NINE
Lily
I go to see my mother.
Her voice bubbles up warmly toward me. ‘Have you eaten?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ I say automatically.
‘What time is it?’
‘Eleven o’clock.’
‘Come into the kitchen. I made a chocolate cake yesterday and iced it this morning. You might as well have some.’
I follow her into the kitchen. My mother has a large kitchen built for her by my dad, who is a bit of a DIY enthusiast. It is airy, clutter free and the exact opposite of Nan’s kitchen. There is no kitchen god here. No incense. No sticky cakes, and no firecrackers during the Lunar New Year. She switches on the kettle and reaches for the tin where the tea bags are stored. I don’t offer to help because I know she will refuse. She puts two mugs out next to the kettle.
‘I’ve been so worried about you.’ She twists the top off the tin and drops a tea bag in each mug. ‘I don’t think I quite like you being an undercover cop. I’ve read such horrible things.’ She opens a drawer, takes out a knife then walks toward the cake stand where a beautifully iced cake is sitting under glass. ‘What if someone offers you drugs? Are you supposed to take them?’ She lifts the glass dome.
‘Mum, I’ve left the force.’
Her hands still. She puts the glass dome on the counter, and turns around to stare at me, her face suddenly creased with concern and worry. ‘Left the force? What happened?’
I sigh. ‘It’s a long story, Mum. I’ll tell you another day.’
‘Does this mean that you are now unemployed?’
I sigh. ‘No, I have another job.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Admin work.’
‘Does it pay well?’
‘Better than being a police officer, that’s for sure. Listen, Mum, forget my job for a minute, I wanted to tell you something more important.’
‘What?’ she asks almost suspiciously.
‘I got married.’
‘Oh! When?’ she says looking shocked.
I show her the rings. She walks toward me and in a daze takes my hand. I realize then that my mother and I hardly touch. It’s been so long since I have felt the texture of her skin.
‘How did I not notice it? Did you not want Dad and me to be there then?’ She sounds hurt and lost.
I bite my lip with remorse. I realize that I shouldn’t have told her. Maybe I should have stayed silent, and if it all works out with Jake we should have just got married again.
‘It was a spur of the moment thing. We were in Las Vegas. There was no family from either of us there.’
She lets go of my hand and frowns. ‘You were in Las Vegas?’
‘Yes, just for the weekend.’
‘Dad’s been saving up for a wedding for you,’ she says softly.
‘He can use the money to take you on a nice holiday,’ I say, feeling like a total bitch. But what else can I tell her?
‘Who is this man?’
‘His name is Jake Eden.’
‘Jake Eden,’ she repeats softly. ‘You’ve never spoken of him before.’
I nearly raise my eyebrows and say, When have I ever spoken to you or Dad about a man? But I catch myself in time and say, ‘It was a bit of a whirlwind thing.’
She looks deep into my eyes. ‘I’m glad you’re happy.’
‘I am,’ I tell her firmly.
She smiles. ‘What does he do?’
I tell her what will satisfy her. ‘He’s a businessman.’
‘Good,’ she says approvingly. ‘Do you have a photograph?’
‘No, I’ll bring him over next week.’
‘That’ll be nice. Dad will want to meet him.’ She turns away from me and cuts two slices of cake.
Poor Mum. Her world seems so small, so pointless. For years Dad and I have protected her from all bad news. So now she lives her life baking and cleaning and watching soaps. Sometimes Dad and I intrude into her life and she reacts with surprise. And I realize it from her that I have learned to be so distant with the ones I love.
We eat her cake—it is delicious—and drink tea together.
Once she puts her fork down and asks again, ‘Are you happy, Lily?’
I look her in the eye. ‘Yes, Mother. I am.’
She smiles and I smile back and for a few seconds it feels as if the sun is shining in my mother’s small world.
‘That’s good,’ she says. ‘That’s very good.’
Jake
We go to Lily’s parents’ home for dinner. They live in a Victorian three bedroom semi in Hampstead. The décor is pure Scandinavian: white walls, cool blue rugs and brown leather furniture. But an air of immutable sadness permeates it. Here there are unhealed and grievous wounds. Even Lily seems sadder and smaller. She smiles at me uncertainly and it makes me want to hold and reassure her, but I don’t. I realize that it is not the done thing in the Strom household. Here everybody is an island unto themselves.
Her father is white-haired, tall, thin, and appears much older than his years, and her mother is small, fragile, and charming. To my surprise she cooks and serves up a superb five-course meal. There is Gravadlax of salmon, pea velouté, an apple and mint sorbet between courses, noisettes of lamb and perfectly cooked vegetables. She finishes with poached oranges and pots of crème brûlée to rival the ones you’d find in the best five star restaurants. Afterwards, we nibble on excellent chocolate truffles.
‘Homemade,’ Lily’s father proudly informs.
I compliment her mother, again.
She smiles modestly.
The family dynamics are interesting. The mother in all her fragility utterly controls her family. Both husband and daughter treat her as if she is fashioned out of eggshell and defer to her in all things.
In the car, Lily doesn’t ask me what I think of her parents and I don’t offer any opinion. The evening is a success on the surface, but I think I both terrified and fascinated them, in the way a colorful but poisonous reptile might. As for me they are not really my kind of people, they are too straight and proper—not an unpaid parking ticket between them no doubt. Their marriage reminds me of the surface of a pond, stale and passionless. Still, I like them well enough.
In all their careful goodness they made my Lily.
TEN
Lily
After I paint my lips carmine, I step into a long, backless black dress that ties at the nape of my neck. One little tug and I’ll be standing in a scrap of lace held together by a bit of string. Carefully I pin a small black brooch on the tie, then step into a pair of black shoes with gold high heels. My toenails, painted gold, poke through. I stand in front of the mirror and look at myself curiously. I have never worn black. Nan’s superstitions have colored my thoughts.
‘Bad luck color. For funerals only,’ she always said.
But Jake bought this dress for me, and now that I see myself in it I realize that I really like black. I think it makes me look long and sophisticated. I touch my meticulously constructed hairdo and wonder what the night will bring. Tonight is the big re-launch party for Eden. Everyone will be there. It is an event.
As I finish fixing a pair of gold hoops in my ears, Jake appears in the doorway. I turn around to look at him and my breath catches. I have never seen him look so dashing. He is wearing a snow white dress shirt, a black silk tie, a beautifully cut black suit and black shoes. There is a red carnation pinned to his lapel. Nothing adds panache to a man’s appearance like the confidence embodied in wearing a boutonnière, that symbol of fragile life and beauty caught in a single bloom. I already know that he will be the only man in the entire club wearing a flower on his left breast. The only man swimming against the current. And I love him for it.
He comes forward and stands next to me.
‘We match,’ I say to our reflections.
‘That we do, but you are more beautiful by far,’ he compliments suavely.
I smile, wordless, swept up by his beauty, by my good fortune, by t
he intensity of my feelings.
As he watches I tilt my head back, elongate my neck amorously, and with a single finger, dab perfume behind my ears and at the base of my throat.
In the mirror I see him turn toward me. His hands go toward my earrings. ‘Not these for tonight,’ Jake whispers, as he gently removes them. From his pocket he brings out two strands of blue gems. Carefully, he hangs them from my ears. My mouth drops open in amazement. They are indescribably gorgeous. I turn my head slightly and the ropes of blue swing into my neck.
‘Oh, Jake. They are beautiful,’ I gasp.
But he is not finished. From his other pocket he takes another handful of blue gems, and moving to the back of me, places them around my throat. The stones glitter against my skin, like blue stars. Their color is so close to the shade of my eyes that I gaze at them in astonishment. How did he find these stones? My eyes meet his, startled, wondering, and awestruck. He smiles and turns me around to face him.
‘I was right. They are perfect,’ he murmurs, and bending his head kisses the hollow between my breasts where the plunging neckline ends. He watches riveted as through the material my nipples harden. He runs his palms over them and I make a small sound of submission.
His eyes register approval. ‘I can’t wait to get you home tonight.’ There is a softness and depth to his voice.
In the darkened confines of the car I feel Jake’s hand take mine.
‘Your hands are cold,’ he says. ‘You’re not nervous, are you?’
‘A bit.’
He squeezes my hand. ‘Don’t be. I’ll be at your side the whole time.’
I smile gratefully at him.
‘You do know you will be the most beautiful woman in there.’
‘You haven’t even seen all the women yet.’
‘I don’t need to. You are the most beautiful woman to me.’
As we approach the queue of people waiting to get in I feel a little apprehensive, but also a heady sense of excitement. The new Eden’s marbled and gilt splendor seems almost garish to my heightened senses. I feel so buoyed up I am almost light-headed. My feet seem to scarcely touch the ground and my stomach feels empty. I suppose it could be because I haven’t eaten for hours. I daren’t eat, not with this dress. Perhaps I am also anxious that I may not fit in. The shadow of his mother’s disapproval looms. I know she will be here. Will she undermine me?
Red ropes are lifted and we are ushered in.
We go past the plum velvet loveseat in the foyer toward the enormous central vase filled with magnolia blossoms. Struck by two spotlights the blooms seem almost brighter than the lamps.
The music grows louder and my heartbeat quickens.
We enter the club and the whole of fashionable London seems to be there. All the dancers are in their best, and beautiful people are everywhere. It must be true that beautiful models, male and female, have been flown in from all over the world to pretty up the place. Under the chandeliers the supremely rich are casually amused and the air is charged with their intriguingly corrupt whiff. Laughter ebbs and flows like the tide.
The Mayor of London is present; movie star hair, sharp as knives, and as usual pretending to be a good-natured buffoon.
Jake takes me to the table where his mother is sitting. Her eyes meet mine and her back straightens. She drops her eyes to a large bowl of floating orchids set in the middle of the table.
‘Ma,’ he greets, and bends to kiss her. In the candlelight the pearls around her neck glimmer milkily. She appears softened and yet hostile.
‘Hello, Mrs. Eden,’ I greet politely.
She nods distantly. I can’t blame her. I might be even more ferocious if I thought someone was threatening my son. I remember being in school and aggressively fighting Luke’s battles for him.
‘Lily, meet my sister, Layla,’ Jake says.
I turn to meet a stunning creature in a deep red silk dress standing next to us. She is tall, very tall—she might even be five ten or eleven—and is everything I have always thought of as beautiful. Her hair is the color of bitter chocolate and cascades down her back in rich and lustrous waves. Her eyes are as green as Jake’s, but there appears to be either gray or blue in them, too. Her nose is straight and narrow, and her mouth is large and expressive. She grins, vibrantly alive and fiery. She is only nineteen and Jake tells me she has been studying fashion in Paris.
‘Layla, Lily.’
Layla claps her hands with delight. ‘Oh, Jake. She’s a doll.’
I visualize the expression on my mother-in-law’s face, extract the disapproval and count the hatred.
Jake looks down at me, indulgent, almost like a proud parent. ‘Yes, she is a bit of a doll, isn’t she?’
Heat warms up my throat and cheeks.
But in seconds the dynamics of the situation change.
‘Who the fuck invited him?’ Layla says angrily. The change in her is dramatic to say the least. There are twin spots of color in her cheeks.
‘I did,’ Jake says smoothly.
I turn my eyes in the direction Layla is looking in and see Billy Joe Pilkington approaching us. He is impossible to miss. He is large and menacing. Everything about him screams beware of me, I’m lethal. He is the kind of man I would cross the road to avoid. When he was bloodied and lying beside Jake, the menace had not been so apparent. Now it powers out of him in waves. He is dressed in a navy suit, but he is not wearing a tie, and his shirt is open low enough to see the beginnings of his tattoos. His eyes are dark—either dead fire or black ice. A place to trip up and fall badly.
He stops by Jake’s mother first. ‘Good health to you, Mrs. Eden,’ he says.
Mara smiles. ‘God and Mary to you. How is your mother?’
‘She’s made dying her life’s work,’ he says with a straight face.
Jake’s mother hides a smile. ‘May God grant her many years.’
‘And me earplugs,’ he says with a wink, and turns his attention toward our group of three.
‘Hello, Layla,’ he greets civilly.
‘You have a nerve coming here!’ she says rudely. Her whole body has become strangely stiff and hostile. She looks at him with great disdain.
‘Layla,’ her mother gasps, shocked.
‘Apologize, Layla,’ Jake says with a scowl.
‘Why should I?’ Layla retorts.
But BJ grins at her. It has an odd effect on his face. It does not soften it, but makes it even more dangerous. ‘Layla,’ he says softly. ‘Look at you, all grown up and still not a shred of manners in sight.’
‘See?’ Layla turns to her mother. ‘He’s not being exactly friendly to me, is he?’
They stare at each other for a few seconds. The aggressive sexual tension between them is impossible to miss and makes me wonder which of them is actually resisting it.
‘Maybe you’ll save a dance for me later?’ he says, a dimple forming in his chin. Shit. The guy is actually attractive.
‘Hell will freeze over first,’ she declares dramatically and flounces off.
BJ laughs, his eyes chasing her into the crowd.
‘Sorry about that,’ Jake says.
‘No, don’t apologize for her. She’s got spirit. I like that in women and horses.’
Jake laughs. ‘Let’s call for a drink.’
A waitress materializes and while we are placing our orders another comes around with a tray of little round bruschetta with glistening swordfish carpaccio. The drinks arrive. BJ raises his pint glass of Guinness in a toast.
‘Here’s to cheating, stealing, fighting, and drinking.’
‘May you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows you’re dead,’ Jake replies.
We clink glasses. We drink. As ice-cold champagne slides down my throat I see Melanie waving at me. I haven’t seen her since Jake came and took me and all my stuff from the flat I shared with her. I know she can’t come over to our section so I excuse myself. ‘I’m just going to say hello to a friend.’ I glance at Jake and mouth, ‘Be back so
on.’
I weave my way over to her and she grins at me and we exchange kisses that are almost sisterly. She is dressed in a white gown of ravishing simplicity. It flows down her body like liquid. Her lips are ruby and her lashes are as long as an ostrich’s.
‘Girl, you sure showed us how to do it,’ she shouts above the music and the din of the party.
I look back at Jake—he is watching me. I wave and laugh out loud. I know that for most of the dancers the holy grail is finding a fat purse and marrying it as quickly as possible. They know they can’t dance after a certain age so the race is on as soon as they start out. Each one will say the same thing: They are here for a short spell.
Melanie is different, though. She is saving up to take the money to Barbados where she plans to buy a beach bar. The last time we talked she figured she would only have to work for another six months.
‘Is that adoring admiration I just saw?’ she teases.
I flush. ‘Maybe.’
‘Has he got a big dick?’ she asks cheekily.
‘Yes,’ I admit and we giggle wickedly. I miss her blunt and honest ways.
‘Wow, I love these,’ she says, touching the blue stones.
‘Me too,’ I agree happily.
‘Listen, I have to go because I’m performing now, but let’s catch up soon.’
‘All right. How about Friday?’
‘Nails and then lunch?’
‘OK, I’ll call you.’
As I watch her walk away I notice the man who had come to collect BJ after the fight, the man who had shown for a split second that he recognized me.
I start walking toward him.
Our eyes meet, but he lets his slide away, pretending not to see me making my way toward him, tries to disappear through the crowd in the direction of the men’s toilet. I let him escape. A few minutes later he comes out of the toilet and looks around him. He does not see me behind the pillar and is startled when I touch his sleeve.
He whirls around.
‘Hi, remember me?’ I say brightly.
He frowns as if trying to place me. ‘Oh yeah, from the fight, right?’
‘No, you know me from before, don’t you?’
You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 42