The Gin O'Clock Club

by Rosie Blake

  ‘Now what do you need to do to stop yourself being miserable? How can you get things back on track?’

  ‘I don’t think I can, I don’t think—’

  ‘Hush,’ she said. This new authoritative Margaret was quite a formidable figure. ‘Of course you can, you are a confident young woman who knows her own mind. So . . . ’

  I couldn’t help feel buoyed by her faith in me. I sipped the last of my coffee and placed the cup down on the saucer. ‘I need to apologise to Grandad, properly. I need to make things up with Amy, and I really need . . . ’

  I couldn’t bring myself to say it. What if it was too late? What if I couldn’t get him back?

  ‘Luke,’ I said simply. ‘I need Luke back.’

  ‘Right,’ Margaret said, stacking our plates and saucers and pushing them to one side. ‘So let’s work out exactly how.’

  We left the café a little over half an hour later armed with a plan. I felt lighter, less hopeless after sharing my worries and making plans to fix things. I realised as we moved slowly down the pavement back to my flat that this was the kind of conversation I would have had with Grandma. She would have chided me and encouraged me at the same time. I felt incredibly lucky to have Margaret in my life, to have someone looking out for me still. I hadn’t realised how much I had needed it.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, squeezing her arm as we reached my flat. ‘Do you want to come up?’

  Margaret wrinkled her nose and laughed. ‘Maybe once you’ve had a tidy,’ she said. ‘And a shower.’

  I couldn’t stop the small giggle escaping. ‘Thanks, Margaret,’ I said seriously, pulling her into a hug.

  ‘Any time.’

  Chapter 26

  Love can be mistaken for mild food poisoning

  LEN, 84

  I spent the rest of the day tidying, scrubbing, hoovering, wiping and dusting until the flat gleamed. Then I headed to the shower and transformed myself under the hot water: exfoliating, cleansing, clipping nails, removing hair, tweezering. I emerged like a new woman, ready to tackle things. It felt good to be standing in a spotless flat, in clean clothes with glossy hair and some subtle make-up. I could do this.

  I had thought long and hard about how to make things up with Amy. In the last few months I hadn’t prioritised her at all and this was doubly insensitive because this was the time when she needed me and wanted me to share in her excitement as she planned her wedding. I couldn’t get back all the times I’d missed her call or fobbed her off with another excuse in order to work late, but I could make a promise that I wouldn’t miss anything more.

  Amy wasn’t answering her phone, to me at least, and I knew I shouldn’t apologise on a text or voicemail anyway. I stopped phoning after sixteen unanswered calls, perhaps believing seventeen would make me seem a psycho. Spurred on by something Margaret had said, about the fact that Amy and I had roots that went back years, I felt a spark of excitement and rushed through to the living room to find my laptop. A thoughtful gesture might work? I spent the rest of the evening working on it and finally took myself to bed just after midnight when it was finished.

  I wasn’t in court the next day so was able to head out early, memory stick in handbag, and a renewed feeling of optimism. If Amy wouldn’t answer her phone I knew exactly where she would be.

  ‘Visitor for Miss Otaru,’ I announced, thrown by the security measures at her London day school. Locked gates, intercoms and security booths: things were a little different from when I’d been at school.

  The intercom crackled and after a pause a disembodied voice asked, ‘Is she expecting you?’

  I hated lying so instead bleated, ‘I’m here on business,’ in a panicked tone, as if that salient fact would gain me access. ‘She will know what this is regarding,’ I said in my most formal courtroom voice.

  Unbelievably the buzzer sounded and I pushed open the heavy gate with two hands. Walking down a stone path, a blue Astro Turf pitch on one side, netball courts on the other, I headed for the main building. ‘Reception’ announced a jade green wooden board and I made my way towards it. I had barely stepped inside when the receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a close cropped hairstyle and magenta pink lipstick, stood up and headed my way, thrusting a laminated badge in my direction. ‘Excellent. Welcome,’ she said. I marvelled at the efficiency. This had been easy!

  ‘Good morning. Where can one find Miss Otaru’s office?’ I asked in my politest voice.

  ‘Oh, she can take you there once you’re done, but the pupils are waiting in the hall for you now. Follow me.’

  Still congratulating myself on gaining access I barely listened to what the receptionist had said as I followed her fast clacking walk down a corridor that smelt of bleach and was lined with various artworks by the children.

  Sorry,’ I said, almost tripping in my haste. ‘Is she not in her office?’

  ‘She’ll be in the hall waiting.’

  ‘Right,’ I said distractedly.

  ‘I imagine they’ll all be very keen to hear what you have to say.’

  ‘Will they?’ I asked, confused now and wondering who ‘they’ were. I glanced down at my laminated badge and realised with a frown that my name wasn’t Jacinda Brown. For the first time an uneasy feeling stole over me as the receptionist paused in front of two wooden double doors, panes of glass showing the backs of heads of what must have been hundreds of teenagers.

  ‘Are you ready?’ she smiled.

  The uneasy feeling intensified and I felt my hands grow clammy as I asked, ‘Ready for . . . ? Is Miss Otaru in there?’

  ‘She’ll be with the other teachers. They tend to sit on the stage.’

  ‘Right,’ I whispered.

  Something definitely wasn’t right but everything had moved so quickly and if it was true that Amy was inside she could surely sort this mess out. Oh God, I didn’t want to make things worse. The whole point of coming here was to fix everything, not make her hate me more.

  The receptionist was staring at me, her magenta pink lips puckered. ‘Well, go on then. And lots of luck!’ she added brightly.

  Luck? Why would I need . . .

  Holding open the double doors she beckoned for me to move inside. The million teenagers peered round, straining to see who was disrupting their morning. Up ahead on a stage lined with chairs sat various staff members. I frantically scanned the room for Amy’s face. When I did land upon it, I could see even from this distance the total confusion that drew her eyebrows together. She rose from her chair and then sat back down again. We must have been more than 100 yards away from each other and all the million teenagers had started to whisper. Holy actual shit, what had I walked in on?

  I wanted to turn and run back through the double doors, thrust my laminated badge at the receptionist and clatter back down the path outside and into London where one million teenagers weren’t looking at me.

  A middle-aged woman with shoulder-length brown hair approached me. ‘Jacinda, a pleasure, I’m Mrs McDonald, the head teacher here. I’ll show you to the stage.’

  To my horror I was being led down the side of the room of millions of teenagers towards the stage, where an empty lectern stood in the middle. Amy was watching me, her mouth opening and shutting. I gave her a grimace and a small smile, torn between abject fear and pleasure at seeing her.

  ‘Does the technician need to help you set up?’

  ‘I made a memory stick,’ I whispered.

  ‘Lovely. Well, Mike here can sort that out for you. We have the projector all ready.’

  Mike had joined us. Mike was dressed entirely in black, which matched his black beard. The head teacher stood, waiting for me to hand over the memory stick.

  Realising what was on it, I refused to hand it over to Mike. Mike gave up asking me for it and stomped back to a booth at the back of the room.

  ‘Er, right, well, I’ll introduce you now and we’ll get started,’ Mrs McDonald said, smiling warmly at me as if she wasn’t sending me to my death.

&nbs
p; ‘Could I just have a word with Miss Otaru?’ I asked in a quiet undertone.

  ‘Plenty of time to catch up in the staffroom afterwards,’ Mrs McDonald said briskly. And with no further warning she steered me up on to the stage and we headed for the lectern, two million eyes following us.

  Silence fell. ‘Good morning, everyone. Thank you for your patience this morning. We are delighted to welcome Jacinda Brown from the Duke of Edinburgh scheme to talk us through some of the benefits of this excellent venture. Let’s give Ms Brown a warm welcome to our assembly.’ She stepped backwards and started clapping and it seemed the whole room shook with the noise as everyone else joined in.

  The Duke of Edinburgh Award.

  Right.

  Oh God.

  I hadn’t been brought to see Amy, I had been brought to speak to the million people. About something I knew very little about. Vague memories of dried food in soggy campsites and afternoons in care homes swam in my head.

  I stared at the empty lectern in front of me, willing notes to appear. Then I stared at the ceiling, willing for it to fall and crush us all. Or just all the millions of children and other adults. And not in a horrible fatal way, just enough to get me out of talking to them. I stared then at the audience, the crowds of faces, some chewing gum, some whispering, some glancing down and around, some glazed and staring into the distance. Gah.

  A member of staff coughed loudly behind me and I felt the rustle of fidgeting people as the silence yawned on.

  Right! Duke of Edinburgh! I could do this. I would get it over with quickly and then talk to Amy. And if I did it well, we would laugh about it and it could be really bonding for us. An icebreaker!

  I swallowed, my mouth impossibly dry. Shouldn’t they give their speakers water? Feedback for Mrs McDonald. Right. Think of it as a courtroom, these are your jurors. Smile! I felt my face move but from the reaction of the pupils in the front row I wasn’t sure the smile shouted an easy confidence. Some of them flinched.

  I cleared my throat. ‘The Duke of Edinburgh Award, or D of E as I knew it. Ha!’ The microphone squealed as I barked with false laughter. ‘It’s really, really good.’

  The faces stared at me, someone’s mobile buzzed.

  ‘You can do things like expeditions and things where you go camping and walk and have to follow maps . . . and stuff.’

  This wasn’t going well. I could feel the staff squirming on either side of me. I made the mistake of glancing round at Mrs McDonald, who rearranged her perplexed face into one of polite encouragement.

  ‘I actually went on one of these expeditions with A— with Miss Otaru here,’ I said in a louder voice, one arm sweeping round theatrically to where Amy was sitting. She shifted in her seat as the faces all angled to stare at her. ‘Yes, we went to Dartmoor and our rucksacks were very heavy.’ Christ, what was I doing, preparing for French GCSE? ‘It was fun. We carried rucksacks. We walked far.’

  ‘Also,’ I was getting desperate, could feel sweat beading my forehead, ‘you can choose to do charity work and I worked in a care home helping the elderly. I met one gentleman who loved crosswords and I still remember him telling me, Lot— Jacinda, he would say, when a cryptic clue says scrambled it often means it’s an anagram, so, you know, I got stuff out of it too. And sport!’ I shouted at them. The microphone squealed again. ‘I think, I know, you get credit for sport and things so it’s really worthwhile.’ I was really wracking my brains now. ‘And you get a medal at the end . . . which is nice.’

  Oh God, Lottie, oh God. Shut up. I am pretty sure that boy in the second row is openly laughing at you. There is definite smirking.

  What more could I say? Was that enough? Could I leave it there? They had the rough idea, surely?

  A woman and the receptionist were peering through the glass windows in the double doors. Oh God, I think the real Jacinda Brown had shown up. She had brown hair secured back in a tight ponytail. She looked far more likely to be taking groups of teenagers up mountain ranges in Wales than I did. The receptionist looked very put out. Even from this distance I could see her narrowed eyes, magenta pink lips screwed up in displeasure. I needed to wrap this up and fast.

  ‘So I think, as you have heard, there are just lots of benefits really to, um, doing the, um, D of E so I think, you know, you . . . totally should.’ I petered out and took a step back from the lectern to indicate my inspirational talk had come to an end.

  The headmistress had got to her feet, a small frown puckering her forehead before she found her composure. ‘Well thank you for that presentation,’ she said, ‘I think we should all consider signing up for the course and let’s give Ms Brown a hearty round of applause for coming to talk to us this morning.’

  Oh God, the receptionist had opened the door and was moving down the side of the hall as all the clapping was happening. I looked nervously over at Amy, biting my lip. Her eyes were rounded in her head, startled, and I chose that moment to try to melt away into the back of the stage, tripping over the microphone lead on my way to safety.

  I stayed back there, frozen, as I watched the pupils all stand up and make their way out, jostling, bumping, pulling out mobiles. Amy had got up from her chair and was making her way towards me, pausing as another teacher stopped her with a tap on her arm. Her eyes darted to me and back as she spoke quickly to him, nodding frantically.

  ‘What the actual fuck are you doing?’ Amy hissed as she approached, a smile plastered on her face as pupils padded past the bottom of the stage near us.

  With both my palms up I took a step forward. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, I—’

  One of the pupils had broken free from the pack and had ventured up the small set of stairs towards us, lingering as we spoke. We couldn’t really ignore her.

  ‘Are you all right, Cassie?’ Amy turned and plastered a helpful smile on her face. Only I could recognise the wobble in her voice.

  A serious-looking girl in a headband clutching a lever arch folder to her chest motioned to me. ‘I wanted to ask her whether doing Gold D of E would contribute to my UCAS points.’ The girl stood looking at me for an answer.

  ‘Oh, I, um, I . . . ’ I licked my lips and tried to remember to blink as I rooted around for an answer.

  ‘Do you know what, Cassie,’ Amy said, ‘I’ll get all the information you need and let you know, all right?’

  Cassie looked mildly put out, adjusted the lever arch folder and sloped away. ‘’K.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I breathed out, a small, nervous giggle escaping. This almost felt like the old days. Amy and I against the world. Except for the expression on her face, which didn’t seem particularly friendly, rather frosty in fact.

  ‘Seriously, Lottie, what just happened? What are you doing? Have you lost it?’ Amy drew a hand through her hair before pulling me to one side.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m not sure how it happened. I came here to talk to you. You didn’t answer your phone,’ I started.

  ‘This is so not a normal response to that,’ Amy fumed. ‘When people don’t answer they don’t want to talk to you, Lottie. You don’t turn up to their place of work and pretend to work for the Duke of Edinburgh scheme and run assembly for seven hundred pupils.’

  ‘Seven hundred? It felt like more,’ I said weakly.

  Amy didn’t smile.

  ‘The thing is, I desperately wanted to see you, to make up for everything. I’ve been so crap and useless and I know you love a PowerPoint. So I made you one about our friendship.’ I scrambled in my bag and drew out the memory stick I had refused to hand over earlier to the bearded technician. It hovered in the space between us.

  Amy stalked past me, into the space behind the thick stage curtains, the memory stick falling from my hand as I went to follow her.

  ‘Amy?’

  She turned, her face largely in shadow. There were dusty benches behind her, props dotted about: a plastic crown, a skull, two coat stands, a faded chaise longue. She began to speak, her mouth pursed tight. ‘This is what’s going to happe
n, Lottie. You are going to leave, quickly and quietly, no more talking to pupils about UCAS points or trying to set up a new circus skills hour as an after-school activity etc. I am going to fix this shitty mess that you’ve made, God knows how.’ She raked a hand through her hair. ‘And try to ensure my boss doesn’t think the whole school needs to reassess our security procedures to stop fucking lunatics prancing into our school assemblies.’

  She sounded mad: her voice was really low and I couldn’t meet her eye as she talked. If this was the treatment her sixth formers got I felt my heart go out to them. Nothing was worse this. Nodding frantically I allowed her to lead me through a back corridor, down a small set of stairs and skirt the building so that I found myself back by the security gate that led to the reception. Amy opened the gate for me.

  ‘Amy, honestly, I’m so sorry . . . I honestly don’t—’

  Amy held up a hand, shaking her head from side to side. ‘Don’t, Lottie, don’t make this any worse. I haven’t got time, I need to get back and fix this. Just go, please, just leave.’

  Feeling tears sting my eyes for about the eighteenth time that week I backed off, stumbling back up the path and out into the busy London street. I rested my back against the wall of the school. God, what had I done, I thought, head in my hands as I replayed my visit. Why was I intent on hurting everyone closest to me? Shivering in the shade of the wall I thought back to her dead eyes, her cold voice. Amy didn’t deserve this and I had just made a bad situation a hundred times worse. Hands drooping at my sides I sloped away, feeling desperately alone and knowing it was all my fault.

  Darling Cora,

  It has become a bit of a habit for Arjun and I to head to the pub on the corner after hospital visits. He has changed his mind about treatment and this latest appointment was finalising his course of chemotherapy. He was warned of the side effects and we both knew enough people who had suffered through the gruelling treatment to be depressed as we left the hospital car park.