by Judy Leigh
Lil paused at a large window to gaze up at a striking woman with lacy underwear, olive skin and blonde hair, who had just eased herself from her seat and stretched her legs and arms, as if she’d been sitting in one position for too long. She saw Lil gazing at her and winked. Lil waved back, a slight movement of her fingers. The woman indicated to Lil by raising a languid hand that she should stay where she was. Then she picked up a coat from a hook on the door behind her, wrapped it around herself and moved smoothly on stilettos towards the exit.
A few moments later, the woman, wearing the coat over her underwear, was standing next to Lil, rummaging in her pockets. She spoke in perfect English. ‘I saw you looking at me and I thought I’d come out for a chat and a cigarette.’ She took out a packet from her pocket and immediately placed a cigarette between red lips.
‘Don’t catch your death; it’s not as if you’ve got enough clothes on to keep you warm,’ Lil warned her. ‘Mind you, if you keep smoking those things, you’ll kill yourself anyway, so I don’t suppose it matters.’
The woman breathed out a steady stream of smoke and held a hand out to Lil. ‘Anouk. That is my name.’
Lil studied her. She was exquisite, with flawless skin and almond eyes. She pushed her blonde hair back, one simple careless movement, as if she didn’t know how elegant she was, as if she didn’t care.
‘Lil,’ said Lil. ‘And this is Maggie.’
‘Hello, Anouk.’ Maggie was staring in disbelief.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Anouk took a desperate drag on her cigarette. ‘Are you English?’
Maggie nodded and indicated the cigarette. ‘Is that the wacky-baccy?’
‘No.’ Anouk frowned. ‘This is instead of my dinner. I must get back to work soon. I can’t eat – I put on weight so fast nowadays.’
Maggie nodded. ‘I know the feeling. But you’re slim. Do you eat many chips? There seem to be a lot of them here in Amsterdam.’
‘I have a year-old baby.’ Anouk shrugged. ‘My body has changed so much since childbirth.’
‘We do suffer, we women,’ Lil agreed.
Anouk was halfway down her cigarette. ‘So, you are tourists?’
Lil nodded. ‘Yes, but we’re not looking for a prostitute.’ She was suddenly serious as she brought a hand to her mouth to cover her blunder. ‘Oh dear – I probably shouldn’t have called you a prostitute.’
‘I have been called much worse.’ Anouk shrugged and Lil wondered how she could be so calm.
‘That’s terrible,’ Maggie breathed.
‘So,’ Lil asked. ‘Why are you a prostitute, sex worker, lady of the night – whatever the right term is?’
Anouk raised an eyebrow. ‘I would hate to work in an office from nine to five or serve beer in a bar or be a bank clerk. Besides.’ She blew smoke through delicate nostrils. ‘My mother cares for my daughter in the evenings so I can come to work most nights without paying for a childminder.’
‘Is the money good?’ Lil asked. ‘Doing what you do?’
‘I get a lot of clients, repeat clients.’ Anouk dropped the finished cigarette and ground it into the concrete with the toe of her stiletto. ‘It depends what service they’ve asked for, how much money I make, but it’s pretty good. I can’t complain. I make fifty euros for fifteen minutes of sex.’
Maggie almost choked. ‘Fifty euros?’
‘Anouk?’ Lil’s mouth was pursed, a question ready. ‘Are you – is it safe? I mean, there’s nobody treating you badly or stealing your money?’
‘Oh, it is all legal and regulated here in Amsterdam.’ Anouk tugged her coat around her shoulders against the gust of wind funnelling down the street. Her hair blew across her face. ‘On a good night I make five, six hundred euros. I am happy enough.’
Lil noticed someone brush past her elbow, a short middle-aged man in a heavy coat. He had square shoulders and his hair was all bristles. He raised his hand in Anouk’s direction and she spoke to Lil without acknowledging him.
‘I have a client now so I must go. It was very nice to meet you, Lil and Maggie.’ She reached out a hand and touched Lil’s arm.
‘Take care of yourself, Anouk,’ Lil called, but the woman had disappeared through the doorway, the burly man following behind her. Lil sighed. ‘She was very nice, wasn’t she, Maggie?’
‘Fifty euros for fifteen minutes?’ Maggie marvelled. ‘And I’ve done it for nothing all my married life. Mind you, Brian and I adored each other once. It was like floating on a cloud, just being in his arms.’
‘And I’ve just avoided it all my life – sex, love, commitment.’ Lil sighed. ‘Do you know, Maggie, the older I get, the less I understand matters of the heart.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Maggie stared ahead as they walked. ‘But I’ve been married for ages and I think I understand the meaning of love. It’s not like in those books, all romping in the hay and fun and frolics. And it’s not about a single night of expensive passion like Anouk and her client, not for me. It’s about trust and respect and caring for each other. You know, someone who makes you a cup of tea because you need one and then puts a biscuit on your plate when you don’t ask for one, like an extra bit of love.’
‘Is Brian like that?’
‘He used to be, Lil. He used to be so sweet; he’d kiss me every morning and say, “My beautiful Maggie, I’m so glad you’re mine,” and he’d whirl me in his arms. But not for the last couple of years. It just sort of stopped.’
‘That’s what makes me so cross.’ Lil pressed her lips together. ‘He has forgotten how to be a proper partner. He should treat you like a treasure, a beautiful woman, like he’s lucky to have you. All women should be treated like that.’
‘They should.’ Maggie slowed down as she thought. ‘Have you ever been treated like a film star?’
‘Once.’ Lil spoke softly. ‘Twice, if you count Herman.’
‘He was a nice man, Herman. Do you love him, Lil?’
Lil shook her head. ‘I might have, given time.’
‘I love Brian.’
‘I hope he’s missing you right now, this very minute. Then when you’re back, he’ll shower you with attention and love. That’s what you deserve.’ Lil tucked her arm in the crook of Maggie’s elbow as they walked in step. ‘But it’s been fun, being on holiday. Life’s full of interesting people, isn’t it?’ They increased their pace. ‘Herman, Brian, Cassie’s new friend Piet, Anouk. All living different lives. I suppose that’s why travel expends the mind. Come on, Maggie. I’m exhausted. Let’s get back to the hotel and have an early night.’
They walked in step together, turning around a corner into a stiff breeze. ‘We could get some crisps,’ Maggie muttered, gazing longingly towards a mini supermarket.
Lil inhaled loudly. ‘I can smell frying chips on the air. That’s got to be more of a celebration of life than a packet of cheese and onion crisps. We’re on holiday. Besides, it’s only twenty minutes back to our hotel and if we’re tired, we’ll hail a taxi. I’ll buy you a bag of frites on the way.’ For a moment she was thoughtful. ‘They will probably be the last chips we’ll ever have in Amsterdam. We’re off again tomorrow, back to Belgium. And who knows if we’ll ever come back here again?’ Lil sighed as they approached a brightly lit shop with a neon sign that advertised The Best Chips in Amsterdam.
‘The best chips.’ Maggie smiled. ‘We deserve the best, don’t we, Lil?’
‘We do.’ Lil tugged Maggie towards the strong smell of frying food. ‘You’ve got to make the best of it all while you can, Maggie. Eat chips now, that’s my motto. Who knows what life will serve us up on our plates next?’
24
Cassie pushed her dish away. ‘That was a delicious sorbet, Piet. I couldn’t eat another mouthful.’
He refilled her wine glass. ‘Shall we have a chat about lyrics for a while and then go up on deck and put some tunes together?’
‘Great idea.’ She moved over to the small sofa, sinking into soft cushions. ‘What shall we write a song abo
ut?’
‘You? Me?’ He was sitting next to her, his elbow against hers, a notepad in his hands. ‘Don’t all songs come from ourselves?’
‘I suppose so.’ Cassie was thoughtful. ‘I’ve been trying to write one about pollution but the subject is too big. Anything I try to say sounds trite.’
Piet scratched his head. ‘When that happens to me, and it does a lot, I always start from someplace else.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘How about I make coffee and bring the brandy glasses while you tell me more about yourself? Maybe that way, we can find a way into what we’ll write.’
He touched her arm affectionately, then moved across to the kitchen area, rattling a coffee pot, putting beans in a grinder machine. Over the noise, he said, ‘You’re close to your mother?’
‘Lil? Yes, we’ve always been close.’
‘She’s Lil, not Mum? Why is that?’
‘She had me when she was a teenager and I’ve never called her anything else.’ Cassie gazed at Piet, at the muscular movements of his back as he busied himself in the kitchen. ‘I never met my father. He was called Frankie Chapman.’
‘But you’re Cassie Ryan, after your mother?’
‘Frankie was an American soldier. He was called away before my mother even realised she was pregnant. He never knew about me.’
Piet glanced over his shoulder. ‘Was that difficult for you as a child, having no dad?’
‘No.’ Cassie wrinkled her nose. ‘I never had any male figures in my life as a child.’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes you never miss what you’ve never had.’ She watched him pour coffee. ‘You had a more normal family though, Piet – a mother, a father?’
‘Yes, I had two parents, but our family was not normal. My parents argued a lot: my father was very kind, keen on music, and my mother was very strict and believed in formal education. They had different hopes for me. In the end, they both got their way.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I am a musician, as my father wanted, with a formal training, like my mother insisted upon. I am glad for it though.’ He sat next to her, offering coffee in delicate cups. Cassie took one and sipped slowly.
‘So…’ Piet put down his cup and picked up his notepad. ‘Where shall we start?’
Cassie glanced through the little window, noticing the movement of the water, a dark swirl tinged with the silver glimmer of the moon. ‘Let’s start with the river.’
‘Okay. What about the river?’ Piet met her eyes. ‘What shall we write down?’
Cassie leaned forward. ‘You live on the river. It holds you, it rocks you when you sleep. It takes care of you, as if it’s nurturing you. Don’t you have a special relationship with it?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Piet was thoughtful. ‘I often go out on deck at night when it’s quiet and stare into the dark depths of the Amstel. If I have a problem, the river is consoling – like a silent friend – because it is a constant thing, always there, always a form of security. I’ve even spoken to the river at moments when I’ve felt alone.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you do that, Cassie? Speak to something around you when you feel lonely or when you are in need of a friend?’
Cassie shook her head. ‘Oh, no, I have Jamie for that.’
‘Jamie? He is your brother?’
‘Not at all. He’s my…’ Cassie searched for the right word. ‘He shares my house.’
‘You are very close?’
‘Very.’ Cassie closed her eyes. ‘He’s my best friend, if you don’t count Lil. He knows me so well and he’s always there for me. We’ve lived together for two years and he’s put up with my creative tantrums when I’m writing, my diva behaviour when I’m performing; he’s organised, he’s patient. He’s a calming influence…’
‘Are you lovers, you and Jamie?’
‘No, not at all,’ Cassie protested, as if the idea was ludicrous. ‘He’s a great bloke though. You’d like him.’
‘I’m sure.’ Piet nodded, his eyes not straying from her face. ‘So, let’s think about our song now. We can write about something or someone we can confide in, we feel close to, like Jamie, like the river, always there, a perpetual friend, loyal…’
‘Great idea, Piet, let’s stick with the idea of something inanimate that we can share our thoughts with…’
He took a breath. ‘I tell the river my hopes and fears. It hears my happy moments and it is there when I am sad. I have even shed tears into the river.’
‘Let’s start with that, shall we? Tears in the river?’
‘That’s good, Cassie. Tears in the river, each time that I cried.’
‘You know all my troubles…’
‘You heard when I sighed…?’
Cassie was suddenly excited. ‘You know all my secrets; you keep them all deep. You whisper them softly to rock me to sleep.’
‘It might work. We might be able to do something, using a minor chord, something really sorrowful and emotional…’
‘We could develop the story, Piet – the river keeps the man’s secrets and what does he do in return? Betrays it, pollutes it. Like lovers, the river is the constant one and the man is fickle, the one who doesn’t care…’
‘That’s it!’ Piet leaped up and grabbed Cassie’s hand. ‘Come up on deck and we’ll take the instruments and the brandy. We’ve got this.’
She met his gaze, her own eyes shining. ‘We certainly have.’
It was past two in the morning. Cassie and Piet were sitting on deck, him strumming a soft melody, their voices in harmony, powerful and plaintive. Piet turned to Cassie.
‘We should record these songs now.’
Cassie closed her eyes. ‘I’m glad I texted Tommy. There’s no way I’d have got back to the hotel tonight. Lil would have worried.’
‘It’s great working with you, Cassie.’ Piet grinned. ‘We have one song finished and we’ve almost completed the second. I think the folky one about the old man in Amsterdam who sits on the bank staring at the moon asking for forgiveness will be my favourite.’
‘I only like love songs if they are sad,’ Cassie mused.
‘You have been disappointed in love?’
‘Not really.’ Cassie shrugged. ‘I have dabbled, but never really had my fingers burned. I walked away before I let it happen.’
‘You have not taken many chances, then.’ Piet’s smile was mischievous. ‘I have been burned many times. I think I am going to be burned again.’
‘How is that?’ Cassie asked. ‘Are you in love with someone now?’
‘I could be, very easily.’ Piet’s eyes shone. ‘But I suspect she loves someone else.’
‘You need to talk to her, tell her how you feel.’
Piet shook his head. ‘Yes, but tomorrow, she will leave me; she will leave Amsterdam. She will go back to the man I think she secretly loves, back to Jamie.’
Cassie caught her breath; she suddenly realised that Piet was talking about her. She shook her head. ‘I’m flattered, Piet…’
‘I was going to ask you to stay on for a while in Amsterdam, as my guest on this houseboat. Tonight, I had planned to write songs with you, to convince you how good we are together…’
‘You have convinced me.’
‘As songwriters, yes, certainly. But…’ Piet took her hand. ‘Of course, I wanted more. I thought you and I…’
‘I can come back to Amsterdam. We can write more songs; we can play more music together…’
‘Yes, we will, and I am so pleased to have met you. But I think we will only ever be friends.’
‘No one knows what the future holds.’
‘I do. I saw your face when you were talking about your Jamie.’
Cassie waved a hand. ‘No, you’re wrong, Piet. Jamie and I have known each other for ages.’
‘Then you do not know yourself. You think yourself a free spirit, but I saw it, how you feel about this man.’
Cassie shrugged. Piet’s words had found a mark and suddenly she dared to wonder if he was right. Jamie was loyal; she had taken
him for granted. But she had never thought before that her feelings might develop beyond friendship. Now she was not so sure and the idea left her stunned and blinking.
‘I think you are in love with him, Cassie.’ Piet picked up his guitar. ‘But I will live. I will explain it all to the river, how I met a special woman, how I started to fall in love with her, how I was convinced after so many disappointments in love that I had finally found someone…’
‘We should never give up, Piet – there’s always hope.’ Cassie’s voice was soft; she was still baffled by her own feelings. ‘The river knows that. It’s always there for us, holding us safely in its arms.’
She gazed out into the water slapping against the houseboat. In the distance Amsterdam glowed, a mixture of reds and yellows, the lights reflecting soft light on the river. She thought about Jamie again, how he was a part of her life, one she couldn’t be without. She wondered if that was love, if it was the sort of honest, safe, reliable love she needed.
Piet played some soft notes on the guitar, his fingers deft; it was a poignant melody. He began to sing softly.
An old man of Amsterdam stared up at the moon
Asking why does love always leave me so soon?
He sat there alone, his head in his hands
Wondering why only the moon understands.
Cassie joined in, her voice swelling with emotion, louder than Piet’s deep tone.
The moon looked on silently, so far away
As the old man of Amsterdam decided to pray
As he asked for forgiveness, he started to cry