London Calling (4 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

For my next trick I had to find a job. Before I left for Sydney I’d been working in a call centre, having left my teaching career and then managing to drift with no clear plan. However, going back into teaching was the last thing I wanted to do, as were sales or being cooped up as a call-centre chicken. I wanted to propel my life story forward, not send it into reverse. 32-year-old graduate, own hair and teeth seeks gainful employment that won’t lead to thoughts of topping herself. How hard could it be?

Seeing London through fresh eyes always made me wonder about its beauty. When I first arrived back, the city looked far too hectic, an oppressive haze of bodies, cars, buildings and sharp edges. But as soon as my senses became acclimatised after a few days, all the ragged lines, crime and poverty seemed to belong to elsewhere as the vibrancy, energy and architecture filtered into my being. It was a bit like Sydney in that respect – people from the country just couldn’t understand what the pull of noise and concrete was. But somewhere beneath them was the buzz of life that just didn’t happen in the suburbs and beyond.

Today, London looked lopsided, colourful and pulsing as I walked along the Euston Road, shivering even inside four layers of clothing. I hunched my shoulders and tucked my scarf in closer around the front of my neck as the wind razored through my clothing, slicing my skin. Cars glinted in the crackly February demi-sunshine, boxy red buses ground along noisily and black cabs buzzed in and out of traffic with the cocky swagger of those that own the road.

When I’d first spoken about coming home, mum had been full of all the new properties being built and how I should put my name down for a shared ownership scheme as soon as I was back. However, all the flats were outside zone four, outside the protective barrier of the inner city. In the sprawl where the grey concrete stopped sparking with life, where art was a dirty word, where being gay wasn’t quite as revered. Jack and Vic had taken the plunge when they got married and moved out to be able to afford a house. But with two kids and an estate car, they’d been welcomed with open arms and nosy neighbours. When you’re a friend of Dorothy, different priorities came into force.

All of this contributed to the fact that I was planning a move inwards when all of my straight mates were branching out in search of gardens and sash windows, married up with two-hour-long commutes. Not that I didn’t covet all of those things – apart from the commuting. I was in my 30s after all, where thoughts traditionally turn away from beer and all-nighters to cocktails, wine and dinner parties. For now, though, a job was the starting point that headed towards that goal.

***

When I got home my mum had a surprise for me – a mobile phone with £30 of credit on it, telling me to contact my mates and give them this number.

“I saw Julia in the High Street today and she said she’d love to see you!”

For some reason, I’d been stalling on contacting my old mates. Kate was safe: she wasn’t going to judge, plus we had family to laugh at together. Deep down, I knew all my other mates wouldn’t judge either and would be happy to see me – they were on my side, after all – but my own judgement wasn’t so forgiving.

I’d sailed off to Australia three years ago full of optimism about how my life might turn around out there. I celebrated my 31st birthday in a new lesbian strip club in Surry Hills with Karen on my arm, full of hope for the future. But by the time she’d rinsed my heart dry, I realised nothing was changing fast. Now here I was back home, living with my parents and somehow that felt like I’d failed. And my mum knew that. Perhaps she’s wiser than I give her credit for. She was right about my friends, of course. And it wasn’t true that I’d learnt nothing – I’d definitely learnt that you couldn’t run away from yourself, no matter how hard you tried.

My old friend Julia was thrilled to hear from me, cancelled her plans for the next day and told me to come and meet her for lunch in town, her treat. Sarah, my mate from uni, booked me up for a night on the lesbian tiles on Friday, telling me that she’d round up the troops.

After that I called Adam, my best mate from my former dull job and the one good thing to come out of it. Adam was a straight-acting gay man at work, but once in Soho he got in contact with his inner glitter and had no trouble sparkling. Adam was still at the firm, although he was now bossing people like us around and still hating it.

“You did the right thing getting out – I can feel my soul withering by the hour,” he told me.

He offered me some work which I politely declined, but he let me know the offer stood if nothing else came up. I asked about his love life and he told me he’d been laying off the scene of late. He’d just bought a flat in Tufnell Park and was busy nesting, spending every weekend either visiting Ikea or tending his balcony herb garden.

“A herb garden? I’m impressed,” I said.

“Don’t knock it. If you’re trying to cook all of Jamie’s meals it’s a godsend to have all these herbs on hand.”

“Are you turning camp in your dotage, dear?”

“I’m thinking of getting one of those lacy dolls to cover my spare loo rolls. Since turning 35, I see the point.”

“I’ve got all this to come,” I said. “All you need now is a husband to pick your herbs for you.”

“Now that would be lovely.”

Another few more calls and arrangements later, and it felt like my social calendar was booked up for a year. I prepared myself to tell the same stories of love, loss and surf over and over, then offered to make dinner which mum readily accepted. She settled herself in front of the telly with tea and cake, watching a show about adult children coming home to live and how they bleed you dry.

“You can stay as long as you like,” she said as I began chopping onions and garlic for my Bolognese. I told her she was too kind.

CHAPTER NINE

The next day at lunch Julia launched herself at me as soon as I walked into the fancy French bistro she’d chosen. She was taking a break from her job as a high-powered lawyer and her 5 foot 7-inch slim frame was suitably attired in a stylish grey skirt and jacket with a lilac shirt. Her face was done in that clever way where you make it up to look completely natural when it’s actually caked with slap. Her dark hair cascaded over her square shoulders, her toned ankles barely supported in 3-inch shiny black heels. In short, she looked professional and stunning, and I told her so.

“Oh I’ve missed you and your lezza charm!” she said. “And I can’t believe you’ve been home since Sunday and it’s taken you this long to call – I thought your flight had been delayed or something.”

My chair made an awful screeching sound as I pulled it out from under the table, making us both recoil slightly.

“No, just me working up the courage to come out of hiding. Plus it’s so bloody cold here, I was thinking about just doing what tortoises do and asking mum to wake me up when May arrives.”

“You great berk,” she said, helping herself to the basket of bread and butter on the table and offering it to me.

“You look fab anyhow – even a bit tanned. And I like your hair that length – suitably dykish. You’re coming round for dinner soon so you can see Tom. Plus I have this friend I’m so setting you up with!”

“Can I catch my breath before you start your dating service on me again?”

***

I’d known Julia since secondary school where we’d become close friends due to our love of music and drinking. When school ended, Julia and I went on to the local sixth-form college to do A levels and had kept in touch through university, pooling our shared experiences over summer and Easter drinking sessions.

Julia had met Tom at uni, had moved in with him six years ago and she was succumbing to marriage in a few months’ time. She had one of the sharpest minds I knew and, to top it off, had those elusive qualities that I failed spectacularly on – drive and ambition. What Julia wanted, Julia got.

I, on the other hand, came out, graduated, hated teaching and then proceeded to drift from job to job, going through a belated adolescence where I actually wanted to sleep with people before I eventually settled down with a blonde named Maria. We’d lived together for three years before drifting apart a year prior to my Sydney jaunt. She’d since married some woman called Abby – I’d been invited but declined from the other side of the world.

***

“So how are the wedding plans coming along?” I said. I tilted my head to one side like a question mark.

“Nightmare – let’s not talk about it. I’m boring myself so I’m sure it’s thrilling for everyone else around me.”

“That’s what you’re meant to do though, isn’t it – bore the pants off everyone? Two girls in my office in Sydney were getting married last year and it’s all they talked about for 12 whole months. In the end, I had to hand it to them – their persistence was impressive.”

“Let’s just say it’s all done as far as I can tell. Apart from the huge pile of stuff that I keep ignoring. Tom’s parents are still peeved it’s not happening in a church and he keeps wilting, until I remind him that it’s our wedding and not theirs.” She breathed out an exasperated sigh.

“Then there’s my mum and her constant bleating about a theme – what is it with weddings and themes? I told her the theme was us and wasn’t that enough? I think she’d be happier if I announced we’d both be dressing as Elvis, expected the guests to do the same and hired an Elvis tribute artist to perform. I honestly think it’s more trouble than it’s worth but it’s too late to pull out now, as I keep reminding Tom. I’m a hopeless romantic, what can I say? You’ve saved the date, right?”

She tugged on her cufflinks as she asked me, smoothing her shirt on her right arm.

“Logged in my brain. I might even buy a new tie for the occasion.”

“Oh, splashing out!” She paused. “I tell you though, I’m certainly only doing it once – it’s tedious in the extreme and bloody expensive. I’m sure if we’d just called it a party and not a wedding we could have slashed the cost in half. As soon as the W word is mentioned, companies start painting zeros on the end of their bills and they know you’re going to pay for it because that’s what you do.”

“Glad it’s such a time of joy,” I said.

“There’s the honeymoon though – I’m looking forward to that. Three weeks on safari – it’s the only thing that’s keeping me going.”

I leaned back as the waiter brought our starters – butternut squash soup for me and goat’s cheese salad for Julia.

“Fantastic, I’m starving. No breakfast this morning, just a hugely dull meeting,” she said, tucking in with gusto.

“So how is the world of lawyering?” I said. “Have you turned into Ally McBeal yet?”

She shook her head sadly.

“I still feel let down – it was the only reason I became a lawyer. But when I got there nobody wanted to do karaoke and nobody wanted to have sex on a desk or lick my wattle.”

We both laughed, knowing this was half-true – Ally McBeal really was Julia’s inspiration for being a lawyer.

“It’s good to see you – I missed this,” I said. I took a mouthful of soup and winced as it burnt my tongue.

“Me too,” she replied.

“So is this a regular haunt?”

“Yeah, it’s good for lunches – and by the way, this is on me. Or rather, on Hall & Turner.”

I picked up my glass of wine.

“Well here’s to Hall & Turner.”

Julia chinked and we both drank.

Half an hour later we both had our mains of salmon and a refilled glass in front of us, and I’d filled in Julia on my heartbreak. She was stoic about the whole situation, claiming I’d had a lucky escape discovering Karen’s spinelessness so early on.

“It could have happened five years in and then you’d have felt much worse. Better to get it out of the way within the first year if it’s going to happen, right?”

“Is that looking on the bright side?” I said.

“No such thing as a bad experience, just an experience,” she said, a sage look on her face.

“So says the woman who’s never had her heart broken.”

“I’ve read books!” Julia said. She paused to take a swig of wine.

“By the way, have you heard about Maria?”

“Maria Maria?” I said.

“The very same.”

“No. What?”

“Pregnant.”

“What?” I almost shrieked, before recalling where we were. “But she hates kids!”

“Not anymore.”

“I can’t believe it.” I shook my head, disbelief coating my mouth. “I at least thought she’d get the other one to do the dirty work. Still not tempted?”

“To be a lesbian or have kids? I think Tom would say no to both, unless he could watch of course.”

Myself and Julia had always been steadfast in our ambition to avoid having children, if for very different reasons. Julia was a lifelong child-phobe and so had spent her entire adult life pumped full of hormones designed to stop the joining together of her eggs and any errant sperm. Injections, IUDs, pills – you name it, she’d used it.

For me, the story was more one of ‘it’s not likely to happen by accident and I haven’t met anyone who’s changed that view’. Our lives had continued on a path of spare income, dinner parties, nights out and weekends away with no thought given to babysitters or child-friendly venues.

“Anyway, back to you and your single status – I have a woman for you and she’s perfect!”

I thought about Lucy from the pub the other night and wondered if she’d be as perfect as her, but then put her out of my mind and forced myself to concentrate on the here and now. Besides, she’d probably meet the woman of her dreams in Oz and decide to stay there for good. She might even meet Karen. Oh god, don’t let her meet Karen…

“Hello? Earth to Jess?” Julia was snapping her fingers in front of my face.

“Sorry,” I said. I put myself firmly back in the room.

“I was talking about setting you up on a hot date with the perfect woman and you drift off…”

“Didn’t you say that about the last two?” I said.

“This one is for real though. Tom and I both fancy her but we’re leaving her for you.”

“For a supposedly straight woman, you know an awful lot of single dykes.”