Sam had joked that he hadn’t had this many emotions in a decade, and I was starting to know how he felt. Since I’d become Bel, since I’d created the Martini Club, it was about playing a part and playing it well. All those years of poverty and pain with Euan, the years of quiet, regimented loneliness with my mother – they’d been erased when I became Arabella. I’d become neutral. There wasn’t much to cry about, but there wasn’t much laughter either. I existed in my little bubble, I made my job my life, and all was well.
Now I seemed to be swinging from outraged to tearful, determined to hopeless, all within minutes of each other.
I knew the most important things were the practical ones – save the club, get my mother to leave, divorce Euan. Easy, like ticking off a list. But I couldn’t make myself focus on the important things. I just kept thinking of Brodie.
He came back for you.
He came back for you and you’d already gone.
The loss sat in my stomach like a bowling ball. I wondered if I would carry it with me from now on.
I remembered that last night so clearly, Brodie heading off to Southampton with his mum and brothers in the morning, playing one last gig that night. We’d talked about staying in touch, being friends. How I’d get the train down to see him at the weekend. But we knew it wasn’t really possible. I had training, and my mum, and school and my job. I had to keep working to escape.
He had his brothers and his family and he’d needed to work too. Maybe slightly less than he was in Eastbourne. He knew exactly that same level of exhaustion I did – he woke up early to do a paper round each morning, then helped prep in the kitchens for one of the pubs on the high street, had a few odd cleaning jobs and then spent time practising for gigs. He had one student he taught guitar to on a Wednesday afternoon, a little boy who looked at him like he was a god. He loved teaching. He said that’s what he’d do when he went off to be a musician. He’d teach in the afternoons and play in the evenings. During the day he could look after his mum, and everything would work out.
Brodie had always been so intensely positive about everything. Everywhere I saw hardship – I worked hard because I had no other choice, but I’d never really thought things would get better. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to be a ballerina, and I wasn’t going to run the dance school with Mum. Brodie knew how to dream, and he was trying to teach me.
What would have happened if I’d known he’d come back? Would we have been together? Would I have left Euan? In a heartbeat, I knew that clearly. I would have felt guilty about it, sure, but I would have left sooner.
Euan had always suspected he was a second choice, but he’d pursued me and had known I came with limitations. When Brodie was gone, I had no one. I was back to being that strange lonely ballet girl who had no friends. Euan, at least, as part of the band, was someone I knew, and he always tried to make me smile, cheer me up. Whether he knew about that last night before Brodie left, I don’t know.
He came back.
Maybe I would be more complete, less a mish-mash of different parts of strangers badly formed with an affected accent, if he’d found me then.
But I wouldn’t have had Sam. I wouldn’t have the club. No Jacques or Savvy or my team of merry performers, each as beautiful and strange and normal as could be.
I’d lost my bluster by the time I made it back to the flat. That rage, that overwhelming rage that my mother had possibly ruined my life twice with her decisions… I was finding it hard to hold on to. Not because I’d changed my mind, but because dealing with the idea that there was a possibility I could have lived a different life, one with Brodie, was heartbreaking.
I knew I was angry, but all I wanted to do was cry.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one.
I unlocked my door and found my mother sitting at my breakfast bar, shoulders shuddering as she wept. She had her back to me, and I watched, almost embarrassed, as she hurried to wipe her eyes as the door creaked closed.
‘Mum?’
‘Hi, sorry.’ Her voice sounded thick and she kept her back to me, desperately plucking at a box of tissues on the side.
‘What’s going on?’
My mother turned to me and I saw her red puffy eyes and engorged nose, red raw from being daubed with tissues. She looked at me in disbelief.
‘How are you even talking to me right now?’
‘I’m sorry?’ I blinked, finding everything just a little too confusing. I walked past her to click the kettle on. It was always best to be doing something when I confronted my mother.
‘I went to the club, I spoke to Jacques. He said… he said a man called Derek had tried to make you an offer on the club. And immediately I knew.’ Her eyes were glassy, but I was honestly too exhausted to feel sorry for her.
‘You immediately knew that you moaning about me to a complete stranger gave them all the ammunition they needed to take my company down? Is that what you immediately knew?’
I didn’t even sound angry, just tired. Tired of it all.
I expected my mother to play the victim, to point out that they obviously knew who she was, that they must have targeted her, and how could she have known?
But she didn’t. She didn’t make an excuse.
‘I’m so, so sorry, Bel. You have no idea.’
I shrugged. ‘Well, you think it’s all a waste of time anyway, don’t you? This business of mine? What does it matter to you if it’s destroyed?’
She didn’t say anything, just stood like a statue, waiting for me to break her. She was so incredibly vulnerable in that moment, eyes wet and nose dripping, that I barely recognized her. I had never seen my mother cry. She saw emotion as weakness.
I made her a cup of tea, begrudgingly, and placed it on the table, encouraging her to sit opposite me.
I sat and waited, hearing the scrape of the chair across the floor. I stared resolutely at the table top, unsure of what to say. I didn’t know how to talk to her, not really. I knew how to scream and shout and get nowhere, or I knew how to run away. There was no in between.
‘You know what your grandmother said when I set up the dance school?’ Mum suddenly piped up, her voice tired and raw. ‘Absolutely nothing. No congratulations, no words of advice, no questions about how it was, or if I had any customers. She just walked away and went to make dinner.’
I quietly thought I might prefer that to the never-ending criticism.
She looked up like she knew what I was thinking. ‘You know what’s worse that someone always offering advice and trying to make you better? Someone who doesn’t care enough to even ask. My mum expected nothing of me. She didn’t think I was particularly capable of anything. To her, the only decent thing I did was have you. And even that was out of wedlock and on my own.’
I tried to think of any time Mum and Grandma Maggie had argued, any tensions or tight words, but all I remembered was a tiny wizened old woman sitting slack-jawed in front of the TV. She had loved me, buying me little trinkets, patting my head as I played on the floor, but beyond that… she’d never been to a dance competition, she’d never attended any of the Christmas parties or celebrations. I just thought she was too old for all of that, but really, she probably wasn’t very old at all.
‘I know we don’t have a great relationship, and I know a big part of that is down to me,’ my mum continued, tracing the rim of her mug with a perfectly manicured fingertip. ‘I pushed you too hard. I was so busy trying to prove myself, and you had to be perfect so that I could be perfect. I thought if I was just good enough, if we were both good enough, she’d see me. She’d love me.’
I looked at my mother, suddenly cracked open down the middle like a tree hit by lightning. ‘And it made no difference. Then she died, and you left, quite rightly, and what was I left with? A bunch of people who liked a fake version of me, and this… emptiness.’
‘Oh, Mum…’ I said, unsure of what to say.
‘I’m not trying to make excuses, I know I didn’t really let you have a ch
ildhood, and it looks like I’ve just come here to criticize, but I really am trying to help. I… I thought maybe if you were in trouble I could turn up and fix everything and make it perfect, and we’d magically be fixed. We’d be like mothers and daughters are.’
‘I… I don’t know how to be that with you, Mum. I don’t even know how to tell you things without thinking you’re going to go off the rails at me for disappointing you, or not being good enough.’ I felt something dislodge in my throat, and pressed my lips together desperately.
My mother shook her head, so weary. ‘It was never about you being perfect, it was about me. And I’m so sorry. I just kept thinking if I’d never pushed you so hard, you’d never have run off with that idiot and married him…’
I snorted at the word ‘idiot’. At least, when it came to Euan, we were mostly in agreement.
‘Maybe not, but there were other things at work. And if I’d never run off with him, I never would have left him, and found Sam, and started the club. Maybe that was how it was meant to be.’
My mother traced my face with her eyes, and it was a little easier to love her with her crow’s feet on display, her skin puffy and her hair a mess. She was so perfectly undone, it was easier to reach her.
‘Sam is kind,’ she said carefully, looking away from me.
‘He is, and he’s been trying to sing your praises the last few days.’
She looked wary, and I couldn’t blame her. ‘That wasn’t my intention. I mean, maybe at the beginning, but we connected. I’m… I’m glad you had him, when you didn’t have me to talk to, or a father figure you could depend on.’
I thought back to the few men Mum had dated, the occasional flights of hysteria and joy, followed by him disappointing her in some small way and leaving in a hurry. Everyone learnt that Anna Stone had impossible standards and no matter who you were, you would be found wanting.
‘It wasn’t ever something I thought about, honestly, Mum. I was just trying to figure out how to be happy without upsetting you. I was never allowed to breathe. I hated dancing at the end, I absolutely hated it.’
Her eyes softened. ‘Well, that makes me sad – you were so wonderful.’
I had expected her to mention how hard she had worked, how many hours she had put in of her life, to waste them all on my ungrateful attitude, throwing it all away.
‘I… I started taking a class again, a few years ago, because I missed it. I just couldn’t enjoy it when I needed to be perfect.’ I sighed. ‘Now I don’t need to please anyone but me.’
Her face crumpled. ‘That was the way it should always have been.’
We sat in silence and she looked up at the ceiling, embarrassed by her weakness.
‘If I’ve ruined your business I’ll never forgive myself,’ she said suddenly, her voice scratchy with emotion. ‘I know you won’t believe me, but I so valued having you help me with the dance school. You helped me make it what it was. All those little girls watching you dance and gasping, stars in their eyes. They wanted to be you.’
The kindness was a little too much to take. My chest felt so tight I was worried I might pass out, and yet I couldn’t stop talking, the words just flowing out, telling her everything I’d ever wanted to say.
‘I don’t know how to deal with this right now. I was so angry, and then some stuff happened and I was angry about that instead, and… I just, how are we meant to do this?’ I tapped my fingers on the table.
‘What else were you angry about? Tell me. Maybe I can help?’ The hope in my mother’s eyes as she sat herself up straight, angling her body towards mine. She wanted to prove herself, make things right. I almost didn’t want to reveal it was down to her once again that I had felt my blood boil with the unfairness of it all.
I took a sip of my tea, tried to make my voice gentle and speculative. ‘Do you remember a boy named Brodie Porter? We were friends for a while.’
My mother blinked, tried to remember. ‘It’s going to sound awful, but I don’t really remember you having friends.’
That was fair enough; I didn’t really. And the few I did have, I certainly hadn’t let my mother know.
‘We were good friends when I was about seventeen. He left a couple of years after coming to town – his mum was sick and he went to stay with family in Southampton, so he wasn’t looking after her by himself.’
Her mouth twitched a little. ‘Was this the musician? The boy with the scruffy hair and guitar who used to wait at the bottom of the street sometimes?’
So she had noticed a few things.
‘I thought he was just some guy trying to get your attention. You always seemed slightly above all that. Too busy.’
My heart deflated a little. I was, I was too busy. And I did seem above things, which was why I had no friends in the first place. But it was too late for all that now.
I took a deep breath. ‘I loved him. He was my best friend, and I loved him, and he left, and I was sad.’
‘This was before Euan?’ my mother asked.
‘That was why Euan became Euan. Plugging the loneliness with something that didn’t quite make sense. Poor Euan.’ I smiled sadly. I did feel sorry for him. He’d tried hard, at least at the beginning, but he’d never really got me. I’d let myself fall into a poor impersonation of a relationship because it was too horrible to be all alone again.
Because every time I went to call Brodie, I saw that look of polite horror as I’d bared my heart. The embarrassment still made me want to shrivel up.
‘Pah, poor Euan. The man’s a crook and he was riding your coattails for all he was worth. And is still trying to, apparently.’
It seems Jacques and my mother had been having a good natter. That or Sam. For a difficult woman, she certainly knew how to get information.
‘Okay. Right. But the thing is, Mum, apparently Brodie came back. To see me, after I left for London. He came to the door and he asked if you knew where I was…’
I saw the hope drain from her eyes, the knowledge that somehow my unhappiness had come back down to her, again. It seemed to settle around her shoulders like a weight.
‘And I said I didn’t. I said you’d gone off to London to join the ballet, and I didn’t know where you were,’ she finished, closing her eyes briefly. ‘God, it’s like I’m trying to make you hate me, isn’t it?’
I laughed at that, and she offered a little smile back.
‘You want to know the reason I said that?’ Mum asked. ‘I don’t remember him, but there were a few men who used to come to the door asking that question. Some of them friendly, some of them not. But it became clear early on that Euan owed them money, and they were hoping to find him through you. I always just said you’d gone off by yourself, in the hope they’d leave you out of it. And leave me out of it too, I guess.’
‘Oh.’
It made sense. It made so much sense. I had been planning our escape, but it was Euan who decided when it was, Euan who came to me that night and said, ‘let’s go, now!’ And we did.
Euan only existed because of Brodie, and Brodie was turned away because of Euan. A perfect circle, with me in the middle, still standing alone.
I had to laugh. ‘God, what a mess. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.’
‘I’m sorry you needed to run.’
We sat in silence, just looking at each other, this embarrassed sort of hope permeating the air. I worried that the minute one of us spoke, it would all fall apart, we’d start snipping at each other and find something to argue about. She wouldn’t hold her tongue, I’d take it too personally. Armageddon in the Stone household, yet again.
Mum pressed her lips together, as if she was desperate not to say something and ruin it, which was so suddenly endearing I wanted to throw my arms around her.
But we weren’t really there yet.
‘Mum, how’d you feel about getting dressed up and having a few cocktails? I’ll show you a place you’ll love. It’s French, looks like you’re drinking Kir royales on the Titanic. All
red velvet and high ceilings. Just on the fabulous side, no pretension.’
I desperately wanted her to say yes, to take her somewhere that I knew she would be pleased with. I wanted her to know I was trying.
She looked so grateful I had to avert my eyes.
‘Okay, so I think maybe we both need some concealer.’
We walked along the busy London streets, arm in arm, refusing to move out of the way or be broken up. Our pace was leisurely, and as we walked she asked me things, about the area, about what I liked and disliked. About me and my life. The only time I could remember anything like this was when Mum dated a man named Rob for a few months. He was nice, and invited us to his holiday home in Spain for a few weeks. We sat and ate dinner with views of the sea, and Mum had caved and ordered us a huge knickerbocker glory to share, and she kissed me on the cheek when she saw my delight at the sparklers when it arrived.
That was the last time we had laughed this much in each other’s company, actually enjoying ourselves. And this time it wasn’t about the free holiday, or the sunshine, or some guy she maybe hoped would be the guy. This time it was just about us.
We sat in the bar and she looked around, her critical eye softening to one of approval. I knew, being my mother, there were still fifteen things she would have pointed out that could have been improved (hell, I could probably name ten), but she stopped herself. Instead, she delighted at everything, clapping her hands with a childish glee as her drink appeared.
‘Tell me about this boy that you loved,’ she said, and so I did.
I told her about a boy who grew up as a kid with a mum who was weak but wise, and a dad who left soon after. I told her about how he wrote songs on the pier, and used his spare change to buy sweets for his brother. I told her about running along the beach as fast as I could, laughing until I thought I’d collapse, and hearing him sing as I closed my eyes in the field in summer, our heads next to each other.
Martinis and Memories Page 13