by Haley Hill
I slapped his arm. ‘Just because I’m not a sculpt-my-hair-into-an-ironic-quiff try-hard, doesn’t mean I’m not cool,’ I said, continuing ahead. ‘Besides, they do the best blue cheese sauce.’
He laughed. ‘The Yanks invented blue cheese sauce. You’re going to drown in the stuff when you go.’
I sighed. ‘Look, it’s the only place I know in Shoreditch and you know Kat’s boyfriend won’t come south of the river.’
Matthew stopped in his tracks again. ‘Oh God no. You didn’t invite Klive with a “K”, did you?’ He made his arms into a gangtsa-style ‘K’ when he spoke.
I rolled my eyes. ‘You’re lucky I invited you, considering your behaviour of late.’
‘Fifty quid to eat a burger in a graffitied warehouse next to Mr Kunt with a “K”. I’m starting to wish I hadn’t been invited.’
I slapped him again. ‘It’s not graffiti, it’s street art. Now hurry up. Our table’s booked for eight o’clock.’
We arrived at Blood Burger just after eight-thirty. The entrance was via a backstreet, which seemed to double as a urinal. Straight away, I spotted Victoria’s ponytail at the front of the queue. It was swinging from side to side while Victoria argued with a door woman who had a bolt through her nose. Matthew and I edged up to them to see what the problem was.
Victoria air-kissed us, then explained the situation.
‘She wants to take my coat,’ she said.
The door woman gestured towards the coat check and raised her eyebrows.
Matthew leaned in and stared at Victoria. ‘How is that a problem?’
Victoria looked at me. ‘I’m not leaving it here,’ she whispered, leaning in towards us. ‘It’s Chanel.’
Matthew started laughing. ‘The people of Shoreditch don’t care much for haute couture,’ he said.
Victoria glared at Matthew and then glanced around her. ‘Shush,’ she said. ‘Or are you going to socialise the value of my jewellery while you’re at it? Provide a full inventory for all the robbers within a one-mile radius.’
He smirked. ‘This isn’t Oliver Twist. East London has become gentrified since the eighteen hundreds. Didn’t anyone tell you?’
It was nearing nine o’clock by the time we were seated at our table. Victoria had eventually been persuaded to hand over her coat after Matthew had promised to reimburse her its full market value should it be ‘lifted’ by a pierced staff member or unsavoury patron.
Straight away the waiter approached and handed us menus, along with a stern reminder that we would be expected to vacate the table by 10 p.m.
Matthew ordered several bottles of wine and then waved him away. I looked around the room and then around the table. Matthew fitted in well with his geek chic and Victoria, with her high ponytail and perma-haughty expression was intrinsically cool. But, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that my high-street tea dress could perhaps be mistaken for Portobello vintage, deep down I knew I didn’t belong here. Matthew clocked me readjusting the neckline and pulled my hand away.
‘Ellie, no one gives a shit what you’re wearing. Just chill out.’ Then he leaned forward and squeezed my cheek. ‘The Yanks will think you’re adorable, whatever you wear.’
I looked at him, open-mouthed. ‘Was that just a compliment from Matthew?’
He grinned. ‘If you have any faith in their judgement, that is.’
I leaned forward and smacked him on the leg. He put me in a mock headlock.
‘We’re going to miss you, Ellie Rigby,’ he said, ruffling my hair.
Victoria looked the other way. If I hadn’t have known her better, I would’ve thought she was wiping away a tear.
Matthew suddenly freed me and then grabbed the open bottle of wine that the waiter had just placed in front of him.
‘Let’s drink,’ he said, pouring each of us a glass.
We’d failed to order within the expected timeline so were forcibly supervised by the increasingly impatient waiter.
Victoria announced that she wasn’t in the mood for a burger.
‘Is there anything else on the menu?’ she asked the waiter.
He sighed. ‘There’s the Blood Spud.’
She screwed up her face. ‘You’ve really gone to town with the blood theme, haven’t you?’ she said. ‘And what exactly is the Blood Spud?’
‘A potato.’
‘With?’
‘Chilli mince.’
Her face contorted further. ‘Anything vegetarian?’
The waiter checked his watch. ‘Yes, the blood orange salad.’
‘Fine. I’ll have that then.’ She let out a deep sigh as though she’d just forfeited generations of accumulated family wealth in one disastrous negotiation.
The waiter turned to Matthew. ‘And for you, sir?’
Matthew, evidently amusing himself at the waiter’s expense, insisted he consult with the chef on the gluten content of the entire menu, before eventually conceding that he was not in any way intolerant to gluten. He then ordered a Double Blood Beaten Burger with a Big Daddy Bap. I could tell he enjoyed saying the word ‘bap’.
‘I’ll have the Black and Blue,’ I said, conscious time was passing. ‘With extra blue cheese sauce, please.’
Suddenly, Matthew hid behind his menu. ‘Fuck me,’ he said.
I stared at him. ‘It’s only blue cheese sauce. I didn’t order a ten-inch dildo.’
‘No, not that.’ Matthew pointed from behind the menu. ‘Them.’
The waiter hurried off and I glanced behind me to see what Matthew was pointing at. I struggled to recognise them at first. Then I realised it was Kat and Klive coming down the stairs. Kat appeared to be wearing an orange sari and Klive was beside her looking like a Masai warrior after a Gok Wan makeover. I looked closer. Kat’s hair was scraped back. No, wait a minute…
‘She’s shaved her head?’ Matthew said, reappearing from behind the menu.
Kat waved. Klive puffed out his chest and glanced around the room, as though he were the guest on a prime-time talk show.
They approached the table and Klive pulled out a chair for Kat. Then he nodded at each of us, as though the matter of presenting our close friend with a freshly shaven head were an everyday occurrence.
Victoria broke the silence first.
‘Please tell me this is fancy dress,’ she said, pulling at Kat’s robe. ‘You’ve got a party to go to after, haven’t you?’
Kat shook her head.
Klive took Kat’s hand and looked at us solemnly.
‘Katrina and I have chosen a new way of life,’ he said.
Victoria rolled her eyes and Matthew started giggling.
In the years I’d known her, Kat had assumed all manner of religions and identities depending on whom she was dating. I looked her up and down, vaguely identifying her attire from a Louis Theroux documentary I’d seen recently.
‘So, you’re a Hare Krishna now?’ I asked.
Kat nodded.
Matthew laughed again. ‘You can talk, you know. It’s only Buddhists who take a vow of silence. The Hare Krishnas are a noisy bunch. Always chanting. Are you sure you’ve fully researched this?’
Klive held up his hand to interrupt Matthew. ‘Kat has been wrestling with demons for years and now she has found her path. As her friends you must respect that, shouldn’t they, darling?’
Kat smiled vaguely.
‘Yeah, the path to some hardcore pharmaceuticals, it looks like,’ Matthew chipped in.
Klive puffed out his chest again. Next to his dark brown skin, the bright orange sarong looked almost luminous. I didn’t recall anyone wearing that ensemble in the Louis Theroux documentary. It seemed less of an ego-transcending statement and more like a well-accessorised Westwood-esque interpretation of Hinduism.
Matthew was glaring at him. Just as he was about to say something, the waiter returned with a tray of cocktails. Matthew handed them out. Kat’s smile faltered slightly.
The waiter turned to Klive. ‘Can I get you anythi
ng, sir?’
Klive’s chest seemed to expand further. ‘Two empty glasses, please.’
The waiter stared at him for a moment. ‘And?’
‘That’s all,’ said Klive. ‘We’ve brought our own water.’
The waiter shrugged his shoulders and walked off.
Kat cleared her throat and eventually broke her silence. ‘Swami Peshwani says we shouldn’t eat meat. Or drink alcohol,’ she said.
Matthew laughed again. ‘Swami Peshwari sounds like the subject of a Watchdog investigation.’
‘Peshwani,’ Klive corrected. ‘Not Peshwari. He’s a spiritual leader, not a coconut-filled naan.’
‘So what else did Swami P. say?’ Matthew downed his drink, then burped loudly. ‘I hope you didn’t give him any money.’
Klive’s eyes narrowed and he leaned in, placing both hands on the table. ‘He said those who live like you will be reincarnated as a lower being.’
Matthew laughed again. ‘Those who live like me?’ he said, reaching for another drink. ‘I’d much rather be driven by instinct than bullshit my way through an unattainable set of standards.’ He turned to Kat. ‘I bet Klive didn’t tell you that Hare Krishnas believe sex is for procreation only?’
Kat turned to Klive, eyebrows raised.
Klive shifted in his seat.
Matthew wagged his finger at Kat. ‘If he puts his thing anywhere near you, call Swami P. immediately.’
The beginnings of a smirk appeared on Kat’s face.
Just as Klive began to explain his seemingly selective interpretation of Swami Peshwani’s gospel, the waiter reappeared with our food. Kat stared at Matthew’s double blood beater and I saw a flash of longing in her eyes.
Matthew grabbed the burger with both hands and took a huge bite, letting the juices drip down his chin.
Klive stood up, muttering something about Matthew being an ignorant heathen who had no respect for another’s beliefs.
‘Oh, come on,’ Matthew said, wiping his chin. ‘You’ve just shoved your evangelical bullshit down my throat with that silly orange outfit, and your judgement on my life.’
‘I’ll let Krishna be the judge of you,’ Klive said, smoothing down his sarong and placing his coordinating man bag over his shoulder. ‘And it’s saffron, not orange.’
A girl with pink hair sitting at the table next to us nodded in agreement.
Klive tugged on Kat’s arm. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ll make the ten o’clock yoga class if we leave now.’
Kat looked at him, then at Matthew’s burger and then at me. ‘It’s Ellie’s leaving do,’ she said. ‘I’m going to stay.’
Klive’s nostrils flared. He stared at Kat as though trying to summon her with his will. It wasn’t working. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But remember, sixteen chants per rosary.’ He bent down to free one of his sandal straps, which had become tangled around a chair leg.
‘Yes,’ Matthew chipped in, ‘or you might come back as a cockroach.’ He leaned in towards Kat and whispered, ‘One spelt with a “k” of course.’
Kat smirked. Then when Klive was out of sight, she swiped Matthew’s burger and took a huge bite.
It was nearing ten o’clock when the waiter began hovering around us, insisting he clear our plates. However, Matthew, whose belligerence appeared to be escalating with each drink, had deliberately ordered more food and another round of cocktails in an attempt to delay our departure.
And Kat, who had been a teetotal fruitarian for the past three months, was now on her second burger and her fifth cocktail.
‘Don’t leave us, Ellie,’ she said. ‘What will become of me if you go?’
Matthew turned to her. ‘You’re wearing a saffron robe and have shaved your head. What else could go wrong?’
Kat burst out laughing. Then started slamming her hand on the table. ‘Saffron,’ she said, her laugh escalating, ‘that’s so funny. Peshwari naan. Hilarious. Can we have another burger?’
Victoria, who had been quietly consuming a Burgundian Chardonnay for the past few hours, sniffed and blinked repeatedly.
‘I just don’t understand why you’re going to that ridiculous country,’ she said. ‘You have everything here.’
Matthew held his hand up to stop her. ‘At least Ellie is trying to find happiness rather than just waiting to die in South West London, like you.’
Victoria sat up and poured herself a glass. ‘I’m very happy thank you, Matthew. Just because I’m living a grown-up life, doesn’t mean it’s boring.’
He laughed. ‘Your life is so boring, I can’t even bring myself to describe it. It’s all PTA and tennis club and: “how else can I spend my husband’s money?” You want Ellie to have the same pointless life as you, just to validate your own uninspiring choices.’
I tried to interrupt but Matthew was in full flow.
‘Ellie’s miserable. Just look at her.’
I glared at him. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘She has a business that’s failing.’
‘It’s not failing,’ I interrupted.
‘Oh, come on, Ellie. Record sales does not a successful business make. Your clients are deeply unhappy, they’re all getting divorced.’
I put my hand up to speak but Matthew rattled on. ‘Your house is falling into disrepair and your marriage is in crisis.’
‘Hang on a second.’ I put my hand up higher this time. ‘You’re the one with the crisis of a marriage. Not me.’
Victoria and Kat turned to Matthew.
He closed his mouth and his shoulders slumped.
The waiter, who had resumed his hovering, leaned in. ‘Excuse me, sir, we need the table. The next guests are waiting.’
Matthew looked up at him, gripping his steak knife. His knuckles whitened.
Immediately, I imagined the scene culminating in a Peaky Blinders–style bar brawl and a ‘Bloodbath at Blood Burger’ morning headline, with a caption under Matthew’s mugshot: ‘Red meat binge sends patron into murderous rage’. There might even be a comment from Klive along with a link to the enrolment form on Swami P.’s website.
‘If they want the table so badly,’ Matthew said, jaw tensed, ‘tell them to come and get it.’
The waiter raised his eyebrows and then wandered off muttering something about another five minutes not being a problem.
I leaned back in my chair. ‘This is the reason I’m going away,’ I said.
Kat frowned. ‘Because there’s only a two-hour sitting for restaurants in London?’
I looked at her and then around at the diners in the restaurant. I couldn’t see a genuine, non-alcohol-induced smile in the room.
‘Because none of us have really figured it out,’ I said, downing the last of my cocktail. ‘I still need answers.’
Victoria nodded her head from side to side.
Kat leaned forward. ‘What answers do you really hope to find, Ellie? The cure for disillusionment?’
Matthew, who until then had been holding his head in his hands, looked up. ‘No,’ he said, ‘she expects to find the cure for a broken heart.’ Then he started laughing.
I shook my head. ‘I’m not looking for a cure,’ I said. ‘Simply a way to reduce our risk.’
Matthew stopped laughing. ‘Ellie, love is not a medical condition. It doesn’t have a prognosis.’
I stared at him. ‘If love isn’t something we can enhance, prolong or modify then what is it?’
He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Best you ask the experts that one,’ he said.
I leaned forward and looked him in the eye. ‘That’s precisely what I intend to do.’
Kat leaned towards me and draped her arm around my neck. ‘Just don’t ask anyone who’s named after an Indian flatbread,’ she said.
Matthew didn’t even crack a smile. He sat in silence, staring ahead.
Kat shuffled up next to him. ‘Come on, you,’ she said, squeezing his knee, ‘it could always be worse. At least you’re not bald.’
Matthew looked up and stared
at her for a moment. Then he cocked his head.
‘It quite suits you,’ he said. ‘Very Alien chic.’ Then they both laughed.
When he had stopped laughing, he looked at us each in turn.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve been a bit of an arse tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ Kat replied.
He laughed again. ‘OK, I’ve been a total arse since I found out my wife was shagging a fifty-year-old with a comb-over.’ He dropped his head in his hands again. ‘He wears Moss Bros. suits, for fuck’s sake.’
Kat and Victoria looked at each other. I went to speak but quickly realised I had nothing to say.
Suddenly Matthew threw down his knife and fork and jumped up onto the table, grinning like a serial killer.
‘This is your last night with us, Eleanor Rigby,’ he said, striking a pose and knocking over the condiments. ‘And I’m in the mood for dancing.’
We arrived at Shoreditch House a short while later. Matthew and Kat insisted we bypass the queue and walk straight in the entrance. Kat had a company account, but I suspected the main reason we were waved through by the burly doorman was because he fancied Matthew.
‘I’ll happily tolerate a hair ruffle and a bum squeeze for my girls,’ Matthew said when we were at the bar.
‘And a willy up the bottom too, I suspect,’ Kat said, with a wink.
Matthew’s eyes widened.
Kat flung her arms around his neck. ‘Come on, you loved it,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it about time you came out?’ she said with a wink. ‘You know we won’t judge you.’
Matthew rolled his eyes. ‘What would Krishna Klive say if he found out you were inciting homosexual acts?’ He fluttered his eyelashes and flicked his wrist. ‘Besides, honey-bundle, I am so not gay.’
‘You so are,’ Kat replied.
Matthew lurched forward and squeezed Kat’s boobs together, nuzzling her cleavage through her sari and making strange primal noises.
‘I’m as red-blooded as the rest of them,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘You’re all talk.’