Some Girls Do (12 page)

‘I would have told you if she was coming,’ Jonathan said, a little sadly.

‘I know. Sorry.’ He should have known his father wouldn’t spring something on him like that. It wasn’t his style.

A waiter came to take their drinks order – Cobra for Luca and non-alcoholic beer for Jonathan. They studied their menus in silence.

Luca’s eyes were drawn to Jonathan’s hands where they rested on the table in front of him. They were surgeon’s hands – cared for, immaculately manicured, skilful. They looked safe, assured, capable. Luca suddenly thought he would like to paint them.

‘Have you decided what you’re having?’ Jonathan asked him.

‘Oh!’ Luca snapped out of his reverie. ‘Sorry, I was just looking at your hands.’

Jonathan raised his eyebrows quizzically.

‘I was thinking I’d like to paint them.’

‘These?’ Jonathan held up his hands in front of him as if he’d
never noticed them before. ‘Really?’ he said, with a little self-deprecating laugh. But he looked flattered.

Luca smiled back, glad to have pleased him, even in such an insignificant way. It felt good to make someone else happy. He wished he could do it more often, but he didn’t seem to have the knack. ‘Could I?’

‘Of course. I’d be delighted.’

The waiter returned with their drinks and took their food order.

‘Cheers!’ Jonathan said, raising his glass to Luca’s when the waiter had gone. ‘It’s good to see you, Luca. We don’t do this often enough.’

‘Cheers!’ Luca clinked his glass against Jonathan’s. ‘How’s the butchery business?’

‘The butchery business is thriving. How’s the daubing business?’

‘Dismal.’ Luca took a sip of ice-cold Cobra. ‘I haven’t sold anything in ages.’

‘Are you okay for money?’

‘Fine,’ Luca answered hastily. He didn’t want Jonathan to think he was looking for a handout.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, absolutely. I did some work for the gallery this week.’ At least he’d managed to scrape together the money to get his electricity switched back on.

‘Well, you have your show coming up in September. Hopefully that will be your big breakthrough. We’re looking forward to it.’

‘You’re all coming?’

‘To your first solo show? Of course! We’re very proud of you, Luca.’

Luca was pretty sure Jacqueline wasn’t proud of him. He wouldn’t blame her. He had given her little enough reason to be.

‘How’s it coming along? Does it have a title? A theme?’

‘It doesn’t have a title yet, but it’s all about the way the model or subject is used, how the artist imposes meaning on the subject
and controls the story, so the subject is silenced and possibly misrepresented. They have their story taken off them—’ He broke off. ‘Sorry,’ he said, running a hand through his hair. ‘It’s hard to talk about it without sounding really wanky.’

‘It doesn’t sound, er … wanky at all.’ Jonathan frowned thoughtfully. ‘It sounds quite … personal.’

‘Anyway, the painting’s going really well at the moment.’

‘Glad to hear it. I’m sure big things will happen for you soon, Luca. You deserve it.’

They were interrupted by the arrival of the waiter with their food, silent while he unloaded dishes onto the table.

‘You haven’t been to the house in ages,’ Jonathan said, as he spooned curry onto his plate. ‘We hardly see you any more.’

Luca felt bad that Jonathan got shut out of his life by default because he couldn’t get on with Jacqueline. He liked Jonathan a lot. He was a good man – kind, caring and scrupulously fair. He had always tried to make it up to Luca for Jacqueline’s coldness towards him, intervening on his behalf if he felt she was being too harsh, trying to spend ‘quality time’ with him at weekends, making a special effort to play with him or take him on outings. But Jonathan worked long hours and he wasn’t around enough to make a real difference.

He wasn’t really Luca’s father – Jacqueline had adopted him and his sister Alina on her own – but he had been around from their first days in Ireland; he and Jacqueline had married six months later. Far from putting him off, the ready-made family had seemed to appeal to Jonathan, and he had thrown himself into the role of father enthusiastically and wholeheartedly.

‘I just think it’s probably better for everyone if I stay away.’

‘Nonsense,’ Jonathan said briskly. ‘We miss you.’

Luca occupied himself with scooping rice onto his plate and tearing naan bread, not knowing what to say to that.

‘You’ll be coming for Ali’s birthday, at least?’ Jonathan asked.

‘Yes, definitely.’

‘She’d be so disappointed if you didn’t.’

‘I know. I wouldn’t miss it.’ He couldn’t bear to let Ali down.

‘Good. Do you think you’ll be bringing anyone?’ Jonathan asked, clearly trying to sound casual, but Luca could hear the caginess in his voice, saw the effort he was making to appear offhand, as if he was unconcerned about the answer.

‘No,’ Luca said, with a crooked smile. He almost added ‘don’t worry’, because he knew exactly what had prompted the question and the wariness behind it. The last time he had gone to a party at his parents’ house – a New Year’s Eve party five or six years earlier – he had brought a girl he had met in rehab. He hadn’t been seeing her, they weren’t even particular friends, and he had only brought her because he knew he could count on her to behave appallingly. She hadn’t let him down. In fact, she had far exceeded his expectations, projectile vomiting all over the bathroom and stealing cash from his mother’s dressing table before disappearing into the night in search of the nearest dealer. Luca still felt burning shame when he remembered it. He had wanted to upset Jacqueline and he’d succeeded spectacularly, but it had been the very definition of a hollow victory.

‘No, I’ll be coming on my own,’ he reiterated.

Jonathan simply nodded in acknowledgement, but the relief rolled off him in waves.

The time passed quickly as they chatted, and it was after eleven when they left the restaurant.

‘Just drop me to the bus,’ Luca said, as they walked back to the car. But Jonathan insisted on driving him home.

‘I need to go to a supermarket on the way,’ he said. ‘Jacqueline asked me to pick up a few things.’ He stopped outside a convenience store a little way from the restaurant. ‘Do you want to come in?’ he asked Luca.

‘No, I’ll wait here.’

‘Okay,’ he said, opening his door. ‘I won’t be long.’

Left alone in the car, Luca’s eye caught the photograph attached to the dashboard with a magnet. He hadn’t seen it in a long time, and he was surprised his mother kept it there
where she would see it every day, a constant reminder of her disappointment. He picked it up to examine it more closely. An old colour photograph, it was creased with age and curling up at the edges. He only vaguely remembered the day it had been taken. He wasn’t even sure if it was a true memory or if he had been told about it so often that he thought he remembered it. It had been taken outside the orphanage in Negru Vod
. His mother had her arms around her new children, him on one side and Ali on the other, both squinting into the sun and looking suitably bewildered at the start of their new life. Jacqueline beamed at the camera – a smile that said she couldn’t believe her luck. It was an establishing shot: the beginning of their family.

He smiled as he looked at Ali, so shy and cute, her eyes sliding to him for reassurance. He hardly recognised himself in the little boy who stood staring straight ahead, his expression fierce. She should have known, he thought. She should have taken one look at that face and thrown him back. Ali would have forgotten him soon enough and they could all have been happy. They would have been a perfect family without him.

He remembered the mixture of terror and excitement with which he had made the journey to Ireland, and wondered if it had been the same for Jacqueline, bringing two little strangers to live with her. It was his first time on a plane. There had been a lot of firsts – the taste of chocolate, the kindness of his new mother’s hands in his hair, the softness of the bed he had slept in that night, the quiet of a night not filled with the nightmares of frightened children; hot water, clean clothes, plenty of food. It was a strange new world in which everything was warm and soft, and no one ever hit you.

Maybe Jacqueline kept it there as a reminder of happier times, he thought. Whatever else had happened since, they had been happy that day, full of hope. He had let her down, he knew that. She had only wanted to give him a life worth living. He had hurt her with his aloofness, and she took his self-reliance as a rebuke.
But he didn’t know any other way to be – he had been fighting too long to stop.

As Jonathan emerged from the shop carrying two plastic bags, Luca replaced the photograph and fixed it with the magnet hastily, almost guiltily, as if he shouldn’t have been looking at it. He felt almost as if he had been prying into someone else’s life.

‘Thanks for dinner,’ he said, when Jonathan dropped him off outside his building.

‘I enjoyed it. We’ll do it again soon, yes?’

‘Yeah,’ Luca said, as he opened the car door.

‘And come out to the house,’ Jonathan called after him, as he got out. ‘Don’t be a stranger.’

Luca waved as Jonathan drove off.
Don’t be a stranger
. He wasn’t sure he knew how to be anything else.

Chapter Ten

‘Okay, you can do this,’ Claire told herself, taking a deep breath and pulling open the door of the restaurant. She tossed her head back and strode confidently towards the maître d’. Half of her had been hoping Mark would already be there waiting, so she wouldn’t have to sit at the table by herself, and the other half wanted to get there first so she would be seated when he arrived and wouldn’t have to walk towards him while he watched. But when she gave her name to the man and told him she was joining Mark Bell, he informed her that Mark was already there. When he had taken her coat, he led her to the table. Claire made a determined effort to keep her head up and appear confident as she followed him. The dress helped. She knew she looked good, and the sheer material swishing around her legs sensually as she walked boosted her confidence. Yvonne had worked her magic on her makeup and hair, and she felt sophisticated, glamorous … and, yes, sexy.

She saw Mark first, recognising him instantly. Just as they reached the table, he smiled at her and, to her surprise, her nerves melted away because he seemed so friendly and familiar. It was like meeting an old friend. She knew this person and was happy to see him.

He stood as the maître d’ walked away. ‘NiceGirl, I presume?’ he said, holding out a hand to her.

She nodded as they shook. ‘Claire,’ she said. ‘Claire Kennedy.’ He was taller than she remembered, but just as handsome.

‘It’s very nice to meet you.’ He leaned in, kissing her cheek, and she felt a little shiver of excitement as his stubble brushed against her face and she breathed in the warm sandalwood tone of his aftershave. He waved her to the seat opposite him.

‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked. ‘I thought maybe we should start with some champagne. We have something to celebrate, after all – at least, I hope we do.’

‘Champagne would be lovely, thank you.’

She was aware of his eyes on her as the waiter fussed around with an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne, but she didn’t feel self-conscious or want to squirm. Far from making her uncomfortable, the frank appreciation in his eyes gave her a warm glow. Maybe this was a magic dress, she thought whimsically. It was certainly helping her to get into character, like an actor’s costume. She jumped when the champagne opened with a loud pop.

‘Well, here’s to the beginning of a successful partnership,’ Mark said, as he raised his glass.

‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass with his.

‘So, I love the blog,’ he said. ‘Obviously.’

‘Thanks.’
Now
she was uncomfortable, her nervousness returning as she thought of all the things he thought he knew about her. She was proud that he liked her writing, but she’d written some pretty filthy stuff on her blog, and he thought it was true. He thought she was completely upfront about laying bare the most intimate details of her sex life for all the world to see – and it was a pretty lurid sex life. She took a slug of champagne to cover her embarrassment. She had to try not to think about that too much.

‘It’s nice to meet you in the flesh. I have to admit I’m quite relieved,’ Mark said, with a cheeky smile.

‘Relieved? Why?’

‘Well, you hide behind that avatar on Twitter and you write your blog anonymously. I had no idea what you looked like or who you really were. You could have been a ninety-year-old man for all I knew. You could have looked like a sumo wrestler.’

‘Oh, I never thought of that.’ She had been so caught up in her own anxiety about the meeting that it hadn’t occurred to her he might be nervous too.

‘Mm. I was quite tempted to run away before you turned up. I didn’t want my illusions shattered.’

‘Well, I may not look like a sumo wrestler, but I don’t look anything like my Twitter avatar either.’

‘No, you’re much prettier.’