Elegance and Innocence (57 page)

‘Oh dear!’ A woman who could be my grandmother tries to rescue me from the floor. ‘Are you all right?’

I nod, wishing she weren’t so kind; unable to speak without crying.

I go back to the room and wait, sitting on the bed.

An hour goes by.

I wash my face and change my shirt. Then I rummage around in my bag for something to eat. If I go out, I’m sure to miss him. There are a few spare packets of sugar, leftovers from buying coffee yesterday morning.

And another hour goes.

The sky is flat and grey.

I pull the curtains shut.

Lying on the bed in the darkened room, I curl myself around a pillow and cry. This should be the happiest day of my life. I should be happy. This is what I want. Isn’t it?

Isn’t it? I can’t think any more.

And after a while, I fall asleep.

I don’t hear the door open.

When I open my eyes, the sun is already starting to set. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of me, watching me.

‘You came back,’ I say.

He nods.

Another tear courses down my cheek. ‘Jake, what can I do?’ I murmur. ‘What can I do?’

He takes my hand.

It’s a slender thing, delicate; made of pale, almost white gold and set with a single glossy black pearl.

‘Marry me.’

Turning the key in the lock, I look once more at the ring on my finger. It’s only 2.20 on Sunday afternoon and in three short days my entire life had changed for ever. And now, pushing open the front door of the Gloucester Street flat, I can hardly wait to tell Robbie and Imo the news.

The flat smells the same: of toast and damp carpet …
I step over a pile of discarded magazines. ‘Hello! Anyone home?’ I throw my rucksack on the floor in the hallway. ‘Girls!’

‘We’re in here,’ Robbie calls from the front room. She sounds subdued; probably hung-over.

Already I’m beaming from ear to ear, I can hardly control my excitement. ‘I have an enormous surprise!’ I announce.

Imo appears in the doorway, her face serious. She hasn’t forgiven me yet for going away. ‘We have a surprise for you too …’ she begins.

I grab her about the waist; twirl her into the centre of the floor. ‘Oh, but mine’s so big it can’t wait! Look!’ I hold my hand up high. ‘I’m engaged!’

This doesn’t have the effect I imagined.

There’s an odd silence. Robbie’s sitting very still, very upright, on the edge of the sofa … Imo’s hand is on my arm, squeezing so tightly it hurts and she’s staring at me like we’re spies in a World War Two film and I’ve forgotten the code word … I follow her eye line, turning round.

And there, sitting in one of the black leather chairs and clutching a bouquet of red roses, a suitcase at his side, is Jonny.

His face is white. He blinks at me behind his black-rimmed spectacles.

‘Surprise,’ says Robbie.

No one moves.

After about a minute, Robbie stands up, taking Imo by the hand.

And they leave, closing the door behind them.

It’s early Sunday evening. I close the door to my bedroom very gently. And make my way into the kitchen.

Imo and Robbie are sitting at the dining-room table, long-empty coffee cups in front of them.

‘How is he?’ Imo asks.

‘He’s sleeping now.’ I avoid her gaze, turning the kettle on and then off again. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I pick up a dishcloth and wipe down the kitchen counter, before finally sitting on a chair at the far edge of the table. ‘I had no idea he was coming.’ I trace my finger along the bevelled edge. ‘It was awful,’ I add. ‘He cried.’

Imo looks away.

‘So, what’s this all about, anyway?’ Robbie’s lighting a fresh cigarette, looking at me like she’s Bogart or something.

After three hours of consoling Jonny, going over every painful detail again and again, this is the last conversation I feel like having. ‘Jake asked me to marry him,’ I explain, rubbing my eyes. ‘We love each other and he wants to marry me.’

‘Before or after he found out that you got into Juilliard?’

I sigh, exasperated. ‘What difference does that make?’

She and Imo exchange a look.

Instead of answering, she ignores the question, twirling the tin ashtray round and round with her middle finger. ‘You got into Juilliard, Evie. Where are you going to live? New York?’

Why is she making this so difficult? ‘I’m not going to Juilliard. We’re going to live here. In London.’

She sits forward. ‘How can you not go? It’s everything you’ve ever wanted!’

‘That was before I met Jake! Besides, things are starting to happen for him here. We can’t just leave when his band’s about to be signed!’

‘If he loves you,’ she points out, waving her cigarette, ‘then he’ll go to New York!’

‘It’s not like that, Robbie, and you know it! I can work here. I’m an actress. This is London: the home of drama. What’s he going to do? Fly the whole band out?’

She glares at me. ‘He should wait, then.’

She doesn’t understand anything. ‘I can’t ask him to do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’ll lose him!’ I shout.

‘And what about us!’ she shouts back. ‘We were going live together in New York!’

‘This man is the love of my life!’

‘For fuck’s sake, Evie! How would you know? You’ve only been alive five minutes!’

‘What the fuck is wrong with you, Robbie!’

‘You can’t let me down like this, Evie!’ Her voice catches. ‘You can’t!’

Imo stands up. ‘Stop it! Both of you! You’ll wake up Jonny. Besides, things are bad enough without you screaming at one another!’

Robbie pushes her head in her hands. ‘I just can’t believe you’re going throw everything away like this!’

‘What business is it of yours?’ I demand bitterly.

‘I said, stop it!’ Imo bangs her hand on the table. She yanks Robbie up by her shirtsleeve. ‘You’re coming with me. This is what gin was invented for.’

Imo drags Robbie to the shop on the corner and they return with fresh supplies of liquor, cigarettes and cheap chocolate. She mixes us up a batch of gin and tonics, pouring out half the cold tonic water into a bowl, then filling the bottle back up with gin. We sit in front of the television, drinking and smoking, not talking, watching something strange and surreal called the
Antiques Road Show
.

A man with a red nose and a lopsided bow tie is banging on and on, pointing out the merits of a Chippendale chair salvaged from a dentist’s office in Inverness.

I feel queasy.

The thought of Jonny sleeping in my bed in the next room is nauseating; repulsive. His fragility and genuine confusion, the way he cried, his head on my lap – somehow
it only adds to my physical aversion of him. It’s wrong, I know. Hard-hearted and cruel. But I don’t want to touch him any more, even to comfort him. I belong to Jake. And now, in the flesh, Jonny’s just a small-town boy, in his ‘Frankie Says Relax’ T-shirt … he’s not cool; doesn’t even know what cool is. I want him to take his broken heart, his puppy-dog eyes and leave; to catch the next plane home. But most of all I want to pretend it never happened; that I’m not the kind of person who destroys things without even thinking … just … because.

But I am.

And as long as Jonny is here, I can’t escape it: it’s a constant neon sign flashing on and off, in my brain: ‘It’s your fault. You did this. You.’

I pour another drink from the bottle on the coffee table. Robbie looks at me but doesn’t stop me.

I raise the mug to my lips; it’s a stronger mix than normal; Imo’s not a great bartender, it’s bitter and only lukewarm.

They hate me. I can feel it. They both hate me now.

I put the mug down and stand up.

‘Where are you going?’ Robbie asks.

I look at the floor. ‘I have to call someone.’

She shakes her head. ‘I just hope he’s worth it.’

I stagger towards the door. And holding on to the frame, I turn to face her. ‘If you were really my friend, you’d be pleased for me.’

She looks at me, hard. ‘You’re fucking up,’ she says,
turning back to the television. ‘You’re fucking up your entire life.’

‘Yeah, well …’ My eyes are stinging; I’m tired of crying and yet here they are, more tears. ‘It’s my life,’ I say stupidly, childishly.

She ignores me. Imo’s examining her fingernails.

What does it matter? I have Jake now.

I leave, stumbling into the hallway.

I take a deep breath, pick up the receiver and dial.

‘Operator, how may I help you?’

‘I’d like to make a collect call, please. To the States.’

I give the operator the name and number, then wait, listening to the phone ring far, far away. My head feels light; the hallway’s spinning.

‘Hello?’

‘I have a collect call from a Miss Evie Garlick in London. Do you accept the charges?’

‘Yes.’

‘You may go ahead.’

I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall.

‘Hey, Mom. It’s me.’

‘Evie? What’s going on? Is everything all right?’

‘Mom, I’ve got something to tell you.’

It’s a cloudy, cold afternoon and I’m on my way to meet Allyson for an early supper in Covent Garden before my
class. She says she wants to discuss something with me, most likely a detailed debriefing on her latest crush. There’s a café behind the theatre that’s easy for her to get to while she’s on a break from rehearsals. I stop in a newsagent on St Martin’s Lane to buy a paper to read in case she’s late. (She’s always late.)

Waiting in the queue, my eye is inexplicably drawn to the cigarettes behind the counter, the ones with the huge warning labels declaring things like ‘SMOKING KILLS’ and ‘SECONDARY SMOKE HARMS SMALL CHILDREN’ in big black block letters.

What’s wrong with me today?

I pull my change purse from my bag.

‘Anything else?’ the man asks.

I look around. ‘Jordan Halliwell’s Sex Romp Fiasco’ the front page of
The Sun
screams. I’ve an almost uncontrollable urge to exchange my copy of the
Guardian
.

‘No.’ I push the change across the counter. Educated women don’t read
The Sun
. Educated women read serious articles about world affairs rather than titillating gossip about big-breasted women and their lovers.

Standing to one side, I fold my copy of the
Guardian
and jam it into my holdall.

‘Just this and a packet of Gitanes, please.’

I spin round.

There she is, holding a can of Diet Coke and grinning at me.

‘Do you mind, darling?’ Robbie nods to the waiting assistant. ‘I seem to have left without my wallet.’

The man looks at me expectantly.

And I’m struck again by how incredible it is that other people can see her. It’s reassuring; I’d much rather I wasn’t the only one. But, unfortunately, it doesn’t make her impromptu appearances any more welcome. I’ve only just managed to block the last one out – an extraordinary feat of denial even by my standards. And now she’s back again. The whole bottom of my stomach falls away and weightless anxiety takes its place. Fumbling in my purse, I find another fiver and hand it to him.

She follows me into the street, pulling a couple of wrinkled dollars from her back pocket. ‘Thanks. I so needed a fix! But you see, I only ever have what I had on me when I died. Dollars, I’m afraid.’ And she taps the top of the Diet Coke before pulling it open.

I wish I could be more pleased to see her but I’m not. She stands, apparently oblivious to the cold, dressed in what I’m beginning to think of as her uniform; the same old jeans and orange jumper, grinning at me.

‘Listen, I have an appointment in five minutes,’ I lie.

‘Fifteen,’ she corrects me, taking a gulp. ‘I’m going to walk you over.’

I stop. ‘Do you have to? What I mean is, these … visits are really very disturbing.’

‘Oops!’ She burps and giggles. ‘Pardon me! Listen, Evie,
you’re the one who brought me back. So deal with it. It’s a bit boring having you spin out every time I show up. So anyway.’ She eyes me closely. ‘Who’s been flirting!’

‘I have
not
been flirting!’ I correct her. She’s thrown me. How does she know all this? ‘Piotr was flirting with me! But it’s OK. I put a stop to it.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Why, Evie? For a moment, there, I thought you were actually going to let your hair down and have a good time!’

‘Why?’ We duck down a back alleyway. ‘Because there’s no point! And because those sorts of things are always a huge mistake and …’

‘Don’t you fancy him?’

I scowl at her. She’s being deliberately perverse. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I pull my trench coat tight around me.

She just laughs. ‘So tell me, darling, on exactly what date, at what time, were you transformed into a piece of walking wood? I’m curious.’

I face her.

‘OK, I don’t know why you’re here but if it does have anything to do with me then I have to say it isn’t working for me at all. You have no boundaries, Robbie! You understand nothing about what it’s like to be an adult in an adult world – with responsibilities and people depending on you …’ She’s grinning at me. ‘You’re not listening, are you?’

She shakes her head. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’ She holds up the Diet Coke can. ‘No calories, no nutritional value, no point really, and yet so cunningly satisfying! A little like flirting, wouldn’t you say?’

It’s starting to rain; a light, irritating, unavoidable mist.

‘OK.’ I sigh. ‘You’ve made your point.’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘I’m not likely to either.’

We’re passing my favourite shop. I automatically pause. It’s still there – the cropped black leather jacket in the window. It’s shiny and sleek, nipped in at the waist and wrists, with a thick belt that fastens with a stunning silver clasp. It’s a work of art; tough, tailored and incredibly expensive.

‘Humm, Mean Mommy! Why don’t you buy it?’ She drains her can and burps again.

I shake my head. ‘It’s almost two thousand pounds.’

‘Looks like something a rock star would wear.’

Digging my hands in my pockets, I pull myself away. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

And we walk on, Robbie slouching along next to me, content. Does she even feel the rain?