Don't Get Me Wrong (15 page)

Kim was shocked. “You're pregnant?”

Izzie looked at her as if she was insane. “Pregnant?”

No secret lover, then.

“I wasn't sure if it would work out. But it sort of has. After a lot of trial and error. And failing miserably quite a few times.”

Kim waited.

Izzie took a deep breath. “I'm doing stand-up.”

“What?”

“Stand-up comedy.”

Kim frowned. “You can't be.”

Izzie looked defeated.

“You mean, doing an act? Onstage? Making people laugh?” Kim couldn't believe her ears. “When? Where?”

“You just sign up,” said Izzie. “It's going on all over London. I used to watch it all the time. And go through all the clips on YouTube. And one day I just went along and did it. And people quite liked it. So I did some more. So that's what I've been doing. Cleaning during the day and performing at night. With more and more people in the audience. And that's why I'm telling you. Because I'm doing ten minutes in Deptford next Saturday. A nice fifty-seater above the pub. And I wondered if you'd come. If you'd come along and watch me.”

A rush of thoughts battled for first place in Kim's head. This was impossible! Izzie hated people looking at her! She was always worried about her thighs! She would never perform in public! She never told jokes either! Why didn't I know? I've been a terrible friend! On top of all this, like a fat ugly toad, was the angry thought that Izzie, by keeping her in the dark, had been lying to her.

“I mean, not if you're busy, obviously. Just if you're free. If you haven't already got plans.”

Kim swallowed. “On Saturday night?”

Izzie nodded, her eyes lit up. “It's all new material. Nothing I've performed before. The kind of stuff I really want to do. More political. I've been going over it again and again. And I'd really like to know what you think. I want to see if it makes you laugh.”

Kim still had the glassy expression of someone who'd just sat on a patch of thistles.

“Only if you'd like to,” said Izzie in a small voice.

Kim pulled herself together. “Of course I would. I'd love to come.”

“Really?”

“Can I bring Jake?”

Izzie blinked. “That would be lovely.”

•  •  •

It was a Sunday towards the end of November when Eva dropped her bombshell. “I'm going to do a bit of traveling.”

Kim looked up. “Traveling?”

“In the New Year.”

They were lolling at opposite ends of the sofa in the flat in Peckham Rye, watching TV. Otis was fast asleep in his cot in Eva's room. Kim leant forward, grabbed the remote, and turned the volume down.

“What do you mean?”

Eva looked nervous. “Just that, really. It's something I've wanted to do for a long time. Visit a few ecovillages as a volunteer. Start off in Sieben Linden in Germany, and then go to Denmark and Lithuania. If all goes well, I should be able to hook up with some of the musicians I met in Wales years ago, and then we'll head off to Spain, Portugal, and Italy for the summer.”

“And Otis?” Kim's voice was icy.

“It's the time to do it, really. Before Otis starts nursery school. And there will be lots of other little children around. These are very community-based projects. Lots of families living together.”

“But you'll be moving from place to place.”

“Yes.” For a moment it seemed as if Eva was going to qualify this. But under Kim's steely gaze, she said nothing.

“Do you want my opinion?”

“Of course.” Although, looking at Eva's face, it seemed more
likely that she'd rather be buried up to her neck in a pit of scorpions.

“I think you're being completely irresponsible. You've got a child to consider.”

“But I am considering him. I think he'll have a good time.”

“Being dragged from place to place, surrounded by people he doesn't know—strange food, strange beds, different weather, different languages . . .”

“I'll be there. I'm not abandoning him.”

“You're putting yourself first. You're doing what you want and making him fit in.”

“Like our own mother did you mean.”

Kim shifted uncomfortably. “I'm not saying that.”

“But it's what you're thinking.”

As usual, Kim was growing hot with indignation while Eva stayed perfectly calm. It made her even angrier. “Well, maybe there's some truth in it. Maybe you think that having a child shouldn't make any difference to your life. That Otis doesn't need stability and security. That it's OK to swan off and expect him to put up with whatever happens.”

“He's happy with any kind of change as long as I'm there. You know that. He's really easygoing.”

Kim glared at her. She wanted to cry.

“He's fine as long as I'm with him. And I will be with him. All the time.”

In her mind, Kim saw Otis packed into a rucksack, his little soft head sticking out from the drawstring at the top.

Eva said, “Can't you see? There's a crucial difference between taking Otis traveling with me and doing what our mother did.
She left us. It wasn't right. And I would never do that to my son.”

A little voice inside Kim's head was shouting, But what about me? You're abandoning me, too.

“It won't be forever. A year. Maybe two. And then we'll be back.” Eva smiled. “A bit older. A bit wiser. But otherwise just the same.”

Kim found her voice. “I won't see Otis for months.”

“You can come and see us whenever you want. It's only Europe. And there's emails and Skype and Facebook—”

“But you're going to ecovillages.”

Eva was puzzled. “But they all have Internet connections. I can show you the websites.” Realization dawned. “You didn't actually believe all Harry's propaganda, did you? About them being stuck in the Middle Ages?”

Harry, thought Kim, with a tug of grief. If Harry were here, he'd stop her. He'd make her see that this is mad and dangerous and wrong. “Have you told him?”

“Harry?” Eva nodded. “Yes, he knows.”

The surprise was so sharp that it felt like a shard of ice in her stomach. “So you're still in touch with him?”

“Of course.”

“I thought you didn't speak to him anymore.”

“Did you?”

Kim stared at her. There was something that Eva wasn't saying. Kim knew from experience that it would be pointless to try to worm it out of her. But she gave it one last try. “I thought it was a clean break.”

“Oh no,” said Eva. “I'll always have Harry.”

Which was so ambiguous as to be utterly useless.

2010

S
o you're back.” Leon swung his leg over the back of the chair and sat down. He looked just the same. But Harry was surprised to see the depth of the slashed scar on Leon's cheek. In his mind, it had faded to nothing. “For good?”

“Who knows?” Harry smiled. “It's a different world.”

“I thought of you. Each time I saw the news. All those bankers on TV.”

“It was a mess. Complete meltdown.”

“You know everybody hates you? People talk about bankers and spit.”

“Don't hold back. Tell it like it is.”

Leon laughed. “So why did you come back?”

An offer I couldn't refuse, thought Harry. Top investment bank. Bigger salary. Bigger bonus. Bigger team. “I missed you.”

Leon laughed again, running his hand over his smooth, shaved head. “Been doing any training?”

“Some.” In New York, Harry's boxing gloves had stayed zipped up in his sports bag under the bed for the first year. But he'd carved out time eventually—found a good gym and a friendly coach. No one like Leon, though. Harry leant back against the painted brick wall. “So what's been happening here?”

“How long were you away?”

“Nearly three years.”

“Rent went up. Roof fell in.”

Harry smiled. “It's like I never left.”

Leon gave him a long, steady look. “So we'll be seeing a lot more of you.”

“As often as I can make it.”

You could hazard a guess that Leon was pleased.

Harry picked up his sports bag and swung it over his shoulder. “Happy New Year.”

“Have a good one.”

Talking to Leon was like texting—communication reduced to essentials.

Outside, the streets were hard with frost. It had been a strange Christmas. Harry had come home, but he felt displaced, a stranger in alien surroundings. His new employers had rented him a temporary flat in Mile End, an area of London east of the City that he didn't know well. Eva was still away traveling—he'd spent several weeks with her and Otis in Portugal after leaving New York—and wasn't planning to come back to the UK for at least another year. And Harry hadn't known how to contact Kim. Even if he'd wanted to.

London had subtly changed while he'd been away, like a friend who'd had a haircut or a colleague who'd lost weight. Some of the streets had grown shabby as businesses went under, the windows boarded up and covered with peeling flyers. Woolworths had disappeared. But there was new building, too. Glass and steel architecture had shot up in the City like random stalagmites. By London Bridge, the cranes were beginning construction of the Shard. At the Elephant and Castle, a strange and
spectacularly ugly tower block had risen up near the Walworth Road, ruining the skyline for miles around.

In some ways it was good to be back. He'd already visited the CEOs and finance directors of some of the newer companies in his sector. Michael Adewale, the CEO of Medway—which designed and manufactured high-tech medical equipment—had turned the company from a modest start-up into one of the leading innovators in the field in just ten years. Medway hadn't been affected by the recession at all. “It's win-win,” said Michael, pacing round the office punching the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. “We make money. And we save lives. What's not to like?”

I never managed to explain that to Kim, thought Harry as he walked home afterwards—how investing in companies like Medway can benefit everyone. Capitalism can wear a benign face. The City doesn't always unleash the dark forces of Sauron.

But as Christmas approached, and the parties dwindled away, and people in the office kept disappearing to buy presents for nieces, and nephews, and boyfriends, and wives, Harry started to feel lonely. He called Syed, who now worked for one of the bigger hedge funds, but his friend sounded distracted.

“It's the fuckwit brother-in-law. He's done it again.”

“Again?”

“Lost a fucking fortune. And I'm expected to bail him out. Just like that. My mother says, I trust you. You know what to do.” He sighed. “They say family is a blessing. Not for me, it isn't.”

“Can I help?”

“No. It's Christmas. You go and enjoy yourself. I'll see you in the New Year.”

Harry tried to enjoy himself. He decided to be a tourist and get to know his new surroundings. He wandered the narrow streets of the East End, imagining the slums of Dickensian London. He found Spitalfields Market, admired the arts and crafts exterior of the Whitechapel Gallery, and studied the Huguenot simplicity of the Brick Lane mosque. He ate jellied eels and Bangladeshi fish curry. Nothing worked. The harder he tried to distract himself, the more desolate he felt. He tried to be rational. You can't just disappear for a few years and expect everyone to jump up and down with excitement when you return. People get on with their lives, fill the hole you left with new faces, new interests. It takes time to build up a circle of friends again.

But deep down, Harry was worried. Tactically, from a career point of view, coming back to London had been a good move. Since the crash, no job was safe—and, as an outsider from Europe, he had been particularly vulnerable in the US. His new employers in the UK had offered him more money, more responsibility, and a bigger department. They were so keen to have him, they'd even guaranteed the bonus he would have earned if he'd stayed put.