Charlie
I’m waiting outside Kentish Town tube station at 10 a.m. on Saturday morning. It’s going to be a long day.
I hear them before I see them.
“To the right! Stand to the bloody right, woman,” Callie bellows.
I hear Mum tutting. “If they want to pass me, they can ask.”
Their two heads appear at the top of the escalator. Mum’s is rollered to within an inch of its life, and Callie has on a crimson (is that food colouring?) crop.
Callie grins when she sees me, but Mum looks tight-lipped, and I groan silently as I spot the bum-bag fastened tightly around her midriff. One hand clasps it with an unyielding grip for fear of dirty Londoners stealing her loose change.
At the barriers, Mum makes a great scene of stepping aside to face the wall while she opens her bum-bag to get her ticket. With a look of triumph, the ticket is produced and placed in the ticket slot in slow motion.
I watch as she places the ticket in the wrong gate’s slot. The barriers to her left bang open, waiting for someone to walk through them.
Mum frowns at the barriers she is standing in front of and tries to push them open. “These ones aren’t working.”
“Go to the other one.” I beckon furiously to the open gate, waiting for someone to come through while Callie sniggers behind me. “The other gate. That’s the one you opened with your ticket. The one that’s open. The OTHER one.”
I point at the barriers she put her ticket into like I’m doing a ridiculous mime show. “You’re supposed to walk through THAT one.”
She tuts but finally moves to the correct ticket barrier. “Well, that’s annoying. Why don’t they all open when you put your ticket in? Then you could go through any.”
Exasperated, I stare at her. “What?” Half of me wishes I hadn’t explained how to get out of the barriers so they would be stuck in there.
“You should have seen her trying to open the toilet door on the train,” Callie moans. “And then the screams when the train started moving!”
Mum is out of touch with modern transport. She only started to visit London when Tristan moved here, and he usually sends a driver for her. This time she decided to go rogue and slum it.
After the barrier ordeal, Mum announces that she wants to go back to mine for a cup of tea before sightseeing. I know what she’s up to. She’s mad with nosiness and wants a poke around my flat to see how clean it is.
We stroll back through Kentish Town to the flat.
“Hello,” I shout tentatively through the flat door. No reply, great! “Cat’s in bed, so you’ll have to be quiet.”
“At this hour?” Mum’s lips purse into a thin line. “And I was looking for a tour of the bedrooms.”
“Why don’t you sit down, and I will make a nice cup of tea?” I bundle them into the living area where they can do minimal damage and give it a once-over for signs of drug abuse or sexual activities. Thankfully I had remembered to hide Julie’s ‘101 Amazing Sex Games’ book.
Mum glares at our sofa in disgust and hovers above it like she is afraid of catching fleas.
I come back with three cups of tea and, proudly, a jug for milk.
She gives it a quick sniff before reluctantly accepting.
“I’ve got your post for you.” She rummages through her bag, hankies and tissues flying everywhere as she hands me a pile of crumpled letters. I’ve still got letters going to Mum’s house as Julie is doing a council tax dodge.
I glare at her. “These are all open?”
“Yes.” She shrugs as if she hasn’t committed any crime. “You owe an awful lot on that credit card.”
“You shouldn’t be opening my mail!” I snap.
“Someone needs to keep an eye on your finances since you’re obviously not doing it.”
Argh. She has been in the house for five minutes, and my blood is bubbling.
“Callie, what are you doing?” I demand.
Callie wriggles on the sofa like it has fleas. Maybe we do have a problem. “Your sofa is uncomfortable,” she complains, reaching her hand under the cushion. “Wait, I have found something.”
Her right hand reappears with two objects. “What are these?”
My heart falls into my bladder and crushes it as she waves the chlamydia test that the chemist forced on Julie when she got the morning-after pill. I’m going to kill Cat for her stupid hiding place. I told her to hide any items that would bring my reputation into dispute.
Worse still, in Callie’s other hand is the postcard that Cat bought in Amsterdam with two dicks going into a mouth, one black, one white with the slogan ‘no racism.’
Callie’s mouth drops open.
I snatch them from her before she can wave them in Mum’s face.
Luckily, Mum is too engrossed in the pizza marks on the carpet to notice. She looks up, never missing a trick. “What are those?”
“It’s just Suze’s weight loss device.” I walk as casually as possible to Cat’s room and fling them both in. There is a muffled “hey” as I slam the door. What else is lurking in this living room to trip me up?
“What’s up with you, Callie?” I attempt to change the subject yet again.
She shrugs.
Mum’s face turns white. “I’ll tell you what’s up with this young pup. She’s been suspended from St Mary’s.”
“Suspended?” Now here is a bit of news. I look at Callie, who breezily flicks through a magazine she has found on the coffee table. She’s in her final year and only has six months to behave.
“She’s brought the family into disrepute, this young missy has.” Mum covers her mouth and looks around in case any of my neighbours have glasses to the walls.
“She tried to summon the dark side.” It comes out as no more than a whisper.
“She did what?” I ask, confused.
Callie looks up from the magazine, bored, and sighs. “The Ouija board. I was caught doing the Ouija board.”
Mum shakes her head. “The nuns are in uproar. They’re holding a special mass to cleanse the school, to undo the damage that Callie has caused!”
“Why did you do that, Callie?” I turn to her. “Do you even believe in the Ouija Board?”
She laughs. “As if. But stupid Bernice O’Hagan does, so we wanted to prove to her that it’s all shite. Then Sister Tessa came in and saw us and started foaming at the mouth in shock.” She yawns. “It’s my last year anyway.”
“That’s terrible behaviour, Callie,” I scold in the way a dutiful older sister should. “Getting suspended from school isn’t going to get you a very good job, is it?”
She looks at me, deadpan. “If you can get a job, anyone can, even though it did take you a million attempts.”
“Piss off,” I bite back. I’m a little sensitive about the number of interviews I had to endure.
“I can live off Tristan’s allowance anyway.” She rolls her eyes like I’m stupid.
“Tristan is giving you an allowance?” I stare at her, disgusted. “That’s how you can afford to go shopping in central London!”
“Enough bickering, for God’s sake,” Mum barks, putting down her cup of tea. “I have had enough of this bad tea. Let’s see your bedroom.”
“Fine.” I put down my tea and lead them to the bedroom, which thankfully has the bed semi-made and underwear tidied away.
“Could do with a bit of Shake n’ Vac.” She sniffs the air while Callie goes through my make-up. “And this carpet. When was the last time it was hoovered? Is it supposed to be this colour?”
She bends down for a closer inspection. “Weeks of dirt on this. What’s this?” She picks up a Smint that has rolled under the bed at some stage in its life and has hairs, and other gooey bits from the carpet stuck to it. “You’ve been doing drugs!”
I gawk at her flabbergasted. “It’s a Smint.”
“A Smint!” she shouts, narrowing her eyes at me. “Don’t use your drug jargon on me, young lady. Is it one of those dancing pills?”
Callie guffaws behind her and gets a slap around the head.
“It’s a mint,” I repeat slowly.
“A mint, heh? So would you let me lick it then?”
I look at the Smint with the multi-coloured arrangements of hairs, probably some of mine, some of Ben’s, and maybe even whoever lived in the flat before.
I stare at it pointedly. “I wouldn’t advise it.”
“I bet you wouldn’t.” She gives the Smint a lick, waiting for me to stop her before she needs her stomach pumped. Her face changes from anger to surprise to disgust as realisation dawns. She starts picking hairs out of her mouth.
“Oh, it is a mint.”
“See?” I roll my eyes. “Now, can we please get this sightseeing over and done with?”
One hour later, we are on the sightseeing bus touring Trafalgar Square. I thought it was the best way to keep them quiet for a while.
By 4 p.m., I am exhausted and ready to go into witness protection so I can hide from my family. Big Ben wasn’t big enough, St Paul’s wasn’t holy enough, and Shakespeare’s Globe was a fake.
I’m so not ready to go to this dinner party of Tristan’s. Why am I deliberately entering a scenario of being in the same room as my mother, my sister who spills all my secrets, my boss who wants to get rid of me, and a guy I jerked off in the toilets, who coincidentally happens to be my boss?
***
Six hours of Mum complaining is too much. I don’t know how I survived being with her so long in the womb.
I’ve gone for a casual look; jeans, sneakers, and a sweater that hangs off one shoulder. It’s an outfit that often causes me to get ID’d, so I must look younger in it.
Tristan sent a car to collect us and take us to his house, which meant I didn’t have to brave manoeuvring Mum through more public transport.
He opens the door of his townhouse in Holland Park, beaming at us. “My three favourite ladies.”
If the rumours are true, that’s not correct.
It’s a Grade II listed building with three floors, big bay windows, and an entire glass wall of floor-to-ceiling doors opening onto a landscaped garden.
Every Londoner’s wet dream.
Julie and I stalked it on YourMove, and it went on sale for twenty million, although I would never ask him how much he bought it for.
We don’t talk about money in the Kane house.
Every time I visit, he’s had something new done. A new jacuzzi bath, heated floors, surround sound. Last time he had converted one of the bedrooms into a cinema room.
“Come through, ladies,” he says, taking our coats. “It’s a full house.”
The deep Scottish voice assaults my ears from the kitchen.
We walk through to join the party. In the kitchen, Jack, Tristan’s law firm partner Rebecca, and her husband Giles sit on barstools around the marble island.
Danny is propped against the fridge while Karl attempts to make cocktails at Tristan’s bar. Tristan has a kitchen the size of mine, Julie’s, Cat’s, and Suze’s bedrooms combined.
My throat dries up as I take in Danny.
He’s in jeans and a blue cashmere sweater that fits his body in all the right places. I want to run into his arms and wrap them around me.
His eyes find mine, then drop brazenly down to my midriff. His hands tighten around the counter. It’s subtle, but I see the movement. He likes what he sees.
His face is warmer this evening. Maybe being around close friends in a home environment makes him less hostile.
Even through their schoolboy teasing and jostling, they exude an undeniable air of dominance.
They are all late thirties, early forties, with Danny being the oldest. Jack’s younger, maybe thirty-five. While the rest of us are just trying to get through the week, they make success look so easy.
Rebecca wears a gorgeous tailored trouser jacket suit and open-toe heels. Now I feel childish in my ripped jeans and running shoes.
Can Tristan not see how the dynamics change when friends and family mix? These two worlds don’t belong together.
Tristan demotes Jack from cocktail making and prepares drinks as everyone welcomes us. Besides Mass, Tristan’s events are Mum’s social life. She’s in her element as the men tell her how young she looks, and Rebecca compliments her rollered curls held tight against her head.
“Sherry for Mum, small wine for Callie, Old Fashioned for Charlie.” Tristan serves our drinks, and I look on impressed. His cleaner/house help Natalia usually does everything for him. He must have given her the night off.
“What did you get up to today?” Rebecca politely asks us.
“We started off with a look around Charlie’s flat,” Mum responds, happy to be the centre of attention.
“It was more of an inspection than a tour,” I grumble, jumping on a barstool. “Who looks under someone else’s bed, for Christ’s sake?”
“Tristan, can you send your cleaners to Charlie’s?” Mum pipes up.
“Mum!” I snap indignantly, my cheeks flushing.
I turn to Tristan, smirking. “Although at least it’s not tidy enough for them to spend the night.”
I’ve officially handed responsibility for Mum and Callie over to Tristan. It wasn’t a difficult choice for them, with options being topping and tailing Julie’s sofa or a wing of Tristan’s mansion.
He opens the fridge and takes out a batch of tiny canapes.
I eye the yellow jellylike substance suspiciously. “What are these?”
“Golden beet and elderflower jelly,” he explains as if it should be obvious.
Don’t be fooled; these are no shop-bought canapes. These have been bespoke designed for Tristans’s tastes by an exclusive caterer.
Mum prattles off every detail about our day, explaining things she learned about Big Ben, Houses of Parliament, and the St James’ Park swans as if these people didn’t live in London.
They politely listen and murmur approval and disapproval at the right times during the storytelling.
Callie and I hang back, relieved Mum is taking the limelight. My eyes stray to Danny, and as if he can feel it, he moves his focus from Mum to me, his eyebrows rising.
I feel my cheeks heat and avert my gaze.
“You have to try these lobster rolls,” Rebecca gushes, passing the plate to us.
Mum shakes her head at Tristan. “When are you going to find a nice woman to cook for you, Tristan?”
“I already have two.” He smiles in amusement. “My lovely mum and my delightful cook, Natalia.”
“No,” she replies crossly. “Someone you don’t have to pay. A wife. I’m never going to get a day out.”
“You’ve already had a day out,” he mutters darkly. “It didn’t work out, remember?”
No, it didn’t. If God made a new person from a serial killer and the girl from the Exorcist, that would be Tristan’s ex-wife Gemina.
“Isn’t that a bit sexist?” I point out, spearing a piece of lobster and shoving it into my mouth, “What if Tristan’s new mystery wife is a terrible cook?”
“She couldn’t be any worse than you.” Mum shakes her head at me, and Tristan grabs me around the neck for a hug. “Your cooking drives them all away.”
“That’s true,” Callie pipes up. “If Charlie had a dinner party, everyone would leave in coffins.”
“How rude,” I mutter, fixing my hair from the bird’s nest Tristan created with his jostling. Honestly, I’m not five years old; you’d think he’d realise he can’t play the same games with me.
“When are you finding a wife?” Jack’s eyes twinkle in amusement at Tristan.
“Don’t start this in front of Mum,” Tristan moans, shooting him a warning look. “I’ll never hear the end of it now.”
“It’s hard to believe that London’s most handsome eligible man is still single.” Rebecca smiles. “And you too, Jack.” She prods him in the ribs.
“Make it a hat-trick,” Tristan says. “Walker too.”
My mouth falls open in surprise, and I snap it shut before anyone can notice.
Danny Walker is now single? The air feels weighted as we all study him with interest.
“No, Danny!” Mum slaps her hands over her mouth like this is the worst news she’s ever heard. “What about beautiful Jen? Surely, you didn’t let her go? Please say no.”
Way to go, Mum. Great wingwoman.
He clears his throat. “Sorry to disappoint, Mrs. Kane.”
“When did that happen?” I ask quietly.
His eyes lock with mine. “Last Friday night,” he answers me coolly.
The corners of his mouth quirk into a light smile as my mind ticks over and a silent acknowledgement passes between us.
He split up with Jen on the night we made out. I have so many questions.
Did he split up with her over me? Was it before or after we made out? Was I wrong about him?
“Oh,” I whisper. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says darkly.
“What are you looking for, Danny?” Rebecca asks curiously.
He turns to her. “When I find it, I’ll let you know.”
They laugh even though it’s not particularly funny.
I don’t laugh. I knew what he’s saying.
It’s not you.
I’m a fumble in the toilet, not a serious proposition. Not a girlfriend. Or a wife.
“Do you want to get married again, Danny?” Mum asks. ‘Nice chap like you must have all the ladies after you.”
“Careful, Mrs. Kane.” Karl chuckles. “He has a soft spot for you.”
“How could I not?” Danny flashes her a grin. “She’s like a second Mum.”
I frown. That makes our fumbles sound a bit incestuous. Not to mention a shrewd tactic of question avoidance.
“I know!” Rebecca pipes up. “This is perfect timing. One of our senior lawyers has been begging me for a date with the Danny Walker. She couldn’t believe her luck when I said I knew you! She’s six foot, beautiful, and extremely sharp. Mara. Thirty-five, just the perfect age for you, Danny. Shall I set it up?” She looks at him excitedly.
My breath hitches, and a surge of jealousy soars through me.
No. Don’t do this in front of me.
Tristan sucks in sharply. “I don’t know about this, Becks. She’s one of our best lawyers. I’m always nervous about mixing Danny’s pleasure with my business. I don’t want it to end in tears.”
“They are perfect for each other, Tristan,” Rebecca scolds. “Don’t stand in the way.”
“Mara is very hot,” Tristan agrees as he hands Danny a scotch. “You’ll fall for her as soon as you see her. She’s your ideal woman.”
I stare transfixed at my jellied lobster canape concoction. Humiliating is not a strong enough word for this situation.
Danny takes the scotch and raises it to his mouth, lingering over it. “Sure,” he replies.
“Fantastic.” Rebecca squeals, getting out her phone. “I’ll text her now.”
Damn you, Rebecca. I put down the lobster tail. My appetite is ruined.
I have my answer, he didn’t split up with Jen over me. What an absolute bastard. How could he do this in front of me?
Now I have to sit through dinner in agony.
“What a lucky girl,” Mum swoons. “Rebecca, you must help our Tristan also.”
“Right, now that we’ve sorted a wife for Danny, it’s time for dinner.” Tristan makes gestures for us to move out of the kitchen.
I force a smile and get up from my stool. Karl falls into step beside me.
“Hey, gorgeous girl.” He puts his arm around my waist. “You OK?”
“Of course,” I lie.
His face says he knows. He knows everything. Of course, he knows. Danny and Karl are close. How embarrassing. He must think I’m pathetic.
“It’s good to see you, Karl.” This time, I’m not lying. We take seats at the table, and I’m glad that Karl sits beside me. Tristan takes his place at the head of the table, and the seats fill up, leaving one empty directly opposite me, which Danny takes.
The caterers have not only made the food, they have also prepared the table in advance. Four sets of cutlery rest on cut slabs of stone and three types of glasses, one for water, one for wine, and the third is anyone’s guess. There’s an elaborate centerpiece made from roses and other flowers I don’t know the name of.
The napkins were made from a material that would be better suited to a designer dress. There’s a monochromatic theme going on that I know is not by accident; he has paid a lot of money to make it appear casual, probably for Mum’s benefit.
Tristan brings out the venison starter. It looks suspiciously like the food in the fancy restaurant where Danny paid for our meal.
We chorus our ‘Oh’s and ‘Ah’s.
“A toast.” Tristan stands at the head of the table, beaming. “To my amazing friends and family who have supported me these past forty years.”
“I’m not even twenty!” Callie yells.
“To the next forty!” Jack shouts, raising his glass.
“To amazing friends.” Danny raises his glass.
We all take a drink.
“Did you get any nice presents, Tristan?” Rebecca smiles.
He winks. “Your weekend in Florence, of course.”
“Don’t forget your six-month membership to Stringfellows from me.” Jack grins as my mother’s lips form a tight line.
Tristan looks at Jack dryly as he takes his seat. “Thanks, Jack. And Charlie’s present, of course.” He raises a glass to me.
Rebecca turns to me. “What did you get him, Charlie?”
“What do you get the brother who has everything?” I laugh. “I got him a joke tie because I can’t afford where he actually shops and some aftershave that he’ll definitely put down the sink when we leave.”
“Oh, come on,” Tristan cuts in excitedly. “She’s leaving out the best bit.”
He looks around the table, building suspense. “She wrote me a beautiful song called ‘Brother.’”
I blush as I become the centre of attention.
“How sweet!” Rebecca gushes, clasping her hands together. “We have to hear it.”
“So you did find something for the brother that has everything,” Karl muses. “That’s a pretty cool gift.”
“It’s silly,” I murmur, fiddling with my knife. “It was the only thing I could think of that would be unique from me to him. I churned it out pretty quickly.”
“And after dinner, we’ll get to hear it,” Tristan adds.
“No.” I groan. “In that case, I’m going to get so drunk you can’t possibly let me play it.”
“Absolutely not.” He pokes a finger in my direction. “I was worried sick on Wednesday when you didn’t reply to my text. You need to reply to me, Charlie.” He berates me like he’s scolding an impotent child. “Let me put a tracker on your phone for safety.”
“Absolutely not!” I gasp.
Mum’s ears perk up. “What happened on Wednesday?”
Callie sniggers. “Charlie got drunk, went back to some dude’s house, and vomited all over his bathroom.”
“She did what?” Mum barks as I fire Callie a nasty look.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Danny stiffen.
“Ignore her.” I continue glaring at Callie. “Callie, stop listening to my conversations.”
I turn to Tristan. “Tristan, I’m not a child you need to protect, and no, you are not putting a tracker on my phone.”
His brows knit together. “I don’t like you being out on blind dates. It leaves you exposed.”
“At least Danny can look after you on work nights out. You can stay close to him.” Karl’s eyes dance.
I choke on my wine. “Good thing he was out on Wednesday evening looking after you.”
I wipe wine from my chin as Karl leans back in his chair, trying to hide his smirk.
Grass.
What the hell is he playing at?
“Yes.” Tristan nods approvingly. “Make sure you go home with Danny, Charlie. The Nexus crowd drink too much, and there’s a lot of random attacks happening in London these days.”
Danny puts his scotch glass to his mouth, his granite expression focused on Karl. The drink hovers over his lips before he takes a large slug.
“Danny?”
Fuck the Michelin star food. This isn’t worth the torture.
He looks between Tristan and me. “Of course, Tristan,” he replies, his gaze settling on me rather than Tristan. “I’ll look after her.”
I’ll never get through three courses of this.
