Best Served Cold, page 11
‘Brighton has a lot going for it.’ Shielding his eyes, he points. ‘Is that the Marina coming up?’
‘Yes, but we’re going to skirt it. You see, this,’ I pull him up a slope and shimmy around a barrier, ‘is the Undercliff walk. We just have to get past the supermarket delivery areas.’
Jack must think my idea of a romantic walk is crap until we get to where the posh Marina houses back onto a waterway. They all have jetties and boats tied to them that must cost more than my flat and annual wage put together. And then some. As we walk, the scenery changes and becomes wilder. Tiny birds with sharp cries wheel overhead and appear to be nesting in small holes in the chalk cliff that towers above us. Out to sea, dark-hued cormorants perch on wooden stakes that barely crest the outgoing tide and look as if they are shadows of themselves. Jagged rocks are rising from the waves. Spume and sea mist hang in the air, and everything glistens. On some beaches, pools are already visible. Jack bounds down the slimy, mottled concrete steps so he can peer into one.
‘There are those tiny shrimp things and a crab. My first pool in nearly twenty years, and I get one with shrimps and a crab. Perfect.’
‘Not as perfect as the slab of chocolate cake waiting for us in the cafe up there.’
‘Chocolate cake? Did you say chocolate cake?’
‘Oh God, you’re not diabetic, are you?’
‘No way. It’s simply that I love chocolate cake.’ He frowns. ‘Homemade or shop-bought?’
I gasp in mock horror. ‘Homemade, of course! Look, there’s the café. Come on, I’m freezing…’ I was going to use Alice’s colourful quote about ‘nipples’, but maybe I should be a bit more ladylike.
The waves here are washing up and down across the shingle on this patch of beach, sucking and sloshing, and the wind is getting to that biting stage. I tighten my scarf and stick my gloved hands in my pockets. The gulls are in force here and are warding the rails and tables. Tilting their heads, their beady yellow eyes watch us with intent.
‘Beware of the gulls,’ I say. ‘They are cheeky buggers and will nick the food out of your mouth, given half a chance.’
‘If they try to nick my cake, I will brain them with a pebble!’ He looks over towards the café. ‘That’s sweet, that is.’
I’ve always loved the undulating edge of the café’s roof and the ubiquitous red and white striped awning. The place was completely renovated a few years back, for which I’m eternally grateful, as along with the modern building (instead of the old shack you were frightened might fall down on you), they now have toilets. It’s a long walk in the cold, topped with a drink, and I was perpetually worried I might not make it home in time.
A few hardy dog walkers are throwing stuff for their hounds on the beach, and we can hear the dogs yelp and bark their enthusiasm.
‘I’ve always wanted a dog,’ says Jack. ‘Trouble is, it’s not fair to have one in London unless you can give it the attention it needs, and I don’t have time for the recommended amount of walks they advise.’
‘What about a small breed? One you can put in your pocket and forget about?’
‘I don’t really like little dogs. They tend to yap and bite everyone viciously.’ He stares at the dogs with their wagging tails. ‘And they still need walks.’
‘How about a cat?’
‘Not really a cat person. And anyway, I live in a high rise flat, which again is not fair on an animal.’ He turns to me. ‘What about you?’
‘Both, if I could. I don’t lean either way.’
One mother with a stroller jogs at a decent rate along the walkway past the tables and chairs set outside. Steps go down to the pebbles or up the cliff behind us to reach the village of Ovingdean.
Standing outside the kiosk, we peruse the cakes as we order two mugs of coffee. None of your posh foreign muck here. It is powdered Nescafé, and if you don’t like that, you can lump it! At least, that’s what it says on the chalkboard behind the woman serving. It is handed to us in giant workmen’s mugs.
‘Along with the chocolate cake,’ I say, ‘there’s also a date and walnut to die for.’
‘We could share?’ Jack blows on his hands.
‘Then we’ll do that.’
Sitting at a table, we munch our cake and gaze out at the sea.
‘Sometimes,’ I say, ‘when I’m here, I’m hard-pressed to believe a city is just over there. That’s what I love about this spot.’
‘As I said, it certainly has a lot going for it. This is great.’ He pauses. ‘I bet it’s packed in the summer?’
‘Only with locals. Everyone from the villages above piles down with their lilos, barbecues, umbrellas and beach balls. It’s a happy place to be.’
‘I hope I get to see it then.’
I nearly choke on my slab of cake. That must mean Jack is thinking about the future. Something I can’t allow myself to do, all things considered.
‘I know.’ Jack swivels so he can see my face. ‘I know I go on about wanting to come back here, and maybe that worries you?’
‘No. Of course not. It makes me… happy.’ I smile at him. ‘That you like it here.’
‘It’s not simply here, though, is it? It’s you I’d be coming to visit. The scenery is an added delight.’
I have to look down.
‘Have I frightened you, Lily?’
‘Not at all.’ I can’t quite look him in the eye, so I gaze at the waves crawling hungrily up and down the shingle. ‘It’s been a long time, Jack, since I felt able to… well, have faith in someone again. We’ve only just met, and I hope we’re both having fun?’ I turn to him. ‘We are having fun, aren’t we?’
‘Yes. We are.’ Then he says the worst possible thing he could say. ‘You can trust me, Lily.’
‘That’s nice to know.’
I think for a moment. Trust. Such a small word for such a vast, messy, chaotic concept.
Trust? Yeah, I remember what that was like. This next memory hurts. It has teeth and nails and it rips at me. It was the first time my trust was broken. And I’ve never forgotten it, that feeling of betrayal, of loss, as it has become an integral part of me now. It was a lesson that had to be learned.
I don’t know whose idea it was to have a Masquerade Ball, probably Alice’s, but it was jumped on like fleas on a dog. My twenty-first birthday was in February, and Alice’s twenty-second was in April, so it was decided we’d have it mid-March. Seemed logical. A person has each ‘birthday’ only once in their lives. While that may be essentially true, the big ones, the eighteenth and twenty-first birthdays, are the ones we want to celebrate. They had to be memorable, and I wanted this one to fulfil all my dreams and wishes. It had to be a party to be remembered for the rest of my life. A masquerade… now didn’t that sound wonderful?
Hunting through all the markets and second-hand stores around London, I found a nineteen twenties style gold lamé dress, which I teamed with strappy gold sandals. Somehow, I imagined myself as if I’d stepped out of the pages of The Great Gatsby. Alice looked amazing in some sort of belly dancer’s outfit of reds and golds that shimmered and tinkled and left little to the imagination.
Sitting at a large table in Alice’s room, we were getting the party organised and making our masks. Beads and paints and feathers were littered across the table, as it was the only one big enough for all three of us to work on and not to crack elbows and get in each other’s way.
‘We have to ensure everyone wears a mask,’ said Alice, ‘else it won’t work.’
‘We can’t be that pedantic, can we?’ I stopped painting and stared at her. ‘Otherwise, we might have to turn our friends away if they haven’t made an effort.’
Alice frowned. ‘Then they should have. Why come to a Masquerade Ball and not be masqueraded?’
‘We could have a spare set of simple masks to hand,’ said Harry, ‘then we won’t have to turn anyone away.’ Indicating the bottles on the table, he continued, ‘We could paint them gold and put a bit of detail on. Just in case.’
I thought for a moment. ‘Only for our friends, though. I mean, I know we said Big Tone and Bernie could bring friends, though we don’t want Bernie to invite the whole pub. You know what he’s like.’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘We’ll have to go over that again with him, as I don’t think he was listening.’
‘Does he ever?’ Alice asked, then suddenly shouted, ‘Ouch, ouch and bloody ouch!’ Scraping off a blob of hot glue, she waved her finger at us. ‘This is dangerous work.’
‘Er,’ I said, ‘I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but has anyone met any of Big Tone’s friends?’
‘I’m not worried about Tone,’ said Harry. ‘Anyone he invites to the party will be tucked with him in his room.’
‘Mustn’t forget the invitations!’ I said. ‘I can design the invites and—’
‘And everything else.’ Alice sighed. ‘Not to be rude, but we know you are a control freak who believes the rest of us cannot possibly do anything right—’
‘Too true and no offence taken.’
‘You have to let us do something, Lily.’
‘I do?’
‘I can organise the drinks,’ said Harry, ‘and Alice the food—’
‘No.’ Alice waved an admonishing finger. ‘I want to do drinks. Let me do the drinks. I’m good at drinks.’
‘We know you are.’ Harry made a face at Alice. ‘Good at drinking them.’
‘All right.’ I held up my hand. ‘Harry can do the nibbles then?’
Harry placed his hand over his heart. ‘I’ll make you proud, Lily. Now let’s see. I’ll make a list like Lily does. So, peanuts and, um, er…’
I knew they were kidding, but this was my big birthday, and I wanted it all to be perfect. Who wouldn’t?
It all started out as it should.
‘Wow!’ said Harry, eyeing us. ‘Don’t you two scrub up nicely?’
‘I should bloody well hope so,’ huffed Alice. ‘The amount of time and effort it took for us to get here.’
We were indeed backcombed, painted, moisturised, perfumed, shaved and polished.
Harry whistled. ‘All I can say is, it was worth it.’
‘You look pretty good yourself.’ I hugged Harry. He was in a tight, black suit, long black boots and a white shirt with a large, winged collar. His curly hair was slicked back. His black mask was swirled with diamanté jewels that glittered in the light, and he appeared to be wearing Alice’s blood-red lipstick and matching nail polish.
Tonight was going to be my first real ball. Now I knew how the young ladies who were coming out in a Jane Austen book felt. You could say you were an adult at eighteen, allowed to vote, smoke and drink, let alone have sex, but I believed I’d still been a kid at eighteen. Now I was officially an adult, and I felt it. There was a fizzing deep inside.
A music system was set up at the end of the living room, where a friend of Alice’s, headphones askew, was banging out some great tunes, and people were dancing. A folding table under the main bay window was laden with bowls and plates of easy finger food-type snacks.
‘I hope that’s enough.’ Harry looked worried. ‘You know what our lot are like. They don’t eat for weeks and then fill up anywhere there’s free food.’
‘Let them, then. They’ll stop when there’s no more to eat.’ I patted my stomach, aware I couldn’t eat anything, or I might bust the seams of my dress, which I think Alice had spray-painted onto me.
‘And we didn’t promise them a banquet, did we?’ Alice raised an eyebrow. ‘Please tell me we didn’t?’
‘Of course not.’
‘The main thing is the booze,’ said Harry.
‘I think we’re all right there, then,’ I said. A black bin had been filled with ice cubes, and quantities of tins and beer bottles now nestled in the sludge. It squatted in the corner of the kitchen. Bottles of red, white and rosé were clustered on the main counter. Alice’s family had chipped in with mine to supply the drinks.
Hand-made paper decorations were pinned to the walls in the living room, along with a large dangling ‘Happy Birthday’ sign. It glowed iridescently in the light.
Soon, pretty young lithe things in masks adorned with most of the beads from the bead shop and a few pilfered budgie feathers were cruising through into our house. We decided to leave the door ajar as the constant bell ringing drove us nuts. Harry kept watch for a while, heading off people passing in the street who stumbled through the door. Then he got bored and wandered off to raid the black bin. Initially, I was too nervous to drink much and worried that I would spend half of the night queuing for the loo.
The pile of masks on the stand by the front door dwindled, though most of our friends had made an effort. In fact, I was stunned by the ingenuity of some of our masked guests. Most had gone out of their way to dress up. The masks ranged from petite ones that barely covered the eyes to full facial ones adorned with ostrich feathers and strings of dangling beads. There were friends I recognised instantly, though many were so gilded and painted, I was hard-pressed to suss out who they were. It was great, as we didn’t know who we were talking to most of the time. There was even a plague doctor guy who seemed to be wrapped around Alice.
‘Harry? Who is that with Alice? I mean, that’s one scary costume.’ I stared in trepidation at the beaked mask and black ankle-length coat. He had the full kit of gloves, boots and a wide-brimmed hat. I had no idea what he looked like under all that. I hoped Alice did, as he had his hand on her bum and was twirling a cane in front of her. I think he was whispering to her down the long length of the beak. She laughed and snuggled closer to him. Way to go, Alice.
Harry swivelled and grinned. ‘I think he’s one of the guys she works with. Looks as if they’re getting on okay.’
‘And then some.’ Catching her eye, I waved and grinned. She gave me a saucy wink. Tonight was to be the best ever.
Amy and Lauren arrived in masks and gowns to rival any Venetian ball. Those costumes must have cost a bomb. I felt as if I was the bride who’d been outdone by the groom’s mother.
‘Let’s get this party started,’ trilled Amy. ‘Now we’re here.’
Before I could respond in a notable fashion, Lauren handed me a poorly wrapped present.
‘Happy birthday, Lily. Not good on the presentation, babe, but I hope you enjoy the sentiment.’
‘Thanks.’ My initial pique melted away as I ripped off the sparkly paper. It was a photo of Hugh Penfold, except it had been upgraded in Photoshop to include an array of added bits and bobs that made me laugh aloud.
‘Brilliant. Thanks, Lauren.’
‘Shh, you’re not supposed to know who we are!’
‘I’m going to put it safely upstairs. Help yourselves to drinks.’
They waved bags. ‘We have our own. Where do we put them?’
‘The kitchen is through there. We have a big black bin filled with ice cubes for beer. Wine is on the side.’
Someone had brought a bottle of syrupy red stuff no one recognised. It would, inevitably, be the last bottle to be drunk, along with the bottle of Limoncello that had sat sadly at the back of the cupboard since the year before.
Nipping upstairs, I unlocked Harry’s door and placed the present on his bed, next to the gifts I’d been given so far.
The night progressed. I eventually had a few glasses of Cava. After all, it was my big birthday. That led onto at least a couple of tequila slammers with Alice and her new fella, who was introduced as Matt.
‘Burble, burble, burble…’ Matt said.
‘Pardon?’ Alice poked him. ‘You need to take the beak off. We can’t understand a word you’re saying.’
Matt took off the hat and tipped the mask back. The long beak looked very odd, sticking up from the top of his head. He was adorable. Was he with Alice? Questions needed to be asked.
‘I said, you have a Tequila topped up with Champagne, then you put your hand over it like this… and then bang it hard on the table and drink it in one go.’ We watched as he slugged the drink back, and then we did the same. What a hit!
‘Yum, yum,’ I said and held out my glass for more. ‘Happy birthday to us.’ I clinked glasses with Alice. Then I even tried a bit of that red stuff but instantly regretted it.
I turned as there seemed to be an altercation behind me.
‘Oy,’ said Harry, ‘who the hell are you? You can’t just walk in off the street and start nicking our beer!’
‘I’m a mate of, um, hang on a minute… he lives here…’ The man clicked his fingers. ‘Oh yeah. Billy.’
‘Apart from the fact there’s no Billy here, it’s actually a private birthday party.’
‘I’m okay with that. Happy birthday, mate.’
‘Not mine. It’s two girls.’ Harry grimaced at the man. ‘I bet you also don’t know who they are?’
‘Woah, no need to be aggressive. ‘Course I know. They’re Betty and Boo.’ He laughed and looked unsteady. ‘Don’t be a knob, sonny, and let me get a beer.’
‘I’m not the one being a knob! And don’t ever call me sonny!’ Harry squared up to the man in front of him, though I didn’t like Harry’s chances as the bloke was a lot taller and muscled. It made me feel quite nauseous to think there might be a punch-up in our kitchen.
Harry snarled, ‘When you come to a party, you generally know the people, and you bring something with you. If not, then you’re a gate crasher. So, if you don’t mind, piss off!’
Bernie pushed in through the throng, now watching. ‘You can’t chuck out one of me mates.’
‘He doesn’t even know who you are!’ Harry raised his hands. ‘Ask him.’
‘Stuart?’ Bernie peered up at the man. ‘Who am I again?’
‘I shouldn’t have to remind you,’ said the man, sniggering. ‘You should know who you are by now.’
Alice slithered in. ‘He called you Billy. A close friend, is he?’
‘Billy?’ Bernie glared at the man. ‘Fuck me, Stuart, I’ve been drinking with you for three years now, and you can’t get my name right?’ He nodded down the hall. ‘Piss off and take the others with you.’
