by Grace Lowrie
‘But –’
‘Consider them a gift,’ she said. ‘I’ll be offended if you send them back.’
‘OK … thank you, Celeste.’
‘You’re welcome, darling!’ she said, kissing me greasily on the cheek.
We wandered eastwards along the seafront in the sunshine, following the tracks of the little electric railway. Beyond the main crowds of people there was an abandoned, miniature crazy golf course surrounded by a high chain-link fence. The weird and wonderful concrete animals must once have been vibrantly decorated and illuminated with flashing, multi-coloured lights. But now the paintwork was faded by sunshine and eroded by salty winds and the light bulbs had long since been smashed. Dust, sand, and litter cluttered up the ramps, tunnels, and bunkers and there was something almost kitsch about the faded glamour of it all. Sebastian stopped to take photographs, ducking underneath a folded corner of the fence and crouching low to include the blue sea and sky in his shots. Celeste and I walked on, slowly leaving Sebastian behind out of earshot.
‘So,’ I said, linking arms with Celeste. ‘Do you have a boyfriend back in Paris?’
‘Mon dieu, I was wondering when you’d get around to asking me that.’
‘Well?’
‘I’d forgotten how mischievous you can look sometimes,’ Celeste said with a laugh.
‘Answer the question,’ I countered.
Celeste sighed. ‘Not at the moment, no.’
‘Oh, sorry.’ I tried to keep the surprise out of my voice.
‘I take lovers from time to time,’ she said with an exaggerated French accent and a smile. ‘But there’s no one special at the moment.’ I squeezed her arm affectionately. ‘There was someone … last year. Jean-Luc.’ She looked away to the horizon. ‘He was very smart and sophisticated … everyone admired him, it was impossible not to. But I was sick with it. I loved him too much. I wanted to have him all to myself and …’
‘He didn’t cheat on you!?’ I said, horrified.
Celeste sighed again. ‘It was complicated,’ she said quietly. I waited for her to go on. ‘He was my teacher – he’s forty and he’s married.’
We came to a stop. The sun was hot on my skin, the waves rolled on to the empty stretch of beach and Celeste’s words hung in the air. She raised her eyes warily to mine. I couldn’t understand how she could be so stupid, get involved with a man so unsuitable and old enough to be her father, but as I looked at her I realised she didn’t need my disapproval. She was my best friend and I wanted to take away her pain. I hugged her tightly. We stood like that for several minutes. I could feel her heart beating against mine, feel the salt, sticky in her hair, and smell her perfume, so familiar.
‘Please don’t tell Sebastian,’ Celeste whispered.
‘OK.’
‘I don’t know what he might do, and it’s all over now anyway …’
‘OK,’ I said again. I pulled away from Celeste and looked at her. ‘You’re OK though?’ I asked.
‘Yes. I am now, yes.’ She smiled and I believed her. We started to walk again. ‘It’s so good to see you.’ Celeste said linking her arm with mine again.
‘Yes … hey, can I have your address or phone number so that we can keep in touch?’ I asked bravely.
Celeste was ominously quiet and I tried not to let hurt build in my chest. ‘Tasha …’
‘Yep.’
‘We’ll be moving back to London just as soon as we graduate, it will be much easier to see each other then.’
I stopped and looked at her again. ‘What’s wrong? I don’t understand.’
‘I just think it will hurt too much,’ Celeste said. ‘I’m not good with long distance – I’d rather just wait until we can be together again.’ I still didn’t understand and Celeste could tell. ‘Look, when we’re together it is perfect, beautiful, don’t you think?’ I nodded mutely. ‘I don’t want us to ruin that with awkward phone calls and emails. I can do that with other friends, but not with you, Tasha.’ Her eyes were glassy with emotion.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. ‘How will I know when you’ve moved back?’
‘I’ll call you. Give me your mobile number and I’ll call you when we move back, but only then.’
‘OK,’ I nodded and Celeste took her mobile phone out of her handbag. It was smaller than mine, in a neat silver case. I recited my number and she programmed it in. I did understand what she meant, about how special our friendship was and I was glad she felt the same way, but I just knew I was going to miss her terribly when she was gone; miss them both.
‘You guys OK?’ Sebastian sauntered over, a look of concern in his lovely eyes.
‘Of course!’ Celeste remarked with a laugh, stowing her phone back in her bag. ‘We’re just going to miss each other aren’t we, Tasha?’ I nodded, smiling weakly at Sebastian.
‘We need to start heading back if we’re going to catch our train,’ he said quietly.
I was left standing on the station concourse staring after the train as it pulled away. I felt dazed and dejected. I turned and blinked at the people standing around me, queuing for tickets, studying the departure board, reading newspapers, talking to each other. I felt like a sleepwalker who had just woken up from a glorious dream, to the harsh indifference of reality.
That summer I was miserable. I broke up with my boyfriend Pete almost immediately, knowing our relationship would never make me happy. I worked long, tiring hours at the pizzeria on autopilot, daydreaming about the twins and fighting the urge to run away to Paris and find them. In the first week of October I found a manila envelope in my pigeonhole at university. I didn’t recognise the handwriting but when I saw the Paris post mark my heart lurched and my fingers shook as I fumbled to rip it open. Inside was a single photograph. It was A5-sized, glossy and full-colour. It was the photograph that Sebastian had taken of Celeste and I in the lanes in July. It was a close-up shot; our cheeks were pressed together as we grinned at the camera. I was wearing a black, bobbed wig and secretary-style spectacles, perched on the end of my nose while Celeste was almost unrecognisable in a long orange wig, floppy hat, and seventies style sunglasses. We both looked so happy.
I stared at the photograph for a long time. I flipped it over and rechecked the inside of the envelope but there was no note. No return address. Studying the postmark again I realised that it had been sent just days after I’d last seen them. And unless Celeste’s handwriting had changed radically, I could only assume that the neat, masculine, sloping script was Sebastian’s. He must have developed the photograph, addressed the envelope, and sent it to me himself. My heart ached.
That was the last time I had seen or heard anything from or about them until they had turned up two days ago at work. I’d spent six years looking forward to seeing them again. Now, standing in the warm evening air in my cut-price sandals, listening to the revelry of the party inside, I felt intimidated; out of my depth socially – not inept exactly, but out of practise. It was a long time since I’d been to a party of any kind.
You’re here to see Celeste; lovely, warm, friendly Celeste whom you adore . I took a deep breath and straightened my spine. I didn’t want Celeste to be disappointed in the woman I’d become, I wanted to remind her of the girl I used to be, the happy person I was when she knew me. Decision made, I marched up to the front door and rang the bell with a smile on my face. At first nothing happened and I realised that the sound must have been swallowed up by the music, so I lifted the heavy brass knocker instead and dropped it with a thud.
Chapter Nine
The door opened to reveal a large woman in a tight black dress with frizzy orange hair and a matching cocktail in her hand. Before I could speak she was smiling, waving me in, slamming the door shut behind me and disappearing into the noisy throng. As I hung my jacket with the other coats near the door, a suited guy with warm brown eyes and a goatee detached himself from a group of people and sidled up to me.
‘You look like you could do with a drink,’ he said amiabl
y.
‘Oh, er, no I’m fine, thanks.’ Why did I sound so flustered?
‘Are you sure?’ he said with a grin. ‘It’s a free bar … I can show you …?’ As a general rule I avoided chatting to strange men – it made life simpler. I wasn’t very good at the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing and I’d never seen the appeal of one-night stands. But tonight, despite the glass of Dutch courage I’d had before leaving home, I still felt jittery. A drink sounded like a good idea and this guy had a friendly smile.
‘OK, thanks,’ I said.
I followed him through a tall doorway into an enormous dining room. There were people everywhere – gathered in groups, stylishly draped across sofas, nestled into armchairs, or dancing. Everybody seemed to have made an effort for the occasion – most of the men wore shirts and jackets and the women sparkled as they moved, their jewellery catching the light. I quickly scanned the room for the twins but didn’t spot either of them. The room was pure elegance – centred on a mirror mounted marble fireplace and an intricate crystal chandelier suspended from ornate cornicing high up on the ceiling. A vast embroidered rug softened the wide, dark polished floorboards underfoot, presumably another original feature. Hundreds of silver and blue fairy lights had been strung from the high picture rail and a series of large, beautiful framed photographs hung on the wide walls. They were artistic, close-up shots of Paris at twilight and dawn, depicting architectural detailing, both period and contemporary. I realised with a jolt that they might be Sebastian’s handiwork and Celeste’s words floated back to me. “He only takes pictures of places, never people, just beautiful places.”
‘Great place, isn’t it,’ the guy next to me said over the music. There was no disguising the fact I was awe-struck so I just nodded. ‘I’m Dan, by the way,’ he said, holding out his right palm.
‘Tasha,’ I replied as we shook hands.
The music emanating from hidden speakers was an eclectic mix of rock and pop tunes, but not loud enough to preclude conversation. A vast dining table at one end of the room was covered with wide platters of food. At the opposite end, in the bay window was a bar, complete with high stools and tuxedoed bartenders producing a whole rainbow of cocktails.
‘A Melon Martini for the lady?’ the barman suggested. I looked at him quizzically and he grinned. ‘It’s a semi-dry Midori cocktail made with vodka and vermouth and it will match your dress perfectly,’ he winked.
I was won over. ‘Yes please.’ Dan ordered a Mojito and while we waited for our drinks to be mixed he asked me how I knew the twins. When I told him we were all at school together, his eyebrows shot up in surprise, but before he could press me for more information I asked him the same question.
‘I work with Sebastian,’ he said. ‘Well … we work at the same architectural firm but I don’t know him that well, more by reputation than anything else.’
‘Oh, right,’ I said casually. ‘What’s his reputation?’
‘Only one of the most talented up-and-coming architects of our generation,’ he said dryly.
‘Oh!’
‘Yeah, he’s the youngest guy ever to make partner in our firm, by several years. Apart from that I don’t really know, I think he’s quite private, keeps himself to himself.’
I nodded and smiled. ‘I think he’s always been like that.’ The barman set down a glowing green martini glass before me and dropped a cherry into the bottom with a flourish. I clinked Dan’s glass before taking a sip – it was absolutely delicious.
Dan was easy to chat to and before I knew it I’d finished my drink and the barman had smoothly handed me another. I asked Dan if he’d seen Celeste but he shook his head and I excused myself to go looking for her.
The room behind the dining room was a beautiful old library with floor to ceiling bookshelves and another large bay window with built-in seats overlooking the back garden. The people in this room were deep in conversation and I shyly avoided eye contact with those who glanced up at my entrance. Instead I lingered, sipping my cocktail and scanning some of the book shelves. They were mostly old leather-bound classics and I idly wondered if they had come with the house itself. I could easily have spent hours browsing. Before long I’d made a circuit of the room and established there was no-one there that I recognised, so I slipped back out the doorway.
Across the grand entrance hall was an impressive drawing room – it stretched right from the front to the back of the house and had the feel of an exclusive club. Most of the furniture had been pushed back to allow space for a generous dance floor and a DJ was pumping out BodyRockers’ ‘I Like the Way’ from a set of decks in the front bay window. The lights were off and colourfully lit disco balls reflected spots of light around the walls, intermittently revealing more of Sebastian’s prints. The room was crowded with at least a hundred dancers enthusiastically moving and singing along to the tunes, but I couldn’t see anyone familiar. How could the twins possibly know so many people? I worked my way through the throng towards the back of the house searching for Celeste (or Sebastian) in the shadows but found neither.
Suddenly a high-pitched voice squealed my name and I turned to see a friendly face grinning at me enthusiastically. I recognised her as one of the new volunteers from the V&A and as she gleefully bounced over to me, I desperately tried to recall her name.
‘Hi! What are you doing here?’ she squealed into my ear as she noisily kissed the air on either side of my head.
‘Hi! Small world!’ I shouted back over the music. It was good to see someone I knew, even if I was struggling to remember her name. Fiona? Faye, maybe?
‘Do you know the Walkers?’ she asked.
‘Yes, we’re old friends.’
‘Oh, wow! Seriously?’
‘Yeah, how about you?’
‘I’m here with my cousin Lizzie – she met Celeste at a party two weeks ago and invited her along,’ she shrugged. ‘I don’t know them at all but it’s a fabulous party – this house is to die for!’ Freya! I nodded and widened my eyes in agreement. Freya stepped back and eyed my dress at arm’s length. ‘It’s so weird seeing you here – you look amazing!’ she said grinning.
‘Thanks, you too.’ She was wearing a mini skirt, very high heels, and dark eye make-up, a complete contrast to the plain uniform I was used to seeing her in. I knew that Freya was only nineteen or twenty and a student at UCL. She volunteered two days a week at the V&A, giving guided tours and manning the information desks when needed. Her lively personality made her popular with the staff and visitors alike.
‘Come on, let’s get more drinks,’ she nodded towards the door and I followed her with my empty glass, wondering if I should slow down a bit.
Back at the cocktail bar there was no sign of Dan as Freya and I pulled up a stool each, but the bartender started to make me a Melon Martini unasked. Freya leaned forwards and requested a Sex On The Beach, with a suggestive flutter of her eyelashes which made me cringe. The bartender just nodded politely with professional detachment.
‘So …’ Freya, unfazed, turned her attention back to me. ‘I think you’re the first person I’ve met here who is actually friends with the Walkers!’ she exclaimed.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I’ve met, colleagues, business associates, neighbours, acquaintances, even their dentist!’ she declared loudly. ‘But you are the first self-proclaimed friend.’
‘Wow. How long have you been here?’
Freya laughed. ‘What can I say, alcohol makes me sociable! But seriously, most of the people here don’t seem to really know them …’
‘Well they’ve only just moved back – they lived in France for a long time,’ I shrugged. ‘What better way to make new friends than to throw a party?’
‘Yeah, that’s true.’ Freya took a slug of her drink. ‘So, are you really good friends?’
Her directness surprised me. ‘Um, well … they’ve been in France.’
Freya nodded. ‘Yeah, see, everyone loves them and they’re obviously really close because
they live together, but I get the feeling they keep everyone else at arm’s length, y’know?’ I was unsure what to say and suddenly aware of the alcohol in my system. ‘Maybe it’s a twin thing?’ Freya suggested.
‘Yes,’ I said, relieved to be let off the hook.
Just then a couple of immaculately dressed guys approached us.
‘Ladies, may we buy you a drink?’ the guy nearest to Freya purred.
‘It’s a free bar!’ Freya said, eyeing them speculatively. ‘But I might let you order something for me …’ she added.
‘Great, what would you like?’
‘Surprise me,’ Freya shot back.
‘OK. How about you?’ he said turning to me with an arched eyebrow. Both men had dark eyes, clear olive skin, and brilliant white smiles – they could have been brothers.
‘Oh, no thanks,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve had enough for now.’ My glass was still half full. I leaned towards Freya and she dragged her eyes away from the guys while they placed their order, she obviously liked what she saw. ‘Have you seen Sebastian or Celeste tonight?’ I asked.
‘Yes! Not Sebastian, but I saw Celeste downstairs, Lizzie pointed her out to me – she looks amazing!’
‘Downstairs?’
‘Yeah, there’s a chill-out room, the kitchen and the garden down there.’
‘OK great, I’ll go have a look, see you later.’ I hopped off my stool and glanced back at the men beside her. They were at least ten years older than Freya. ‘Just be careful, look after yourself, OK?’ I added in her ear. Freya rolled her eyes and smirked back at me as I took my leave.
The lower ground floor was just as vast as the one above but was more colourfully decorated with expensive silk wallpaper and deep-pile rugs. The ceilings were just as high and the walls still displayed large framed prints and lights but the fairy-lights were multi-coloured and flowery. On closer inspection all the pictures had a fashion theme – glossy magazine covers, intimate photo shoots and catwalk models on runways – Celeste’s domain. The vibrant, lively images were the perfect counterpoint to Sebastian’s lonely, restrained images on the floor above.