She crossed her arms and dared me to argue.
‘What if…’
‘What if we’re not ready?’ Savvy threw her hands up. ‘Then we thrill everyone with wine and theatre and delicious food, and we’re so charming they don’t even notice.’
‘That’s what I thought last time.’
‘Bel,’ Savvy sighed, ‘you were right about that for eight years, and you were wrong for one night. Give yourself a break.’
Could it really be that simple? Was I just having an off night, or was it like Jacques had said, and my past was chasing me until I dealt with it? My phone buzzed, and when I looked down to see it was Brodie, I smiled. I couldn’t help it.
‘I have never once seen you look like that,’ Savvy said, eyes lit up with gossip. ‘Come on, not everything’s gone to shit then, obviously?’
‘Everything has been unexpected… not all of it has been bad.’ I pushed myself up from my stool. ‘Now excuse me, darling, but if you don’t mind, I’ve got a club to run.’
‘I don’t mind.’ Savvy smiled. ‘I don’t mind at all.’
Chapter Seventeen
We worked ourselves to the bone over the next few weeks. It was exhausting, but I enjoyed it. I loved seeing everyone come together, excited by change and growth. Some of the changes were simple – new fabric for the booths, new tabletops, which Charlotte did by hand, covering them in vintage posters and postcards, and then lacquering them. The dark purple dusty curtains were replaced by vibrant cherry red ones, and behind the bar was a beautiful light-up sign that proclaimed ‘Cocktails!’. It was beautiful, but it was updated, something fresher and made by shared ideas. There was a part of each of the team in this new version of the MC, and I think that was the way it should always have been. A shared project, something that I didn’t have to carry on my own any more.
Tonight was Savvy’s test run, and I was more nervous than I had expected. Not only were my mother and Sam coming (together, as my mother had said pointedly) but Brodie was going to be there. I’d even invited Declan along, but he said kids didn’t much go in for fancy food and cocktails, and that maybe I should join them at the zoo that weekend instead. It was so normal, so entirely domestic. The zoo! It was a good thing I’d never had kids; I would have found every simple thing so entirely dumbfounding. This was what normal families did – they went to museums and the zoo and sat watching movies together on Saturday afternoons. Something inside me craved that, like a bowl of comfort food while sitting inside on a rainy evening. I’d never thought I’d want it, I’d never thought that was something even open to someone like me. I wanted to snuggle down in a blanket and feel safe, but for the first time I wanted someone else there. Maybe even a little person who liked dinosaurs too.
‘You’re sure you want to come?’ I’d asked again on the phone the night before, lying on my bed with the phone resting between my neck and shoulder. We’d been painting and dusting and moving and I was exhausted. But it felt like everything was coming together.
‘Are you kidding? I absolutely want to come see this place you’ve made! Are you nervous about me seeing your mum? I promise to be good.’
His tone made me smile. My mother was on her best behaviour at the moment, and the more time she spent with Sam, the more she smiled and tried hard with me. I even heard her singing in the shower one morning, and she kept trying to make home-cooked meals for the three of us. She had melted one of my pans and set off the smoke alarm more times than I appreciated, but she was trying. She would try her best with Brodie and, at the very least, she definitely liked him more than Euan.
‘No, it’ll be fine. And I don’t really care what she thinks.’
‘I think you do,’ he singsong-ed, ‘but as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.’
‘Well, I’m very happy, thank you very much.’
‘Good.’ I heard the smile in his voice. ‘I got a chance to play for someone important next week, so things are looking up for the both of us!’
‘Sam’s doing?’
‘More than likely, thank him for me?’
‘You can thank him yourself, tonight. Just don’t get all weird and starry-eyed,’ I teased.
‘I save that only for you, my love,’ he said dramatically, then paused. ‘Um, so…’
‘Right, well, gotta go, big day tomorrow.’ I rushed to put down the phone.
‘Bel—’
‘Night!’ I bleated, before hanging up in a panic.
How did people manage to run businesses, deal with families and have time to fall in love? It was all too entirely confusing.
I had strategically avoided any mention of the ‘L’ word or anything to do with Brodie. Which was lucky, because I had other things to focus on.
* * *
The club was a hive of activity, and my stomach was trembling, like someone was flicking the skin of a drum over and over. The tables were set, the bar was stocked and the huge Martini glass was placed in the corner by the bar, filled with hundreds of pale, summery flowers. The majority were fake, but Jacques had batted his eyelashes at the florist on the corner and she’d given him the offcuts and anything going to waste. The yellow and pink roses stood out amongst the whites and greens, and they sang of summer. Already, Aria had decided there should be a hashtag – #InTheMartiniClub – to accompany the soon-to-be happening selfies. She’d also decided each staff member would get the chance to decorate the glass, one month each. For her turn, she wanted to fill it with bouncy balls covered in glitter, which was ridiculous. I absolutely loved it.
The energy was high and everyone seemed desperate for me to be pleased. Jacques kept catching my eye and nodding, as if asking if I was okay. I made sure to kiss him on the cheek, leaving a dark plum mark.
‘Thank you, darling, you’ve never wavered. Always a true companion,’ I said, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.
‘And a decent leader?’ he asked, somehow desperate for that recognition I’d always thought was so beneath him.
‘Of course, a brilliant leader. But I’m probably not the person to ask.’
‘You absolutely are, you inspire loyalty – Bel’s army of glittery ragamuffins. I love it.’ And he was off, checking the signature cocktail and bossing the other staff members around. He was natural at leading, perhaps even more so than performing. It wasn’t just glitter and flirtation; it was grit. I needed to do something nice for him when all this was over. Assuming we pulled this off.
When it turned eight p.m. the doors were opened and the hosts’ smiles gleamed as they greeted our guests and led them through. Tables had been clearly designed and designated. We had friends and family, along with people who had worked around us for years – the accountant and her husband, the suppliers, the guy at the local corner shop who always smiled when I walked home and stopped in for milk.
I wish I could have captured that moment, watching their faces light up as they walked in and took it all in. The space looked glorious, and all from a little rearranging, a little facelift.
My favourite feature by far was the lighting – the chandelier still hung in pride of place, but Euan had replaced the bulbs to give it a golden hue, and above the bar he’d hung oversized old-fashioned lightbulbs that gave a vintage feel.
I hadn’t mentioned the test run to him. I know it was bad, but I wanted the night to run smoothly, and he’d started getting a little too emotionally invested. He’d be fixing things and make jokes about being a husband and wife team, and how much he loved the club, how it was starting to feel like home to him too.
It was like that at the beginning, I remembered. Making me feel special, like I was the only person who could inspire him, drive him, make him matter. He became part of my life and flattered me that it was actually interesting. He listened to my dreams with an obsessive positivity – there was never any conversation or criticism, it was only that I was ‘brilliant’ or ‘wonderful’ or that I’d ‘definitely make it and be a star’.
When I cautiously hoped for 20 pe
r cent happiness, he told me I’d have to demand 110 per cent. As a teenager in a dead-end job, living with a nightmare mother, I loved it. I lapped it up and was so pleased to finally have someone tell me I was great. All I had heard all my life was that I wasn’t quite good enough, that I was less than perfect, and anything less than perfect was worthless.
But they were just words, words designed to dazzle. He did love me, I didn’t doubt that, but he said those things because those were the ‘right’ things to say. He didn’t really listen, he didn’t ask questions about how I would manage, or what I had to do to make it happen. That was Brodie. Brodie was serious questions and probing thoughts. Euan was sweeping statements and loud gestures.
I’d offered to take him out for lunch to say thank you for all his building advice and the electrics work – he was right, he did know what he was doing. It was a shame he couldn’t hold down a steady job for long without getting in somebody’s bad books.
I made a note to invite Jacques along on the lunch, or maybe Aria and Savvy. It was definitely time to nip whatever hope he was starting to have in the bud. I didn’t have that anger towards him any more, but I still couldn’t trust him. The man was a grifter by nature.
I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around me, and I froze before I heard that voice. ‘Well, hello there, darlin’. I don’t suppose you could tell me where the talented and exquisite owner of this establishment is?’
I turned and smiled at Brodie, shaking my head. I paused, then leaned in to kiss him. Why not? The old me would have paused and pulled back, avoiding the curious gaze of my employees. But I didn’t want to separate the two sides of me any more. I wanted to be whole. So I turned in his arms and kissed him, brief but honest.
That grin got me every time, and he put a relaxed arm around my shoulder as we surveyed the room.
‘This is… a wonderland.’ That tilted grin again. ‘You should be proud.’
‘You know what, darling? I am!’ I took a glass of champagne that Jacques handed to us, and we clinked glasses. Brodie winced slightly.
‘Still more of a beer man?’
‘I’ll make an exception tonight, to fit into your world.’ He took my hand, and for some reason, that felt more romantic than any lovesick declarations or roses, or even champagne. My world. This was my world.
And yet, it was also sitting on the beach drinking cans of White Lightning at seventeen, and getting up when it was still dark to dance, and eating fancy cheese from the knife sitting on my living room floor so I could see the moon through the window.
‘I’ll find you a beer later,’ I said, and led him through to a table. Milo, Savvy’s boyfriend, was sitting there, his dark hair slicked back, the sleeves on his shirt rolled up, just like the first time I’d seen him. A young Marlon Brando, I’d called him. He was, it seemed, a little more refined than that. He’d played in that world too, the one with movie stars and society types, making their drinks and keeping their secrets.
‘I hear you had a hand in some of the cocktail recipes,’ I said to him as we sat.
‘Sav dragged me in.’ He shrugged, then smiled awkwardly. ‘And then once I got started I couldn’t help myself. May have got a bit carried away.’
Jacques raised an eyebrow and gave me a look. ‘Yes, it’s always a joy when someone spends fifteen minutes lamenting your choice in gin.’
‘The juniper flavour—’
Jacques held up a hand. ‘No more, you won! Okay, you won! Sit and eat nicely like a good boy.’
Milo laughed, holding up his hands in defeat, and after the introductions had been made, I saw my mother enter from across the room, holding hands with Sam. He looked sheepish, and tried to let go as I approached, but she held tight. I remembered that vice-like grip from when I wanted to leave practice or get down out of a hold. Poor Sam, no escape now.
God, I hoped she didn’t move in upstairs. I’d never have a moment’s peace ever again.
‘Hi, Bel, thanks for inviting us.’ My mother looked overly concerned, and in some ways, as much as I loved this one-eighty she was doing, I rather missed her being herself. I kept waiting for the moment she’d tell me my dress was too tight or point out a thumbprint on one of the glasses.
She had dressed for the occasion, a sparkly corseted top with billowing sleeves and some fitted trousers. Long diamanté earrings swung against her straightened bob, and she’d taken care with her make-up. I couldn’t tell if the effort was for me or Sam.
‘It’s good to see you, kid, I’ve missed you over the last few weeks.’ Sam reached out to give me a one-armed hug, then his eyes skipped past me to Brodie. ‘I see you invited the talent.’
‘I thought I was the talent, darling.’ I sighed dramatically, then grinned. ‘He’s very eager to thank you for several opportunities that have come his way of late.’
Sam wrinkled his nose, then waved away any suggestion that he was responsible.
I led them to a corner booth where they’d have a good view of the stage. This time, my mother wasn’t looking around with that pinched look, but smiling at Sam with a softness I hadn’t seen before.
As I turned to leave she grabbed my arm. ‘It looks wonderful, Bel, really.’
I paused for a moment, giving her a look. ‘You wanna give me your notes later?’
She looked as though she’d been caught. ‘Sam showed me how to make them on my phone so I didn’t bring a notepad.’
I squeezed her hand, weirdly touched by that. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Mum.’
Strangely, as I said it, I felt it was true. Somewhere between wanting her to see what I’d accomplished and be proud of me, I also sort of wanted her around to share in these moments. It wasn’t about proving her wrong, it was just wanting her there.
‘So are we having any of that champagne I saw being shopped around, or are we likely to die of thirst?’ Mum asked, raising an eyebrow.
Maybe I wanted her there in very short bursts.
I gestured to one of the girls to bring over drinks, and made a swift exit back to Brodie. He turned to look at my mother and raised a hand in greeting, smiling boldly. She tilted her head like she was trying to place him, and then did a little air guitar in question. He gave her a thumbs-up and she nodded. I was sure she and Sam would have a whale of a time trying to work out what was going on between us.
I took my seat and Brodie’s arm settled around my shoulder, which made me smile more than it should have.
And then the food arrived.
Savvy had outdone herself – everything was fresh and crisp. Lettuce cup fajitas with sharp cheddar, a squeeze of lime bringing the flavours to light. Pan-fried scallops with bacon on a minted pea puree, with crispy oregano croutons. The mango salsa on toasted bread, crisp with the griddled, smoky flavour. Smooth, silky tagliatelle with a porcini mushroom cream sauce with bites of saltiness from the pancetta and sundried tomatoes. Everything was decadent, but simple. Excellent ingredients, beautiful presentation and full of flavour. Fresh but not pretentious.
Milo’s pride shone across the table as he instructed us on what each dish was, and what to taste next. When Savvy came out of the kitchen he was the first one to stand and lead a round of applause. It was good to see, not only that she had become even more talented and even more confident, but that she had a partner who was on her side. An equal. Someone who could be a cheerleader as well as a confidante.
Savvy beamed as the dining room cheered, and she did a little curtsey before returning to the kitchen with a ‘leave room for dessert!’ I noticed she grabbed a glass of champagne on her way back, and I nodded in approval, raising my own to her. She winked and disappeared.
People could be real friends, even when they worked for you. That girl, not even a year ago, had been shy and quiet, embarrassed to be seen in case she was recognized for her famous mum or her dickhead DJ ex. Now she had come full circle, back to the place where her love for food had started, when I chucked her in that kitchen and demanded she help me out.
&n
bsp; Not that I was taking all the credit, of course.
But the Martini Club had been a place where a lot of us had grown up, or hidden away from growing up. Even beyond the staff and performers to our regulars. The city girls, Denise and Cheryl, who came in every Thursday to moan about their love lives and wish out loud that they knew how to be as confident with their bodies as the dancers. They always ordered the same cocktails, followed by a bottle of prosecco at dinner. And every time when I went over to greet them they’d ask me to sit with them and tell them all about the amazing performers and how I’d bought the place, and the best way to make a Martini.
The performance by Charlotte was classic, black silk and a sparkling diamanté-studded top hat as she mixed burlesque with jazz and tap, her pale skin in the spotlight shimmering with the body glitter she’d dusted herself with. It was classic, fresh and somehow more fun. Perhaps because she laughed and smiled the whole way through it, not just come-hither plump lips, but truly enjoying herself. It was catching.
Jacques was next, prompting ‘ahh’s as he backflipped onto the stage with no introduction. He was a whirl of performance, walking on his hands, lifting himself with one hand, balancing on poles and planks and anything else designed to make you fear he’d break his neck. He was pushing his boundaries and my heart clasped – we’d already had one dangerous fall, I couldn’t bear it if someone else was hurt. Taya looked back at me, clearly guessing what I was thinking, and shook her head, telling me not to worry. I didn’t take a deep breath until Jacques flipped out of his hold and bowed in front of the audience.
There was another round of applause and I felt my heart in my throat, beating wildly. The relief was unbelievable, and I found myself wanting to throttle him.
You’re not a young man any more, I wanted to yell, stick to looking pretty and flirting with everyone. Sing, you’re a great singer!
But the smug look on his face as he stared out at our little crowd of adoring guests made me stay quiet. He was happy, doing what he loved.
Martinis and Memories Page 22