Martinis and Memories

by A. L. Michael

  ‘No, hard to get was all you.’ That smile was too tender, too sweet, and I recognized it. There was a con to be had somewhere in all of this. And I wasn’t going to be the mark.

  ‘You know it’ll take more than a day for me to get the divorce process going?’

  He winked, taking a sip of his whisky. ‘Lucky for me. No, sweetheart, I just wanted to see this place in all its glory. And you can’t blame me for wanting to be around you, now I know where you are?’

  ‘Can’t I?’

  ‘A man’s wife goes out for ice cream and never comes back. You don’t think he’s got questions? We need closure, Bel.’ His eyes were too wide, he was too insistent.

  ‘Ooh, look at the big words. When the hell have you needed closure? Unless it’s getting in the last punch in a bar fight?’ I snorted. Much more of this and I would need a drink.

  He looked at me then, lowering the guard of carefree sarcasm and bravado. That look. That poor puppy look that had caught me more times than I cared to remember. When we were nineteen he got a job at a garage and I told him I was proud of him. He said no one had ever told him that before. Every time that look crossed his face since then, I remembered that moment. It allowed for any number of fuck-ups, cross words or stupid exploits. And he knew that.

  ‘Stop looking at me like that, it doesn’t work any more.’

  Euan raised an eyebrow, then sat back in his seat, clearly discomfited. ‘Oh really?’

  ‘Really. I left. And since then, remarkably, there’s been no bullshit in my life. No lazy men expecting me to work all hours, taking my money for fags and booze, getting into fights, losing their jobs. Not having a husband has been a big improvement in my life.’ I crossed my arms, daring him to start something.

  That was the thing with Euan, you had to let him know you were on to him. Half the time he’d still get you anyway, but the facade mattered. He had to doubt his own power.

  ‘Sweetheart, you don’t think people can change? It’s been ten years!’ He spread his arms. ‘I’m still in London, I’m working hard, making money. Got a little flat in Finsbury Park with a couple of guys. You leaving meant I had to grow up, so I did.’

  ‘Well, that’s great for you.’ I was having none of it. Jacques hovered nearby and I heard him snort. He’d probably laugh if he knew the truth about Euan. Bel with a husband – could there be an unlikelier story? A version of me with children, I supposed, or going camping. Some things just didn’t sit right.

  ‘You’ve changed, and grown,’ he said, looking at the bar in reverence. ‘Why can’t the same be true for me?’

  I stood up. ‘Because I didn’t change, I just became who I was meant to be.’ I started to walk off. ‘Don’t get too comfortable here. These aren’t going to be regular visits.’

  ‘You’re honestly saying you haven’t missed me at all? This whole time?’

  When I turned back, he was standing too, his arms lifted in a sign of disbelief.

  ‘Darling, of course I’ve missed you,’ I said, moving closer so he could hear me. ‘I miss you like you miss a mole you’ve always had on your arm. It’s always been there, and it’s part of you, but it was cancerous and it had to go.’

  I turned on my heel and didn’t look back, hoping that was enough to keep him at bay. But from the way he looked around the Martini Club, taking in the opulence of the bar top, to the bottles of champagne in the fridges, I knew he’d be back. He wasn’t there for me.

  What’s mine was his, after all, and I was pretty sure he knew that.

  * * *

  I hid in my office until he left, watching him on the CCTV camera. He looked stunned and I almost felt guilty. Had it really been so bad, being married to him? Well, yes, but it wasn’t awful. It was about being poor and stuck in one place forever, clasping to the cliff edge, trying to climb my way out. And doing that with a dead weight was impossible. So I had to go.

  There had been one moment, that one minute that passed where I had been more scared than I had ever been. The idea of staying in that life, it disgusted me. I just couldn’t do it any more.

  Euan wasn’t just a nostalgia-filled fling from the past. He wasn’t anything like what a husband was meant to be. He was, perhaps, the only real relationship I’d had. The man was used to getting what he wanted, and I was happy enough to comply back then, in exchange for escape and adventure.

  But now, whether he was back for me, or the club, he was going to have to get used to disappointment. Smart girls don’t fall for the same bullshit twice.

  Chapter Four

  I woke to the sound of banging. Like, severe, never-ending, banging down a door with a sledgehammer kind of banging.

  ‘Hell’s bells, what the fuck is that?’ I growled to myself, pulling my kimono on over my nightdress and climbing down the stairs. The postman knew I ran a club and Sam was a musician. He called us ‘the night owls’, and always made sure to leave any parcels with the vegan place downstairs if it was too early. That was the kind of relationship you had after ten years of never changing. Besides, it was Sunday – no postman. So the person slamming on my door at this ungodly hour had to be someone drunk and lost, or someone with a death wish.

  I was ready to release a torrent of abuse so hair-raising that I expected the visitor would flee immediately. And then I opened the door, and exhaled.

  ‘Mum?’

  She grinned at me with such joy, her overly white teeth catching the sunshine and almost blinding me. She took off her oversized sunglasses and spread her arms, hip jutted appropriately.

  ‘Ta da!’

  My mother looked young, I had to give her that. Still as slender and slight as she always had been, she looked exactly like what she was – a ballerina who’d taken extremely good care of herself over the years. Her long brown hair had been lightened a fair few times so that she was practically blonde, and her clothing might have screamed (to some people) spring chicken. Not me, obviously. But other, less kind people, might have thought that my mother’s boobs didn’t need to be displayed quite so… graphically.

  ‘Mum!’

  She raised an eyebrow in distaste. ‘Yes, you already said that, darling. Are you going to let me in, or shall we stand here all day in the street like savages?’

  ‘Savages…’ I blinked. ‘Sorry, Mum, I’m just a bit confused. What are you doing here?’

  She put a hand on her hip and tilted her head, annoyance clearly marked on her face. She did this thing where she’d pull her lips together as if she were smiling, but her eyes would narrow. It was disconcerting how a polite smile could turn into that look of irritation in a breath.

  ‘Well, I thought we could discuss that inside, darling.’ She gestured up the stairs behind me. ‘Will you have trouble with my luggage? You’re a big girl.’

  Wow, that took less than a minute. She barged past me, leaving me to face the mammoth suitcase and matching holdall on top. How long was she staying for? I followed her up the staircase, huffing and puffing as she found things to criticize even in the stairwell.

  ‘This carpet’s coming up, you know, and the bannister’s chipped. You should make the landlord do something about this, you know, Annabelle, they’re sneaky bastards who will get away with letting a nice young woman live in squalor.’

  I heaved the bag up the last step.

  ‘I’m not a nice young woman,’ I said, pushing open my front door.

  ‘And I’m not your average landlord.’

  Sam’s voice echoed from the floor above, and my mother peered over the bannister and up at him.

  ‘Oh, hello!’ She wiggled her fingers. ‘And you are?’

  I’d usually put her politeness down to Sam’s rugged charms, but she was like that with anyone she first met. It was usually after their back was turned that she let out what she really thought. That was good manners, apparently. Being fake and two-faced.

  Sam slowly trundled down the stairs like a cowboy, a jangle from the belt on his jeans. He smiled lazily.

  �
��I’m your daughter’s terrible landlord. And what beautiful harpy do we have here, knocking at our door at ungodly hours of the morning?’

  ‘Nine a.m. is hardly ungodly!’ my mother replied, that trilling laugh cutting right through me.

  ‘Sam’s a musician, Mum. He performs quite late. We don’t tend to have early morning visitors.’ I turned to him so that he could see me widen my eyes in panic. ‘Sam, this is my mother, Anna Stone.’

  ‘Ms,’ she said, taking his hand as if she were a member of royalty. He fought a smile and shook it solidly.

  ‘Well, it’s great to meet you, you’ve raised a wonderful young woman. Bel worked with me for a time, and she was honestly the best goddamn assistant I’ve had. Couldn’t find a decent replacement.’

  ‘Assistant?’ My mother’s nose wrinkled and she looked back at me. ‘How did you assist a musician?’

  I could almost see the word ‘groupie’ flash through her mind.

  ‘I own the photography studio downstairs.’ Sam smiled, pure charm. ‘My bread and butter, as it were.’

  ‘Well, an assistant is right, I couldn’t see Bel in front of a camera, could you?’ She snorted delicately, as if she’d found a compatriot in her opinions. Instead, Sam looked at her, unimpressed, and took a step back.

  ‘Actually, she always shines on camera. Our Bel just about glows, don’t you, sweetheart?’

  I shrugged, feeling the attempt at chivalry, but honestly, it was unnecessary. I just had to figure out what my mother was doing here so I could get her the hell out again. I hadn’t seen her for at least four years. My visits back were always sporadic and limited. Grandma Maggie’s funeral, my cousin’s kid’s christening. I always went to her, I always stayed in a hotel, and I absolutely always made up something about a big project or an international call in the morning and scarpered back to London.

  She had never been to London to see me, and that was the way we liked it. Well, that was the way I liked it. My mother was like a limpet. If you let her too close, she’d stick for good. It took a lot of force to remove her, which was why I’d left in the middle of the night. The same way I’d done with Euan. Huh. That was an unsettling pattern.

  ‘Mum, why don’t you come into mine and we’ll chat about the reason for this surprise visit?’ I opened the door and wheeled the case in, giving Sam a look. I wasn’t sure what it meant beyond ‘oh crap’ and ‘I may need rescuing’.

  He nodded and half shrugged, before saluting my mum lazily. ‘Good to meetcha. Hope you enjoy your stay.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to seek you out if I’m not,’ she said with a smile, her eyes unwavering as he walked back upstairs. Oh jeez.

  She strutted into my flat and looked around. I’ve always liked my flat; the huge windows let in lots of light, the bare floorboards look classic. There’s not much in there, I’ll admit. A second-hand sofa that I’d re-upholstered, a desk with my sewing machine. My corset tops were sitting on the side, the black silk waiting to be adorned with the silver thread I’d just bought. I watched her take it all in, the long, light curtains, the pale pink polka dot duvet set. The large seventies-style chair in the corner, and my one beauty: the fanned Chinese-style room divider with the gold painted birds. It was a great deal from a charity shop in Ealing, and I’d brought it back on the Tube, to the chagrin of everyone around me. I had taken a distinct pleasure in pissing off those businessmen in their pinstripes. A little inconvenience was good for the soul.

  ‘Well, I’m sure this is quite good value for London,’ my mother said uneasily, setting her bag down on the kitchen counter. I loved that counter. Sam had redone it for me after I’d been there a couple of years. He’d taken me to the shop to choose the turquoise tiles and had fixed them for me that afternoon. We’d drunk beer and listened to records, noticing how fine the kitchen looked in the afternoon sunlight.

  I loved my home. And seeing my mother look around it with such disdain made a vein in my neck twitch.

  ‘I see you’ve embraced minimalism, or is this the result of some of those investments?’ She gestured, swinging her arms from her side as she walked. ‘Did you sell all of your stuff?’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t need stuff. It’s just… stuff. Do you want a drink?’

  ‘Bit early for that, darling.’ She pressed her lips together in a smirk.

  ‘I meant a coffee, or water or something.’

  ‘Oh. How disappointing. I thought big city girls did mimosas on Sunday mornings.’

  ‘We can… I’d have to go to the shop…’ I filled the kettle and measured out my coffee for the cafetière. ‘Are we celebrating something?’

  ‘Well, darling, you tell me that you’re having money worries, and that I have to curb my spending, and I thought to myself, my little girl must be in trouble. So I wrote down your address and jumped on the first train this morning. You obviously need some help, so here I am, to help!’

  ‘Help?’ I coughed, gripping the counter. I turned around. ‘Mum, I just said I needed you to cut back on the trips and the shopping sprees, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘But of course, darling, and what better way to cut costs than for me to stay with you? I’ve released my house – Jemma is going to sublet it for a couple of months. Solves all our problems, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Does it?’ I could see my hand shaking as I poured the hot water into the cafetière and replaced the lid. I counted up to thirty.

  ‘Of course! Sweetheart, we cut down on the expense of my house, and we finally get to spend some quality time together! You’re always so busy with that big fancy job, and I thought if I’m around, I can support you. After all these years, we can be together again, rebuild our relationship after that Euan nonsense.’

  I laughed at that, because if I didn’t, I might cry. Two months with my mother?

  ‘Speaking of that Euan nonsense, he reappeared a couple of days ago. It really has been quite the week for blasts from the past. Maybe I should have a mimosa.’

  My mother frowned at that, then wrinkled her nose at the coffee. ‘God, that smells strong. Couldn’t we get a latte somewhere?’ She took a cup when I handed it to her, wincing. ‘So what is that bottom feeder doing with himself? I always expected to see him back in Eastbourne, but I never did.’

  ‘He’s working in construction. He happened to be around the corner from my work.’

  ‘How convenient.’ Her lips were pursed, her eyes cold. ‘And how long has this been going on? I thought you had learnt your lesson about throwing your life away on people like him?’

  My nerves were frazzled and she hadn’t even taken off her jacket yet.

  ‘People like him?’

  My mother looked uneasy, but wouldn’t back down. Her chin was held high. ‘Someone who would drag you down. Someone who wouldn’t help you reach your potential.’

  ‘Someone who wasn’t rich or important, you mean? Someone who wasn’t high class to whisk me off and make me a princess?’

  ‘There’s no prize for dating a working-class boy, Annabelle, so you can leave that high and mighty attitude at the door.’ She took a sip of the coffee and winced, placing the mug down on the counter. ‘Why is this even a discussion? You left him. You told me he wasn’t the right choice for you.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m allowed to talk about my mistakes, Mother, they were mine to make!’

  We both paused to reassess, looking at each other from our positions across the room.

  ‘Well, this is an excellent start.’ She laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile. That was the one thing we managed to agree on – our relationship wasn’t great. The problem was usually where we assigned blame. I was a disappointment, and she was a control freak. We worked best when we didn’t share too much.

  ‘Mum, are you sure you’ll be comfortable here? I mean, you can have my bed, and I’ll have the futon, but we might be on top of each other. I could book you into a hotel?’ I knew I sounded desperate, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  ‘No, darling. The whole p
oint was to save money, wasn’t it? I can have the futon, hang a few curtains, I’ll have it looking like a bedroom in no time! A little bit more sparkle, bit of colour. We could go shopping!’ She clapped her hands in delight, and then realized, the smile freezing on her face. ‘Oh. Charity shops?’

  ‘Mother! How the mighty have fallen!’ I grinned, sipping at my coffee. ‘Anna Stone shops at charity shops? Has hell frozen over?’

  She shrugged her shoulders modestly. ‘Just working to help you, darling. It’ll be so lovely to spend some time together! I know you’ll have to go back to work on Monday, but I’m sure I can find ways to amuse myself.’

  I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined the way her eyes tilted upwards. It wasn’t surprising. Sam had that effect on women of a certain age. And if I’d been a kid, Sam was exactly the sort I would have begged my mother to date. But I wouldn’t dare inflict her on the poor man.

  My mother was big on dating when I was kid, but there wasn’t a huge circle of eligible bachelors on the scene. Often she was just waiting for someone to get divorced to re-enter the pool. Which tended to lead to a… reputation, in a small community. Anna Stone, the man-eater. Probably didn’t help that she said exactly what she thought and didn’t give a damn who judged her. For a while, it didn’t matter – they were happy enough to send their daughters to her classes, as long as their husbands never came to the performances.

  She made herself a cup of tea, and I realized how small she suddenly was. She’d always been petite, that perfect ballerina frame that made me feel like a lumbering, heavy giant, but now she seemed to be shrinking. She made more noise, wore bright colours to make up for it, but it was becoming apparent – my mother was getting old.

  Oh God, what if she wanted to stay forever?

  ‘Mum, maybe you should sit down,’ I said, tilting my head at the sofa. I loved my sofa, a pastel blue Liberty-esque print that made me feel sophisticated. My mother brought her cup of tea and sat delicately, her eyes drawn to my corsets hanging from the curtain rail, all dark red silk or black and sparkly. She blinked, but said nothing. I knew what she was thinking, though; it worked both ways, that weird connection. Her lips pursed and I noticed the lines appearing at the edges of her mouth, something she hid with plumping lip glosses and vibrant scarves. I never really remembered her smiling, not in a real way. Just that tight, polite, ‘smile for the camera’ kind of look. She knew her best angle and always looked right. She laughed, but until she did, her face was always blank. Waiting for instructions.