The Godmother (24 page)

“I met Ben at a bar.”

I know
. You picked him up. “Don't. You'll fuel my already over-active imagination. I'm trying not to think about what color our en suite should be.”

We laughed. But the sad thing was, it was partially true. Or had been, until Ben and Sasha showed up.

“Well, he seems like a good bloke.”

Most of my friends were desperate to see me paired away and impregnated, but usually not Sasha. She gave me more credit than I was due and believed I was in the situation I was because I chose to be.

“Bright, funny, articulate, good-looking.”

“There must be a catch,” I said.

“Perhaps he's married,” said Sasha.

“Why do you say that?” I asked defensively.

“He seems quite well trained. Oh, Tessa, don't look so horrified, I was only joking. I know your rules, you don't do married men.”

And why? Because since turning thirty I'd been propositioned by so bloody many. But my moral high ground was beginning to feel like quicksand. I decided it was better to change the subject. “He mentioned his mother.”

“Ah,” said Sasha. “That'll be the catch.”

We returned to the table, carrying drinks for the eagerly inebriated. I tried to remember how I normally acted around my friends, but I couldn't. I didn't have Helen there as a foil for my anger and I couldn't turn my back on Ben and engage in deep and meaningful conversation with someone else because we were huddled around a tiny table and it wasn't a deep and meaningful sort of atmosphere. The wives were admiring the exposed buttock cheeks of the young men handing out the drinks and the husbands were trying to spot tit tape. I suspected their nerve-tighteners had been doubles or they'd been in the pub longer than they should have been. Francesca was being particularly raucous. I was delighted to see her in skintight jeans, high black boots and a ribbed black polo neck—perfect boho chic. Nick just sat and watched her adoringly. Sasha looked striking, as always, and Ben smiled at me effortlessly, chatted to me effortlessly, took the piss effortlessly. Was this whole dramatic episode taking place in my head and my head alone? I swallowed more beer and moved up to vodka. Someone grabbed my cheeks and squeezed them. It was Ben.

“Smile, honeychild,” he said.

I stared at him.

“What's the matter?” He asked me quietly enough, but everyone turned to hear the answer.

“Nothing.”

“You look so worried,” said Ben.

I am a foolish, foolish, foolish woman
. “I was just wondering where Billy's got to, she promised she'd come this evening.”

“She'll be here,” he said and turned back to the table.

“I think Tessa is actually wondering where that handsome James Kent got to,” said Nick.

“I'm not.”

“Rarely have I seen you so subdued at a party, Miss King. Has this one got under your skin?”

“I only just met him.”

“At the bar,” said Sasha.

“Sasha met Ben at a bar,” said Francesca, giggling.

I KNOW.

“I said that.”

“Could it be, yes it could,” hummed Nick, clicking his fingers like a Jet. Nick was a lovely man but he didn't really drink, so it went to his head quickly.

“Oo, Tessa, let's have a drink to celebrate,” said Francesca. Actually, she shouted that.

“There is nothing to celebrate,” I insisted.

“Well, let's have drinks anyway.”

“What's got into you?” I asked, laughing at her.

“I'm a mother on day release. Don't get in my way. Ohmygod, he's looking over here again, I think!”

Sasha leaned forward conspiratorially. “He's making sure he knows where you are. Let's do a test,” she said—and she is supposed to be the grown-up of the group.

I shook my head in despair. My friends were pissed. More pissed than I was. This was not the status quo.

“What kind of test?” asked Nick, enthusiastically.

“Tessa has to get up and go somewhere; we'll see if he comes over as she is leaving.”

“He has to see her go,” said Nick, “otherwise it won't work.”

“Yes, stand up and when Francesca gives you the sign, pretend to go to the loo.”

“Pretend to go to the loo?” I repeated, bemused. I thought my tone alone would make it abundantly clear that I had no intention of playing their game.

“Wait, what's the sign?” asked Francesca, rocking slightly.

Am I this stupid when I'm pissed? I wondered. I couldn't be. I didn't feel that stupid. I always thought I was incredibly funny and held my drink particularly well.

“A wink,” said Nick.

“Too obvious,” said Sasha.

“You're right,” he said, looking a little crestfallen.

“I'll say ‘now,' but quietly,” shouted Francesca.

Everyone nodded.

“Right, stand up, Tessa, but stand there until Fran says—”

“I'm not going to stand up.”

“Come on, it'll be interesting,” said Sasha.

“Not interesting, very silly.”

“Oh, come on, Tessa, give us old marrieds something to talk about.” It was Nick who said this, and I know that he didn't mean anything by it because the man hasn't got a bad bone in his body, but honestly, what was I—a performing seal? I felt an invisible red ball balancing on my nose and had an irresistible urge to throw my head back and hawk loudly in the hope of being thrown the head of a mackerel in return. I stood. I was not their live entertainment.

“That's my girl,” said Nick.

“I'm leaving you because you are all ridiculous and I need several shots of something lethal before I can find any of you even vaguely amu—”

“NOW,” shrieked Francesca, making everyone look around in the direction of James Kent who was, to my utter amazement, walking towards our table.

I turned back to Francesca, feeling my skin redden. “Subtle,” I said.

“Sorry.”

“Plan B?”

“Pretend to make a phone call and you need to get out of this noise,” said Sasha, locating a few of her famous brain cells.

“I want you to know,” I said, pulling my phone out of my bag, “that I hate you all.” I looked at my phone. Three missed calls. All from Billy. Thank the Lord, a genuine reason to be standing here like a lemon. I started dialing
frantically. I saw Fran's eyes widen so I knew that James was behind me. I turned.

“Is it pumpkin time already?” said James.

“I'm not going anywhere, I just need to make a phone call.”

“The lobby is empty,” he said, and took my arm. I felt four pairs of eyes glued to us as we walked away. I glanced backwards. They all smiled. Well Nick, Fran and Sasha smiled. Ben didn't. After giving me irritating thumbs-up signs they returned to their witchy huddle to congratulate themselves. Ben, however, continued to watch me. I got caught in his stare. Even as James led me through the doors to the entrance, Ben's eyes remained firmly fixed on me and mine on his.

The double doors swung back into place, swallowing the noise of the party with a ladylike burp and the sight of those deep blue eyes. The stairwell seemed like a sanctuary after the maelstrom of the party. My ears rang while they adjusted to the drop in decibels, my lungs offered themselves up in gratitude to the smoke-free air. The peace was short-lived. Up ahead on street level there was more pandemonium. Faces, ten deep, filled the pavement, rocking side to side to see whether someone on the inside could get them in.

“Shit,” I said. “She'll never get in.”

“I may be able to help,” said James. “Find out if she's in the queue.”

I rang Billy's number.

“I'm so sorry,” she said immediately.

“For?”

“I was late. The queue goes round the building, I'm just going to leave you to it…”

“Don't you dare. Come to the entrance.”

“Thing is—”

“Just come to the front of the queue. I'm here.”

“It's not going to work; some bloke from the telly is behind me. There are too many people in there, that's what they said.”

“That's what they always say. Now, come to the front. Stay on the phone.” I looked at James. “Are you sure you can do this? I can get Neil, I don't care what he says.”

“Trust me,” he said. “It's fine. She's on her own, isn't she?”

I put the phone back to my ear. “You're alone, right?”

“Well, the thing is…”

“You brought someone?” I was delighted, despite the problems this could make.

“I didn't think plus two would be such a problem and…”

“It doesn't matter. It's fine.”

I grimaced and held up two fingers to James, two nice fingers.

“Oh, I can see you,” said Billy. I pointed Billy out to James and decided to leave him to it. Just in case it didn't work. I didn't want to embarrass him as well as Helen. I watched from afar, trying to see which of the men pressing themselves up against Billy was my date's date. Sensing a lifting of the twisted red chord, the crowd surged. I saw Billy lurch forward, I saw James's hand stretch out to hers, I watched her come through the human barrier of barrel-chested bouncers and emerge triumphant into the cool vestibule. James Kent was a magic man. Billy got lost again in a group of people waiting to check in their coats, James returned to me.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“The bouncer is a comic.”

“A good one?”

“No. But he's coming to my office Monday morning.”

“I owe you.”

“And I shall collect.”

Billy arrived from handing in her coat. She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry I'm late.”

“Doesn't matter. Who did you bring?”

She was about to reply when I heard my name ring out loudly around the stone foyer. From behind Billy an apparition in green velvet sprang forward, immune to the stares and baffled silence her high-pitched voice had commanded over the other guests savoring some time away from the bedlam.

“GODMUMMY TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” Cora's run through the assortment of legs between us would have made David Beckham proud. With an involuntary but brief look of reproach at Billy, I crouched down and as usual spread out my arms and braced myself for impact. She was wearing the long green ballerina skirt and little green velvet jacket that I had given her for
Christmas which made her look more elfin than normal. “What a surprise to see you here, little one,” I said, inhaling her fluffy scent.

“You always come to my parties,” said Cora.

This was true. I hadn't missed a single one. There was a time in Cora's young life when we thought she may never make it to one birthday, so it seemed sacrilege to miss any of them.

“Mummy got the day wrong and booked Magda for tomorrow, Magda had tickets for a band tonight and couldn't miss it. But don't tell her I told you, because she thinks you all think she's incontinent, but it was just a mistake.”

I clenched my jaw tightly shut to stop the laugh escaping. That was Cora to a T—full of wisdom and malapropisms in equal measure.

Billy appeared behind Cora, her long hair washed this time, and wafting in dark tresses behind her. When she is stressed, you can see the nervous energy tearing through her at hyper speed. When she is relaxed, she looks like she could fly. That night she was at hyper speed.

“God, I'm sorry—so late. Magda got a cold and I so wanted to see you all so Cora suggested she put her pretty dress on, and we both came.”

I knew the last part of that sentence was true.

Perhaps in hindsight I had bullied Billy a fraction too much if she thought bringing a seven-year-old to a coke-fuelled, smoked-filled, over-crowded media party was a better idea than calling me and telling me she couldn't come. I smiled broadly at Cora, then Billy. “A brilliant idea. You both look lovely.”

Cora beamed.

James approached. “You probably need a drink after that experience. I'm going to the bar, can I get you a drink?”

He spoke to Billy. She looked totally perplexed, so I introduced them. Billy isn't used to talking to people she doesn't know. I think she thinks she is invisible.

“What about champagne?” I said, fishing out my credit card. “To say thank you for that miracle stunt you just pulled.”

“Put that away,” said James so firmly that I did.

“And what can I get for you, Cora?” asked James.

Cora beamed again. “Pineapple juice, please.”

“Cora, honey, they might not have—”

James interrupted me. “This is a five-star club. If they don't have pineapple juice then they don't deserve their stars.”

“There is a girl in my class who gets stars she doesn't deserve,” said Cora seriously. “I'm afraid it does happen.”

“You're right,” said James. “All too often.”

Cora nodded in agreement, her brows knitted together. “Apple then, they should have apple.”

“It's a bit of a bun fight in there—absolute chaos,” I said to Billy.

“We won't stay long.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “Did you have a nightmare getting into town?”

“Actually, it was quite fun getting ready together,” she said, ducking the question of dragging Cora out on the tube on a Saturday night. “We danced around the room in our pants and sang High Five songs. The new Abba.”

“Always is the best bit,” I said, taking Billy's arm and clutching Cora's small hand. “Remember the hours we spent getting ready, just so we could go out looking like everyone else?”

“Drinking wine out of mugs.”

“Or the bottle, if we hadn't done the washing up,” I recalled.

“That was a long time ago,” said Billy.

“Don't say that, it feels like yesterday to me.”

“Probably was in your case.”

I poked her in the ribs. We reached the double doors. “Ready?”