Read Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend Online
Authors: Jenny Colgan
Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend (23 page)
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‘In my country I was an engineer, and taught at the university. I had a big house, many nice things. Then they decide they no longer like universities. Here I cook greasy sausage for fifteen hours a day. Lots of people have hard things in their lives.’
I looked, for the first time really, at the man who served me every day.
‘Thank you,’ I said, holding out my hand, which he took and shook vigorously. ‘Thank you very much. I do feel better.’
Chapter Twelve
I went through the rest of the day in a dream. The shoot went well, and Julius reckoned some of my shots would be fine for
Zoo
, no problem.
Zoo
, no problem.
But this tiny shred of optimism was quickly replaced when I found myself cleaning up. Back to sweeping the floor and picking up little pieces of cloth covered in spangles. Today was different. Today was cleaning up for good. For ever. It wasn’t a theme-park ride. It wasn’t slumming it for a bit. This was the end.
Mopping took longer than usual. Partly because of the feathers, partly because I could see the future stretching out drearily in front of me. The girls had tarted themselves up super-posh, i.e. they looked like baby drag queens, because they were going to ‘pull a suit’, i.e. they were headed to All Bar One.
‘You must have, like, gone there all the time,’ said Kelly, slightly awe-struck. I didn’t correct her.
‘Or maybe Tiger Tiger,’ said Grace.
They invited me, which was really sweet of them, and Grace had even said she’d buy me a drink if I talked really posh. But I just wasn’t in the mood. Julius left me to lock up, so I took my time as the shadows climbed the walls of the studio, with its abandoned, slightly greasy mirrored bulbs, the little tubs of opened sparkly lipgloss, the talc on the floor. I put some mournful French music on the stereo and meandered about, straightening up the array of clothes we kept there - tiger-print sarongs; mini kilts, boas and love-heart sunglasses. It looked so tawdry in the half-light. I finished with the mop, pulled on my coat and headed for the door.
‘Uh, hi,’ said Eck.
I jumped out of my skin. ‘Fuck!’
‘Uh, sorry, I was just looking for the doorbell.’
‘There isn’t a doorbell. I think everyone who comes here has a really loud voice.’
‘Oh,’ said Eck.
‘And all the girls have gone home, so you’re dead out of luck.’
‘I didn’t come to see the girls,’ said Eck, going very pink. ‘I came to see you. I thought you might want some company.’
I looked at him. He was absolutely right.
‘Uh, thanks,’ I said. ‘You did give me a fright though.’
‘I try not to be too frightening,’ said Eck. ‘As a rule.’
‘Well, I think that’s a very good way to be,’ I said. I was half in my coat and half out of it. Eck made a really complex and difficult attempt to help me on with the rest of it, which was doomed to failure, and between us we wriggled our way out of the door with lots of ‘sorrys’ and ‘whoops, just theres’ and ‘oh, never minds’ until we were giggling so much we gave it up as a bad job.
Outside it was nearly dark; I hadn’t realised how quickly the nights were setting in. But it was a mild night, the kind that, say I’d been at someone’s house in the country, would have seen lots of brown leaves blowing across the path, and a vibrant pink sunset illuminating the corn fields. Here it just made the dog poo harder to see.
‘It’s a nice night,’ said Eck. ‘And the buses all smell. Shall we walk?’
‘OK,’ I said.
We strolled along in silence for a little while. It looked like Eck was trying to tell me something. Finally, after crossing the road to avoid a pack of feral hoodies who - surely not - looked like they were trying to set a dog on fire, Eck took a breath.
‘I’m sorry you’re an orphan,’ he said.
As he did I realised I’d never quite thought of it that way, even though it was technically the case. My mother had died so very long ago that I’d got used to it. For me, having one parent you loved very much was just kind of the way of things.
‘My mother died a long time ago,’ I said. ‘I don’t remember her. You don’t really miss what you never had.’
That was a barefaced lie I’d developed over the years to stop people feeling sorry for me and, occasionally at parties, playing me drippy songs on the guitar. I had a complete fantasy of what my mother must have been like in my head and thought about her all the time.
‘My . . .’ He swallowed hard, as if this were difficult to say. ‘Um. I lost my dad too,’ he said. ‘When I was eleven.’ He kicked at the pavement with his dirty old trainers.
‘Oh yeah?’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. What happened?’
Nothing, I’ve learned over the years, is worse than people asking about it then shying away from the topic like they’ve just been handed a poisonous snake. ‘Cancer,’ he said, looking down. ‘It was horrid. So, I just wanted you to know that I’m here if you need me.’
I looked at his big brown eyes. His tufty hair had fallen forward. For a split second I wondered what it would be like to tuck it back behind his ears. He peered up at me, giving me an apologetic half-smile in the half-light.
‘Must be quite a shock, coming down to all this,’ he said. ‘I thought there was something different about you the first time you came to the door . . .’
‘Did you?’ I said, with a tiny amount of tease in my voice. ‘Did you think, There’s a girl worth a couple of million quid?’ I couldn’t keep the quaver out of my voice.
‘Shit,’ said Eck. ‘Shit.’
‘Looking after myself was meant to be good for me,’ I said. ‘Character building. You know, for a while.’ I looked down at my dirty hands.
‘Well, I’m impressed you’ve managed not to call us all plebs and demand that we bring you champagne cocktails every evening.’
‘Ooh, that never even occurred to me. Would you?’ I said.
There was a long pause. ‘I’d do anything you asked,’ said Eck simply. I glanced at his tall, dark profile silhouetted in the streetlights.
I glanced up at him. What I’d thought was a mild flirtation suddenly seemed to take on a deeper, more serious hue in the autumnal twilight.
‘Hey, Cinders,’ came a voice. ‘If we bought some cider and got Wolverine to fart in it, could we call it champagne?’
And Cal loped over to join us from the shadow of the dodgy bookies.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Eck. He didn’t look in the least bit pleased to see him. Cal gave him a furrowed look.
‘Well, nasty stuff about Sophie in the papers, dark, cold, wet night . . . I thought I’d just check she hadn’t thrown herself on the railway line.’
‘Well she’s fine,’ said Eck crossly.
‘And actually here,’ I volunteered. ‘Only, with you guys talking about me being suicidal and stuff . . .’
‘I never thought you were suicidal,’ said Eck. ‘Though after a night with Cal, most girls are slightly sadder than they were before . . .’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ said Cal. They stood there, not saying anything. The tension between them was palpable. I piped up.
‘Shall we go eat?’ As I said it, I wondered if maybe I was too sad to eat. I did want this famed misery weight loss to start kicking in. ‘Or, maybe not. I’m just not hungry.’
‘Yeah, let’s get you home.’ Eck made as if to put his hand out to me, and I nearly took it.
‘Come with me then,’ said Cal, ignoring Eck. ‘I’m starving. You can watch me eat.’
Eck glanced from Cal to me. Then, ‘Let’s all go eat,’ said Eck, looking a bit pissed off. Cal raised his eyebrows as if he wasn’t bothered one way or the other.
‘Right, I know where. Follow me,’ Cal said, disappearing down a dark alley next to the bookies. Eck and I looked at each other. Then I thought, what could possibly be worse for me than what had already happened. So I followed after him, Eck bringing up the rear, looking around dubiously.
‘Here we go,’ said Cal. We were in a street where at least half the street lamps were missing, and the shops had been boarded up. I didn’t like the look of this at all. It looked like a scene from a video game set in a post-apocalyptic world where zombies jump out at us. I had a sudden flashback - once upon a time, I’d been to the launch of a game like that - God knows why, something to do with Philly. Yes, the drinks were lavish and expensive but we were surrounded by geeks the whole night, practically humping our legs like little dogs. We were quite mind-blowingly rude to them, but I don’t think they noticed. Happy days.
At the end of the derelict row was one little building with a light on.
‘Hello, Memento,’ said Cal, pushing open the door into a roomful of deafening music.
The room was lit by a fluorescent strip buzzing overhead. There were about six tables, the white plastic garden type, with cheap plastic mats over them and mismatched chairs. Four were occupied by large groups of people of all colours eating, shouting and drinking beer. It didn’t look like anywhere I’d ever been before.
‘Hello,’ said the large lady behind the counter. ‘You’ve brought friends.’ She looked me up and down with a judge-mental air which I found a bit insulting considering she was about four-foot square. ‘But still no girl, eh, Cal?’
Cal rolled his eyes. ‘Stop worrying about me, Memento, you’re not my mum.’
‘Usual?’
‘Yup, two . . .’ He turned to me. ‘Are you sure you won’t eat?’
Actually, the place smelled fantastic. It was making me hungry. Not quite the Michelin-starred places I normally toyed over salad in. But no. I was too sad.
‘No, thanks,’ I said. Memento raised her eyebrows then looked more closely at me.
‘Hey . . . aren’t you that girl in the paper?’
‘She’s been getting that all day,’ said Cal smoothly. Eck pulled out a chair for me. I sat down on it, trying not to notice that one of its plastic legs looked like it was bending over.
‘Yes,’ I said, wearily. ‘Yes, I am.’
Memento raised her eyebrows at Cal. ‘Well, she looks like she needs to eat.’
Frankly I felt like I needed a full sauna, steam and spa day, possibly followed by a colonic irrigation to undo the damage done by all those sausage sandwiches, but I wasn’t in the mood for arguing and threw my hands up in submission. Ten seconds later three steaming plates of curry were set in front of us. They smelled absolutely wonderful.
‘You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,’ said Eck, gently.
‘Yes she does,’ said Cal. ‘Look at the girl. She’s practically in shock. Get it down you and you’ll feel a lot better.’
‘Has anyone phoned the house?’ I asked weakly. Without thinking, I forked a load of the curry into my mouth. It was delicious.
Cal’s brow furrowed. ‘Not phoned as such,’ he said.
‘Actually, they’re camped outside,’ said Eck. ‘Waving lots of money for exclusives.’
‘Really?’ I briefly perked up. ‘How much money?’
‘Ignore them,’ said Cal. ‘They’re vultures.’
‘They’re not,’ I said. ‘I got papped once. They shout at you all the time and all the flashbulbs go off and it’s brilliant. ’
‘Well, those days have gone, sweetheart,’ said Cal. ‘Eat your goat.’
‘Eat my
what
?’
what
?’
‘Don’t you think . . .’ said Eck, trailing off. He wasn’t eating, but playing with his food, pushing it round his plate. Weirdly, my appetite was voracious. As if my body was telling me not to give up. I ate the whole thing and when I looked up, Eck was talking. Cal was looking at me as if he couldn’t believe how much I’d just stuffed my face.
‘Don’t you think it’s possible you’ll get the money back?’ said Eck. ‘After all, it can’t all have gone, can it? Surely they’ll just sell the house and sort it out then you’ll be OK? Plus your dad must have had tons stashed away in offshore accounts and things that they’ll never find.’
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