that, he’d made me scared. My mother had run off her big mouth and made me vulnerable. She was still so ashamed of me it was possible to talk me down to complete strangers.

  I stamped down the stairs again and paused, unsure where to go. Back to the club, where I didn’t know what to tell people? Sit and wait at home until my mother returned, by which point I may have cried myself dry?

  Instead, I stepped into the studio, looking for Sam.

  The little shop was light and bright, with Sam’s name on the front. The old-fashioned bell rang over the door as I pushed in, and found no one around. I walked around the back and up the stairs, peering around the corner to see if I could hear Sam’s voice in the studio. I didn’t want to interrupt if he was shooting, but instead he was sitting at his desk, frowning at the computer.

  He looked up and smiled at me. ‘Hey there, trouble. That’s a face like thunder. What’s up?’

  ‘Many things, all of them likely to fall on my head. Have you seen my mother?’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘I assume she’s done something terrible?’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Yes, actually. Why, are you hiding her? Has she gone on the lam?’

  Sam stood up, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. ‘Take a load off. You want a coffee?’

  I struggled not to stamp my feet in distress. ‘I don’t want a coffee, I want to find my mother to ask her what the fuck she’s playing at.’

  ‘Bel, seriously, sweetheart. Sit down. Camomile tea for you.’

  He walked over to the kitchenette in the corner and flicked the kettle on. I sat, suddenly deflated. When Sam told you to calm the hell down, you did it. He spoke with such a gentle, quiet authority that it was impossible to argue.

  I stared at the photographs on the walls, black-and-white portraits of beautiful people in different stages of life. Someone was crying, another exclaiming in surprise. And there was me, forever immortalized in black and white, the night I left Euan. My hair was curly and wild, my eyes puffy but defiant as I stared out from the frame. I always remember how I felt in that moment – brave, infinite, unstoppable.

  It was a little alarming to see myself like that now.

  ‘I should get you back in front of a camera,’ Sam said as he set the cup down in front of me and walked around to his chair, grasping his coffee. ‘You always saved every emotion for your portraits.’

  I shook my head, irritated. I didn’t have time for this.

  ‘I was never that good as a model. Not enough expression.’ I shrugged.

  ‘Oh, you’re an expert photographer now?’ Sam chuckled, slurping at his coffee.

  I rolled my head back against the chair. ‘Sam, you obviously have something you want to say, darling, so say it, would you? I need to go tear into my mother.’

  ‘Okay, Bel. I’m trying to find a way to say this without you losing your shit and overreacting.’ Sam paused, met my eyes and then continued. ‘You need to cut your mother some slack.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I choked. ‘You met this woman forty-eight hours ago and already she’s convinced you of what an unholy terror and waste of space I am, how hard done by she is? You were the one who told me to cut her off!’

  Sam held a hand up, raising an eyebrow. ‘And I still think you need to. But your mother isn’t the monster you think she is. Do you know how hard it is to think you’ve failed your child, Bel? To think that they might hate you? That you’re missing out on what other parents have with their children?’

  I shook my head. ‘That’s not what this is about! She has always been disappointed in me, she chips away at me like flakes of nail varnish until there’s nothing left. I’m not perfect, and so I’m nothing.’

  ‘That’s not how she spoke to me about it.’

  I felt myself almost choke on the rage. ‘Well, not to be indelicate, darling, but she’s trying to get into your pants if you hadn’t noticed. She’s likely to say anything that makes her sound like mother of the year.’

  Sam’s cheeks coloured, just a little, and he hid a smile behind his coffee cup. ‘Ehem, well, that’s the thing – she doesn’t think she was a good mother. She’s upset by the relationship you two have, and she takes responsibility for that.’

  I blinked. Exhaled. Took a sip of my tea and burnt my lip.

  ‘Anna Stone took personal responsibility for something?’ I said, disbelieving, ‘You mean she didn’t tell you I was too needy, too fragile, too sensitive? That our damaged relationship was due to the fact I ran off with a boy from the estate and embarrassed her?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘She knows she was hard on you. She knows she’s hard on you now. But have you ever asked her why she’s like that?’

  ‘You ever ask a snake why it squeezes the life out of you?’

  Sam looked at me sternly, suddenly impatient.

  ‘All right, fine, why’s she like that, according to her?’ I held up my hands. ‘Though if it’s some faux self-aware bullshit about how she’s been talking to a guru or something, I’m not really interested, darling.’

  Sam sighed. ‘That’s really a conversation for you to have with her. I’m just saying that parents hide a lot from their kids about how they really feel. About fears of being enough, being a d
isappointment. About loneliness.’

  I tried not to point out that all of those fears were mine, ones that my mother had instilled in me.

  ‘Fine, I’ll ask her.’

  ‘And listen to the answer?’ Sam looked unconvinced.

  ‘Yes, fine, whatever. Can I actually moan about the thing I wanted to moan about, or will that get in the way of you defending my mother?’

  Sam tilted his head in that way he had, like he expected better, but wasn’t exactly surprised. He sat back in his chair, gestured with his hands, as if to say ‘go ahead’.

  ‘That man she said she was talking to yesterday, about me and the club?’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘He’s the one who’s been trying to buy me out. She not only revealed how badly the club is doing and all of its perceived weaknesses, but she also managed to reveal all of my weaknesses. To the man who wants to destroy me.’

  I folded my arms and sat back in the chair, suddenly a dramatic teenager whining about how life wasn’t fair.

  ‘He spoke to you?’

  ‘He came in today, used the things she told him, revealed that he was capable of completely destroying me, as well as owning the reviewer from the other night, and that he was just waiting for me to fail.’ My voice caught a little as I said it, still seemingly unbelievable.

  ‘How did he find your mom?’

  Maybe you’re a little too interested in my mum’s wellbeing, Sam. I gritted my teeth.

  ‘Apparently he knows a lot about me. And knew it was easy enough to get a perpetually disappointed perfectionist to talk about her failure of a daughter.’

  Sam raised an eyebrow at the self-pitying talk, and actually I had to agree with him. It wasn’t like me, and it wasn’t classy. I usually rose above all this. My moaning was centred around the shop being out of my favourite type of wine, or buying the wrong shimmer sequins for my corset. Trivial things that I knew didn’t matter.

  This was just… whining. It was unpleasant.

  ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit scary, for your mother? That someone would seek her out in an unfamiliar city and buy her drinks to get information?’