Martinis and Memories

by Martinis

  ‘Of all the things to ask about. I think I can, I haven’t tried. You angling for a present, Miss Bel?’

  ‘Just nostalgia, I guess.’

  ‘Well, I’d say we’re allowed, considering the weird twist of fate that brought us together.’

  I paused, watching his face. ‘So you think there’s something strange about this too, right? I mean, have you been in London all this time?’

  ‘Last seven years or so. I tried to look you up, but you aren’t on social media or anything.’

  I shrugged. ‘I sort of did a rebrand, didn’t see the point of being online. Besides, I was too busy.’

  ‘Building an empire,’ he said.

  ‘Something like that. I have just had the freakiest week, people and things from the past appearing left, right and centre. And then there you are, standing onstage singing—’

  ‘The same song I sang the night I left.’

  I struggled to look up and meet his eyes, feeling my whole body contract. Don’t mention that night, why did he have to mention it? Why couldn’t we pretend that whole thing had never happened? We’d parted as friends and that was it.

  When I did finally look up, he was smiling, that soft, gorgeous smile that had always made me feel a little out of control. He was never a man who was afraid of intense eye contact.

  ‘I think maybe fate’s playing a little trick on us, Bel.’

  What was with everyone and fate?

  Brodie chuckled, leaning in, ‘I have a feeling we were meant to be at that gig tonight, with me playing that song. Maybe I’ll tell you why one day.’

  ‘Intriguing.’ I laughed, suddenly so awkward. So it wasn’t just me. Coincidences were stacking up. Fate, or timing, or whatever it was, something was happening. My life was not in my control, and that was starting to make me a little pissed off.

  ‘Well, what were the odds? I mean, really?’ Brodie shuffled closer, excitable, until I felt his arm brush against mine. ‘All these years without a word, and I’m playing that song…’

  ‘And I don’t tend to frequent pubs where my feet stick to the floor any more,’ I said, taking a sip of my drink and sighing a little. ‘Not really my style.’

  I tried to change the subject away from that song, that moment in time that I was still frozen in, my teenage self watching as Brodie Porter walked away and left me behind.

  ‘Ooh, la di da!’ His laugh was as warm as the breeze, and I took a second to look at the skyline again. My sanctuary, this city. Somewhere out there Aria was arguing with her boyfriend, Jacques was cuddling with his partner while doing the crossword, my mother was flirting with Sam and seeing if she could make him blush. And Euan was out there too, doing something. Conning someone out of their shirt, or getting beaten up for getting greedy, no doubt.

  ‘It’s not that, I just… I run a bar. The desire to go out and drink pretty much evaporates.’

  Well, that was a lie.

  The silence settled and we listed for a moment to the two women behind us discussing a third friend who sounded like a nightmare. Their voices were loud and sharp, and somehow just sitting there together, smiling at each other, was enough.

  Until my skin got fluttery and I didn’t know where to look.

  ‘Hey, speaking of nostalgia, I’ve got an idea.’ He slipped forward to the edge of his seat and reached into his back pocket.

  ‘You’re not…’

  He placed a deck of cards down on the table.

  ‘Are you kidding? You still carry a pack of cards with you?’ I snorted. ‘You know we live in a digital age, right? You’ll never be bored. There’s always someone somewhere who needs to show you a picture of their kale and Kaffir lime salad. Or a picture of them looking like a fawn.’

  ‘That’s not real connection, Bel. Besides, I don’t go in for all that. If you’re waiting for sound checking to end, got to entertain some kids, stop teenagers whining… maybe even make a little money…’ He wiggled his eyebrows.

  ‘You don’t!’

  ‘Only with the sound techs, they’re big and ugly enough to lose their money fair and square. Their wives would be proud, they can’t lie for shit.’ He started dealing the cards out between us.

  ‘Wait, what are we playing?’

  That wide grin. ‘Snap!’

  ‘Snap.’

  He pointed a finger at me. ‘You catch on quickly.’

  ‘Brodie.’

  He held his hands up, still grinning. ‘Every time someone gets snap, they get to ask the other person a question. It’s Snap: Nostalgia Edition.’

  ‘Can’t believe I’m on a fancy London rooftop bar and I’m playing snap.’ I took a sip of my drink and squared my shoulders. ‘Okay, let’s do this.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Snap?’

  I waved it away. ‘We haven’t started playing yet. No questions.’

  ‘That’s hardly a personal question.’

  ‘Fashion is intensely personal,’ I replied. ‘Let’s go.’

  The tension was somehow palpable as we placed each card down.

  ‘Snap!’ Brodie’s hand slammed down on mine, and I waited for the question, but held up a hand.

  ‘Don’t waste it asking about something stupid, seriously.’

  He twitched a smile, at me, sitting back with his beer as he overly considered his options.

  ‘You dating, married, what?’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Very interesting first question, darling.’

  He shrugged. ‘Enquiring minds want to know – was there ever a man who could tame Annabelle Stone?’

  I laughed. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think stranger things have happened.’

  I sipped at my drink and tried to figure out the best way to tell the truth without being honest. A constant struggle.

  ‘I’ve always been better as a lone wolf. No surprise there. Was married very briefly, didn’t take.’ I twitched a shoulder. ‘A lifetime ago now, no biggie. You?’

  ‘Am I involved, or am I married?’ Brodie grinned, a hint of that old flirtation I remembered. Nostalgia was like a drug. The power of time travel. To stand opposite this man, both of us in different bodies, in a different town, and yet I felt the way I did at sixteen, heart thumping, flushed and awkward. I had been ice cold and sharp for so many years, not letting anyone close enough to know me. It was the only way to stay safe in a city full of strangers who could pull down everything I’d worked for.

  I could see why back in the day people married the people they loved when they were teenagers – they met and they fell in love and they started their lives as soon as possible. Because the world is big and scary, and what you know is usually better than what you can’t imagine.

  I was sixteen when I felt my stomach erupt into butterflies, and my heart pound like it was warning me of danger up ahead. And from then on, no matter the fun or the obsession or the silliness masquerading as love, I never felt butterflies again. I always thought it was an age thing. I’d outgrown the opportunity. Butterflies didn’t exist in real life.

  And yet, there was a feeling in my stomach and a flush on my cheeks.

  ‘I think you’ll have to wait until you win at snap.’ Brodie grinned. ‘But good to know you’re interested there, darlin’.’

  It was funny to hear the way he said the word, the faint burr of that Northern Irish accent that he’d never quite lost, so different to the clipped way I used it, as a weapon. His was easy, carefree, used for anyone he’d waste a smile on.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

  ‘I’ll give you a free pass on this one – I was married, for a time. Like you say, just didn’t stick.’ There was still a little pain behind those eyes, something strangely sincere. But he smiled anyway.

  ‘That’s strange, I always saw you settled in that way – family man through and through.’

  ‘You’ve got to do it for the right reasons. Not just pick the person nearby when you’re ready for an adventure. The person has to be the ri
ght person.’

  I nodded. ‘And timing is pretty damn important.’

  He smiled at me, that look of regret speaking louder than his words. ‘I’ve never been great with that.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  The evening passed easily, a game of snap that was half-hearted and flittered away into questions and answers. Stupid things – the last band we’d seen, the best restaurant in London, north or south of the river. We talked about our mothers, rent in the city and a hundred other things that weren’t important.

  It was the same as it had always been – two decades had passed and here I was sitting with Brodie Porter talking about nothing and smiling until my face hurt. We’d switched sitting on the beach for a rooftop bar, but other than that, it was like nothing had changed.

  I wondered how he saw me, if he was looking for age and experience on my face, in my eyes. I’d only improved since my teenager years, and the same was true for him. He’d grown into who he was. He was more relaxed – he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders any more. When I’d known Brodie before it was his job to look after the family. His dreams had to come second to looking after his brothers and his mum. But he still fought for them – they came second, but they mattered.

  ‘I don’t want this night to end. When this night ends tomorrow is going to be hard,’ I whined as we ambled along the street, apparently towards a Tube station but not in any hurry.

  ‘Because of the hangover?’ He nudged me with his elbow.

  ‘No, because my business is getting kicked in the tits and tomorrow I have to summon enough energy to be a badass owner who can fix everything.’ I shook my head.

  ‘And can you? Fix everything?’

  I blew out a breath and shrugged. ‘Do you want the answer from Arabella Hailstone, owner of the Martini Club, or Bel Stone, runaway fuck-up?’

  We were entering Covent Garden, and he held up his hands to stop me, then went over to lean against a bollard. ‘Okay, hit me with Arabella Hailstone, fierce business owner.’

  I lifted my chin, dropped my shoulders and pushed out my chest. I ensured my voice was a little more sharp, and as I met Brodie’s eyes I saw him take in the shift.

  ‘Well, darling, the thing is that I built this business from the ground up, I’ve put in blood, sweat and tears and I’ll be damned if some snooty reviewer, a bunch of investor wankers and some bad luck is going to take it from me. So let’s get to fucking work.’

  Brodie clapped. ‘Very good, inspirational, very Gone with the Wind. I really believe you’ll never go hungry again.’

  ‘You’re never going to forgive me for making you watch that, are you?’

  He waved it away. ‘It made Mum happy. She never got to watch stuff like that with all the boys in the house. Anyway, I’ve seen feisty faux-posh business owner, now I want to see what you’d say if you were being the other you.’

  I let all the strength drain out of me, my shoulders collapse with the weight of the responsibility. I let the fear and panic rise up as I thought about what would happen if I failed to save the club, if it caved and I had to crawl out with no money, no dignity and no friends. The one thing I’d built and loved and created just crashing and burning.

  I took a breath, and felt my voice catch.

  ‘If I lose my club, I will be losing the only thing that I have in my life. I don’t have a partner, I don’t really have friends. I have work. I have my club. And I have to seem like this strong captain of the ship who has all the answers.’ I pressed my lips together and looked up at the dark summer sky, not a hint of starlight. ‘When honestly I just don’t know what to do. I have to save it, I have to fix it and I have to lead. And it kills me because I just don’t know how.’

  I didn’t want to meet his eyes. It was too much honesty; the chance to be vulnerable with someone I trusted was just too tempting. I didn’t have that anywhere else, except perhaps with Sam, who would tell me to pull myself up by the bootstraps and get the hell on with it.

  But really, all I wanted, as embarrassing as it was, was for someone to stroke my hair, let me cry and tell me everything was going to be okay.

  Drunken people around us laughed and hooted, young women clinging to each other as they wobbled in heels across the cobblestones.

  ‘Oh Bel,’ Brodie said, sympathy making his eyes droop at the corners. He stood and opened his arms to me. ‘Come on. Bring it in. You know you want to.’

  I shuffled forward, pretending to be reticent. ‘You don’t have to be so abominably nice about everything. I don’t want pity.’

  ‘You never pitied me when I told you my sad tale of woe.’ He squeezed me. ‘It’s not pity if you’re standing by your friend saying, “Man, that’s a fucking shitshow and I’m sorry”.’

  ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying.’ He pulled back and I immediately missed the warmth, but looked up into those green eyes and couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘If it helps, I don’t think it matters which version of you is in charge, because you’re a warrior and you get shit done.’

  ‘How?’

  Brodie smiled suddenly, before putting out his hand. ‘Mobile, please.’

  I handed it over and watched him type in his number.

  ‘You gave me some advice all those years ago, when I totally bombed that gig with the recording agent and was thinking about giving up music.’ He handed me back the phone with a smug smile. ‘If you can’t remember what it was by tomorrow, text me and I’ll remind you.’

  I could feel my forehead wrinkling as I tried to remember, and shook my head. ‘Was it particularly good advice?’

  ‘It has served me well over the years.’ He put an arm round me and started leading us towards the Tube station. I leaned into him, taking a disgusting amount of delight in the interaction.

  When we were through the barriers and standing at the split of the two platforms, it was clear that he was going one way and I was going another. Something in my chest ached just a little, like that feeling of pulling two magnets away from each other, resisting energy.

  ‘Thank you for a gloriously strange evening before I go into battle tomorrow. I think I needed reminding of something… I don’t know what, but…’ I shook my head and clasped his hands, the booze making me too effusive, too open. ‘I guess I’m saying it was good to see you, Brodie.’

  ‘I have started to believe in fate and circumstance these last couple of years, Bel.’ He grinned, pulling me in for a hug. ‘And tonight you confirmed it.’ He kissed me on the cheek and I held my breath, my pathetic 16-year-old self deep down inside doing a jig. We were fated, that’s what he meant. He needed me as much as I needed him today. It had just all been a matter of timing that had dragged us to this point.

  The world cared about Brodie Porter and Annabelle Stone.

  I tried to stop myself from spinning off on a drunken tangent of lazy weekends at farmers’ markets, dancing to vinyl in my flat and drinking cold bottles of beer. Being grown-ups together in this wonderful city, where anything was possible.

  I turned and launched myself towards my train, and as I jumped on and turned back, Brodie called across to me, those eyes twinkling, dimples in his cheeks from his grin.

  ‘Hey, Bel!’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Even if you remember that excellent advice? Text me anyway!’

  That huge smile stayed on my face right until I reached my front door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  My mother was already asleep when I got in. I could make out her curled-up form in the darkness, a single beam of white light fighting through the long curtains to cast a shadow. She always slept like that, curled tight into a ball. It seemed like the only time she didn’t want to take up space was when she was asleep.

  I felt a strange tenderness towards her, looking so small and delicate. She had been honest with me tonight; she had shown vulnerability and actually apologized to me for the first time in living memory. A b
ig day, no wonder she was exhausted.

  I tried to think about what advice I’d given Brodie all those years ago. I wondered as I cleaned my teeth, going up onto my tiptoes out of habit, stretching my neck as I looked at myself. Without all the Arabella make-up as armour, I looked… younger. I looked like I did in photos from years ago, and something about that had always been scary. Looking like that failed ballerina from Eastbourne with the disappointed mother; looking like the woman who married the wrong man and disappeared in the night. The runaway, the failure, the coward.

  But this version of Bel, the one with the tousled hair and the wide smile, and the lipstick that had rubbed off hours ago… she looked alive. She looked like a person who’d had a real conversation without trying to remember which role she’d been playing today. She looked approachable and soft. Things that would have been terrifying a few years ago. She had to stay out of the way when it came to work, but maybe I’d let the old Bel out to play a little more. Feeling comfortable in my un-corseted clothes had been such a joy.

  I cleaned off my make-up, applied my night cream and slipped into bed, the sheets crisp and cool.

  What had I told him? What could I have possibly told him that would have made a difference? I was a teenager with no knowledge of the world, and he was a twenty-something with more responsibility than I’d ever realized.

  I remembered that night clearly, though. I’d snuck out of my house to meet him, something I rarely did.

  We met on the pier and he was already sat there, dressed in black, looking at a cigarette like he couldn’t decide whether to smoke it or not. When I arrived, he pocketed it, and lifted a can of cider in greeting.

  He wore his leather jacket and his beanie, his guitar in its case at his side. Brodie had been mournful, almost sulking, impossible to recognize when the only version of him I’d known was happy-go-lucky and ‘bright side at all times’. He’d finally cracked, and needed to moan.