“Look, Susan isn’t coming home all summer, my husband’s bisexual, I’ve no job, you can’t give up this dream summer job to Pole-Up-Her-Hole Yvonne – let’s go! I’ll get a bar job for the summer, or a job in a kitchen making desserts. Let’s pretend we are eighteen all over again! What do you say?” She is highly animated now, but deadly serious.
“Stop . . .” I say again, but my mouth is hanging open. Salivating at her insane idea.
“I want to do it! With you! I’ll get Martin to lend me some money until the house is sold – I wouldn’t ask him for anything, but this is special, and he owes me that much at least. You said that apartment over the office is huge! It’s a no-brainer! Ask Lar if I can I live in it with you for the summer. I’ll ask him! Lar loves me!” Claire’s eyes are bulging.
My mind floods with the image of the sunlight sweeping in through the windows in the apartment in St Ives. The beauty of the coastline. I’m cooking in Meloria’s, shaking a pan over a high flame . . . and then I see him in my mind’s eye. Tony Becker. And I shut my eyes tight. She’s right. What have I got to lose? Nothing.
“Damn, gurl! You’re right! I’m in! Let’s do it! We both need this . . . need each other now more than at any other times in our lives,” I tell her, feeling rather tipsy and rather alive. Claire stands up from her chair and punches the air repeatedly. The lady half of the old couple beside us claps. We all laugh. Then Claire sits slowly.
“We’ve got each other.” She tests me, with a wicked twinkle suddenly appearing in her eyes. That wicked twinkle I know and love so much. I take the baton.
“Gina dreams of running away . . . When she cries in the night, Tommy whispers . . .”
She takes the reins. “Baby it’s okay . . . Someday . . .”
And together we sing and fist-pump at the top of our voices while other diners stare in amusement.
“We’ve gotta hold on to what we’ve got, it doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not, we’ve got each other and that’s a lot . . . For love . . . we’ll give it a shot!”
Then we do what great friends in trouble do best. We make new plans, exciting new plans . . . We squeal and laugh and then drink ourselves under the table and hail a cab each home to sleep it all off. For new beginnings are coming our way. We’ll give it a shot.
part 2
10
“Can you actually believe we are here!” Claire stands in our apartment in the direct stream of morning light with a huge empty cardboard box in her arms. She’s dressed in baggy linen trousers and a big black T-shirt, and is wearing flip-flops.
“No,” I say, looking around at how homely the apartment already looks. I adore it. We’ve brought a lot of stuff from our homes and between us the look is modern and cosy at the same time.
“It’s Monday morning: I’ve to be in the office in an hour. I have to say I’m loving the five-second commute down the stairs and the ten o’clock opening times!” I laugh.
“I’m going to see if there are any jobs in the town this morning,” she says. “And I’ve an appointment at twelve.”
I presume it’s a doctor’s appointment, so I don’t ask any questions.
“Come on, we are going out for breakfast to the Porthgwidden Beach Café,” she informs me.
“Imagine three whole months to regroup our lives,” I say to her. We are both somewhat sad, a bit melancholy, but a small part of us is also extremely excited.
“Fate, Courtney. Alice must have planned this for us. I feel like I’ve been given a second chance and I ain’t wasting it! Now let’s go!”
We grab our stuff and make our way out. We stroll in the warmth into the town. It’s a busy summer’s morning and St Ives is awash with tourists.
“I don’t feel at all like a tourist, do you?” I say, linking her arm.
“We’re not,” Claire replies, her freshly painted ruby-red toenails peeping out as we walk. The birds sing overhead. “God, it’s so beautiful here, Courtney. I feel a million miles away from Martin.” She inhales the sea air deeply. “Kinda place that makes you want to be fit so you can live for ever.” She huffs a little and pants out a laugh. I slow down.
“Won’t say I told ya so!” I nudge her and she squeezes me. “Bloody Tom rang me again last night, demanding to know if I knew where the effing will was, and if I did, this wasn’t an effing funny game I was playing. He said Alice told him there was a little something for me in it too a few years ago, so it would be in my best interests to tell him all I know. He’s so gross!”
“Good for Alice.” Claire laughs out loud and looks up to the cloudless blue sky.
“I will have to go back when he finds it, I guess, for the reading,” I tell her.
“Well, I’ll come back with you if you want. I’d really like to get my mixers, pans and scales over; I feel a bake festival coming on. That kitchen the builder put in is sublime.”
We arrive down at Porthgwidden Beach Café and rush for a recently vacated table outside. At the exact same time we both sit down, then slide on our sunglasses.
“Ha ha, what are we like?” Claire giggles as I hand her a menu.
“Pair of middle-aged twins!” I laugh.
“Hey! Less of the middle-aged. Full fry-up has to be done: I’ve a busy day ahead.” Claire doesn’t even look at the menu.
“Hear anything from Martin?” I probe gently.
“Not a word.” She doesn’t look up. “I’m expecting news on the sale of the house, though.”
“Think I’ll just have a tomato omelette and coffee,” I say, changing the subject, and we both sit back, relax and people-watch. I shut my eyes for a moment and feel the heat of the morning Cornwall sun seep into my bones. We did a lot of work in a hurry last week and I’m tired enough. Early night tonight, I think, and no wine! Since Claire and I arrived in St Ives last week we have been out every night, eating and drinking like we are holiday makers. Emotionally, I’m not too bad. Susan, as I guessed, was thrilled by the news of my three-month departure. She promised she’d try to come visit, but I’m not going to hold my breath. I told her how much I loved her and that I would pay her fare out any time she wanted to see me. My mind wanders to her face, her beautiful face.
“I can see how busy you are, but maybe we can squeeze in that drink soon, Courtney Downey?”
It’s like that voice was supposed to be the next thing my ears heard. I can’t explain it. It felt natural. I was expecting it. I sit up straight. Slightly spooked. And there he is, standing next to me.
“Sounds great, Tony Becker,” I say lazily.
“Hi, I’m Tony.” He extends his hand to Claire.
‘“Oh right, yeah. Hi, how are you? Fantastic job on the apartment, we love it! It’s home already. We’ve settled in really well.” Claire giggles and looks at me, her eyes sparkling. “We’ve done everything together, Courtney, but it’s the first time we’ve lived together, isn’t it?”
“We’re getting along just now,” I joke. “But let’s see how we feel in three months, when the honeymoon period is over!”
We both laugh, but I see Tony staring long and hard at Claire.
“R-r-right . . .” he stutters. He seems uncomfortable for some reason. I try to bring him into the conversation.
“How’s Marina?” I ask.
“W-w-who?” He can’t stop looking at Claire.
“Marina, your girlfriend?” I say.
He grabs an empty seat nearby and drags it over noisily.
“Coffee, Marco, please. I don’t have a girlfriend . . . Marina’s just a friend. So when did you get over?”
“Last week, mid-week. Claire drove, so we have loads of stuff from home with us,” I tell him, smiling at Claire.
“We’ve been working up a sweat, emptying boxes by day and cosying up in our pyjamas, drinking copious amounts of chilled white wine by night!” Claire adds.
“Right . . .” He looks like he’s just been given some bad news. He sips the coffee.
“But it can’t all be fun
and games, can it? Now we’ve got the apartment organised, it’s time I got a job. Know of anything going in the hospitality trade, Tony?” Claire asks him.
“No, not really. Summer staff is well in place now.”
Now it’s my time to stare at him. It’s not like him to be so negative.
“Oh well,” says Claire, nonplussed. “I’ll find something.” She is looking hard at him too, now. “You must come to us for dinner. What are you doing Saturday night?”
“Um . . . nothing . . .” He’s still acting strangely.
“Are you sure? You know how you tend to double book yourself, Tony,” I joke.
“Funny ha,” he says to me. There’s an awkward pause, then we make small talk about the weather and the news until our breakfasts arrive.
Claire spears her fried egg with her fork and gooey yellow runs all over her plate. Nonetheless, she stuffs it into her mouth, leaving yolk on her lips.
“I can’t take you anywhere, Claire. She’s always been a messy eater,” I say to Tony.
“You love me really!” says Claire, and she groans with pleasure at her breakfast.
Tony looks pale. “I’ll leave you two ladies alone to enjoy.” He gets up to go.
“Wait, Tony,” I say. “Come on, I was just kidding before. You must come round – how’s eight o’clock on Saturday?”
“Go on, Tony,” says Claire. “Consider it a thank you for building our dream home.”
“Are you going to bring a date?” I ask now. If Marina’s not his girlfriend, who is? He’s definitely a player, I know it. I saw the red wedges and copy of Cosmo in the back of his jeep. I’m giving him ample opportunity to tell us who his real girlfriend is.
“Maybe . . . um . . . I don’t know,” he says, and he walks away into the crowd.
“That was weird,” I say, frowning.
“God, he’s divine, Courtney. Funny you kept that part to yourself.” She smirks at me, knowingly. Non-pushy.
I don’t answer her, but when he rounds the corner out of my eye line, Claire bursts out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Courtney, you’re such an innocent. Don’t you get why he was all awkward? He thinks we are together! Oh, the irony!” Claire laughs as she hungrily tucks into her fry-up.
11
“Am I getting ready for a date? No, it’s not a date, ya big eejit, Courtney! You wish! Well what it then? It’s dinner with a man you hardly know.” I talk to myself as I towel dry my hair roughly. “A man you’ve only met three or four times before, and you’ve acted like a lovesick school girl every time.” I hold the towel still over my ear as I chastise myself in my airy bedroom mirror. A mirror he fitted with his own glorious hands. “A man who has a different woman every night!”
I wag my finger at my reflection. I’m already dressed and I now turn on Claire’s turbo hairdryer and blast-dry the rest of my hair. It’s dinner. End of. Rubbing in some leave-in coconut conditioning spray, I brush it through. Susan has been texting me a bit today, but no actual phone calls yet. I have not heard her lovely voice in over a week. I agreed she could stay with them for the summer, but in August we will sit down again to discuss her living arrangements before school starts up again. Please let her come back to me then, I think. I swear to God, if Mar-nee talks her into asking me to leave school before her leaving certificate to work in that salon I will lose my marbles. Standing up now, I turn off the hairdryer and take a good look at myself in the bedroom mirror.
“Not too bad, Courtney.” I nod to my reflection. Then I drag at the skirt, pulling it down a little. Is it too short? It wasn’t cheap and it looked longer in the dressing room cubicle. The assistant had nodded her approval, but then they nearly all do, don’t they? It’s a brown suede skirt and I have teamed it with a plain white man’s shirt. It is sexy-casual, I think. I’m barefoot now, but I’ll slide into a pair of black patent heels when the bell rings. I’ve a sneaky half glass of white wine on my bedside table and I have light rock on the radio. Heart sing about the rainy night and the man they picked up. Singing along at the top of my voice now, I sip the wine. Susan hated when I sang really loud, as did David. Granted, I haven’t the sweetest voice in the world – all right, it’s tone-deaf awful – but I love to sing. Right now I give it socks.
“You can imagine his surprise when he saw his own eyes!” I screech out.
When I’m made up with dark smoky eyes and a red lip, I’m feeling pretty confident. Dare I say pathetically excited? The starters have to be made. It’s a simple smoked salmon and brown bread with capers and fresh lemon. I’ve three really good bottles of Sauvignon Blanc chilling. He’s going to have to chat to me while I cook the mains. It’s my version of Alice’s Seafood Surprise. He may have tasted it already the night I cooked at Meloria’s, but it’s on the menu again because I want it.
Jumping as the bell downstairs shrills loudly, I stuff my feet into my high heels by the bedroom door and check my face in the mirror one last time. Carefully holding the rail as I make my way down the steep stairs, I gather myself and open the office door to him. He looks even better than I remembered, standing so tall holding a bottle of wine and huge bouquet of yellow roses, and my heart does this incredibly stupid, almighty flip of a backwards somersault. Oh for God’s sake, woman, cop yourself on. He goes to kiss me and I go to hug him and we bump heads.
“That’s a welcome all right,” he laughs, rubbing his head playfully.
“Oh sorry.” But I laugh and I instantly feel comfortable.
“For you guys.” He hands me the flowers and the wine. He’s wearing a black shirt with the top two buttons open, like he read my mind about the effect that had on me the last time, and light denim jeans and black runners. His hair is a little shorter than last time and his amazing dark-brown eyes crinkle at me. The heavy growth of stubble is still there, but I like it. It’s so manly. Tony is the polar opposite of David in every way. He really is his own man.
“Can I possibly come in?” he jokes and I mutter my apologies and hold open the door for him. As he walks into my office, a strange feeling comes over me. For the first time, I’m aware of my big empty king-size bed upstairs. And I feel awful, because just for a moment I wish Claire wasn’t here right now and it was just me and Tony, alone.
“Are men allowed to comment on how women look these days or not?” he asks as he turns to face me now in the office.
“I think so.” I’m unsure myself of how I expect a man to behave. I walk up the stairs and he follows into the kitchen area of the apartment. I’m acutely aware of my short skirt.
“Are they still allowed to pull out a chair?” He rests his arms on the back of a kitchen chair.
“They better be!” I laugh as I sit myself down, taking the weight off my heels and pulling myself in close to the table.
“Well, you look stunning, Courtney . . . really.” He lowers himself onto the seat beside me. “Claire’s a lucky lady.”
I stifle a laugh. This is too good! I won’t put him out of his misery just yet. “Thank you. I did make an effort, I won’t lie, so I shall take the compliment. Let me pour you a drink. We’re having fish, so is white okay? There are beers in the fridge if you prefer.” I get up again and totter to the fridge. These shoes were not a good idea.
“Wine sounds amazing, thank you. I’ve had a heck of a day,” he replies.
I pour us two large glasses and slowly make my way back to the table.
“Where is Claire?” He looks around.
“She’s still getting ready, but she says to go ahead and eat.”
He nods.
“Fancy the starter?” I ask now.
He jerks his head up. “Only the starter?” He stares at me.
“What?” I ask
“Nothing, I’m only messing with ya.” He looks back down, but he’s trying not to laugh. His face is quivering.
“Look, I’ll dish up the starter, because I’m starving. I worked late.” I stand again.
“Sou
nds so good. I skipped lunch and dinner today,” he says now.
I turn and we just look at each other. This is the craziest feeling in the world, but right now all my worries about me being here alone without my teenage daughter have disappeared again.
“Are you usually late, early or right on time?” he muses now out loud.
“I’m always on time,” I answer, without looking around, though I still feel his eyes boring into me.
“Hmmm,” he says and now I turn.
“I am!”
He nods. “Do you like rainy days or snowy winter days more?” he asks me.
“Rainy,” I say, fishing the capers out of the jar with a mini fork. “Snow tends to always disappoint; inevitably it turns to slush.”
“Exactly. Now, which is your favourite part of the human face and why?” is his next question. He has his legs out in front of him, crossed and relaxed, taking up half of the floor space in my kitchen.
“Are you actually serious with these random questions?” I stare at him and he’s smiling widely.
“I love this shit, don’t you? Easy conversation and you find out lots about the other person.” His shoulders shrug under the black shirt.
“Okay then . . . I suppose the eyes,” I answer. I’m only thinking of myself, of my own pleasure, and you know what? It feels bloody great. Liberating. Tony seems to have this effect on me: like I don’t have anything to worry about when I’m with him. Who cares if he is the greatest womaniser in the world? I’m not going to think about that any more. I don’t want to marry the man, for crying out loud. I want to enjoy the present, live in the moment, and right now I am doing just that. If Tony was a drug, I’d be highly addicted.
Pulling the smoked salmon in tinfoil from the fridge, I begin to prepare the plates. My overwhelming feeling is that he’s taking me all in from behind. I squeeze the muscles in my bottom.
“Why?”
“You can tell a lot from people’s eyes.” I put the smoked salmon on top of the brown bread, but small portions. I don’t want to fill up on the starters.
The Importance of Being Me Page 16