Elegance and Innocence (62 page)

Eileen, the owner, comes down, chain smoking, her bleached blonde hair twisted into a formidable beehive. She’s in her fifties, wraith thin, with a hard, lined face. Her skin is almost orange, from regular sunbed sessions in the salon round the corner. She mixes herself a large G and T and yells at Evil Joe, who was, according to Ian, once the love of her life, many, many years ago. Now he just blinks at her, offering to light her already lit cigarette, then cowering in the corner, running up a tab he never pays. She assures him, through vivid, detailed description, that he’s
nothing, the lowest of the low and always has been as long as she’s known him. And when she’s made her point to her satisfaction, she tops up her drink again and stomps back upstairs.

‘The course of true love.’ Ian sneaks a couple of packets of peanuts over for us.

As evening rolls around, the pub fills up and Robbie comes back to life, filling me in on the details of Imogene’s engagement to Coffee Carlo. She figures it was always inevitable. ‘He’s
enormous
,’ she confides, catching Ian’s eye. He blushes and pretends to be wiping down the bar. ‘I just managed to escape myself, Evie. He’s really the most delightful freak of nature and when you consider that she was a virgin … well! Also, being Italian, he’s the perfect mix of the profane and the sacred; whore, Madonna, whore, Madonna … she loves it! I’ll bet she still has a few of those old Laura Ashley dresses tucked away in her closet for rainy afternoons … He’s talking about opening a coffee shop business.’ She shrugs her shoulders. ‘It will never take off. But he’s so stubborn.’

Her voice is swimming round and round in my head; a kind of droning monologue over the building agitation in my brain. ‘Let’s sit near the door,’ I suggest. ‘The heat and the smoke are starting to get to me.’

She picks up our drinks. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m just tired.’

We move to a table near the door.

It’s nearly 6.30. I need to shop for supper. It will have to be pasta again. Pasta, tuna and tinned tomatoes. And an onion, if I have enough money. Just the thought of it makes me queasy. The heat is stifling. I add more ice to my drink; it sits there, melting. Soul II Soul come on the sound system and Robbie sways back and forth, chattering on; I nod my head and smile.

I wonder where Jake is. What he’s doing.

I twist the pearl ring round on my finger.

Robbie takes my hand. ‘Do you wear that all the time?’

‘Of course I do!’ I stretch my fingers wide. ‘It’s my engagement ring. And wedding ring, for that matter.’

‘You can’t do that with pearls. Look, Evie.’ She points to the dull surface. ‘It’s wearing away. They’re not strong enough for everyday life; they’re too fragile. Pretty soon you’ll have nothing left.’

I pull it away from her. ‘How do you know?’

‘Everyone knows that.’ She’s looking for her lighter. ‘It’s common knowledge.’

Eileen saunters over to collect our empty glasses. Then she stops, her mouth turns down at the corners; she waves her cigarette in my face. ‘You best keep that man of yours out of here, do you understand? I’ll not have that type of thing going on in my pub! A drink is one thing, do you get what I’m saying?’ She continues to glare at me with her watery grey eyes.

I recoil. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

‘You know what I’m saying,’ she assures me. ‘You know exactly what I’m on about!’ And she reels back to the bar, leaving the glasses for Ian to clear. I watch as she tops up her drink and then sits in the corner with Evil Joe.

Robbie frowns. ‘What was all that about?’

‘She’s pissed. That’s all.’ I push the table back and stand up. ‘Let’s get out of here. I have to go to the market anyway.’

As we round the corner with our shopping, I hear music and voices coming from the open windows of the theatre. It is, as always, the loudest building on the street.

Robbie and I climb the stairs and open the door. Hayley, CJ and two guys I don’t recognize are all sitting on the stage, on a sofa and a couple of chairs, like some kitchen sink drama; CJ’s plucking out an alternative guitar solo to ‘Brown Sugar’ and Jake’s concentrating, rolling a joint. The floor’s covered in empty cans of Tennant’s and there’s nothing but a thin film of powder left on the mirror balanced on Hayley’s knees.

Jake looks up; he’s high. He smiles at me, then his eyes narrow as he spots Robbie. ‘Welcome home, babe.’ He swaggers over and kisses my cheek. ‘I told you she was beautiful.’ He wheels me round to face his friends. They smile. ‘This is Gary and Smith,’ he introduces us. ‘And of course, all the way from New York City, my wife’s dear friend, Robbie.’

CJ waves. ‘Hey, Evie!’

I ignore him. He’s here so often, it’s like having a pet.

‘So when did you get home?’ I try to make my voice sound pleasant and easy, as if I’m some 1950s hostess, entertaining my husband’s business colleagues. I don’t want to fight in front of Robbie.

‘A while,’ Jake says. ‘These guys are touring with Eric Clapton through Europe next week.’ He lights the joint, inhales, then passes it to Smith. ‘Hey! We’re going to have some new photos taken! Gary knows this shit-hot fashion photographer who’ll do the whole thing for the price of the film. We’re meeting him tonight … Isn’t that great?’ There’s always some new plan to take over the world, especially when he’s high. ‘I’m starving, babe. What have we got to eat?’

Smith asks Robbie how long she’s in town for, CJ and Gary start arguing about fingering …

‘Babe?’ he repeats. ‘I’m hungry.’ And he stands up, draping himself round me. He leans too heavily, smelling of sweat and aftershave.

I shrug him off. ‘There isn’t enough food,’ I say quietly. ‘And where did you get that stuff?’

He grabs me again. ‘Don’t pull away from me,’ he warns.

‘You told me you weren’t going to do this any more!’

He lets me go. ‘I’m looking after things.’ This is his standard reply. ‘You don’t need to worry; I’m looking after everything.’

I put my bags on a chair and bend down, picking the empty cans off the floor.

Robbie’s laughing. Gary’s got the guitar now; he’s strumming away. CJ’s rocking back and forth. Hayley’s just blinking, staring dully into the middle distance.

‘What does that mean, Jake?’ I look around. The stage, reasonably clean when I left, now looks as if someone’s emptied a garbage bin in the middle of the floor – paper, ashes and cigarette butts, a half-eaten packet of crisps … Robbie’s meant to be sleeping here tonight.

‘Look at this place!’ I’ve got my hands on my hips.

‘Fine. You know, you could always believe in me, for a change! Have a little faith!’ He grabs his jacket from the back of the chair he was sitting on. ‘Come on, guys. Let’s go get something to eat. You’re buying, CJ.’

‘Aw, shit!’ CJ protests but stands up, nonetheless. Gary and Smith stand too, leaning against each other for support. Smith stumbles and knocks into the chair. The groceries and my handbag tumble down, the contents rolling all over the floor – keys, tuna, make-up, tomatoes, tampons …

‘Shit! Sorry, man.’ Smith bends down in slow motion, picking things up, swaying like a willow in the breeze.

‘Leave it,’ Jake orders. He grabs fistfuls of stuff, jamming it back into my bag.

Then he stops.

He’s holding something. A scrap of paper. Standing, he unfolds it and then looks at me. ‘What’s this?’

It’s Guy’s number.

I flush. ‘It’s nothing. This kid, at the audition … it was
for deodorant and …’ Everyone’s staring at me. ‘Actually it’s quite funny. You have to mime putting on this deodorant and then some male model sniffs you – I mean, under the arm, but of course, they didn’t have the male model. There was just this runner who’s about twelve.’ Robbie laughs; CJ and Gary are smiling. ‘So here I am, standing in my bra with this kid sniffing my armpit … and I’m starting to sweat …’ They’re laughing, I’m laughing. The only person not laughing right now is Jake. ‘Afterwards he gave me his number. He was just a kid,’ I say again.

‘So.’ Jake’s voice is flat. ‘Why didn’t you throw it away?’

They all look back at me; it’s like a match at Wimbledon.

‘Because I just wanted to get out of there. And there wasn’t a bin. And … and I needed to get to the airport.’

His eyes haven’t left my face. ‘What do you mean you were in your bra?’

‘Come on, man!’ CJ laughs and pulls at Jake’s arm. Jake yanks it away.

‘Like I said, it was for deodorant,’ I explain. ‘They wanted to look at your armpits. Jake, don’t be stupid!’ I plead.

‘I’m being stupid,’ he repeats. ‘I’m stupid.’

‘Jake …’ This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid tonight. ‘You don’t understand!’

‘No, I don’t. I don’t understand what my wife is doing in her bra in the middle of fucking Soho!’

The room’s silent.

‘What are you saying?’ I ask.

He glares at me. ‘I don’t trust you! That’s what I’m saying!’ He crumples the number in his fist and tosses it at me. ‘Go call your boyfriend!’

‘Jake!’

‘You used to be something.’ He paces the floor. ‘Something out of the ordinary! With your long flowered dress …’

‘What are you talking about?’ Tears sting the back of my eyes. ‘I’m still the same! But that wasn’t my dress, Jake! I never wore long dresses!’

He grabs my wrist, pulling me close. ‘So was it just talk? When you said you wanted to love someone so much that nothing else mattered! Was it?’ I’ve never seen him so upset. ‘No matter what happened, that’s what you said!’

He lets me go.

‘Jake!’

But he storms off, slamming the door. The rest, CJ, Smith and Gary, quietly filter after him.

Hayley blinks at me. ‘That was a really good scene.’

I’m shaking. I sit down on the sofa, cradling my head in my hands.

Hayley slides off, crawls over to pick the tin of tuna off the floor. ‘Can I eat this?’ she asks.

I nod. Peeling the lid back, she begins picking it out with her fingers. The overpowering smell of tuna fills the room. And suddenly my stomach’s churning. I rush out, making it to the loo just in time.

When I come back, Robbie’s in the foyer, standing by the window, looking out onto the street below. Dusk is drawing in, purple streaks across a lavender sky. The birds are singing the way they do on warm summer evenings.

‘How late are you?’

I stare at her back.

How does she know?

‘Come on, Evie.’ She faces me. ‘How long has it been?’

I look down at my hands. ‘Nearly two months. I thought it was stress …’

She turns again and gazes out at the church across the street. A dull growl of thunder echoes in the distance.

‘Do you want it?’ Her voice is weary.

I don’t know the answer; it seems an impossible question, not a question a person should even ask when they’re married.

‘Have you told him?’ she persists, ignoring my silence.

‘No. Things have been difficult. It isn’t the way I thought it would be,’ I add stupidly.

‘What isn’t?’

‘Any of it.’ I haven’t got the energy to go over all the optimistic, childish expectations or the inevitable disappointments. I shake my head, staring numbly at the floor. ‘Nothing’s the way I imagined.’

She doesn’t try to argue with me; to offer advice or even a half-hearted pep talk. Instead, she leans back against the windowsill, standing very still, for a long time.

The door opens. Chris, huffing from the exertion of climbing the stairs, trundles in, his white skin dotted with beads of perspiration. He’s wearing long shorts and white shirt, soaked through under his plump arms. His bushy red hair sits like a small fox or an exceptionally large squirrel on top of his head. He’s got a thick file of papers in one hand and a rapidly melting pink popsicle in the other.

‘I’ve just come back from the accountant. We’re fucked!’ He eyes Robbie up but waives the option of a civilized introduction. He thrusts the popsicle back into his mouth instead. ‘What’s for dinner?’ He goes over to the desk, checks the answering machine. ‘Who turned this off? Jesus! Do I have to do everything around here?’ It beeps loudly as he switches it on. ‘How the fuck are we going to take any bookings? And from now on, we’re going to get up every morning with the dawn and do Thai Chi. As a company! Brook does it,’ he adds. ‘And we need to start gelling, understand?’ He waves the popsicle at me. ‘We need to start functioning as a single entity, OK? Like we can read each other’s minds on stage. Otherwise, there’s no point. We’re as useless as the fucking RSC! Where’s Hayley?’

‘Chris, this is my friend Robbie …’

He strolls away from me, into the theatre. He’s always in a bad mood, always banging on about gelling. I’m sick of gelling. The only time I’ve seen him happy is when he’s taking a bow.

‘For fuck’s sake! Look at this place!’ He’ll make the perfect Lear some day, ranting and raving is what he does best. ‘What is this? Fish? Disgusting!’

Silence follows.

Robbie turns to me. ‘Charming. And so sexy!’

I smile.

Then he storms into the foyer. His fury’s electric. ‘Where’s Jake?’ he hisses. ‘Tell me, Evie! Where the hell is he?’

He’s such a drama queen. ‘I’ll clean it up,’ I sigh. ‘Calm down. He’s out.’

Instead of calming down, he grabs me by the arm, drags me into the next room.

‘Hey!’ Robbie cries. He’s pulling me forward; nails digging into my upper arm.

He flings me in front of the sofa.

Hayley’s lying down; she thinks something’s funny. He yanks her up by the arm.

‘There!’ he shouts, pointing to a tell-tale red mark near the crook of her elbow. ‘Do you see that? Do you? That’s it, Evie! It’s over! He’s out of here! Do you know how long it took us to clean her up last time?’

I stare at Hayley, who rolls onto her back.

‘Fuck you,’ she whispers to Chris, sweetly, then laughs again.

I can’t seem to connect the dots in my mind. ‘But … but, why do you think that’s got anything to do with Jake?’

Chris hauls Hayley up, then wheels round. ‘What are you, blind? Everyone knows Jake deals, Evie!’

‘No. No, he doesn’t.’ I sound small; like a child. ‘He stopped. And anyway, it was only weed.’

‘I want him out of here!’ He’s carrying Hayley into the back room. ‘Or I’m calling the police!’