Talk to Me (11 page)
When I got off the phone from Mum, who’d given me oodles of sympathy, and offered to drop everything and come and take charge, I felt a bit better. Tempting as it was, I knew she needed the time in her studio. With some big exhibitions in major galleries under her belt, her reputation in the ceramics world had grown and she was working on a special piece which she hoped would ‘blow the pants off’ the owner of a famous ceramics gallery in North London.
The arrival of a very garrulous glazier from The Glass Brokers – ‘The people who take the pane out of shattered glazing’– later that afternoon did a lot to reassure me. Phil was a big fan of antisocial behaviour because it kept him in business. My little broken window was, ‘Nuffink’. He got ten of these every week, more when the weather was warm. Apparently the real money was in the commercial stuff.
‘Triple time, between nine and midnight – after that blank cheque book, mate. Blank cheque book.’
Grumpily I reflected, as I made him a mug of tea, one person’s tragedy was another’s silver lining – Phil’s was made of £50 banknotes.
After he’d gone I rattled around the flat growing steadily more irritable. I’d had enough of smug daytime presenters, I didn’t have the energy to tackle any job in the flat and I was too tetchy to read. My arm was itching and the pinprick scabs looked unsightly. I was fed up. Fed up and bolshy.
I knew what was wrong and it had nothing to do with my arm. Determined to take my mind off things, or rather one person, I logged on to my laptop. No joy there either. No new emails apart from the ones from complete strangers offering me Biggadik penis enlargement patches.
A good time to tidy up my inbox. Get rid of all those emails going back six months. My eyes were drawn to the name Ned Hillard. I re-read his email. It was funny. Was he the answer to all my problems? Perhaps he could take my mind off Daniel?
Kate put paid to any more dithering when she called.
‘Olivia. It’s me. I just heard what happened. Are you OK?’ Her voice oozed concern and sympathy down the phone line.
‘I’m fine. Bit of an exciting night, though.’
‘Well, that’s a first,’ she mocked.
‘Ha, ha.’
‘Bloody yobs. It’s the same everywhere. Even here. Last weekend someone in the village had his car covered in paint. Some lads found a can on their way home. Bet your window was broken by some lagered-up louts. In that state they don’t give a toss if they damage something.’
‘Well, that something was me,’ I said crossly. ‘And I mind a lot!’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Crap.’
Kate didn’t deal well with other people’s problems. Her own life ran so smoothly that she hadn’t had the practice. I wasn’t surprised when she changed the subject.
‘So have you arranged to see Ned yet?’
What! Was she psychic or something?
‘No, not yet.’ Why do I have to be so honest? It was the last thing I should have said, to Kate of all people.
‘You’re joking. He’ll think you’re not interested.’
‘I don’t know that I am.’
‘Of course you are. He sounds a laugh. If he can’t afford Jimmy Chews, he might get you a pair of gumboots. Geddit?’ She sniggered.
I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see.
‘You are so unfunny.’ I giggled in spite of myself. ‘Anyway I’m not sure …’ my voice trailed off. The painkillers were wearing off and my arm was throbbing. Where was my magic bottle of pills?
‘Know what your problem is?’
I just had to find those tablets. The pain was suddenly excruciating. Kate was still twittering in my ear.
‘OK,’ I snapped. ‘I’ll go on a date with Ned.’ Anything to get her off the line. There was a surprised silence, followed by a laugh of triumph.
The minute I said it I knew I shouldn’t.
‘I hear you’re going on a date, darling.’ That was my mother’s opening gambit on Saturday morning when she phoned under the pretext of asking how I was. It hadn’t taken long for the family grapevine to rev itself up.
‘Very sensible of you,’ she said happily. I could virtually see her hopping from foot to foot in the kitchen at home. ‘You need something to take your mind off the accident.’
If only she knew. It wasn’t the accident I needed to get off my mind. It was the accident waiting to happen. I had to get Daniel out of my head. She warbled on enthusiastically for another five minutes before suddenly remembering that Dad was in the car waiting to take her to Waitrose.
Perhaps I could get away with just making up the date. I slumped back on the sofa and dreamed up details of the perfect imaginary date − nice wine bar, long boozy lunch followed by a walk around Covent Garden, stopping along the way to watch the street entertainers.
But no such luck. Kate rolled up in person at lunchtime to check up on me. I struggled down the stairs to let her in as Emily had abandoned me in favour of a shopping expedition to Westfield.
‘God, you look awful’ she said, marching past me into the flat, with a bag of Marks & Spencer goodies. Funnily enough, I thought the same about her. Her hair, as always, was perfect but there were dark shadows under her eyes. Either her favourite Estée Lauder Spotlight had run out or there was something she wasn’t telling me.
I’d only got an inch of water into the kettle before she asked, ‘So where are you going with Ned?’
No ‘How are you feeling? How’s your arm?’ Trust her to go straight for the jugular. I should have answered her immediately to distract her but I left it that fraction too long. My silence told her everything she needed to know.
‘Typical. You haven’t fixed anything up yet, have you?’
‘Don’t nag. I was going to do it today.’
By the time the teabags were being dunked, she had my laptop fired up ready to go. If composing an email with Emily was tortuous, it was nothing compared with trying to write one with my sister peering over my shoulder.
‘Let me know, how it goes won’t you?’ Kate said as she rose to leave.
‘Yes, Bossy. Sure you don’t want to come and supervise the date properly? In fact, why don’t you cancel your flight home altogether …’
‘I’d love to,’ she said, suddenly serious. ‘I’m not …’ She stopped and sighed.
‘Kate?’
‘I’m fine. Fine.’
‘You don’t seem it. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Australia’s a long way away. I miss everyone.’
‘Yes, but you’ve got loads of friends, and the super surf-stud.’
She hesitated. ‘It’s just not the same. Even though they speak the same language – they don’t.’
‘You’ve lost me.’
‘
The Clangers
– you remember
The Clangers
?’ Her hand grasped the top of my good arm.
‘Little pink knitted fellas and the Soup dragon.’
‘Precisely.’ Her glossy hair slithered forward as she nodded. ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’
‘Yeeees. Because we watched them together.’
‘No! People just know, in this country. They’re almost a national institution.’
‘You’ve still lost me.’
‘Imagine having to explain to someone you don’t know what a Clanger is, when everyone else does.’ Her voice was rising. ‘How stupid do you feel when everyone laughs at you because you don’t know some stupid kids TV show?’ She bit back a sob. ‘It’s like that all the time. TV programmes, famous people, politicians. Even everyday stuff. I get asked to pass the Gladwrap.’ She raised her palms upward in despair.
‘Clingfilm. Do you know what they call Sellotape in Australia? Bloody Durex. How am I supposed to know that?’
There were tears running down Kate’s face.
‘Kate,’ I said soothingly, giving her a big hug, feeling panicky. She was my big sister, always in charge. She hardly ever cried.
‘I hate it there,’ she snuffled into my shoulder. ‘It’s so far from home. The news is about places I’ve never heard of. I can’t just pick up the phone and call home because the time difference will be all wrong.’
‘Kate,’ I said sadly. ‘Why didn’t you say before?’
‘What could I say?’ She shook her head. ‘Everyone wants to go to bloody Australia, don’t they? But to me it’s just so alien. No one’s on the same wavelength. I don’t even have girlfriends. All the women think I’m stuck up and posh.’
So did a lot of people here but it wasn’t a good time to tell her that. There was a lot to be said for British reserve.
‘You don’t have to go back,’ I said tentatively. Big mistake.
Pulling away, she looked at me astonished. ‘Of course I do,’ she snapped.
‘No, you don’t,’ I said soothingly.
‘I,’ she said with great emphasis, ‘do.’
Kate would never admit to failure of any type. I’d had no idea that she was so unhappy.
‘Forget I said anything.’ The words rattled out of her mouth quickly. ‘I’m just having an off day. I’ve got a bit of an upset tummy at the moment. For God’s sake don’t say anything to Mum. I’m fine really.’
‘Kate—’
‘Forget it. Just a wobble. I’d better go. Heaps of stuff to do. See you next week.’ She pulled on her coat, her shoulders straightening and her chin going up. I could almost see her physically pulling herself together.
‘Let me know how you get on with Ned. I want all the details.’ She waggled her eyebrows, some of her natural perkiness reasserting itself.
A classic change-the-subject tactic if ever I heard one.
‘Think you’ll be all right? When was the last time—?’
‘Don’t go there.’ I was not going to discuss that with her. Some things are best kept private.
‘Hopefully that’s going to change,’ she lowered her voice with a deliberately naughty grin, her tears forgotten. ‘It
is
just like riding a bicycle, you don’t—’
‘Kate, bugger off,’ I said exasperated, any second she’d start handing me a pile of condoms.
‘You know you’re going to miss me,’ she said archly.
‘Really?’ I asked dryly.
Giving me one of her trademark dazzling grins – how did she bounce back so quickly? – she patted me gently on my cheek. ‘Don’t worry you can always text me.’
Talk about mood swings. Rolling my eyes, I gave her one last hug, watching as her high heels tapped across the pavement to Mum’s car. She settled into the driver’s seat, checking her make-up in the mirror before giving me a cheery wave and roaring off down the street.
I watched the car disappear. Kate’s outburst was just not like her. I couldn’t help but be worried.
The final edit of my reply to Ned’s email went like this:
From: [email protected]
Subject: Second Hand Invisibility Cloaks
Hi Ned
While rescuing a child from a burning building I narrowly escaped death when an explosion sent glass flying everywhere. Although a main artery was almost severed, I survived to tell the tale. Sadly my injuries preclude a shoplifting expedition, which is just as well as I’ve heard those second-hand invisibility cloaks aren’t much cop. However a medicinal drink is required. I think copious quantities of wine might help. Know any good watering holes? I’ll be the one wearing the bandage.
All the best
Olivia
… which was how I came to be zigzagging my way through Covent Garden, trying to avoid idle tourists ambling through the midday sunshine. Ned had suggested meeting at a pub he knew.
The outside of the pub told me everything I needed to know before I even got in the door. My heart sank, even more so when I stepped inside. It was one of those ‘below average places’, grubby with too many spillages on the carpet, where men outnumbered women five to one and the wine came out of a box above the bar. A long way from my imaginary wine bar.
‘Thought you were joking about the bandage,’ said Ned, picking my drink up for me but only after he realised I couldn’t manage. Wearing a beige cord jacket and baggy jeans he looked slightly rumpled, as if he hadn’t been up for long.
‘Better than a rolled up
Times
and a pink carnation,’ I said, attempting to be perky. It came out a bit flat. When the painkillers were at full throttle I could forget about my arm. The gaps between paracetamol and ibruprofen weren’t much fun though as the wound was still raw. It preferred inactivity and plenty of rest. Traipsing across London was not part of the prescription.
‘What happened? You weren’t really leaping into burning buildings and rescuing children, were you? Don’t tell me you’re …’ he looked furtively around the pub dropping his voice to a whisper, ‘Supergirl?’
I gave him a dim smile; the best I could manage. ‘No, I’m not.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘Some kid was practising his shot putting technique. If they make vandalism an Olympic sport, he’ll be on the British team. His brick shattered my window and I got glass in my arm.’
‘Nasty,’ said Ned. ‘I thought you said you lived in Earlsfield. Isn’t it civilised round there?’
‘Normally, yes.’ I hesitated very slightly.
Ned picked up on it. He tilted his head to one side. ‘Wild partying upset the neighbours?’
‘No, our parties are very staid.’
‘Shame, I like a good party. So what happened?’ He raised his eyebrows prompting me to go on.
‘I’m not sure. It’s probably just coincidence.’ I took a sip of wine, weighing up whether I should confide in him.
Ned leaned back comfortably in his chair. ‘You don’t sound convinced.’ He looked searchingly at me over the top of his pint before taking a deep swallow.
I met his eyes. They were darker than I’d remembered and the brow of his hair slightly further back. Hopefully he would laugh laddishly at my silly fears and tell me I was being a girl.
‘Remember the speed-date? Sorry, ’course you do.’
He grinned. ‘I’ve drunk out on it quite a few nights. Most of my mates fancy being invisible. You should hear some of the conversations we’ve had …’ he trailed off, smirking. ‘Then again. Possibly not.’
‘I can imagine,’ I said dryly. ‘Do you remember any of the other guys at the speed-date?’
‘Not really, I was looking at you lot.’
I raised an eyebrow and he grinned unrepentantly.
‘The ladies.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I did notice there were quite a few prats in suits. Arsington-Smythe types.’
‘What?’
‘You know. Smug gits who like to chuck their money about but do bugger all to earn it.’
