by Kitty Wilson
He stared at the phone. He wasn’t sure but he didn’t think he’d actually got to say a word. Not one. What to do now?
He walked towards the drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whisky. Pouring himself a glass, he looked out at the London skyline from the huge windows of Angelina’s swish glass-fronted apartment. Knocking it back, he realized that his breathing, his heartbeat had returned to normal.
A laugh, one of those deep, resigned-to-the-inevitable ones, broke the silence as he shook his head and his anger at Angelina subsided. How had he expected any different? She was a monster, but at least she was a monster knocking back champagne in a club with God knows who, rather than lying lifeless in a bath or sobbing hysterically on the sofa. Yes, she was a selfish, irritating, egocentric, narcissistic, self-indulgent trollop who lacked any kind of empathy or concern but she was his sister and she was right, they hadn’t spent a night out together in ages.
Bollocks – he was going to do as he was told. He let the whisky slide down his throat, warming all the way to the pit of the stomach. He was here now, he may as well go out and party! He could leave Scramble in Angelina’s room, to sleep on her bed, and the door to her shoe cupboard open. After all, his dog had been far better behaved than his sister and deserved a treat – but there was no way he was changing his bloody clothes.
* * *
As Matt was ushered through the innocuous-looking door into some chic secret club he wondered if he had had a lobotomy somewhere between home and here. Anywhere that flowing booze and barely clad females were gathered had been a haven in his early twenties, but now, now he liked the garden, a cup of tea, watching the smile in Rosy’s eyes turn to a great big cheek-to-cheek grin.
Oof! He felt an unexpected weight unbalance him slightly as he was hurtled into at speed by a very drunk little sister. ‘Mattie, Mattie… you’re here! I love you! Come, come!’ She led him to a table, filled with empty champagne bottles, glasses and what looked to be the upended contents of a handbag, where a scantily dressed green-eyed cat lady with sleek black hair and an intimidating gaze sat.
Angelina pulled him onto the banquette and ruffled through the table to find him an empty glass, which she filled to the brim, so much so it was trickling over the top, and pressed it upon him.
‘Matt, I’m so glad you’re here, we’re going to have fun! Fun! Now drink.’
‘You are a pain in my arse, I can’t believe you got me—’
‘Yeah, yeah, drink!’ She started to force his elbow up and he knew from experience if he didn’t take a big glug it was going to end up all over him. So glug he did. Angelina clapped her hands and squealed some more. The squealing really needed to stop! More alcohol would help that. He raised the glass again, noting approvingly that someone had approached their table and discreetly left a new bottle there for them.
He gave himself up to the uselessness of chastising Angelina. He had no doubt it would all come out in time, so he threw himself into the party spirit instead. Actually it felt good, this was fun, and before he knew it he and Angelina were giggling like children, clutching at each other and talking nonsense.
Then something shifted; she tensed and a flash of the fear he used to see as a child flitted across her face. The woman with them, Siobhan she had said, who was drinking as hard as they were but not laughing quite so much, narrowed her eyes and focused on a man walking towards them, who was accompanied by a stunning redhead. The girl was all quivery and doe-like, possibly no more than eighteen. Matt himself felt something visceral shudder through him; this was not a pleasant man, and yet he exuded a snake-like hypnotic power that captivated Matt.
Angelina grabbed tighter onto his arm. He could feel the pinch of her anxiety through the fabric of his shirt as she started to laugh and flick her hair about. All Matt’s hackles started to rise in defence of Ange, and in protection of the young girl accompanying Andrei (he assumed). This man was unpleasant. He sweated nasty.
Andrei paused by the table and nodded at Matt’s sister before carrying on, wordless and not waiting for a reply, heading to a table on the other side of the club. A table he could have accessed easily without walking past them.
‘Honey,’ Matt cooed at Angelina, whose eyes were now darting about, arms clutching her body, ‘do you want to get out of here?’
‘Absolutely not!’ slurred Ange. ‘I’m not fussed about him, I’m too good for him, and…’
‘Yep, you are.’
‘I know, it’s just that… just that…’
‘Oh shit… Do you need me to hit him?’
‘Oh yes, yes, yes… but do you… um… think you could do it outside in front of the people camera things? You know, kill the bastard! On film?’
Matt’s instinct to physically protect Angelina by throwing a punch into the smug, snake-like, child-dating face of Andrei dissipated a little.
‘Um, probably not, Ange. But… he didn’t… did he… hurt you?’
‘Yes, he bloody did! Bastard! He… he…’ She started to sob. Oh fuck! Matt was going to have to punch him after all, and after the amount of booze Angelina had poured down his throat this evening he wasn’t too sure of his aim. ‘He told me gold lamé didn’t look good on anyone over twenty!’ The tears spilt down her face, plopping into and running down the champagne flutes. Hard to see in the dark throb of the club but there nonetheless.
‘But did he hit you?’ Matt understood emotional and mental trauma but felt she could, should, learn to live with lamé jibe.
‘Oh God no! He wouldn’t dream of it. I think he has men for that sort of thing. You silly billy!’ She stroked his arm and looked up at him adoringly. ‘I do love you, Mattie. Oh look! There’s Jonny Selby! Amazing abs, you know!’ And with the concentration of a springer spaniel in a field full of pheasants she was up and off and shimmying in as sultry a fashion as someone so drunk could manage.
Matt sat back. Nope, he’d never learn. She was a constant nightmare and yet still he couldn’t help but smile at her. It was like being cross with a puppy, just pointless.
The Cleopatra girl slid across the banquette beside him.
‘Do you want to go for a fag?’
Matt didn’t really. A non-smoker these days, he wasn’t mad keen on the smell but knew he shouldn’t let her hover outside by herself. Although she looked pretty capable of handling herself. Oh bollocks, being pissed and not wanting to walk the length of the club was not a good enough reason not to be a gentleman. Besides which, fresh air, whether he wanted it or not, was probably a good idea.
‘I want to talk to you about Angeleenah,’ she drawled. Oh, bloody hell!
‘Come on then.’ He slid off the seating and offered a hand to help her up. She negotiated the furniture and the club, walking just ahead of him, with grace. He bumped into three chairs, stood on one foot and knocked someone’s drink. This whole getting older nonsense seemed to have a real effect on the senses. He was sure he hadn’t been this clumsy earlier in the day. Dear God, he’d be having to walk around in bubble wrap by forty if this trajectory continued! He carried on pondering this whole aging process thing as he snaked behind Siobhan and headed towards a different door to that which he had entered through.
The air hit him, making him reel and feel as if cartoon boofs and booms had appeared all round him. They seemed to be in a street slightly less salubrious than the one where the club entrance was. Here pallets and bins lined the pavements, the smell arising from them penetrating his nostrils and reminding him how glad he was not to be a city dweller any more. The puff of his breath in the darkness under the street lamp clouded the already thick air in front of him.
‘Woah.’ He rocked a little back and forth on his toes whereas Siobhan was as collected as she had been with all that weaving stuff she had done.
‘So you’re Angeleenah’s brother then? Matthew, she said. Yah?’
‘Yah!’ Where’d that come from? Since when had he started talking like an eighties Sloane Ranger?
‘And you’re vi
siting London because she’s terribly upset about Andrei, yah?’
‘Yah.’
‘I did warn her, I said it’s all very well knowing these people but one doesn’t sleep with them, for fuck’s sake! Yah?’
‘Yah.’ Matt put his hand out towards the wall, concentrating on just standing there.
‘Line? Yah.’
‘Yah. Bloody hell. No. No!’ Siobhan had handed him a teeny spoon-shaped implement thingy after taking a very professional snort from it herself. ‘No, I don’t. Never have.’
‘Oh yah. Of course. Entirely up to you. Very welcome. Cigarette?’
‘No.’ He paused and looked around himself in the darkness. ‘Oh, do you know what, actually yes. I think I need to.’ He accepted a cigarette from her and they stood there in silence for a second as they both inhaled deeply. He hadn’t smoked for years and it was disgusting. He wasn’t going to smoke for several more after this. But at the same time, just in this drunken moment, it seemed right. Plus he needed to make sense of what was happening here. Somehow after racing from Cornwall where he had been standing in Rosy’s garden in a velvet cap a mere twelve hours ago, he was now outside some club in London with a girl he had never met, who had no qualms about offering him drugs and then doing cocaine very openly in front of him and in a public bloody street. And she was friends with his baby sister. He needed to sober up quick and sort this out.
He stomped on the cigarette and took a deep breath of the morning air.
‘Thanks. So, Siobhan, you said you wanted to talk to me about Angelina.’
‘Yah.’
‘Well, what did you want to say?’
‘This Andrei, well, he’s vile. But Ange seems really really upset. It took me ages to persuade her to come out tonight, and she’s just not herself. Yah.’
‘How so not herself?’
‘Well, normally she’s the life and soul of the party, and tonight, well…’
‘She looked fairly life and soul to me.’ Matt recalled her slinking around on the dance floor, champagne flute aloft as they had left but a few minutes ago.
Siobhan’s response was to look at him pityingly. ‘Hmmm. No, really, no. And anyhow…’ Her voice began to speed up and her arms became quite animated. ‘ I want to talk to you about you too. Ange talks about you all the time, about how you just don’t really understand the need for a profile, yah. I understand that you have this new programme coming up on terrestrial, gardens and that sort of thing. People just love it, don’t they? Love it. Don’t understand myself but anyway, going to be huge. Simply huge. I was thinking that really you could do with raising your own profile, your own brand beforehand, couldn’t you, get you out to lots of parties, be seen with who’s important, yah? Lots of public appearances, networking, really really get your face out there, yah. And of course being Angeleenah’s brother could be really useful, yah. She can get you in everywhere. Drop some hints, get you in the paper a lot. Maybe you could date Charlene, from Celebrity Big Brother, she’s huge right now. Huge. Nice girl. As long as you don’t talk to her. Dreadful accent. North or something. But very now. People love her, yah. Well, you and her, and then if we could get Angeleenah back with Andrei, I know he’s a shit, but it would only be a short time, we could pitch you as the new showbiz family. It would be huge, huge! What do you think? Perfect. I knew you’d agree, let’s go in and I’ll tell Angeleenah that you’re on board. Yah.’
‘Um.’ Matt’s head was a whirlwind but he was pretty bloody sure that he didn’t want to agree with whatever this woman was suggesting. Not in a million years. Rosy’s face popped back into his head: her sitting amongst cardboard hearts, simple, unadorned, smiling. Never in his life had he wanted a Star Trek transporter as much as he did now. Two actually. One to disappear bloody Siobhan, who was still standing in front of him, gesticulating wildly and planning, plotting and laughing unnecessarily. And one to beam him up, right back home.
Chapter Fourteen
Matt woke up the next day with a banging head and a fuzzy memory. He tiptoed into Angelina’s swish and never-used kitchen and shoved his head under the tap, gulping like a man trapped in the desert. Last night had been crazy. It had been bad enough being launched upon and fighting off Siobhan in the alleyway – for a laid-back yah-yah gal she had remarkably octopus-like tendencies once she stopped talking – but then when he’d headed back into the club he had been shocked to see his sister, who only moments before he’d left had been doing a great impression of a single independent woman, draped over the Russian gangster she had just broken up with and begging, actually begging, to be taken back. When he had intervened, he was taken outside and dropped on his arse by two henchmen, each the size of Colossus, who made no attempt to disguise the fact that they were armed. It was as his bottom hit the littered frosty pavement, in the exact same place he had escaped from Siobhan, that he had decided his sister needed kidnapping. Just not by some criminal oligarch. As he had shivered outside the club, it appeared that the Russian mobster was not interested in having Angelina back and thus it wasn’t much longer before she fell out of the front door of the club, dress ripped and make-up smudged. Siobhan was nowhere in sight.
Sticking his head under the tap one last time, he knew he had to hatch a plan to bring Ange home to Cornwall with him, wean her off gangsters and friends with drug problems and try, yet again, to talk about the importance of boundaries and self-respect. The mere thought was making his head thud harder.
‘No! No! No! You evil creature! Arrrrgggghhh! How could you?’ Angelina was awake.
He heard her bedroom door open and watched as Scramble screeched out, almost skidding across the floor and heading straight for his daddy with the naughtiest grin on his face.
Matt curled down so the dog could jump straight into his arms and protection. Then prepared himself to deal with Angelina’s fury, quickly trying to wipe the smile off his face. Maybe he shouldn’t have let Scramble have full access to her shoes but perhaps she shouldn’t have… well, that list was far too long to contemplate.
Ange came full pelt out of her room, shoe aloft, reminiscent of the mother in Tom and Jerry, and for the first time in years Matt saw her hair as less than perfect. He had always wondered if it stayed exactly in place whilst she slept. Apparently not.
‘Do you know what that vile, vile beast—’
‘I’m sorry, Ange, that may be my fault.’
‘Why? Have you been rolling around in my shoe cupboard chewing my Jimmy Choos? Chewing and spitting on not one, not two, but five different shoes! Have you? No, it’s that bloody dog’s fault! Why did you even bring him? Couldn’t you have left him somewhere, you know, like with that dull woman whats-her-face next door? If he had chewed her sensible bloody shoes he’d have been doing the world a favour!’
‘Oh, funny you should mention Rosy, because guess who I was with when you summoned me to London? Where I rushed to with said dog, straight away, may I remind you.’
‘Dear God! I don’t actually want to talk about her right now! Urgghhh.’ Angelina made gagging noises, about as attractively as she was wearing her hair.
‘What is wrong with you? Why are you so mean about her?’
‘Woof!’ Brave now he was in his dad’s arms, Scramble also objected.
‘Really? I’m heartbroken and your dog’ – she shot Scramble a warning look – ‘has just trashed over two thousand pounds’ worth of shoes and you want to talk about her! You could do so much better than mousey-bloody-moo. I know for a fact Siobhan has a massive crush, and family money…’
Matt’s eyes grew huge – where to start?
His sister hadn’t finished. ‘Now, are you going to put that dog down so I can beat him as he deserves? Five pairs of shoes, Matt!’
‘Woof!’
‘What do you think? You’re not touching my dog! I’m about to take him out to lift his leg and then we can go for breakfast. Can you be ready in ten minutes?’
‘Oh God! You know nothing about women, do you. Go on, take
your dog and get out. Go eat heart disease on a plate – you can bring me back a soy latte and a mango. Go. Go on, and make sure that mutt’s teeth are removed before you bring him back in!’
* * *
Matt swallowed the last morsel of black pudding, fed a smidgen of sausage to Scramble and picked up his phone to call Susie. Angelina had very sensibly insisted upon Susie when he was initially offered the presenting job at Penmenna, and he had been touched at the time that his baby sister was so fierce about protecting his interests. That feeling had dimmed fairly rapidly. However, Susie had proved invaluable and was about to help him with his primary job for today. Plus, he knew this call would make his agent very happy.
He had two problems to solve this morning. The first was getting Angelina to Cornwall, but he figured that could easily be sorted by using her number one skill against her: manipulation. Rational debate was pointless. If he dropped some hints about Tom Hardy filming down the road in Roscombe, she’d be packed and at Paddington before he could put Scramble on a lead. The other job at the top of his to-do list, the one he was tackling now, was trickier but manageable. He had the perfect leverage, and what was a little personal embarrassment to help a whole community? He took a deep breath to prepare himself, and just in time.
‘Darling! I didn’t expect to hear from you today, not after Friday’s call. Is everything OK? How are the wilds of Cornwall?’
‘Wild. However, Susie, that’s not why I’m ringing. I want to discuss some changes to the format of Green-fingered and Gorgeous.’
‘Eh? You put the kibosh on that name that you’re throwing about so freely.’
‘Yes, that’s because it’s ridiculous. But I’m prepared to negotiate. You can let the production company know I’ll roll over on the name if they include this new segment idea I have, and allow me complete control over it.’