Sin Tropez

by Aita Ighodaro

  In the privacy of her living room she devoured each word he’d written. He always told her she was beautiful, in every way possible. Tara suspected he had read too much into her grotesque self-portrait. But still it was nice to hear, and she was starting to believe it again. Even when she’d lost faith in herself, her friends had all stood by her and she felt so much renewed love, in particular for Abena and Natalya, without whom she’d probably be sleeping with some gross old man in return for coke. She took out her laptop and started working on her CV. When she got out, she was going to stop being such a brat, and get a job, and pay back everything she owed, and get all of her wonderful friends mind-blowing presents to apologize for months of ingratitude.

  The next days passed torturously slowly, but they passed nonetheless, and at long last it was time for Tina to come and fetch Tara from the clinic. With so much time on her hands, Tara had spent her last days making petal-covered thank-you cards for her favourite therapists, who were all sad to see their most glamorous patient leave. Indeed, she was glamorous once more. Forced to attend supper every evening and surprised by the excellent quality of the food, she’d put a stone back on and was delighted to see her little breasts regain their perkiness, after months of having a chest like a ten-year-old boy’s. She had seen a dermatologist at the clinic and her skin was back to normal; her bowel gangrene had subsided too. She knew she had caused some irreparable damage to her body, and she was well aware that any relapse would have severe consequences, but right now Tara felt like she could take on the world.

  Tina jumped out of the Audi, followed by Hugo.

  ‘Papa!’ Tara exclaimed over the shoulder of her mother, who had buried her head in her daughter’s chest and was hanging on for dear life. ‘I didn’t think you’d be coming too. I half expected you to have moved out! What a treat. I’ve missed you both so much. Did you bring Lamb? And Ferdy?’

  ‘Oh, darling,’ Tina stood on tiptoes to kiss Tara’s nose, ‘we’ve had such a terrible time without you. So much has happened. But your father and I have decided to give our marriage another chance.’

  Tara stood, speechless, staring from one parent to another.

  ‘Come on Tara-Bara, let’s get you home and we’ll explain everything.’

  She didn’t have a clue what had happened while she was away, but it must have been good if her parents were back together. Now all that she needed was for Philip’s frumpy old bore of a girlfriend to disappear and everything would be perfect.

  Once they arrived home, Tina poured everyone a glass of sparkling elderflower cordial. Having already sneaked a peek in the drinks cellar, Tara knew that all the alcohol had been cleared out of the house. Taking her cordial, she reacquainted herself with Willowborough’s treasures: the intricate painting in the Great Hall, her father’s fun portraits of Lamb and Ferdy, the comforting warmth and smells of the Aga-heated kitchen. Inspecting her father’s bedroom, she was pleased to see evidence that Tina had moved back in. She might be rehabilitated now, but she needed to know her father was too. She searched high and low for a secret stash of booze, knowing every possible hiding place as she’d used them all herself, and found not a drop of alcohol. Good. She was about to leave the room when she noticed a letter poking out of a sketchbook on the windowsill, clearly bearing her father’s handwriting. She picked it up and read it.

  Her father was on his way upstairs when he heard Tara’s crystal glass hit the floor and shatter loudly into fragments.

  ‘Tara-Bara is everything alright? What was that smashing sound?’

  ‘Papa,’ she sobbed, on her hands and knees with grief. ‘You tried to kill yourself?’

  Hugo went to hug her but she shrugged him off. Tina was not so easily shaken off. She held her daughter tight and refused to be pushed away. For the first time in her life Tina demanded the right to act like a mother. She held her daughter in the way she’d so desperately needed to be held all these years but was too proud, or too embarrassed, to ever ask for.

  It soon emerged that events at home had been far more remarkable than those at the clinic. Tara learnt, with increasing incredulity, of how her father had ended up in A & E, saved just in time by his little niece, who’d skipped into his room to show him her picture and found him passed out and soaked in sweat. He had been put on a life-support machine and had very nearly died.

  ‘Why didn’t anyone let me know?’ screamed Tara, furious.

  ‘You had your own problems, darling. I was only thinking of you. And anyway, I knew he would live. And do you know how I knew that? Because at that moment, when I saw him there, on the life-support machine, I realised that I couldn’t live without him. That I needed him, I needed him to live.’

  Tina and Hugo exchanged looks of such unadulterated longing that if Tara hadn’t still been struggling to take in the dreadful details she would have felt quite queasy.

  ‘By the grace of God, your father pulled through, but it still wasn’t over then. He started to hallucinate and experienced a fit of mini-seizures, which the doctors said were the symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. With the amount your father had been drinking, it was going to be dangerous for him to just stop immediately, so they kept him hospitalized for a few more weeks, gradually reducing his intake.’

  ‘I only got out a week before you did,’ Hugo cut in. ‘And I’m sorry for not being there, for not helping you.’

  ‘Papa, I’m sorry for not helping you!’ Tara clasped her head as though it would burst open at any minute with the horror of what she was hearing.

  ‘So,’ Tina concluded, ‘the struggle is not over for either of you yet, but we’re all going to work together to help each other out. Firstly, none of us will drink alcohol in the house, or in front of your father. And I’m going to be attending AA meetings with him; you’re welcome to come too while you’re here, darling. And, most importantly, we’re going to keep in touch!’ A rueful smile played about her lips.

  ‘It had got to the point where the three of us were leading completely separate lives, and it was only because of this, this neglect on all of our parts, that none of us realized the extent of everybody else’s problems. So as of today I’m reinstating the Sunday Lunch rule.’

  The Wittstanleys went to bed early that evening. Each of them had a lot to think about. Tara opened her diary and started a new month and a new chapter, which she called ‘Hope’.

  ****

  Sebastian Spectre sauntered over to his brother’s apartment a few doors down from his own. Despite living so close, he hadn’t seen Alex for a while. Probably too busy lady-killing, he thought. He’d just pop over and say hi, see if he wanted to go and grab a quick beer. He thought fleetingly of his encounter with Abena. She’d been looking super-hot. Even though he was seeing Jemima now, he’d been disappointed that Abena hadn’t invited him in for a drink. They’d been practically outside her flat, and he missed her soft luxuriant skin and sinewy body.

  He knocked on his brother’s door.

  ‘Come in – I left it open for you,’ Alex called in a breathy voice. Clearly his brother was expecting company. He pushed open the door and whistled as he walked inside. The dining room table was set for a three-course meal for two, the lights were dimmed and a delicious scent emanated from the kitchen. Both brothers were foodies but they rarely got around to actually cooking. Alex was making a big effort for some lucky girl.

  Taking a peek into the kitchen, Sebastian saw a leg of succulent-looking lamb roasting in the oven. In the fridge were two bottles of the rare vintage champagne that had gone missing from their father’s wine cellar.

  Laughing to himself, Sebastian made his way to Alex’s room, expecting to find his brother arranging his hair in preparation for whichever beauty was on her way.

  Hearing footsteps, Alex called out naughtily, ‘Baby, I’m waiting! Come on in …’

  Sebastian suppressed a snigger and opened his brother’s door, to be confronted with Alex sprawled unclothed across his bed, both hands behind his head, legs spread w
ide and a comely smile adorning his face.

  ‘What the fuck?’ both men spluttered in unison.

  Alex grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist while Sebastian, now over the shock, bent double with uncontrollable laughter.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ he laughed through his tears of mirth, ‘were you expecting someone else?’

  Jesus! If this was the way Alex got his ‘highly sought after yet harrowingly elusive’ reputation with the girls, then he was no longer remotely jealous. You’d never catch him doing anything so humiliating.

  Suddenly Sebastian heard a sound that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

  ‘Cooeee! Baby, are you in there? I’m coming …’

  ‘W-wait!’ Alex tried to protest, but it was too late.

  Henry, Reza’s gay assistant, was already in the bedroom. ‘Yummy!’ He licked his lips when he saw the back of a second man. ‘You didn’t tell me we’d be having company, Alex, you naughty thing!’

  Sebastian spun round to face him. Henry! And, bloody hell, that was a bottle of Montrachet 1978 in his hand!

  Then, as the scale of this seismic revelation hit him, Sebastian collapsed on to the floor by the bed. Alex hung his head, brow furrowed in anguish.

  ‘Now,’ Henry said, as calmly as if he were making a cup of tea before settling down to watch EastEnders, ‘don’t you tell me you’ve never imagined your brother might be gay?’ He placed a hand gently on Alex’s shoulder. ‘Hellooo! Wake up and smell the skinny latte!’ he shouted so loudly that everybody jumped.

  ‘How long has this been going on?’ Sebastian asked his brother.

  ‘What? Gay? Or you mean Henry and I?’

  ‘Well, I … I … both I suppose.’

  ‘I’ve always known, Seb. But it’s always just been so much easier to pretend. The girls were … so easy. It was just like, I’d smile at them, and they’d fall at my feet! And I’d take them for the odd dinner, play with their breasts, or whatever. But mostly I ’d just get us all pissed or high and we’d … sleep. And then I got this … reputation. And I was a god, and everyone wanted me and to know me and to hang with me – guys and girls – and yet nobody really knew me.’

  Sebastian said nothing.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Alex shrugged. ‘Sorry for living a lie. For not telling you. But, but I’d never, you know, done it with boys either. Well, a little fumble at school—’ He saw the distaste on his brother’s face. ‘Sorry! But you know, I’d never done anything … serious, until I met Henry. And he made me face up to who I am, and be OK with it. I was going to tell you and Dad and Mum and everyone, I was just trying to work out how.’

  After a few minutes, Sebastian got up and walked out of the apartment. Alex lay face down on his bed and sobbed into his pillow while Henry rubbed his back.

  Chapter 29

  Natalya was running, savouring her new-found freedom. Finally another week of solitary confinement in Claude’s house had come to an end. Her meals had been rationed this time too and once she’d even passed out because she was so hungry. When she came to, she couldn’t immediately remember why they’d argued in the first place. Then it came back to her. It was a look, a glance she had given the director of a children’s charity at a dinner he had held in honour of Claude, their main donor. She wasn’t to look at men like that, to let her eyes meet theirs unnecessarily.

  When they returned home from the charity dinner, Natalya had had to sit through a two-hour lecture from Claude on appropriate behaviour. ‘It always happens like this!’ Claude had hissed at her. ‘You girls always start off sweet, grateful for the wonderful life I provide for you. But then you get used to it, take me for a fool, start to cast your loose eyes around at parties.’

  Natalya knew she must never underestimate Claude’s need to be in control. To never let anyone get one over on him. When Claude had started out in business, he had wanted to make $10 million. Then it became $100 million. Then $1 billion. There was always somebody richer for Claude to try and outshine – and there was always a hungry young chancer waiting to pounce if he messed up. He could never take his finger off the pulse. He must remain in control at all times.

  Natalya ran through the historic streets of Mayfair and down to Piccadilly, past the Wolseley and the Ritz and then into the tranquil oasis of Green Park. Claude wanted her back in half an hour, but it felt wonderful to breathe some fresh air at last. She kept looking over her shoulder, jumping at every shadow. She could never quite feel free, even when she was alone. Amid the crowds of shoppers and tourists, she didn’t notice the small Korean man training his long lens on her from inside his nondescript car. He took another photo before placing the camera in the glove compartment beside his loaded gun.

  ****

  Tara couldn’t believe how quickly the weeks had flown by. It seemed ages ago now since she’d been at rehab, and so far she hadn’t relapsed. Her father’s condition had affected her more than she let on; it wasn’t so much the alcohol, it was the overdose. As miserable and misunderstood as Tara had thought she was, the thought of losing her life was appalling. She didn’t want to die, so the fact that her father had deemed life so hopeless that he was prepared, no, willing, to give it up had had an immensely sobering effect on her.

  Lately, Tina had been the most loving and selfless wife and mother Tara had ever known her to be and, for her part, Tara was avoiding histrionics or confrontation of any kind. It was blissfully relaxing to be in the country and she so enjoyed riding through the lush Cotswold hills and spending time in the library reading books and magazines, even rediscovering some of her old texts from her English course at Oxford. But there was still something missing. She longed for Philip. His letters had dried up now and she assumed that, for him, their friendship had gone the way of all friendships made in such intense, artificial situations. The two of them had felt so intimately connected through their shared problems, but now that their issues had been resolved and they’d each returned to their normal lives, perhaps he couldn’t even remember any more how close they’d been. But Tara remembered. She missed Philip every minute of every waking hour – and most of her sleeping hours too.

  She tried desperately to forget him by getting stuck into her work. Abena had suggested Tara try to launch herself as a freelance fashion stylist, which would give her the freedom she needed as well as the chance to indulge her creative side. She had already started sending out emails to friends at magazines to let them know of her plans, and she was organizing a bunch of test shoots with model and photographer friends so she could create a portfolio to show prospective clients. She hoped Natalya would test for free. Now that she’d been booked for the Mirror Mirror campaign, Natalya was becoming quite a name. She wouldn’t contact her just yet though. Not many people knew that Tara was already out of rehab and she wasn’t quite ready for the inevitable flood of calls, which might tempt her to start partying again. When the time was right she would rejoin her old life.

  ****

  Simon Tamarand had reacted to the painful break-up with Sarah, the only woman he’d ever been in love with, in the only way he knew how: he threw himself into his routine. Like clockwork he was up at 6.45 every day, fitting in an hour at the gym before work. He found it invigorated him, and it gave him less time to torture himself with thoughts of Sarah. In addition to his tennis at the weekend he had started playing Sunday League football, and every Friday night without fail he went out drinking with the lads who worked in credit-control at his office.

  The upside of this post-break-up routine was that his body was incredible. His torso was rock hard and his arms and back rippled. There was not a spare ounce of flesh on him, and this didn’t go unnoticed on a lads’ night out. Having been with Sarah for most of his adult life, he was both amazed and pleased at how easy he found it to pull.

  This particular Friday evening was cold and gloomy, but Simon was excited, or as excited as he could get these days without Sarah in his life. The big boss had intimated only a few hours earlier that S
imon was up for promotion very soon, but he just had to have a word with Simon’s immediate superior, Dan, about the exact remuneration package. Consequently Simon was determined to try and impress Dan – a legendary drinker – when they went out that evening.

  Simon hated the competitive point-scoring that often happened on their lads’ nights out and was relieved when the suggestion that they play ‘Rough-Girl Rodeo’ – where the loser of a drinking game had to pull the ugliest girl in the club – was roundly rejected. Unfortunately for Simon, who had always felt strongly about the plight of sex workers, the alternative to ‘RGR’ was a trip to a lap-dancing club in Soho.

  As they approached the club, hidden away in a side street, Simon wondered if it was too late to just turn around and go home. He felt horrible entering a place where girls titillated men for a living. He’d heard all the arguments, including the one that ‘some of them really enjoy it’, but he wasn’t so sure. He felt that these must be desperate women and he, by paying to watch them, was an exploiter. But he was here now, and he didn’t want to look like a loser in front of Dan, so he’d better get himself a drink and pretend to enjoy it.

  Three beers later, Simon was starting to feel less guilty. After all, Sarah had liked making love, most of the time. And since Sarah, he’d done it with tons of girls who’d clearly wanted him. They had obviously enjoyed the sex immensely, so for these girls to be getting paid to turn him on was surely a bonus for them? Downing his fourth pint he nodded his head, absentmindedly confirming his thoughts. Yes, a bonus! Only now did he in fact allow himself a closer look at the girls. The blonde up on stage didn’t really do it for him, she was too skinny.