Christmas at Claridge's Page 6
Stella hissed at her in the dark. ‘Move it, Clem! I’m not bloody going on my own.’
Painfully, tearing her eyes away from his, Clem walked towards the aisle, aware of his gaze upon her back. Why had she thrown that damned piece of popcorn? Why couldn’t she just have sat quietly in the cinema like a normal person instead of starting a food fight with strangers across the room?
‘All right? I’m Jake, he’s Oscar,’ the taller one said to her as she approached, appraising her with lively hazel eyes; she could tell it was his grin she’d seen in the dark. Stella was already in full flirt mode with his friend – a Matt Damon lookalike but with a goatee and thighs like thunder.
‘Clem,’ she muttered as Jake reached for her hand and gallantly kissed it.
‘Well, Clem, let’s go and find some real fun, shall we?’
He held the door open for her and Clem hesitated for a moment. She looked back at the Swimmer. He was holding his beautiful girlfriend’s face in his hands, cupping her like a flower, as if she was the only woman on the planet, much less in this room. Then his lips were upon hers, the door swung shut and once again Clem found herself spun out of his orbit.
The following morning it was so cold that Clem’s breath hung like bridges in the air, leaving a trail of ghostly suspensions behind her as she ran, soft-footed, through the sand paths of Hyde Park. To her right, the No.12 bus was pacing her along the Bayswater Road, and she was gradually gaining on the Queen’s Household Cavalry, who were out for their early morning drills, the red-plumes from their helmets bouncing bonnily their brassware clattering and steam rising from the flanks of their mighty horses.
She reached the path that turned right towards the Serpentine and accelerated, feeling last night’s alcohol dissipate like spirits in the mist. Stella had long since given up trying to stay abreast of her. They did everything together but this. Where Stella ran to lose weight, Clem ran to . . . well, she didn’t really have a reason for it. It was a physical need. She just did it because she could. This was the one thing she was truly good at. And for the record, she didn’t jog, she ran – hard and fast, as though, if she felt like it, she might not stop.
Jake had still been sleeping when she’d left, but she knew he’d be grateful to her for slipping out early and discreetly. He’d been fun. They’d ended up drinking cocktails and chaser shots at the Portobello Star, as he’d determinedly jollied her out of her sulk. Her parting image of the Swimmer kissing his girlfriend had messed with her, and she’d spent much of the first hour wondering whether the charge that surged between them was a figment of her imagination. Then the alcohol had kicked in and everything had settled down into that familiar, dreamy blur that she knew so well and she’d stopped thinking about anything much at all, other than dealing with what was in front of her.
She sped around the Serpentine and back towards the Italian Gardens, hurdling athletically over a buggy that suddenly appeared from behind the café wall, and overtaking a posse of women in orange BMF bibs being shouted out by a commando. By the time she caught sight of Stella ahead of her, fifty minutes later, she’d run three times as far as her friend on half the breath.
Clem laughed as she watched her jogging alongside the cavalry on their way back to the barracks, talking in vain to one of the soldiers atop an 18-hand horse who, in spite of his raging desire to talk to the bosomy brunette, was gloomily bound to regimental silence.
‘Give it up, Stell!’ she called, sitting on the back of a park bench, and motioning for her to come over. ‘He’ll have to clean the loos with a toothbrush for a month if he even looks at you.’
Stella jogged over slowly, holding an overflowing bosom in each hand. ‘Shame. He looked good in brass,’ she panted as she got closer.
Clem chuckled, wiping her hair away from her face and drinking greedily from her water bottle.
‘You were off like a rocket today,’ Stella remarked once she’d got her breath back, instantly reaching into the waistband of her leggings and pulling out a packet of Marlboro.
‘Yeah, I felt like I had some puff today.’
‘You usually only run like that when you’re wound up about something,’ Stella murmured into a cupped hand as she lit up.
‘Me? No.’ Clem slapped the water bottle from hand to hand as if it was a ball.
There was a suspicious silence as Stella inhaled deeply before blowing out smoke slowly. ‘Come on, out with it. I can always tell when you’re hiding something from me. You’re being far too virtuous – running, water. Get you, angel girl.’
Clem sighed. ‘It’s this bloke.’
‘Of course it is!’ Stella cried triumphantly, sliding down the bench until she was lying on her back as if she was on a shrink’s couch. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘There’s nothing to tell, that’s the problem. I was hoping you could tell me.’
‘Me?’
‘I’ve got no idea who he is. I first saw him at yours on New Year’s Eve.’
‘Describe,’ Stella ordered, waving her cigarette around as if it was a wand and closing her eyes in concentration. One of her strongest skills was her photographic fashion memory. She was a nightmare with faces, a disaster with names, but Stella could remember people and places by outfits. There was precious little point in Clem saying ‘6 foot 3 inches, dark blond, angular, big shoulders, blue eyes.’
‘Charcoal jacket with black revers, pale blue shirt, jeans.’
There was a short silence as Stella mentally catalogued the night’s outfits before firmly shaking her head. ‘Nope. Must have been another party.’
‘No, it was definitely New Year’s Eve.’
‘Uh-uh.’
‘I promise you, Stell, it was. I saw him just before Tom pushed the hat down over my eyes and Josh face-planted me.’
‘Ooh, class act.’ Stella giggled. ‘Nah, sorry babes. I’d remember someone in that get-up. The jacket sounds cool.’
Clem rolled her eyes and watched a black cab chunter past on West Carriage Drive. ‘Well anyway, I saw him again last night. He was sitting in front of us at the Electric. Came in late with his girlfriend.’
‘Oh yes – tie-dye Marant jeans and orange pash. She was gorgeous.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Clem replied dejectedly.
‘Oh dear,’ Stella said, tipping her head back and taking in her friend’s lacklustre demeanour. ‘You have got it bad.’
‘No I haven’t. I’m just hungover. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never see him again anyway. I just wondered if you knew him, that was all.’ She took another swig of her bottle.
There was a short silence. ‘Jake was sweet, though.’
‘Yeah, he was funny. I liked him.’
‘Going to see him again then?’
‘Nah.’ Clem watched a young couple chasing after their toddler, who was staggering like a drunk across the grass.
‘Yeah, me neither. I mean, Oscar was cute but a bit young. I have a horrid suspicion he might’ve thought it was more than just a fling – he kept talking about getting tickets to see Florence + the Machine at the Roundhouse. I mean, who said anything about dates? Got to make a swift exit from guys like that, I’m telling you.’
‘No good can come of it,’ Clem muttered.
‘Ain’t that the truth.’
They sat in silence for a few minutes, with just the slap of tumbling water and wobbly smoke rings for company.
‘Fancy a sausage bap?’ Stella asked after a while. ‘I’ve got evil munchies.’
‘Yeah, great.’ Clem stood up, kicking her feet out to shake her thigh muscles, throwing her arms above her head and sinking into some half-hearted side bends.
‘My treat, you need cheering up,’ Stella said, squeezing her arm fondly and propelling her along the park towards Notting Hill Gate.
‘Honestly, I’m fine.’
‘My father always said, “What’s meant for you won’t go past you.” Just you remember that,’ Stella continued solemnly.
‘Any
thing else your father said that I should know about?’
‘Never trust Sagittarians or men with long nails.’
There was a short silence. ‘Interesting man your father,’ Clem said finally.
‘I know! Right?’ Stella laughed, waving her arms so wildly that she inadvertently flagged down a cab. A look of pure longing crossing her face.
‘Oh, get in, then!’ Clem grinned, opening the door and smacking her on the bum. ‘This can be my treat.’
Chapter Six
The low winter sun skated through the sitting-room window at a sharp angle, and at first Clem thought she was home alone as she opened the doors to the flat and blinked into the light-drenched room. But the honeyed aroma of white jasmine wood-scented sticks told her Clover was in the house. She kept them on a high shelf in Tom’s wardrobe, knowing that neither Tom nor Clem would ever bother to retrieve them for themselves, even though they both agreed they smelled heavenly and added a layer not just of sophistication but comfort to the flat. Their message was clear: Clover could make a home for Tom, more so than his slatternly sister.
‘I’m back!’ Clem shouted, feeling cheerier after hers and Stella’s carb-loading at the greasy spoon caff on the corner of Lonsdale Road.
‘So we hear,’ Clover’s soft voice replied from the far corner. Clem peered through the slanting light to find Clover standing by the worktop in one of Tom’s rugby shirts, boxers and hooped socks. ‘Lapsang?’
Clem pulled a face and tried not to retch. ‘Hell no. Where’s Tom?’
‘In bed, trying to catch up on his sleep. Leave him. He’s not slept for more than a few hours a night all week, poor thing.’ Her voice was so soft Clem half-wondered whether she had meditated herself into a trance.
Clem pulled her muddy trainers off her feet and crossed the room, wondering why Clover always made her brother sound so fragile, as though he were some delicate creature that needed protecting (from her, doubtless).
‘I’m bloody well awake now,’ Tom croaked from the bedroom. ‘I’d need dopamine to sleep through that foghorn voice.’
Clem loped through to the bedroom. ‘Hey, bro! Why so lazy?’
Tom groaned as she did a flying leap through the air and landed on the bed so heavily that it rolled several inches across the room on its castors. ‘Some of us have already been up and running, you know,’ she said virtuously, throwing herself widthways across the bed. ‘My body is a temple.’
‘Temple of doom, maybe,’ Tom muttered, pulling the duvet up to his waist and folding his arms behind his head, watching her. ‘Where were you last night? Josh’s again?’
‘Not exactly,’ she grinned, overjoyed that he was talking to her again.
Tom’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t say . . .’
‘I’m not saying anything, big brother. I’m the very soul of discretion.’ She gave a cheeky wink.
Clover wafted into the room carrying a tray of lapsang souchong tea and freshly toasted waffles, topped with chopped bananas, hazelnuts and maple syrup. Both Clem and Tom’s eyes widened at the sight and smell as she gracefully pushed the bed back into the wall with her legs.
‘I’d have made one for you, but you’ve already eaten so . . .’ Clover sat lightly on the bed and fed Tom a bite of waffle.
‘No I haven’t,’ Clem protested, watching as her brother’s eyes closed happily.
Clover tipped her head to the side. ‘So then, the ketchup on your chin . . .?’
Tom chuckled quietly as Clem put a finger to her face and it came back red. She jumped up and peered at her reflection in the mirror. Excellent. A huge gob of ketchup was smeared from lip to jaw.
‘Shamblesshambles,’ Shambles squawked loudly in her ear from the cage beside her.
‘Thanks, Sham,’ Clem moaned. ‘Cos you’ve got such great table manners.’
‘Shamblesshamblesshambles.’
‘Am not.’
‘How many times have I told you not to argue with the parrot?’ Tom asked with a full mouth from the bed. ‘It makes you sound properly mad.’
‘And besides, you know she’ll always win,’ Clover jibed.
Clem wordlessly opened the cage door to let Shambles fly around the room, knowing that Clover had an irrational, but unarticulated, fear of the parrot landing on her head and getting a claw tangled in her hair. Clem came and sat back down on the bed, watching as Clover moved closer to Tom, her eyes never leaving the parrot.
Revenge. Just like that.
‘So, what are you lovebirds up to today, then?’ Clem asked, tucking her legs beneath her and stealing the last bite of waffle left on Tom’s plate while he took a sip of tea.
‘Oi!’ he protested.
‘Cos I’m up for a lazy afternoon at the Electric if you are. I still haven’t seen the new Scorsese yet. I started to last night but . . .’ she shrugged.
Tom’s eyes narrowed again.
‘Well, as much as an afternoon sitting in the dark sounds exciting, we’ve made some appointments to view a couple of flats later,’ Clover smiled.
Clem looked at Tom in alarm. ‘What?’
‘Jesus, Clo! You said you’d let me handle it!’ Tom muttered, visibly annoyed, pulling himself up further into a sitting position. He looked back at his sister, his most placatory expression on his face. ‘It’s only some viewings, Clem. We’ll probably hate them.’
But he was missing the point. ‘You want to move out and leave me?’
‘Not leave you, sis,’ Tom replied urgently. ‘Just . . . here. Maybe.’
Clem blinked at him, speechless, which had the effect on Tom that his tic had on her.
‘Look, it was pretty clear after going through the numbers with Simon yesterday that I have to get some capital into the business. Fast. We’ve used up all our credit with the bank investing in the new machinery, and they won’t extend any more.’
‘But why does that mean you have to move out?’ Clem whined. ‘I pay my rent on time.’
Clover gave the patient smile of the victor. ‘With the company in such trouble, it would be foolish for Tom not to look at downsizing. We’ve talked about it and Tom agrees the best option would be to release his equity in this place and reinvest it in the company instead.’
Equity? Clem felt like she’d been shot with a tranquillizer gun. Their voices seemed hollow and distant, as if they were in a tunnel. ‘You mean you want to sell?’ Clem asked her brother, resolutely ignoring Clover. Talk about going from bad to worse! He was wiping imaginary crumbs off the bed onto the floor and keeping his eyes well away from hers. She saw the now-familiar tension tighten in the corner of his mouth again.
‘Like I said, it’ll probably come to nothing. These flats we’re looking at are all the way out in West Kilburn,’ he replied flatly.
‘Kilburn?’ Clem screeched, as though he’d said Dark Side of the Moon.
‘Yes, Clem. It may not have the fancy Portobello address, but a one-bed out there is almost half what you’d get for this,’ Clover said firmly. ‘It would solve all Tom’s problems in one fell swoop.’
And yours, Clem thought bitterly, glaring at her. She’d been angling for Tom to move in with her for years. This way she was going to get Tom alone at last and herself on the mortgage deeds. ‘But what about me?’
Clover smiled. ‘That’s the beauty of it. You can stay here and just buy the flat off Tom.’
‘Just buy? Just buy?’ Clem hollered, jumping to her feet so that she was standing on the mattress, her head brushing the bottom of the light, which had a top hat as a shade, making for quite a ridiculous image. ‘You know perfectly well I don’t have half a mill to just shell out whenever I want!’
‘No, but your parents have always made it perfectly clear they’d give you financial assistance if you needed it. All you have to do is ask,’ Clover said smugly.
‘The bloody nerve!’ Clem stormed at her brother. ‘Telling us what our parents can or cannot do with their own money. Are you really going to let her get away with that, Tom?’
‘But either way, I’m shafted. Whichever way you look at it, I’m going to lose either my job or my home, right?’ Clem sank dramatically back down onto the bed, her head in her hands.
There was a long pause before Tom could find his voice. ‘As things stand at the moment, yes, that’s pretty much the sum of it,’ he said quietly. His eyes met hers, and Clem almost burst into tears at the sorrow she saw in them. She immediately wanted to throw her arms around his neck and tell him it was all going to be OK, that they’d get through it together, just like they always had. If they could survive being locked in old Mrs Gantry’s shed for three hours that time when they’d climbed over the wall to retrieve a football, then they could survive anything. But she couldn’t, not with Clover lying in the bed next to him, her skinny ankle casually hooked around his leg.
Clover allowed herself a long sip of tea. ‘I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Clem,’ she said calmly and intrusively. ‘You surely must have understood better than anyone that there would have to be some hard decisions taken after the Perignard and Bugatti deals were lost.’
Clem felt the pain of Clover’s words hit home. Clover was a bitch to say it, but it didn’t stop her being right.
Shambles gave a loud and sudden squawk that made the others jump, and Clover dived for cover under the duvet as the parrot swooped of the bamboo ladder that doubled up as Tom’s clothes horse, and came to perch on Clem’s shoulder, rubbing her beak like she was polishing it in Clem’s hair, before taking a loving nip of Clem’s earlobe.