Martinis and Memories

by A. L. Michael

  ‘Maybe I’m trying to win you back.’ He smiled again, the charm somewhat diminished by the purples and blues of his skin.

  ‘Always learning the same lessons,’ I sighed, shaking my head. ‘You realize that’s not going to happen? We were barely grown-ups when we got married, and I left for a reason.’

  ‘Yes, maybe you’d like to share that one day,’ he countered.

  ‘What, the poverty, and the working non-stop whilst you did nothing but got yourself into trouble wasn’t enough?’ I tried to keep my voice under control, stopping myself from shouting at him. Didn’t you see how hard it was for me, how exhausted I was? Didn’t you notice I was starting to disappear in front of you?

  ‘You always have a reason for things, Bel. You don’t sweat the small stuff. All those years with your mum, working and studying and dancing – you can handle anything. It wasn’t the work. It wasn’t being poor.’

  ‘This can’t be what you came here for? Closure, or whatever? You’re looking for a place to hide out until whoever got upset with you eases up. You forget, I know you.’

  Euan shifted from one foot to another. ‘Okay, you know me. I lost my job, and I thought if you were making some changes to the club after that review, you might want a builder. Or even just someone to price it up for you, or see if things are possible? I’m a fuck-up in a lot of ways, Bel, I’ll give you that, but I’m good at my job.’

  ‘Then why did you get fired?’

  He clenched his teeth and I watched him wince as his eyes narrowed. ‘There may have been a thing with a girl who wasn’t technically available…’

  ‘Of course there was.’ I shook my head. ‘At least you don’t owe people money, I guess.’

  He snorted. ‘Look, honestly, I’m licking my wounds and I thought you would be too. I know we’re not the same now, but we’ve got history, and I care about you. I always wanted you to succeed. I wasn’t the right person to help with that, but you were always strong enough to do it on your own. I… I can actually help now, so let me help.’

  The sincerity was a bit of a shock, I had to admit. When he met my eyes, I searched for those tell-tale signs I knew from years before, but could find none. Either he’d changed his tells, or he was being honest.

  I was wary, but hadn’t this whole strange meeting of the stars been about becoming vulnerable, being honest instead of disappearing in the middle of the night after hiding my feelings for years?

  ‘Okay, actually, we could probably use your opinion… professionally. And I’ll pay for your time.’

  He tried to wave it away as if he hadn’t been desperate for that, but I could tell he was. There was something about Euan; he was always down on his luck and yet you almost believed him when he said he just couldn’t figure out why he was so unlucky. It was the charm, that smile and the fact that he was such a good time to be around. At least at the beginning.

  I’d throw him a bone, for old time’s sake, and we’d get divorced and move on with our lives. Plus, I felt somehow guilty now that Brodie had reappeared. Nothing had even happened, but it felt like I had cheated.

  God, the arguments we’d had about Brodie in those years. How Euan was second best, how he could never live up to my expectations. That I’d never even have looked at him if Brodie hadn’t left. That one was true enough, and it was that truth that made me give in every time. Caving with silent apologies of sweetness and sex, brushing back the hair at his temple and telling him I loved him.

  He was right, and I spent our relationship apologizing for the truth.

  But maybe one more apology would do the job. He’d make enough money and move on, finding himself some poor unavailable woman elsewhere. Luckily none of my girls at the club were stupid enough to fall for his particular brand of charm. I could handle him for a couple of weeks. Maybe I owed him that much.

  Giving him that was preferable to telling him the truth about why I’d left.

  * * *

  Euan followed me through to the bar and took a seat whilst I went back to the group meeting. The whiteboard was now so full of words, suggestions and badly drawn pictures that I wanted to scream. There was a tangle of words all in different colours and I had to breathe deeply and remind myself that if I didn’t adapt, I would lose the one thing I’d built.

  ‘Well, looks like we’ve been doing good work here, darlings!’ I put some energy into my voice. ‘Lots of great ideas – a builder friend of mine has actually turned up, so I’m going to get him to take a look at the place, and if you have any suggestions about layout or the building, let me know!

  Jacques gave me a look, then tilted his head. ‘Bel, can I borrow you for a second?’

  I knew what was coming, and shook my head. ‘Jacques, darling, could you show Euan around here, get his notes on building structure and anything that might be concerning? You’ve been here whilst everyone’s been chatting, so you can ask him about some of the ideas.’

  Jacques nodded, suddenly less concerned. I wasn’t intending to spend time with Euan, or let him worm his way back in, even for old time’s sake. So Jacques would interact with him, and we’d all be equally unhappy. Excellent.

  I stood at the table. ‘Kitchen team – we’re going to need some food for all this brainstorming. Go and make us a variety of different plates – show off what you can do, the kind of thing you’d like to see on the Martini Club menu. Impress me.’

  They stood up and left, and I was pleased to see some of the minor kitchen members looked excited, happy to be given a chance. Even Jake the pot wash got up and started talking about ingredients. So there was potential sitting everywhere, right under my nose.

  Ricardo threw me a grateful smile and followed behind them.

  I clapped my hands. ‘Okay, bartenders. We’re going to need some brain juice to keep us going – show me what you’ve got, please. What should the new and improved Martini Club be serving? Nothing too sweet or obvious.’

  Aria jumped up as if she was suddenly inspired, smiling shyly at me as she followed Caspar and Emily to the bar.

  ‘This is some Ready Steady Cook stuff going on, I love it!’ Taya exclaimed. ‘What do we do, create a new performance that’ll blow everyone’s socks off?’

  I laughed. ‘Not quite, but almost. I want you to think about the performances that went down the best, the ones with the biggest cheers, the most reviews, the ones everyone mentions when they come up to you. And I want you to think about the performances you loved the most, and why.’

  I paused, about to walk away, but turned back. ‘And if I’ve ever said no to a performance you wanted to do, now’s the time to revisit it. Don’t miss your chance.’

  Charlotte squeaked in excitement, clapping her hands and looking at Taya meaningfully. I guess everyone was fighting their battles, and sometimes they were with me.

  * * *

  We carried on our planning and discussing that afternoon, and the lunch the kitchen team made was amazing. Everything was fresh, vibrant and tasty. But it was still missing that spark. The cocktails were new and interesting, but there was no theme, no overarching person tying them together, the way the original menu had. I had been the theme – the kind of place Arabella Hailstone would own. Everything was slick and sharp – strong flavours, good whisky, Martinis with bite. It had adapted gradually over the years, but the core ideas were still there. The club and I were intertwined, it seemed. So whilst I was trying to figure out who I was, the club was apparently doing the same.

  By the time we reached three p.m. we were all exhausted. I walked home, my head full of ideas, fighting against the fatigue I felt like I was forging ahead in a storm, and even though I didn’t feel confident that I knew where we were going, at least I was doing something.

  There had just been so much talking. So many things people wanted me to change and improve. As much as that room was full of love, it was akin to those years of my mother picking away at me, critiquing my technique, or my thighs, or my dedication for hours on end whilst I prete
nded I thought I could be better. It was too much for me to take then, and it was almost as difficult now.

  I stood in front of the door to my flat, and thought about my mother now, walking on eggshells and so careful not to upset me, to try and be one of those other types of mothers. I was grateful, but God it was exhausting.

  Instead, I’d see Sam, have a moan and drink a glass of whisky, before I decided to face my afternoon and the notes my team had given me. As I trudged up those extra stairs, I texted the number Brodie had given me last night.

  I took your advice. Today was hard but I’m on my way. Bel x

  By the time I stood in front of Sam’s door, my phone had already buzzed.

  It was your advice actually. Glad you’re fixing things. Brodie x

  I pushed through the open door, about to call out to Sam. It was earlier than usual, so there was a chance he was downstairs in the shop. I walked through the hall into the living room, where I had wandered in so many times before, almost daily since I’d moved here. It was expected, after all this time, that I could come and go as I pleased.

  Which was why it was such a shock to see my mother, sitting on Sam’s sofa, kissing him.

  I blinked but the image didn’t blur or move. He cradled her head gently, like he thought she’d break, and I wondered how even someone as smart as Sam could still get himself into this situation.

  Okay, I knew she liked him, and I knew he enjoyed having someone to talk to about everything he was going through. But I honestly had thought that she would throw herself at him, he’d tell her to cut it the hell out, and they’d be weird friends.

  I didn’t think this was a thing.

  I suddenly had a vision of them sitting me down like they were my parents and I was the hysterical child who was making mountains out of molehills, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to laugh or cry.

  The one man in my life I could rely on, the one man I had cared about enough to let in, and she’d had to have him too. I had crafted myself father figures out of old movies, Johnny Cash songs and Sam Callaghan. Picking a real person was always a danger.

  God, I hoped she wouldn’t hurt him. And what happened when she went back home?

  Oh God, what if she never went back home? I pulled the door gently closed and backed away.

  Hey, I texted Brodie. Are you free to meet now?

  The reply was swift. Running some errands, but you can come along if you like. Everything okay?

  My mother, I replied. Where can I meet you?

  South Ken station in half an hour?

  I marched to the station with determination. The sunshine kissed my shoulders and I tried not to think about my mum and Sam. He’d heard everything about her, he knew how much she’d messed me up, and still he fell for it. I knew she was trying to change, but now I started to wonder if this was all just for a guy.

  Apparently I wasn’t doing a good job of not thinking about it. It was moments like this that I realized I had no one to call, no one to moan at or share annoying parts of my life with. I always looked at what Savvy had with her best friend Mia with a sort of jealousy. You could see it easily between them when they came to the club – a shared history, this sort of sisterly love that had been formed over years of boy drama and family issues. Mia’s dad had passed away recently, and I’d seen her in the club, Savvy on guard-dog alert to keep her safe, happy and pleasantly drunk. It was sweet to watch.

  * * *

  It was too late to have that now – how on earth did you make new, real friends in your thirties? I certainly wasn’t about to join a pottery club or start talking to the yummy mummies in my dance class. In spite of what they tell single women in their fifties, hobbies are not always the answer. At least, not for women who own failing businesses and have more important things to deal with.

  But now Brodie was back… and Euan too. The only two people I’d confided in were men. I wondered if that meant anything. Brodie had been good for the confiding, but had enough on his plate. Euan had always been a big fan of the ‘it’ll all be fine’ response, but back then he could distract me with a kiss or a joke. Not really what I needed.

  I jumped on the Tube and immediately felt a drop of sweat side down between my shoulder blades. Summer had arrived, and with it the warnings to stay hydrated and jump off the Underground if you felt faint. These days I always felt faint, like I wanted to fall into a dramatic swoon, but there was no one there to catch me.

  At South Kensington there were children swarming the exits and I should have remembered that it was a school holiday – this station was always intensely busy, even at the best of times, but it was only now that I started to wonder what ‘errands’ Brodie would have to run around this area. Picking up equipment? Checking the sound for one of the museums? Maybe it was all a ruse and he was just taking the time to enjoy himself.

  ‘Bel!’ I heard his voice amongst the fray, but had to look around a few times until I saw him waving by the entrance to the walkway. I slipped in and out through slow-walking tourists and excitable children, and got through the barrier unscathed.

  ‘Hey!’ I exclaimed, trying to cool myself off by fanning my T-shirt. ‘Didn’t think I’d be able to find you.’

  ‘Well, we made sure we were well placed,’ Brodie said with a smile, and I looked down as people pushed in between us, to notice a young boy standing there with a grin on his face. His fairly long brown hair flopped over his eyebrows, and he had a tell-tale dimple in his left cheek.

  ‘Hi!’ the boy said, waving, his other hand holding on to Brodie’s.

  ‘Hi…’ I looked at Brodie with a clear question. ‘So when we caught up last night, did you forget to mention something pretty important?’

  Brodie nodded slowly, ‘Forgot… got distracted… wanted to surprise you?’

  I smiled a little too toothily. A kid. I was terrible with kids. And a boy! I didn’t know about boys! I couldn’t even sway him with tiaras and make-up, the way I had with Charlotte’s daughter.

  ‘This is my son, Declan,’ Brodie said, shaking the kid’s hand in his, and making him laugh. ‘Dec, this is my old friend Bel.’

  ‘Brrrring brrrrring!’ The child made a strange, high-pitched nose, and I just looked at him.

  ‘I was being a bell…’ He blinked at me and, obviously not seeing what he wanted, suddenly turned to his dad. ‘So, we’re going to the Natural Hist’ry museum now, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’ Brodie nodded, and looked at me with half an apology encased in a wicked smile. ‘And Bel’s going to come with us, aren’t you, Bel?’

  ‘I… guess so?’

  Brodie pointed at me. ‘Good answer!’

  Declan talked ten to the dozen on the walk through the tunnel that led us to the museum. I hadn’t realized how exhausting children were. They seemed to want to tell you all the inane details of their life, along with every thought or feeling they had at that point, and they seemed to believe this information was interesting.

  * * *

  It was already clear I’d had no interaction with kids, because every time Declan asked a question, I kept trying to answer it.

  ‘But why are dinosaurs so old?’ he asked with frustration.

  ‘What do you mean why? They just are. They’re from a really long time ago,’ I said, frowning at Brodie.

  ‘But what about Komodo dragons?’ Declan replied triumphantly.

  ‘… What about them?’

  ‘They’re not old. They happen now.’

  ‘I… but dinosaurs and dragons are different!’ I tried to hold back my frustration, and Brodie grinned at me.

  ‘Why are they different?’

  I blinked and looked at Brodie, who took pity on me. ‘Hey, little man, what’s your favourite dinosaur?’

  Declan became appropriately distracted, nattering on about the different types of dinosaurs and why each one was great, and I just blinked at Brodie in shock.

  ‘You get used to it,’ he said, nudging me with his shoulder. ‘The constant onslaught o
f information.’

  I wasn’t sure if I was the sort of person who got used to things like that. Sure, I didn’t have any significant parental experience, or any practice, but I didn’t have children for a reason. I didn’t want them. I didn’t dislike them, and it wasn’t, as my mother constantly pointed out, that I didn’t have a man and I was running out of time. I had made a decision. I was quite up for being the cool auntie who showered them in impressive gifts and was the person they ran away to when they were teenagers, but I didn’t have any friends who had kids.

  Charlotte occasionally brought her daughter to a rehearsal during half term if it couldn’t be avoided, but the little girl was quiet and sweet, happy to sit in a booth colouring, or bopping along to the music in the corner, dancing her own routine. She didn’t require much. I gave her ice cream and we smiled at each other. That was pretty much the extent of my interactions with children.

  I didn’t know how to function with a random child. Even one that Brodie had made. I guessed this had to be part of the whole ‘marriage that didn’t take’. Why wouldn’t he mention he had a kid? Surely that was one of the first things people brought up when bumping into an old friend?

  I didn’t say anything, and we walked into the grand entrance of the museum.

  I always forgot how different spaces in this city took my breath away. The high ceilings as you walked in, the feeling that you were tiny in comparison, it always made me sigh.

  ‘Wow,’ Declan said, his head tilted back to look up at the ceiling.

  Hey, maybe we did have some things in common. I doubted the kid liked a dry gin Martini or a sparkly cape, but at a shared sense of wonder was a good place to start.

  ‘Come on!’ Declan grabbed Brodie’s hand and pulled him along, so Brodie reached out for me and grabbed mine, and I joined the chain.

  It was a strange feeling, to be included in something like this.

  Once we started walking around, Declan was happy enough to run off, read something intently, then come back and explain it to us before running off again. He remained in sight, and I kept watching as he spoke for signs of Brodie in his mannerisms. His accent, of course, wasn’t the same; the boy was all Londoner, clipped vowels and sharp consonants. He was what old people walking past would call ‘well spoken’. His mop of dark hair was curly like Brodie’s had been when he was younger, when he’d pulled it back into a ponytail.