Escape for the Summer (9 page)

Tom smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe I’ll let you find out in my own time? Let’s just say I have some very happy memories of our time together.”

Andi gripped the doorframe so tightly her knuckles glowed through her skin. If he was alluding to what she
thought
he was alluding to, then Tom was even lower than the worms.

“That was between us,” she whispered. “That was private!”

“And the operative word there is
was,”
Tom laughed, a harsh mirthless sound. “After all, Andi, like you say, it’s over. You’ve thrown me out without even giving us a second chance.” He shrugged. “Well, it’s your loss. Without me you’re nothing! Just a pathetic, boring, crap-in-bed accountant who lives in Clapham. And that’s all you’ll ever be.”

And with this parting shot he was gone, sauntering out of the apartment block without so much as a care in the world.

How dare he? When he had cheated and lied and ripped her off and threatened her? Andi was furious!

“I’m not an accountant anymore!” she yelled at his retreating back. “I’ve been made redundant and guess what? I’m going to do something different. I’m going to go somewhere new and start again. And,” she added with a sudden flash of inspiration, “this isn’t even Clapham, you moron! It’s bloody Balham!”

And Andi couldn’t wait to see the back of the place.

Chapter 9

As far as Andi was concerned today had gone as heinously as any day could possibly go. So far she had been set up by her git of a colleague, made redundant from the job that was keeping the entire pack of wolves from her door, caught her boyfriend cheating and had her bank account emptied. And it was only early afternoon.

Since Tom’s departure she’d been very busy tearing round the flat like the Tasmanian Devil, ramming any of Tom’s leftover bits into bin bags. Hurling them down the stairs was extremely cathartic. She ripped the sheets off the bed and stuck them on the hottest wash possible and played “I Will Survive”
at full volume. All she needed to do now was get a radical haircut and lose a few stone and she’d have exhausted every broken-hearted cliché going.

Not bad going for one hour’s efforts.

Andi had to keep busy because if she thought too hard about everything she’d go into meltdown. The problem was that the flat was so small that tidying it only took ten minutes – and there was only so long a girl could watch daytime telly before she seriously contemplated sticking her head in the microwave. So, there was only one thing for it. Andi was going to have to start drinking until she didn’t care anymore or passed out; she really wasn’t fussed about in which order.

Right. What did she have in the kitchen? Some ancient red that she sometimes used for cooking. It smelt a bit rough and could probably double for paint stripper, but broken-hearted beggars couldn’t be choosers. There wasn’t very much left though. What else was there? She flung open the fridge and tra da! Hiding behind a heel of tired-looking Cheddar and a wilted bag of Florette was a bottle of white wine. It needn’t think it can hide there, thought Andi as she reached in, not when there was a woman in need of oblivion in the kitchen!

The Christmas Baileys from the back of the cupboard soon joined her haul, as did a bottle of ten-year-old malt Tom had overlooked in his speedy exit. Andi lined her spoils up on the worktop and then fetched a mug. Today was not a day for faffing about with glasses. It was time to get stuck in.

Andi was just in the process of making a lovely concoction of red, white and whiskey – which would hopefully do the trick – when there was a knock at the door followed by non-stop sounding of the buzzer. She ignored it. It was probably Tom coming back for another game of Fish the Watch out of the Bog.
Well, he could ring all day and all night! There was no way she was opening up.

Andi was deliberating whether or not to add a splash of Baileys to the mix just to help her on her way when there was a knock on the door. Typical. Where was solitude when a girl needed it to drink herself silly?

“Go away!” She shouted, sloshing the Baileys into a mug having decided that she may as well do this properly. “I never want to see you again!”

“Charming,” replied a voice huffily. “Be like that then. If that’s how you feel then I’ll go.”

Andi nearly choked on her drink. Not only because it was disgusting but because it was Angel at the door. This was unusual for two reasons: the first was that Angel seldom left Tooting unless she really wanted something, and the second was that she should be hard at it waxing and plucking and tanning in the beauty salon where she worked. “Worked” in the loosest sense of the word, that was. Angel hadn’t been in the queue when the work ethic was handed out; she’d probably been lying in after a heavy night out clubbing. So to find her sister banging on the door in the middle of the afternoon did not bode well. With a horrible “beware the Ides of March”
sensation, Andi went to let her in.

“About bloody time,” muttered Angel, trotting into the  lat and flopping onto the sofa. “Tea would be nice, Andi Pandy, and a biscuit if you’ve got one. I’m starving. I’ve had such a bad day.”

Andi shut the door slowly. The day was only halfway through; surely it couldn’t get any worse?

“Ooo! What’s this?” Angel’s big blue eyes clocked the drinks on the kitchen counter. “Cocktails? Yummy! Can I have one?”

Without waiting for a reply she was pouring herself a tumbler of Andi’s special Misery Mix,
which she knocked back like it was a tequila shot.

“Bloody hell, sis! That’s strong! How much of this have you had?”

“Not nearly enough,” Andi said grimly.

Angel’s nose crinkled. “It’s got a right kick to it. Beats Jägerbombs. Can I have some more?”

“No you can’t,” Andi said. She knew her sister. If she wasn’t careful Angel would guzzle the lot and then how could she get roaringly drunk?

“You’re so tight. I only wanted a little drink.” Angel pouted but, unlike those who usually succumbed to Angel’s ploys, Andi was not a man and was therefore totally unmoved.

“Step away from the alcohol,” she said. “And if we’re playing crap-day trumps, yours cannot possibly be worse than mine.”

“Bet it can,” said Angel airily, opening up the fridge and screwing up her perfect nose at the lack of contents. “No food? But I’m starving! And I’ve lost my job.”

That was a big surprise, rather on a par with being told that the Pope is a Catholic. Nevertheless Andi felt herself going into big sister mode. She just couldn’t help it. After years of looking out for Angel this was Andi’s default setting.

“Oh Angel! What happened?”

Angel shrugged. “Nothing really. It was silly. Mrs Yuri just took something I said really personally.”

“Not Mrs Yuri, wife of the oligarch?”

Angel nodded her blonde head. “Yep, the one who looks like a pig in a suit? Oink oink! She’s got this mole on her face. It’s huge and hairy but she seems fine about it and we’re all meant to ignore it. But today it looked different, a bit pink and sore, and I had to say something.” She paused. “If somebody had pointed out Mum’s mole things could have been very different, couldn’t they?”

Andi swallowed. Even after all these years the loss stabbed her speechless.

“Anyway, before I could finish explaining it was only because I was worried it looked suspicious, I was on the pavement with my P45.” She looked most hard done by. “I was only trying to help.”

“Of course you were,” said Andi firmly. “Maybe she’ll actually go away and think about what you said?”

Angel pulled a face. “I doubt it. She’s probably organising a hit on me right now. Anyway, never mind her. This arrived this morning too. I’m really not very happy.”

She delved into her Chanel bag, scattering old lippies, tattered celebrity magazines and fluffy Tampax all over the just-cleaned floor, and pulled out a thick and official-looking envelope. Thrusting it at Andi, she said, “Some guy handed it to me just as I was leaving the salon. It’s bang out of order, don’t you think?”

Andi tugged the letter out of the heavy envelope and skimmed the words. Even though they were phrased in eloquent legalese, the meaning couldn’t be any clearer.

Trespass again, you lunatic, and we will sue your ass.

For a second her sacking, the missing money and even Tom’s betrayal were totally forgotten. What on earth had Angel done now?

“Nothing! It’s all a silly fuss,” said her sister when Andi pressed her on this. “Some people have absolutely no sense of humour.”

“I may be one of them today,” Andi muttered. “Have you tried to gatecrash another party?”

She already knew the answer. It was practically one of the laws of physics; Stephen Hawking probably had an equation for it.

“Oh come on, Ands, where’s your sense of adventure?” said Angel, now readjusting a false eyelash by peering at the microwave door. “If I hadn’t been caught trying to sneak into the private estate I know it would have all worked out,” she sighed.  “Gemma thought it was a great idea.”

At the mention of her sister’s flatmate Andi rolled her eyes so hard they almost fell out of her head and rattled across the kitchen floor. Gemma was so flaky you could stick her in a 99. When she wasn’t driving everyone mad with fad diets she was busy coming up with some madcap scheme to get on the telly and make her fortune. In Andi’s opinion Gemma was a seriously bad influence on her sister. They were both as fame obsessed as each other. And she was so messy! Any self-respecting pig would balk at spending time in Gemma’s basement hovel.

“Don’t look like that,” said Angel. “Gemma’s all right once you get to know her.”

Andi considered telling her that getting to know Gemma Pengelley wasn’t top of her bucket list, but she decided to keep quiet. Actually, she didn’t decide at all; it was more a case that she couldn’t speak because she was far too busy reading about how her sister had been pulled off the private estate’s fence and carried away by the security team, probably totally amazed to meet men immune to her long tanned legs and tearful pleas. Apparently the estate management didn’t tolerate trespassers.

“Trespassers? Of all the cheek!” spluttered Angel when Andi read this bit aloud. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so insulted in my entire life!”

“So, until you are famous, what are you going to do for work and money?” Andi asked.

“Chillax, sis, that’s all sorted,” Angel grinned, flipping her blonde extensions over her fake-tanned shoulders. “Gemma and I have decided to get out of London for the summer and head down to Cornwall to get some sun. What have we got to lose? She’s not working and I’d had enough anyway even before Mrs Yuri and her silly old mole. Apparently Callum South’s filming his reality show in Rock. Rock, Andi! Remember how we loved it there?”

Andi didn’t reply and Angel sighed wearily.

“At least try and look excited for us. Who knows, maybe we’ll get picked to appear on Cal’s show? It’ll be like Cornish
TOWIE
! I love Callum South, don’t you? He’s well fit!”

Andi grimaced. Callum South, the ex-Premier League footballer, was more famous these days for his battle of the bulge than his once glittering career. He was pretty much everywhere you looked, from billboards to magazines, and even she had seen bits of his reality series in which he’d had to lose weight by trying out extreme sports. No holds were barred and she had to admit it was compulsive viewing. Once, revoltingly, they even filmed his colonic irrigation. However attractive Callum South might be with his melting Malteser eyes and sexy Irish accent, it was a bit depressing if appearing on his show was the height of her sister’s ambitions. The entire idea smacked of Gemma Pengelley. It was
exactly
the sort of hare-brained scheme she always hatched.

“Stop pulling faces; you’ll get stuck,” warned Angel. “Cal’s well fit and I think it could be fun. Anyone who’s anyone spends the summer there. London’s practically empty. Who knows who we’ll meet and what could happen?”

“Rock’s really expensive,” Andi said doubtfully. “How will you afford it?”

“Stop looking for all the negatives!” Angel shook her head. “Sis, you need to chill. We’re not about to sleep on the streets! Gem’s from Bodmin, remember? She knows somebody with a caravan in Rock we can have really cheap. We’ll get summer jobs and have a right laugh.” She paused and her face went all dreamy. “You never know, Prince Harry might be about! Maybe he’ll take me to Rick Stein’s?”

Andi laughed in spite of her despair. “Or perhaps he’ll just moor his superyacht next to the windsurfing school, catch one look at you in your wetsuit and fall head over heels in love?”

“That’s exactly it! Of course he will! Oh Andi, you should come too! It’s about time you had some fun. You’d love it! We had some good times in Rock, didn’t we? Before Mum died?”

Andi nodded. She didn’t tend to look back much – it was too painful – but when she did think of those endless summers they were framed in her mind like golden snapshots of another life, a life before illness, grief and the misery of boarding school. She wasn’t sure how she’d feel about going back. There were too many memories there, some happy and some painful. Her past wasn’t so much a foreign country as another planet entirely.

“Stop being such a stick-in-the-mud,” said Angel dismissively when Andi didn’t jump at the offer. “I’ll get a tan, do some wakeboarding and meet some hot guys.” She grinned at this before adding as an afterthought, “Anyway, enough of me going on. Why weren’t you in the office? Are you bunking? Or are you ill?” Her blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You look bloody awful.”

That was hardly surprising because “bloody awful” was
exactly how Andi felt – but Angel was so optimistic about her summer plans that Andi couldn’t bear to start banging on about her own woes. Anyway, Angel had drunk most of the misery cocktail and if Andi lost her composure now there’d be nothing to blot out the pain. Maybe she’d go to M&S and buy a great big slice of Death by Chocolate instead? There were worse ways to go.

“It’s nothing,” Andi said.

Her sister gave her a hard stare. Angel knew Andi inside out. Nothing bonded sisters more than losing a parent and having to survive a concentration camp of a boarding school.