The Other Ida (12 page)

“They'll kill me when they find out I've gone. We can't be long. Where can we walk to, kid? I'm drunk. Or pissed, don't you say pissed?”

“Yeah. I'm pissed.” Ida tried to smile. She wasn't sure what was funny, her feet were hurting and she felt a bit out of her depth.

“Take off your shoes. I dare you,” Annie said.

Ida did as she was told. The ground was cold through her tights, but not unbearably so. Everything felt sort of warm and exciting.

“Hey mister,” Annie called out to a man walking past, “where's good to walk to from here? Somewhere totally pretty and kind of magic.”

“Let's head to the river,” said Ida. “It's magic there.”

They walked through Piccadilly Circus and Annie asked her questions about the streets and the buildings while Ida made up answers as best she could. Although Ida noticed people recognise Anna, pointing her out to their friends, she seemed to be oblivious, gripping Ida's elbow and gossiping about the crew on the film. At any moment, Ida was sure, she would realise she had made a terrible mistake, notice the acne on Ida's chin, and make her way back to the party.

As they walked past the entrance to the National Portrait Gallery, with the steps of St Martin's over to their left, Ida began to walk more quickly, pulling Annie gently along.

“There's something at the end, here,” Ida said. “You're going to love it, you'll see.”

They stepped into Trafalgar Square and both stood still, barely breathing, as Ida tried to work out the way she felt. It was joy, she decided, a strange, scary joy at being dwarfed by magical buildings with a magical girl on her arm. Even her blood felt magical, pumping quickly round her head. There were drunks on the steps, and people kissing, but Ida had never seen it so quiet.

“It's like a huge dancefloor, just for us. Man, if it was summer I'd be in those fountains like a shot,” said Annie.

“Not summer in England you wouldn't. It's eerie here, isn't it? With Nelson standing over us – all the way up there. He seems alive today, I swear. Everything feels funny today, like things are changing.”

“Yes! The whole world's changing.”

“I mean, for me, tonight. I feel kind of, I don't know, electric.”

“I can feel it. Man, I can really feel it.” She touched Ida's fingertips with hers.

Ida closed her eyes, felt Annie lean towards her and then, a soft mouth on her bottom lip. Ida shuddered slightly, opened her eyes, leant down, and before she could stop herself, kissed her full on the mouth. A charge ran from her head to her shoeless feet and she pulled Annie as close to her as she could, amazed at what was happening, noticing everything around her – the low rumble of the cars driving past, the cold air on the tops of her ears, each small place where their bodies touched. A group of men walked past and whooped and Annie pulled away.

“Thanks guys,” she shouted, looking up at Ida and smiling. “Let's get moving, down to the river,” she stood on her tiptoes, kissed Ida's nose and stroked the fur of her coat.

They found their way to Embankment, then up onto a bridge and stood looking out over the black Thames. Ida had never been there before. It was far less glamorous than the other bridges she'd been to – Tower Bridge, Westminster Bridge – just a manky railway bridge with a narrow walkway. But the view of the Houses of Parliament was pretty spectacular.

She awkwardly put her arm round Annie's waist and wondered if she could get used to this. Annie was so sweet, so beautiful, so delicate, she felt almost scared. She wanted more drugs.

“Look at all the lights. Think of all those guys in their houses, watching TV with their ugly husbands or wives,” Annie said. “When we're here being all cute and happy and magic. What would you like to do with your life, Ida? If you could do anything?”

“I don't know…”

“You want to be an actress. Any girl who kisses another girl in front of loads of guys, in Trafalgar Square, well, she wants to be an actress for sure.”

“It wasn't like that. You kissed me. And I didn't know they were there.”

“I just got caught up in things. You started it. ‘Ohh Annie, I feel electric'.”

Ida could easily have cried.

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I do feel electric. You are electric. You could be an actress, why not? There are parts for big girls. I think you'd be great.”

Ida didn't know what to say so didn't reply and looked out towards the pointed silhouette of Westminster Palace, the dark houses to the left of the river and the hundreds of thousands of flickering lights. There was a rumble as a train drove onto the bridge, an almighty roar as it sped its way behind them. Ida hugged Annie as tight as she could, worried – ridiculously – that they'd get knocked over the edge and into the freezing water.

“I used to make up plays with my sister, you know, we used to film them on the beach. Ages ago,” Ida said, appalled at the memory that their last film – the most embarrassing one of all – had only been made the year before.

“I bet they were cute.”

“They were weird and terrible. We did stuff from
Ida
too, I even did the scene on the beach, you know. Well, my own version.”

“I bet you were good at it. I bet you could do anything you wanted to.”

“Nothing that involves learning anything, I've just had to leave school. My mum called the headmistress a stupid cow and took me out.”

Annie laughed. “School sucks. How old are you anyway? Seventeen?”

“Yes,” Ida lied.

“I'm twenty-three and I haven't been to school since I was nine, not properly. I was meant to have a tutor, you know, on set, but he was just some pervert and I never listened to a word he said. You'll be fine.”

“Promise?” asked Ida.

“I promise.”

Annie gripped the railing with both hands and leant over the edge. “Imagine jumping off. It would be cold, wouldn't it? I've been nuts enough to do it, not tonight, but I have been. Maybe you'll push me.”

Ida kissed the back of Annie's head and she turned round, reached up, held Ida's face and kissed her again. Her shoeless feet were numb now and for one glorious moment Ida felt she was floating somewhere above the river, held up by Annie's arms.

The coke was starting to wear off and Annie got worried that she'd be in terrible trouble for leaving the party. Getting back was tricky, and as they neared the Café Royale Ida felt faint and hungry but didn't say anything to Annie. She was worried about her ma. The streets were quieter now, it was very late, and there was always the fear, which she could barely acknowledge, that Bridie would choke on her own sick, fall and break her back, or end it on purpose, properly this time.

Annie was talking about the suite she was in at Claridges and how much Ida would love it. But Ida felt scared. She had no idea what she'd do with Annie if she got to the hotel and the thought of this perfect woman seeing her naked, or whatever she was planning, was too much to cope with.

“I need to go home, I think, well, to the hotel. Shirley was right. My mum can be, well, dangerous.”

“Boo. That's a shame. It would have been fun. All the guys would have been there, partying. No problem though – some other time.”

“The thing is, I don't have any money for a cab, I don't think.”

“You serious? A girl like you doesn't need cash. I never pay for anything. Watch this.”

She hitched up her dress, stepped into the road and stuck out her thumb. A black cab from the other side of the street did a U-turn and pulled up next to them.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Hyde Park – the Hilton. The thing is – I don't have any money.”

Annie slapped her gently on the back, got into the front seat and, without hesitating, kissed the middle-aged driver passionately, her hands on his chest. Ida was jealous and proud at the same time. Annie pulled away. Ida leant in to hear what they were saying.

“It's okay, isn't it, you'll take my friend home, yeah?”

“Ummm,” the man looked confused.

Annie sighed. “Here, give this to your wife for her birthday, it's worth a thousand cab rides, I promise.”

She took off a narrow bracelet, set with something that looked like diamonds, handed it to the man, then climbed back out of the cab and stood in front of Ida. “Don't worry, all that crap is insured,” she said.

Then she kissed Ida in the hollow at the base of her neck while the cabbie looked at them and shook his head. “Get in then, kiddo. Sleep tight – great to meet you. Remember, you can do whatever you want to. You've got the power! You're electric!”

Ida threw her shoes onto the back seat of the taxi, climbed in after them and sprawled across the seat. The car pulled away and she sat up and turned to see the tiny figure of Anna DeCosta waving at her through the rear window, smiling her lovely, secretive smile. Ida turned away and without any warning burst into tears.

“Fucking hell,” murmured the cabbie.

“I'm sorry, I'm tired,” Ida said.

She held her breath as she let herself into the room, unsure what she would find. To her surprise the lights were on and Bridie was sitting on the bed, straight-backed in her white cotton nightdress, her hair down and brushed out, watching
The Munsters
.

Bridie turned round, slowly. Her face was completely free of make-up and she looked very old indeed.

“So there you are. Did you have a good time?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I see you've been crying. That's a shame. It would at least have been nice for you to have a good time. There's not much for you in bloody Bournemouth is there?”

“I did have a nice time.”

“But why are you crying?”

“I don't know.”

“As long as you don't think those people liked you, Ida, any more than they liked me. They're a fickle lot, I've told you that. You've got the name for it, but not the looks, and probably not the talent. Don't let them fool you for one God damn second.”

“Okay.” Ida lay on the bed and turned away.

“At least wash your face before you get into bed. Your skin needs some air.”

Ida stood up and walked towards the brightly lit bathroom. Her hair was a mess and she had make-up smudged round her eyes but, from where she stood, she couldn't see her spots in the mirror. Instead what she noticed was a faint, peach lipstick mark, just below her neck. She turned round.

“I'm not having it anymore, Ma. Some people do like me – they think I'm clever and funny and interesting – even pretty. And if you think I'm not, well, that's the way you and Da fucking made me and that's your problem. I won't listen to you being horrible to me anymore. You're a wino, and a fucking… a fucking, bloody, horrible bitch. And everyone, absolutely everyone thinks so. Okay?”

Bridie sniffed and turned back towards the TV. Herman Munster was dancing. “Someone's grown up,” was all she said.

Chapter eleven

~ 1999 ~

They had given up on TV. Tom had been out for more wine before the shop shut and they sat around the kitchen table with a glass each. Radio Four was on, quietly, and Ida could see her hunched reflection against the night sky in the glass of the back door. Behind her she could see Tom rubbing Alice's back. She had a sudden, sharp wish for Elliot to come. Not that he'd dream of rubbing her back.

Alice was writing things down and explaining them as she wrote. She was slightly slurring her words. “So, I've ordered the willow coffin and the Mass cards, Hendon's are dealing with them, and Father Patrick is doing the service, she always liked him.”

“I can't believe he's still alive,” Ida said, picking the wax off the candlestick that stood on the table.

Alice didn't answer.

“What about the eulogy?” Tom asked.

Ida and Alice looked at each other.

“I think she'd hate it,” said Alice. “I've asked the priest to say a few words about her, and us and her work.”

“No, that's one of those things she would say she'd hate. People going on about how great she was? She'd love it!” Ida said.

“I don't think so. Anyway, it's arranged.”

Ida kept quiet. She had no idea why Alice was asking her questions when she didn't want them to be answered. At least there was more wine. But nowhere near enough.

“You know what,” Alice said, “I could actually do with a fag.”

Tom and Alice were lying on Bridie's bedroom floor laughing hysterically and smoking. Alice had lit candles and put them round the room and Ida felt inexplicably angry and miserable while she watched them rolling about. She supposed it was the drinking; she often got bored drinking with normal people as they always got drunk so quickly, leaving her in the unusual position of being the sober, sensible one. Tom had suggested coming up here to smoke, the room still smelled of cigarettes anyway, but it was Alice who had suggested reading the film script out loud. There it was, the curled bundle of A4 sheets, signed by Anna DeCosta, with ‘bullshit' written in huge letters on the front.

“Read us another bit, please. Dear God, oh God I'm going to wet myself,” Alice said.

“All my cells are broken, crushed, you don't know what it feels like,” Ida read, frowning. She was being the sister – Kate – the pathetic one; the one they'd discovered had the best cheesy lines.

“All my cells are broken, Tom, you don't know what it feels like,” Alice said to Tom and he tickled her.

The wine was nearly finished.

“I think I might go to bed, it's after three,” Ida said.

Tom stopped tickling Alice; sat up and turned towards her. “Don't do that, read some more,” he said.

“Alright, but not this shit, I'm reading from Ma's actual play. You are as well. Come on, sit up you two.”

Ida crawled towards the wardrobe and opened the door. She closed her eyes. She wasn't ready to see her mother's clothes and the smell of damp and Chanel No.5 was almost too much. She reached in and pulled out a box. It was still there, it had been there for years.