Honeybee, page 22
OK, not God.
I look up. A man with a beard and glasses is looking down at me. The barman. I see now that I’m in a toilet cubicle, he must be standing on the toilet seat in the one next to me. My door is locked.
‘OK, OK,’ I say, as if he’s being ridiculous. I look on the floor for my bag, I don’t see it. I stand up and open the door, the floor is wet, I can feel it in my socks. The barman comes out of his cubicle and stands intimidatingly close to me. ‘You woke up just in time, I was going to call the police,’ he says, putting both of his arms out, as if herding an animal into a pen.
‘OK, OK, I’m going,’ I say, as he pushes me gently on my shoulder. ‘But I need to find my shoes and my bag.’
As we walk out into the bar, I see it’s empty. One woman is washing glasses, she puts a glass of water on the bar for me. I don’t take it. I don’t want water.
‘OK, there’s the door,’ says the man again.
‘My bag, my shoes,’ I say, again. And then again.
‘Out,’ the man says.
‘Let her look for her bag, Pete. Come on, it will have her keys in it.’
‘Yes!’ I shout, punching the air. ‘The sistership in action.’
Pete rolls his eyes; the woman helps me look but we can’t find my things anywhere.
‘I don’t see a bag, you’ll have to come back tomorrow when the cleaners are here. Will you be OK getting home?’ the woman says.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, but her capacity to care seems to have reached its peak.
‘Out now, come on,’ says Pete, who is being unreasonably forceful now. Out on the street, I look back at him. Why is he being like this? He locks the door behind me. I look down, panicking about my shoes. They’re on my feet. My socks are soaking inside them. Where am I? It’s cold. My watch says it’s 1 a.m.
‘Where am I?’ I ask a man who walks past. He just laughs at me and carries on. Then I remember. I walk back towards Kingsland Road, my feet making a squelching sound in my shoes. There isn’t much I can do about it now, I need to get back to the flat. Thank God the keys are in my pocket. One thing my mum told me to do before I moved out of home: ‘Always have your keys in your pocket, not your bag, in case you lose it.’ I hate that she was right.
I see a bus coming. I run to the stop, but my foot gives way, or I trip, or my shoe slips, I don’t know what. I’m suddenly face down. My left cheek is burning. Someone is helping me up.
‘I’m OK!’ I bark, slapping at them to get off me. Dragging my foot behind me, I pull myself onto the bus. The driver looks at me and shakes his head. Why would he do that? The judgemental arsehole. I take a seat.
‘You have to pay,’ he shouts, looking back at me. I ignore him.
‘Oi, love, you have to pay.’ People behind me start swearing. He won’t drive the bus. They are yelling at me to get off, so he can leave. ‘I LOST MY BAG,’ I shout at everyone, wobbling on my ankle. A man puts me on a seat. I see him go to the driver, I think he pays my fare. He comes back. I’m falling asleep. My head knocking against the window as the bus starts to move. I’m suddenly so deeply, desperately tired.
It’s 7 a.m. I wake up with the driest mouth and need to pee. I look around the room, thank God I’m at Katrina’s flat. I rub my eyes, I go to the kitchen. I drink some water, it’s incredible. Waves of despair hit me as I remember Katrina said we have to be out by 10 a.m. latest, before the cleaner arrives. I can’t go back to bed.
I put my sheets and last night’s clothes into a bin bag. I’ll dump them on the way out. I tidy the living room. Fragments of memory coming over me. I remember falling, a lady lifting me. Me wanting her to get off. Something about a toilet. Something about wet feet. I lost my bag. I think I remember looking for it somewhere. The Mother Bar, that’s right. The woman, she said I must go back to get it. Vague memories of a bus. There was a woman, she stayed with me. I think she got me to the front door.
Where is Renée? She never came home. I see her phone in between the cushions on the sofa. I don’t know what to do with her things. What if she’s lost and doesn’t make it back in time? I wanted her to be jealous when she got home. But she’s not here, what if she’s hurt? I don’t want to care, but I do. I really do. I need to get my phone.
I fill a bin sack with all the things I don’t want to take. I do one last sweep of the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom. I have to leave, it’s 9.30 a.m. I cannot be here when the cleaner comes, what if Katrina comes too? I cannot see her. But where is Renée? I pack her stuff into her case. I get it all. I take her case and her phone and leave the flat. I put a note on the door. ‘Flight at 5.30, I have your case. Be at Victoria Station at 3. The 38 bus goes all the way there. Flo.’
That feeling washes over me again, a dread I can’t name. Is it the hangover? Or something bigger? I think of Renée, looking so small in the big city. Things are weird between us, but it suddenly feels like the most important thing that she’s all right.
19
Renée
The deepest sleep in the most comfortable bed. A peaceful room, a pillow like marshmallow. I feel reborn as I open my eyes. Ben is dressed, I can smell the soap he used to wash his body. It’s all so perfect.
‘Order breakfast,’ he says, ‘I have to be in the office by nine thirty.’
‘Breakfast?’ I blink. ‘Why, what …’
He opens a curtain, it’s bright outside.
‘Shit, no, did I stay the night?’
‘You did indeed, I’m not sure an earthquake would have woken you.’
I jump out of bed. It’s 8.30, we have to be out of the flat by 10. I’ve fucked up, I’ve really fucked up. God, Flo must be so angry. ‘How far am I from Dalston?’
‘At this time, forty minutes to an hour.’
‘FUCK!’ I get my clothes on. ‘I have to go.’
‘How will you get there?’
‘I don’t know. Bus? It’s the thirty-eight.’
‘Renée, get a cab. It’s easier.’
‘I can’t … I …’ Jesus, this is embarrassing. ‘I can’t afford one, it’s a really long way.’
Ben takes £60 out of his wallet. He hesitates, he knows how this looks. But he gives it to me anyway. I could hang my head in shame. To end that perfect night together, in the loveliest hotel room, to feel so equal, and then to end it with him giving me cash. Why do I always feel like such trash no matter how classy my sex is? But I have no choice, I have to get back to Flo.
‘Thank you. I’ll pay you back.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Let’s call it a bonus for giving us such a good cheese slogan.’ He must notice my shoulders drop. ‘I mean, it’s worth more than sixty pounds obviously. And I’ll make sure you’re paid properly for it, but call this a loan until you get it. Cool?’
‘Cool, thanks Ben. I don’t do slogans for blowies, OK?’ He pulls me close to him. We kiss, it’s perfect, but I have to go. ‘I’ll see you in Guernsey then.’
‘You will.’
I leave. I don’t feel good. I wish I did, but I feel like I just screwed someone else’s husband. Because that’s exactly what I did.
I hammer on the door and ring the bell all at once. Please still be here Flo, please be here. A lady answers the door, the cleaner. ‘I’m staying here,’ I say, running in. Flo has gone, my bag has gone. My phone is nowhere. I see a Post-it note in the kitchen.
‘Victoria Station at 3.’ Oh Flo, thank God. Thank you thank you thank you. I’ll see her there, she will be mad, but we’ll work it out, we always do. As I’m leaving the flat, I see someone’s coming up the stairs.
‘Flo?’ I call, desperately. But it isn’t Flo. It’s Katrina, I recognise her from the time I visited Flo at uni. Shit, she wasn’t supposed to see us, that was the whole idea.
‘Who are you?’ she asks, defensively. I’m surprised she doesn’t recognise me, I stayed in her house for three days. But people who live on the mainland can’t possibly retain the faces of all the people they ever meet. There are just too many people here.
‘I’m Renée, I’m Flo’s friend. We met a few years ago, in Nottingham. I came to help her pack.’
‘Is she here?’ Katrina says, looking really annoyed.
‘No, no she’s left. I just popped back to look for my phone.’
‘Good. And yes, I remember you. You came and had a massive fight; it was after that that she went fucking mad.’ Katrina walks past me. ‘Glad to see the place isn’t destroyed. Did she get all her stuff out?’
‘Yes, it’s gone. Katrina, can I ask you what happened? I’m worried about Flo, she’s been …’ I don’t know if I should say it. ‘She’s been …’
‘Let me guess, getting blind drunk, bringing random people back, and pretending not to remember anything?’
Woah, OK, this Katrina bitch doesn’t like Flo, but there’s no way she is talking about my best friend like that.
‘She’s been drinking, yes. But nothing like that,’ I say, lying. It must be obvious.
‘I knew she wouldn’t change. That girl has a problem. Alcohol makes her crazy, like proper crazy. I’d never know which Flo I’d come home to. The sweet one who was shy and awkward but kind and easy to be around, or the wild one who was volatile and did mad things that she’d forget about the next day. It was a rollercoaster, and I just couldn’t take it any more, so I told her she had to go. I gave her a month to be nice, but she just went and left half her stuff. I didn’t want to see her, so I went to Mum’s for a while. I have a new roommate coming tomorrow, she’s American. Sounded pretty straight on the phone, way better for a nice flat like this. I bought it, you know, my dad gave me the deposit. Great right?’
I don’t like Katrina. She’s a stuck-up rich kid who doesn’t take care of her friends. I shouldn’t care, but I hate there being so much bad energy around Flo. I try to be reasonable. ‘Katrina, Flo has a problem with alcohol, we know that, but please don’t hate her. She’s troubled, but she’s one of the kindest, sweetest, most loyal friends imaginable. She’s been through so much. She and her mum have a bad relationship, her dad died …’
‘Flo’s dad died? When?’
‘When she was fifteen. She never mentioned it?’
‘She never mentioned it. Wow, that’s fucked-up.’
‘Yeah, it is. And so is she. But she’s going to be OK. Please don’t hate her, you don’t need to see her again now. It’s done. But just in your heart, don’t hate Flo, please.’
‘OK Renée, I won’t hate Flo, if that makes you feel better. Fine. I hope she’s happier in Guernsey, it sounds like a mad place.’
‘It’s a brilliant place. It’s beautiful and calm and safe. And we have each other. She’ll be fine. Bye Katrina, I hope your new housemate is really boring and that your daddy gives you everything you ever need so you don’t have to live in the real world and have a fucking heart.’
‘Excuse me?’
I slam the door really hard on my way out.
The bus, as usual, takes forever. I cry the whole way. Poor Flo, she’s been hurting so much. To never mention to her uni friends that her dad died, that’s some next-level closeted grief going on. And the drinking, and the guys, oh God. That’s it, when we get back to Guernsey, I am making her address it. We’re going to throw every drop of alcohol away and get her through this. I’ll even do it myself; I’ll never drink again if that’s what it takes. Where is she now? What if she’s on a massive bender and misses the flight? And all because I went off to have sex with a married man. I’m the worst person alive.
I feel immeasurable relief when the conductor finally says, ‘Victoria Station, this bus terminates here.’ My heart stops racing for the first time in hours. The flight doesn’t go for a couple of hours, we have time. London is a real anxiety boost, I can’t lie, I’ve really missed the slow-paced, salty-aired Guernsey vibe that I thought I was so desperate to get away from. But as I approach the station, something in the air doesn’t feel right. I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but the sound of sirens seems to have really picked up. Behind me, a crew of about fifteen policemen charge past, nearly knocking me down. The sound of mobile phones ringing becomes overwhelming. People answer them and look terrified at what they’re told. The sirens, they’re getting closer. Louder. Three people run out of the station. The chaos doesn’t feel normal. Not even by the standards of the London I’ve experienced so far. This feels wrong. People look scared, what is going on?
I run in circles. People are heading out of the station in their droves. There are men in suits shouting into their phones. A woman bursts out crying and falls to her knees. Someone else gets annoyed. ‘Watch yourself,’ he shouts. Something isn’t right.
‘Flo?’ I call pathetically as fear inside me rises. ‘FLO!’
I see the entrance to the Gatwick Express. The staff are on their walkie-talkies. More and more police gathering by the minute.
‘FLO!’ I call, desperate now. A crowd is gathering by the trains, the staff are being told something. I can’t find Flo.
‘When is the next train?’ I ask a man in a high-vis vest.
‘Trains are cancelled, sounds like the airport is shut down?’
The airport is shut down? How will I get back to Guernsey? My island, where I am safe. What is going on? I don’t know what to do, where to go. And then I see the clock. She said if we ever lost each other, to meet under the clock. People are zigzagging through the station. Shouting into phones, running, tripping over their bags to get out. Why, why is it like this? I get closer to the clock, and I see her. She is there, waiting for me. Just like she said she would be. She looks scared too. She drags her suitcase in one hand and mine in another. I run to her, and we hug like nothing else matters but the fact we are together. ‘Flo, something has happened. Something is wrong.’
‘I know,’ she says. ‘I went into that pub, there’s a TV. Two planes have crashed into the Twin Towers in New York. They think it’s terrorists.’
I’ve never felt a fear like this before. The fear of being somewhere so big, so busy. ‘Are they coming here? The terrorists?’ I ask, feeling like a child. I have never heard of the Twin Towers, I feel so small. So horribly afraid. So stupid.
‘Apparently the airports have shut down in case of further attacks,’ she says. ‘They said it on the BBC.’
‘Further attacks? What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know, but we can’t go home. We can’t go to the airport.’ We stand in the middle of the station, motionless, embracing, while utter chaos reigns around us. We don’t know where to go, we don’t know what to do.
‘I have an idea,’ I say. ‘But you can’t be mad at me. OK? Not until we make it home.’
‘OK, I won’t.’
‘Follow me.’
With a case each, we go as quickly as we can out of the station. I see the Park Plaza Hotel. ‘In here, quick,’ I tell Flo, and she follows because we have nowhere else to go. I see Ben in reception, he’s on his phone. ‘I’m safe,’ he’s saying. ‘I’ll get home to you all as quick as I can. Don’t worry, OK? I love you, I’m safe.’ He catches my eye as he says, ‘I love you.’ It’s the most painful ‘I love you’ I have ever heard.
‘Renée, Flo, are you OK?’ he says, rushing over to us.
‘We were going to the airport, but apparently there’s been a …’ I can’t finish. I drop my case and bend over. I hyperventilate. ‘I can’t handle this, it’s too much. It’s too scary.’
‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘Sit here.’
He goes to reception, speaks to the man behind the desk and hands him his credit card. Flo and I sit silently. She is sticking to her word, she isn’t cross. We just need to get home, whatever it takes. Ben comes back with a key. ‘Here, go to this room. Stay there. I’ll work this out and text you later. OK? Go, go to the room.’
Flo and I do as he says. We go to our room. We get into bed, and we watch in horror as the news unfolds.
Flo
I’ve never seen Renée so scared. She is like a child quivering beside me. I’m scared too. More than scared, I am terrified. Mum calls me: ‘Flo, Flo, tell me you are safe. Flo, tell me you’re OK, where are you?’ I try to calm her down, tell her to breathe. ‘Mum, I’m OK. I’m safe. I’m with Renée, our boss got us a room in a hotel. He’s booked us onto the boat from Weymouth tomorrow and has a car to take us there at six a.m. We will get home. We’re safe.’
‘Oh, Flo thank God, thank God. When I saw the second plane hit, I knew it wasn’t an accident, how could it be? I was in the hairdresser’s, people screamed. One lady said her son works there, in the second tower. She couldn’t reach him; his phone wasn’t even ringing. All these local finance people that leave to work there. Guernsey, so far away but connected to it all. The world is so small. I thought of you, Flo, and what it would feel like if you’d been there. Why are you in London now, of all the times? Why now?’ She sobs down the phone. Bawling, hysterical, nothing I say will calm her. I give up in the end, it’s quite nice to hear it.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Mum,’ I say softly. ‘We’re in safe hands with Ben. He will get us home.’
Renée shivers for most of the night. I find an extra blanket in the wardrobe and put it over her. I wake her at five-thirty a.m. and help her get dressed. She needs me right now, I need to take control for her, to help her through this. It’s what she would do for me. Nothing else matters. Her and Ben, we don’t need to address it now. We’ll talk it through when we get to Guernsey, and we will talk about other things. Both of us. We’re lucky to have the time.
The drive to Weymouth takes hours and is largely silent other than Ben taking calls for work and from his wife, who sounds like she’s in a terrible state over him not being home. He speaks gently to her, he keeps his voice low, as if he would rather we didn’t hear. Right or wrong, it must be crushing for Renée to listen to. Between his calls, he asks the driver to turn up the radio so we can listen to the news. Renée sits silently with her knees up to her chin the whole way. She stares out of the window, terrified. A little girl again. Not able for this.
