Bella Summer Takes a Chance (26 page)

‘In the bedroom?’

He took another swig of wine. We’d had a lot to drink. ‘Er, yes. Our tastes were different, you might say.’

Was this the point at which he confessed to liking soapy games with the other boys? Perhaps I was on the cusp of having all my questions about boarding school answered in the first person. ‘How so?’ I asked, neutrally, I hoped.

‘She was very conservative. I don’t mean just in terms of experience. She wasn’t willing to try anything, em, beyond the most basic repertoire. I wanted a bit more than that… I don’t mean to sound like a sadist. I’m not into anything too kinky. It’s not like I have a gimp mask.’ He sounded defensive.

‘It’d be okay if you did. It’s not for me to judge another’s sexual preferences, as long as we’re not talking about kids or animals or violence.’

‘No, no, nothing like that. I just wanted a sex life that was better than  perfunctory. I think that was part of the panic when it came down to the decision. And yet she had so many qualities I knew were good for me. Maybe I was being shallow.’

‘Thinking with your willy.’

‘My willy has a lot to say on these matters.’

‘Fair enough. Sexual compatibility is as important as all the other stuff. It doesn’t matter how perfect on paper the person is. If the chemistry isn’t there, or you’re frustrated, it’s not going to work, not in the long run. And you can’t manufacture it. Either it’s there or it’s not. Sad but true.’

‘Wise words, B., from a wise woman. And by the way, may I say again that you look lovely today. That dress really suits you, but then you always look nice.’

I happily accepted the compliment, though I couldn’t take credit for the dress. It was one of Marjorie’s, stitched by the Hong Kong genius. I spotted it when she unfurled her collection to decide what to wear today. The pale green chiffon peeked from behind all the bright silks and I fell in love with it. It was a classic 1950s prom dress. Marjorie choked up when I asked to wear it today.

‘So given that you’re clearly a catch, why didn’t you bring a date?’ He asked.

I could tell he didn’t want to talk about himself, which was fine with me. We were heading for weirdly frisky territory with any more disclosures. ‘Nobody to bring.’ I shrugged like it didn’t matter.

I didn’t call The Dad after Faith’s boss’s dinner. It certainly wasn’t anything that Mattias had said that stopped me. Quite the contrary, in fact. He hadn’t asked me a single question about other men since I moved back in. Granted, he didn’t really need to ask. Until recently we’d spent most evenings together in a reasonable facsimile of our old life.

Yet instead of his silence condoning my freedom, it seemed more the result of his certainty that I wasn’t dating. He didn’t need to ask because he was confident I wasn’t thinking about other men. And it seemed like a betrayal if I did.

But that wasn’t the reason either. What had made me writhe with guilt at The Dad’s interest had nothing to do with Mattias, and everything to do with me. I still couldn’t say I was in love with Mattias, but I liked him. And no matter what pearls of wisdom I’d just imparted to The Grandson, it was starting to feel like that might just be enough.

‘Just look at Marjorie,’ I said, trying to shake my train of thought. ‘She’s so obviously smitten with The Colonel.’

‘And he with her.’

‘Have you ever been in love like that?’ I asked.

‘Oh, yes. She was called Maureen and I loved her more than I thought possible. But I was young, and stupid, and I smothered her.’

‘You don’t mean with a pillow?’

‘I’ve never been done for murder. She was a singer, like you, gigging constantly when I just wanted to spend all my time with her. I got too clingy. The more time she spent away from me the more I engineered to see her, which made her distance herself, which made me chase her. It got ridiculous and she rightly dumped me. It absolutely broke my heart. It never would have worked, with her out most nights gigging and me pining away at home. So let that be a lesson to you.’

‘Thanks, I’ll take it under advisement – though I don’t think any of my boyfriends had to worry about pining away night after night, given that I’ve hardly worked. But I do now have a regular gig again. Did I tell you a manager signed me? She’s fantastic. She got me the gig, three nights a week. It’s not a huge club but I’m still excited.’

‘You should be very excited. Not to mention proud.’

‘Thanks. I start next week. My friends are coming and we’re going to pretend it’s my premier! I’m not headlining or anything,’ I rushed on guiltily, wondering if he expected me to invite him. ‘But it’s regular work and should increase my exposure.’ I laughed. ‘Listen to me, “increase my exposure”. I make it sound like bloody
X Factor
. It’s just a little gig, but it’s regular, and that’s a start.’

I couldn’t stop grinning. I had such a girl-crush on my manager. Within a day of meeting she’d got me further than I’d done on my own in a decade.

‘That’s splendid news, B., really, it sounds like you’re on your way. And speaking of
X Factor
, I heard your mum’s song the other night. That contestant from Leeds sang it. You know the one, whose boyfriend was killed… What?’

‘I’m sorry, I just don’t picture you watching programmes like that. That’s cool, though. Mum still gets royalties off it, you know.’

‘She’ll get a lot more now. Remember when
Glee
did “Don’t Stop Believing”? It went straight back up the charts. Again, why do you look shocked?’

‘Again, I’m surprised by your knowledge of pop culture. Aw, don’t look so offended, it’s a compliment. You’re worldly wise, that’s all I mean. I picture you reading Russian classics and going to avant-garde cinema, not watching
X Factor
with a copy of
Hello!
on your lap.’

‘You mean I’m boring.’

‘No, not boring! Traditional. You know, with a Labrador at your feet, in front of an open fire, reading
The Telegraph
in a pub over Sunday lunch.’

‘
The Telegraph
! Honestly, B., what do you take me for? And might I say I’m offended that you seem to have painted me as a granddad with my pockets full of Werther’s Originals.’

‘No, not at all!’

Well, yes, kind of. I couldn’t help sneaking a peek at his parents. She looked like she wore pearls to bed and he could have been mistaken for Jeeves. ‘I just mean that you seem more serious than to watch that kind of thing. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you.’

‘No, I’m sorry, B. I’m too sensitive. I’ll tell you a secret if you promise never to throw it back at me.’ I nodded. ‘My nickname at school was Gramps. Stop smiling, you’ve promised never to mention it.’

‘It’s an unfair nickname. I promise never to use it. We will not speak of this again,’ I said in passable Brando. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you a secret too about my name. It isn’t B. It’s Bella.’

‘That’s pretty.’

‘Yes, literally. My brothers traumatized me when they found out the Italian translation. As a kid I was anything but
bella
. My parents took pity on me and let everyone call me B. I think they realised the teasing I was in for if boys in my class found out. That’s the risk with kid’s names, isn’t it? If you name your child something like Bella, or Thor, you’d better hope they live up to it. I’ve never felt like a Bella.’

‘I think you’re
bella
. But your secret is safe with me. Come on, let’s dance. We’re being put to shame by people with Zimmer frames.’

Laughing, we joined the small crowd swaying to Sinatra’s greatest hits.

Mattias was home when I returned, full of wedding cake and admiration for Marjorie.

‘How was it?’ He asked from his spot on the sofa. ‘No teenage drama or tequila body shots, I assume.’

I laughed, kicking off my shoes. The Grandson and I had danced till the blisters rose – though not usually with each other. As soon as the olds noticed dancers under pensionable age on the floor, we were cut in on at every song. I’d forgotten how much I loved proper dancing. ‘Remember what fun we used to have swing dancing?’ I said.

‘Oh, yes. I’d love to do it again. Shall we go one night?’

‘Do they still swing dance here?’ It had been years since we went.

‘I imagine so. It’s London. You can find anything here. I’ll look into it.’

‘How was your night?’ I asked.

‘Oh, fine. Tell me about the wedding. Was the bride blushing? The groom gallant? Hang on. Want a glass of wine?’

‘No, I’d better not. I drank quite a bit at the reception.’

‘And you’re afraid you might do something you’ll regret if you have another glass? Am I that irresistible?’ He grinned.

If I’d wanted to, I could have resisted with a methuselah of champagne in me. If. ‘Whatever I do, I’d do drunk or sober.’ I was hardly breathing, waiting for his response. Either way, it would pepper our relationship with an emotional minefield. I was prepared for that.

‘I know that look,’ he said. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’

I shrugged, invoking the sexual get-out clause in case he laughed in my face.

‘Finally, you’ve come around to my way of thinking.’ He wasn’t laughing.

He moved to my end of the sofa, and he kissed me. I kissed back, trying to muster the fizz of excitement I’d felt with The Musician, the flutter I imagined Kat felt with The Hairy Biker, or Faith experienced with Fred.

It wasn’t there. I wasn’t in love. But I felt like I was going home as we kissed our way to the bedroom.

Chapter 22

‘B., darling, I don’t mean to rush you but your adoring fans await,’ Frederick shouted through his bedroom door on premier night. ‘Aren’t you ready– Oh, B., you’re beautiful.’ He grabbed my hand and spun me around, making my new summer dress flare at the hem. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t argue with me about getting ready here.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it, not after the fuss you made. And it only meant dragging one large suitcase on the Tube through rush-hour traffic.’ I searched his face for signs of embarrassment, but he remained unapologetic. He still resented my move, even though it was for his own good as much as mine. Much as he disliked his new flatmate, he couldn’t deny the attraction of his on-time rent each month.

‘You look every inch the star tonight,’ he said. ‘Now, tell me I’m fabulous and we can go.’

‘You’re fabulous, Fred.’ I kissed his nose. ‘Faith’s running late, we’re meeting her there.’

‘Ah, the little minx, she just likes to build the anticipation. Quite the game-player is our Faith.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so. Do you really?’ I was completely ready to lie for my friend if I had to. She was obviously in love with Frederick. I couldn’t have him thinking she was fatally flawed. Only her friends were allowed to think that.

‘I don’t mind, darling, I’m a smitten kitten. Plus, she keeps me on my toes and you know how I love a challenge. What’s that look?’

‘She really likes you, Fred.’

‘Darling, she doesn’t just like me, she loves me. Ah, I see.’ He cradled me, putting his forehead against mine. ‘You’re like a mama bear. You can sheath those claws, though. I love Faith. She’s remarkable, she’s the real deal and I love her. More than anyone I’ve ever met. Okay?’

‘That makes me happy, Frederick. She feels the same way.’

‘I know she does. We
do
talk you know. Now, enough daytime drama. It’s unseemly. Let’s splurge and take a taxi. You’re too fabulous tonight for the Tube. Besides, I don’t want to listen to you complaining about the stairs in those shoes. Oh yes you will,’ he said to my objection. ‘You’re a diva in the making.’

He called Faith en route. She said she was five minutes away. That meant she was still in the bath. It was a good thing we over-egged her deadlines. Eight became seven, seven became six, and so on. We spoke to her in GMT-1, so she was usually acceptably late instead of abysmally late. Fred knew this already, and seemed to accept it. She’d found the one man on earth who found her timekeeping, and views on issues like unpasteurised cheese and pet preferences, charming. Lucky girl. Fred would happily wander around chatting to random strangers, as was his wont, until she arrived full of empty excuses and lovely smiles.

‘See you in a bit, Fred,’ I said once we’d arrived to find the tables already filling up with the pre-show dinner crowd. ‘I’ve got to pop backstage to check with the band. Keep an eye out for Kat, she should be here soon with The Hairy Biker.’

He waved me off. ‘See you shortly, my darling. I shall find a table for us all and amuse myself until Kat and her suitor, her hirsute suitor, hirsuitor, arrive.’ He was pleased as a pup by his dexterous wordplay.

‘Who’s a clever boy?’ I gushed, ruffling his hair. ‘Who is? Who’s clever? Fred’s a clever boy, yes he is, he is a clever boy.’

He slapped my hand away, sending me off with a wave to find the band.

For the first time in my career I didn’t have to be at the venue hours beforehand to fulfil my other role as roadie and all-round dog’s body. By now I usually had a stiff back and raggedy nails as payment. Looking around, I could have pinched myself. A man was running cables and positioning microphones for us. We only had to do the soundcheck. This must be what it was like to be a proper jobbing singer. I was so grateful for Gemma’s fabulous managing.

Talent wasn’t enough in the music business. You could be the next Nina Simone (not that I was) but without a manager, your main gigs were probably in the smallest room in the house amongst your shampoo bottles. I was thrilled that my longest-running show would no longer be a venue with a shower head.

Charlie (bass), Matt (drums) and Rebecca (piano), aka, The Swingers, welcomed me with open arms after my audition. Marjorie may not have believed in destiny but there was no denying that I was in the right place at the right time. Had their singer not fallen in love with a man who looked after lighthouses, she wouldn’t have moved off the coast of Scotland and I wouldn’t be getting ready to take her place on stage. In fact, had I not met The Musician, who introduced me to Sunglasses, who encouraged me to find a manager, I’d not be here. Or had I not met my work colleague who invited me to her wedding where I met The Musician, or had she not met the man who proposed… I would not be trying to trace my entire life back to the first human to walk the earth when I should have been concentrating on the show. It was not the time for an exploration of existentialism.