by Jill Mansell
Paula left at five. Between them they had done a fair amount of unpacking, and it had been kind of her to give up her day off to come over and help. Ellie was grateful, but it had also been kind of exhausting. Emotional, soft-hearted Paula had welled up on three separate occasions. Unwrapping a silver photo frame containing a picture of Ellie and Jamie on their honeymoon in Cornwall, she’d wailed, ‘Oh God, how can you bear it?’
Watching from the bedroom doorway as Ellie had packed some of Jamie’s favorite clothes away at the back of the wardrobe, she had declared tremulously, ‘I don’t know how you cope.’
And when she heard about Ellie having lugged three bags of Jamie’s belongings down to the charity shop, she had wiped her streaming eyes and hiccupped, ‘Oh, Ell, you’re so brave.’
Like she had any choice. Ellie had found herself, not for the first time, having to comfort Paula.
Not even for the hundredth time, come to that.
***
The next morning Ellie didn’t wake up until gone eleven, partly because she was exhausted but chiefly because her alarm clock was still packed away in one of the boxes she hadn’t got round to tackling yet. The good news was that she had three days off work, so it didn’t matter. In her white terry-cloth dressing gown, she sipped a mug of tea and stood at the window gazing across the street. The sun was shining, glinting off the polished windows of the houses opposite. Tiny wrought-iron balconies bore potted plants, and well-tended window boxes abounded. Even the air seemed cleaner here in Primrose Hill. The street was lined with gleaming upmarket vehicles. A glossy fifty-something brunette in sprayed-on jeans jumped down from a black four-by-four, slung an expensive-looking bag over her shoulder, and sashayed off in the direction of the shops. A yummy mummy pushed a state-of-the-art buggy along the pavement. Further along the road, a black and gold chaise longue was being carefully unloaded from a smart bottle-green delivery van.
Ellie mentally compared this with her old street. Yesterday as she’d been in the process of moving out, she’d seen a used condom lying on the ground by the front gate. Instead of being repulsed, her initial response had been relief that someone had at least bothered to use one.
She leaned against the windowsill and admired the clean, litter-free scene. Now another van had drawn up, a tulip-pink one this time, and a vast cellophane-wrapped bouquet of lilies was being delivered to the house next to the one receiving the chaise longue.
Crikey, was she going to fit in here or would she feel awkward and out of place? What if it was too genteel and perfect?
The next moment a taxi drew up, an emerald-green front door swung open, and a blonde raced out of the house directly opposite. For a moment Ellie thought it was a skinny boy in a white T-shirt and low-slung combats, a male hairdresser perhaps, with his hair bleached silver-white and cut in a super-short, choppy crop. But no, it was a female; when the figure turned, she saw the bright red lipstick, dangling earrings, and jewel-encrusted shoulder bag. And OK, maybe that didn’t prove anything conclusively, but if it was a boy he’d have taken the trouble to stuff his bra with socks.
As Ellie watched, the girl suddenly screeched to a halt, signaled to the cab driver to wait, let herself back into the house, and reappeared twenty seconds later triumphantly waving her mobile phone and slamming the door shut behind her. Then she threw herself into the back of the cab and disappeared off up the road.
Leaving something small and glittery swinging from the lock on the front door.
Whoops.
Were the residents of Primrose Hill really as relaxed about security as those in village communities in the nineteen fifties?
Just in case they weren’t, Ellie left her coffee mug on the windowsill, fastened the tie belt on her dressing gown, ran downstairs to the ground floor, and let herself out.
Better safe than sorry.
The edges of the dressing gown flapped around a bit as she hurried across the road. The tarmac was cold beneath her bare feet. A passing teenager in a gray hoodie, having also spotted the key ring dangling from the lock, had abandoned his bike on the pavement and was heading for the emerald-green front door.
Ellie sprinted past him and snatched the keys a millisecond before he could reach them. Looked like Primrose Hill wasn’t sodifferent from Hammersmith after all. Startled, the boy blurted out, ‘I wasn’t going to do anything, honest. I’d’ve taken them to the police station.’
He was pale, spiky haired, radiating guilt.
‘Of course you were. But it’s OK, you don’t need to now.’ Flashing him a cool smile, Ellie dropped the keys into her pocket. She felt like Wonder Woman. Well, Wonder Woman in a dressing gown and with a scary case of bed hair. ‘I’ll take care of my neighbor’s keys. They’ll be safe with me.’
The boy stared at her defensively, an opportunist rather than a hardened criminal. ‘They’d’ve been safe with me too.’
‘Excellent, glad to hear it.’ She patted her pocket and turned triumphantly to cross the road. Ha, get her, less than a day in Nevis Street and already a pillar of the community! If she hadn’t intervened, the girl over the road could have come home to a furniture-free house.
There was a whoosh of tires on tarmac and the would-be burglar sped off. The two men further up the road, who’d now delivered the chaise longue, eyed her state of undress with appreciation. The younger one wolf-whistled and called out, ‘Bin sleepwalking, have you, love? ’Orrible, innit, when you wake up and find yourself out in the street.’
Ellie grinned and waved at them before letting herself back into her own flat. It wouldn’t do to start lowering the tone of the neighborhood.
Upstairs, she showered and dressed in black jeans, a charcoal sweatshirt, and pink flip-flops. Before getting on with the unpacking she would take the keys along to the police station.
Except, where was the nearest police station? And if the girl came home and found herself unable to get in, wouldn’t it be quicker and easier for her to pick the keys up from here?
Ellie wrote a note, searched and failed to find any tape, and ended up using the next best thing. Heading once more across the road, she unpeeled the backing off the Band-Aid and stuck the note securely to the doorbell.
Pleased with her own ingenuity, she then returned to her flat.
At two o’clock, Paula called from work to see how she was getting on.
At three, Ellie stopped for a Krispy Kreme doughnut and a packet of crisps.
By three thirty she had a collection of cardboard boxes, emptied and collapsed and ready to go out for recycling.
Twenty minutes later, in the middle of a complicated battle to get the cover on her duvet, the doorbell rang. Struggling backwards on her knees out of the duvet cover, Ellie prepared a cheery smile and went to answer it. Time to meet the girl from over the road and be welcomed to Primrose Hill. Plus, of course, she’d explain all about her encounter with the would-be burglar and how she’d seen him off—
‘Hi, you’ve got my keys?’ The voice over the intercom was breathless.
‘Oh, hello. Yes, I have! Hang on, I’ll just press the buzzer and you can come on up. You’ll have to excuse the mess, I only moved in yesterday so it’s—’
‘Look, sorry, but I’m in a real rush, could you just chuck them down?’
Oh. Oh. Put out, Ellie took her finger off the buzzer and went over to the living-room sash window. Pushing up the lower half, she leaned out and saw the girl with the cropped white-blond hair waiting impatiently on the pavement. The moment she spotted Ellie, she held out her arms and yelled, ‘I’ll catch them. Quick!’
The keys were on the coffee table, held together by a multicolored Swarovski crystal key ring. Ellie did as she was told and threw them down to the girl, who promptly missed and let out a shriek as they scooted into the road, inches from the drain.
When she’d retrieved them, she raised a hand in acknowledgment and called out, ‘Cheers, you’re a star,’ before hurrying past the waiting taxi and letting herself into the house.
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Never mind thank you.
Oh well.
Ellie exhaled and went back to the bedroom to resume her fight with the duvet. Five minutes later the phone rang in the living room. As she answered it, she saw the blonde girl emerge from her house once more, now wearing a bright red dress and matching spiky stilettos.
‘How are you doing?’ It was Tony, calling from LA.
‘Great.’
‘Natives friendly?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ellie watched the girl dive into the taxi without so much as a glance up at her window. ‘I haven’t met any yet.’
That evening the emptiness closed in and even a visit from Jamie didn’t help.
‘You’ve hardly eaten all day,’ he pointed out in that maddening way of his. ‘Come on, cheer up. Make some pasta or something.’
She looked at him. ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’
‘I’m not telling. I’m making a helpful suggestion. You could do that sauce I used to like.’
Ellie’s stomach rumbled. He was nagging her, but he had a point. She made the tomato and red wine sauce, stirred in fried onions and garlic, and left it to simmer on the hob. God, there was nothing to watch on television. She felt herself weakening, her eyes drifting over to the box of DVDs pushed up against the wall.
‘Don’t do it,’ said Jamie, effortlessly reading her mind. Of course he could read her mind; he was in it.
‘Why not?’
‘It always makes you cry.’
‘And?’
He looked at her, shook his head. ‘I hate it when you cry.’
‘Oh well, too bad.’ Ellie sorted through the DVDs, found the one she wanted. ‘Sometimes I just want to. You don’t have to watch.’
Jamie shrugged and left. She bent down and slid the disc into the DVD player.
Was this cathartic or a form of self-torture? Putting the box of tissues within easy reach, she pressed Play and sat back to watch Jamie and herself on the beach in Cornwall two years ago. Not imaginary Jamie, real Jamie, actually on the TV screen, captured by Todd with his camcorder as they’d mucked about in the waves, chased each other in and out of the water, and ended up rolling around on the sand. Back when life had been normal and happy, because it had never occurred to them that what they shared could be ripped away without warning and—
Bbbbbrrrrrrrbbbbb.
The doorbell. At eleven thirty at night. For heaven’s sake, she hadn’t even had time to start crying yet.
Bbbbbbrrrrrrrrbbbbbb.
Was this some kind of joke? In disbelief, Ellie clambered off the sofa and went over to the intercom. Curtly she said, ‘Yes?’
‘Are you awake?’
She closed her eyes. ‘What?’
‘Sorry, I know it’s kind of late. I saw your light was still on. You weren’t asleep, were you?’
‘No.’
‘Oh good. Now listen, was I a bit rude earlier?’
Ellie leaned against the doorframe, listening to the anxiety in the girl’s voice. ‘Possibly, yes, a bit.’
‘Oh, bugger, I knew it! Did I not even say thank you for my keys?’
‘Now you come to mention it, no, you didn’t.’
‘OK, so will you let me tell you why? The thing is, I was so bursting for the loo that I thought my bladder was going to explode. I could hardly speak, let alone make it up your stairs. When you threw the key down and I had to bend over to pick it up, I thought that was it, I was going to flood the road! And I’m not even exaggerating. I’ve never been so desperate in my life. So that’s why I forgot to thank you. And I’m really, really sorry if you thought I was rude.’
Ellie smiled and felt herself relax. ‘Apology accepted.’
‘Hooray!’ The girl gave a little whoop of relief. ‘I’ve got something for you too. OK if I come up?’
‘Only if you think your bladder can stand it.’
Chapter 6
Having pressed the buzzer, Ellie opened the door and waited for her visitor to appear.
Within seconds the girl with the cropped, white-blond hair came clattering up the stairs. ‘Hi, I’m Roo! I bought you a little thank-you present. Only from the late-night supermarket, but everywhere else was shut.’ Up close, she was tanned and goose-pimply in her strappy red dress, bare legs, and skyscraper heels. Bursting into the flat, she said, ‘Ooh, smells nice in here,’ before dumping her carrier bags on the coffee table and pulling out two bunches of bright orange roses. ‘These are for you.’
‘Thanks.’ Ellie was touched by the gesture. ‘You didn’t need to.’
‘Shut up. Here, this is for you too.’ With a flourish she produced a bottle of Chablis followed by a box of chocolate truffles. ‘And these.’
Ellie shook her head. ‘This is way too much.’
‘It isn’t, it’s to say sorry and thanks. And the reason I wanted you to have them tonight is because if I took them home, I’d end up eating the truffles and drinking the wine.’
There was something weirdly familiar about her voice. Puzzling to work out where she might have heard it before, Ellie picked up the chilled bottle. ‘We can open this now if you like.’
‘Fab, I love it when people say that!’ Eagerly Roo followed her into the kitchen. ‘Ooh, pasta sauce. That smells fantastic.’
She didn’t have a noticeable accent but the voice was still ringing bells. Now, covertly studying her face, Ellie really felt they’d met before. Probably in her early thirties, slim and toned and with huge dark eyes dominating a heart-shaped face, Roo was strikingly pretty beneath the layers of makeup…
‘Ah, the cogs are turning.’ Roo took the corkscrew from her and began energetically uncorking the bottle. She tilted her head and said with amusement, ‘Managed to figure it out yet?‘
‘Oh God, now I’m embarrassed. I knew I knew you from somewhere.’ Time for a wild stab. ‘OK, I work at Brace House Business Centre in Twickenham. Are you one of our clients?’
‘Nope.’
Damn.
‘I knew you weren’t. Um, let me think… have you ever worked in a shop?’
‘Yuck, no, thank God. Way too much like hard work.’ Roo sloshed wine into two glasses. ‘Kills your feet too. Unless it was a sitting-down type of shop. That might not be too bad.’
‘OK, let me think.’ Ellie was floundering. ‘Dentist’s surgery? Hospital? Hairdresser? Or did we meet at a party? Ooh, ever been to the Frog and Bucket in Hammersmith?’
‘No, and I never want to. Sounds too slimy for words. You are stone cold.’
‘Sorry, then. You’ll have to give me a clue.’ This was getting seriously awkward now.
Roo clinked her glass cheerfully against Ellie’s. ‘OK, picture me with long black hair down to here. On TV. Prancing around in a sequined tube top,’ she added, ‘whilst miming badly into a microphone.’
‘Oh my God, I’ve got it!’ Slopping wine on to the worktop, Ellie made the connection. ‘You’re one of the Deevas!’ OK, even more embarrassing; they’d never met before, she’d just seen Roo on TV.
‘Don’t feel bad. I prefer it when people don’t recognize me.’ Roo tweaked her spiky white-blond bangs. ‘Hence the hair. Anyway, that was way back. We grew up.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, kind of. And we moved on.’
Crikey, the Three Deevas had been huge seven or eight years ago. Billed as the girl band with claws, they had been sparky, feisty, and full of attitude, the natural successors to the Spice Girls. Their songs had been played everywhere, their first album a triumph. One black girl with blond hair, one white girl with black hair, and one Asian girl with super-long eyelashes and no hair at all.
Ellie searched her memory bank for more details. Dolly, Daisy, and Mya Deeva, those had been the names they’d gone by. Their first single had been the fantastically successful, ‘If I Loved You, I’d Remember Your Name’. It had to be bleeped because of the line, ‘Men are good for a shag and a new handbag.’
But music was a notoriously tough business. Eight months later, Dolly Deeva had blotted
her copybook when she’d flashed her boobs live on children’s TV. Then Mya Deeva had fallen off the stage at a benefit gig and broken both legs. Finally, Daisy Deeva had given a tipsy interview to MTV announcing that she couldn’t sing in tune, Dolly Deeva wasn’t really a vegetarian, and their fat git of a manager needed to come out of the closet.
After that, the magic formula unraveled faster than an old sock. A year after they’d burst onto the scene, it was all over. The Three Deevas broke up and slid back into obscurity, and their fans found new girl bands to idolize.
Fascinated, Ellie said, ‘You were Daisy.’
‘Just don’t ask me to sing.’ Roo pulled a face. ‘Because I really can’t. Anyway, I’d much rather talk about you.’
But first they had to put a pan of spaghetti on the boil, to go with the sauce. As soon as that was done they headed back into the living room. Spotting the azure seas and white sandy beach on the still-frozen TV screen, Roo exclaimed, ‘Ooh, what were you watching? Mamma Mia?’
Before Ellie could react, she’d seized the remote control and pressed Play. Belatedly, Ellie said, ‘No, it’s—’
‘OK, not Mamma Mia.’ Gazing intently at the screen, Roo watched as Jamie chased Ellie into the water, pulling her into a jokey Hollywood clinch as a wave broke behind them, showering them in spray. Todd, manning the camcorder from a safe distance, called out, ‘You two, get a room.’
‘That’s you.’ Roo glanced back at Ellie, then at the box of tissues on the arm of the sofa. Realization dawned. ‘Oh no, you were sitting here all on your own, playing home videos, and getting emotional. Who’s the guy? Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re not together anymore.’
Momentarily lost for words, Ellie said, ‘Um, well, no…’
‘Ha, knew it! And he’s the one who buggered off, that’s obvious, because otherwise why would you be watching this stuff? Now look, this isn’t doing you any good.’ Roo picked up the box of tissues, tut-tutted, and put them on the floor, out of reach. ‘Trust me, men aren’t worth it. You just have to get on with your life. OK, so he was a pretty one.’ She turned back to the TV and pressed Pause, freezing the screen to capture Jamie mid-leap in a game of beach volleyball. ‘But he left you, so don’t dwell on the good points. Be critical. Ask yourself what kind of bloke wears a T-shirt the color of baby’s poo. And what about those legs? They’re too skinny! And I bet he snored!’