The Other Ida (15 page)

Ida thought he looked like a twat.

She set them up again and walked forwards. Staring at the centre pin she tried to imagine that someone's life depended on getting a strike. She tried to think of someone she cared about, to imagine their life hanging in the balance but she couldn't think of anyone at all. Raising the ball to her chest, she threw it down the alley like a netball.

“Strike!” someone shouted from the sofas behind them.

Ida failed to hide the delight on her face as she turned towards him.

By three thirty she was tired. “Let's go home,” she said. She had kind of meant to go to her home, and for him to go to his, but when he asked the taxi driver for an address she didn't know, his address, she didn't argue. Normally she hated people making decisions for her but tonight, for some reason, she was quite enjoying it.

They drove through streets she didn't recognise, past shops selling watermelon, still open despite the time, past two girls pulling each other's hair, past a dead dog and a mosque.

He told her about Hackney, about its geography and bus routes and size. It was the next place to be, he was sure of it. A couple of years at most and the artists would be packing it out.

For once she did nothing but listen.

They fell in the front door and crashed through his house, tripping up the stairs and over rugs, shhssing each other and laughing. His room was on the top floor and apart from a double bed and an art deco wardrobe he had no furniture. On the walls were giant sheets of white paper, blu-tacked up, and covered in detailed sketches and lists, and in the far corner was a tower of books and CDs.

Ida threw herself straight onto the bed and with a crash realised that it had cracked, that her arse was now nearer the floor than her feet. She struggled to get up.

“Fucking hell, you big ball of chaos,” he said, walking over, kneeling next to her and lighting a candle. “I've never met anyone like you.”

She looked at him the low light. He was so angular and perfect. He was beautiful.

“Elliot,” she whispered. “You're not really a fan, are you?”

“Of course not. My ex was though,” he said, as he started kissing her legs.

“Should I be embarrassed about the bed?”

“Oh God no. Be proud. I'll remember you, won't I? And who needs beds anyway,” he said as he gripped her legs and pulled her, screaming, onto the floor.

Chapter fifteen

~ 1999 ~

They were so squished up on the low single chair bed that by the morning almost every part of their bodies was touching and Ida was, for the first time, pleased that her sister had stolen her room. She couldn't remember them being this close and she felt grateful. Her eyes were still shut and she kissed the greasy back of Elliot's dirty blonde hair, smelling fags, and the tube, and days old cheap shampoo. She laughed out loud to herself.

“What's so funny?” he asked, still more asleep than awake.

“Oh God, everything. Alice is going to be so fucked off you're here but she can't say anything because it's my birthday and –”

Elliot turned over and kissed her hard on the mouth without opening his eyes. She was still wearing a towel and within seconds they were fucking, their bodies barely moving apart, her arms pulling him painfully close.

Just outside Ida could hear her sister on the telephone, talking politely to someone, and Ida groaned, far louder than she ever did back at home. Elliot opened one eye and smiled at her. He knew her very well and began thrusting hard and fast. She panted into his ear. She hoped Tom was outside the door.

“Can I come inside you?” he whispered.

“Please, yes,” she whispered back. Although she knew it was wrong she enjoyed the danger, and loved the feeling of keeping him inside her for as long as possible.

He came, opened his eyes and kissed her on the nose. “Happy birthday you big mad cow.”

“Thanks, piss head.” She pushed him over and sat on top of him, her legs round his hips. “It's my fucking birthday,” she shouted as loudly as she possibly could.

“There's some vodka in my bag, your birthday present dearest. Crack it open will you? Brought you some more Valium too. ”

They showered together and Ida made sure the others knew it, dropping things and giggling loudly. When they finally made it to the kitchen Alice and Tom were at the table with
The Guardian
and a pile of pancakes.

“They're cold now but we can make more,” said Alice.

“Oh thanks so much,” said Ida.

“Happy birthday,” Alice said, standing, and the two women briefly hugged.

“Good morning,” said Elliot, holding out his hand. Alice took it, smiling. “I'm so, so sorry about last night,” he said. “I've been taking these new antibiotics and they've totally messed me up. And then it was a friend's party. God knows what happened. I'm mortified. Can I take you all for lunch? Your father and stepmother too? And I'm so sorry about your mother. Really, I know how hard it is.”

Alice sat down and nodded at Ida, clearly taken aback. “Yes, that would be lovely,” she said.

Tom handed Ida a bunch of freesias. “It's only little, I didn't know it was your birthday until yesterday. I just thought these, well I thought you might like them.”

“They're your favourite aren't they Ida? They were Mum's favourite too,” Alice said, and Ida nodded. “Sorry, your present from me is going to be late.”

Elliot patted Tom on the back. “Well done, I would have had a job to remember that. You need to give me some boyfriend tips mate.” Ida winced, Tom was blushing and it was clear everyone felt awkward but no one quite knew why.

“A lucky coincidence I suppose, they were all they had at the corner shop. And, well, lunch would be great, but don't worry I'll pay for me and Ally,” said Tom, “it's not cheap round here.”

“No, I'm sure it's not,” said Elliot, “thank God. It's Ida's birthday after all. I insist.”

Tom started to argue, but Alice said, “Let him pay,” and Tom looked down at his hands.

They arranged to meet Bryan and Terri on Poole Quay and as they drove Ida tried not to worry. The thing was, as far as she knew Elliot no longer had a bank card or cheque book, and she wasn't at all sure how he was going to make this grand offer a reality. She also worried about what he had been taking to be so ‘up' – usually he wasn't even conscious until gone twelve. She tried not to let herself hope that he'd sorted himself out for her sake, made it up with his dad or the gallery, got some cash, and given up the drugs. She tried hard not to hope because she had hoped it before and it hadn't worked out. There was also always the worry she was ashamed of – that if he got too clean and sorted he'd most probably leave her for somebody else.

Elliot was polite and charming as always, asking Tom question after question about his work. They had friends in common (Elliot knew everyone) and the two men walked in front, while Alice and Ida lagged behind. It was a blowy day and they stayed near the shops rather than walking beside the sea. There was a strong smell of salt and something like drains – Ida had forgotten the smell – and ahead of them fishermen were selling their catch to passers-by.

“He's good looking,” said Alice. “Very thin though.”

“You can talk. He always says I eat too much. Not in a bad way or anything, he just thinks people should eat less in general. And I do eat loads.”

“He seems okay, very friendly,” said Alice, “and he's getting on with Tom. Turning up pissed wasn't ideal but he is your boyfriend, after all.”

“Exactly,” said Ida, “what else would you expect?”

Ahead of them Elliot ran over to a boat and started looking at the fish, asking to pick them up and chatting to the other customers. He looked wonderful in his oversized coat and tartan scarf, his hair sticking up at odd angles, so different, Ida thought, to the jeans-and-jumper-wearing families they were surrounded by. He laughed loudly – she loved his laugh – and she smiled to see an old woman jump at the sudden sound of it.

Above them a flock of seagulls was circling the boats and Ida winced despite herself, keeping close to the gift shops, reminding herself that if it all got too much she could always run inside. “I didn't know they were still here,” she said, gesturing towards the fishermen. “It all seems so ancient somehow.”

“Yes, they're still here. I can't look in their boats though. The poor fish, struggling to breathe. I wish they'd knock them on the head with something, not leave them to die like that.”

“You always were a wuss,” said Ida.

“And you're not?” Alice asked, looking towards the gulls and laughing.

The waiter greeted them with a wide-eyed expression that Ida knew well. It was the same expression waiters always adopted after her father had complained about their table, or the temperature of the wine, or a crying child. Alice must have noticed the look too because, quite unexpectedly, she squeezed Ida's hand as they were led through the quiet restaurant. It looked the same as it had at least fifteen years before – orange floral carpets and rose shaped up-lighters. She should have known it wouldn't have changed; her father stopped going anywhere as soon as they redid the décor. Bryan stood up as he saw them approach. Terri sat still, her mouth twitching slightly while she fiddled with her napkin.

“Darlings. So good to see you. Happy birthday beautiful girl,” he said, reaching for Ida. She hugged him, and he gripped her wrist.

“We had to get the table changed, they put us near the loos, but it's all sorted out now.”

“It was that china-man,” Terri whispered. “I don't think he realised who your father was.”

“Oh God,” said Alice, Elliot guffawed, and Tom laughed nervously. Terri beamed up at them.

“Good afternoon, you must be Mrs Irons. I'm Elliot,” he leant down and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Well, haven't you got yourself a gentleman here?” said Terri, fanning herself with her menu. Ida felt warm with pride.

They sat down at the round table, boy then girl then boy at Terri's insistence, leaving Ida between Tom and her father. They shook out their peach napkins (folded into enormous swans) and Ida felt ashamed of her father's choice of restaurant. Elliot was sitting almost directly opposite her, flirting wildly and successfully with Terri, but she couldn't meet his eye. His family were so sophisticated, they'd hate it here, and it was lucky he would be far too charming to let Ida's family realise he thought it was anything other than wonderful.

Bryan was talking loudly about someone he used to work with who'd retired and his ‘poof of a son' and Ida tried to ignore him, staring instead at the hard line of Elliot's jaw, his mean mouth, his lean, strong arms. It was only when she felt Terri's eyes on her, and noticed her amused expression, that she looked away. She knew that look, the pitying smile that said,
my goodness you love him too much dear
. Not for the first time her supposedly stupid stepmother had got it in one.

Bryan ordered Champagne and, when it came, slipped Ida an envelope with a wink. It would be a cheque, Ida knew, and although she was pleased, it had got to the point that no amount she was given could make a dent in the horrible amount she owed. Terri cleared her throat and lifted a gift bag from under her seat.

“I couldn't stand to see you walking around in all those old-men's things. You look like a blooming tramp!”

Ida tried to keep a straight face as she opened it, careful not to catch Elliot's eye in case she laughed. It was a bright yellow dress, a size too small, made out of some strange, shiny fabric.

“Do you like it? I hope you do. Monica helped me choose it. She's very fashionable.”

Monica was Terri's eldest niece, the one, (Ida had it on good authority), who had been part of a live sex show at an Ibiza nightclub. It explained a lot.

Ida laughed. “It's lovely. I better try it on,” she said.

After the third bottle of Champagne Ida forgot to be worried about how Elliot would pay the bill and decided to enjoy herself. If people were concerned her drinking was out of hand they didn't say anything – Ida had forgotten this was one of the pluses of birthdays. After a round of tipsy toasts to Bridie they sung
Happy Birthday
three times at Ida's insistence, and the last couple of times the waiters and other guests joined in while Ida stood up and bowed. She forgot to be self-conscious about the very tight dress, instead enjoying the way it clung to her tits, and the way Elliot looked up at her. In fact, Elliot sung the loudest of all, clapping and whooping and shouting ‘and many more' at the end. He loved her. Ida was sure he really did.

The food was terrible, as she had known it would be, tiny slices of meat in lukewarm gravy and spongy roast potatoes, but no one was eating much. Even Alice was drinking, and there was a recklessness in all of them, relief that finally, after months of misery, they were allowed to do something that was at least supposed to be fun.

Sudden rain smashed at the windows and they decided to stay where they were. In fact, it was nearly six when Elliot stood up, took the waiter to one side, and handed him a fistful of notes. Only Ida seemed to see.

The rain had died down, although it was still drizzling as they stood in the doorway of the restaurant while Bryan and Terri waited for their cab. Tom offered to drive them home, but Bryan wouldn't hear of it and Ida he knew would hate travelling in Alice's tiny Mini.

She felt very tired and sat down on the doorstep while Tom and Alice went to pick up the car.

Terri made a final trip to the loo and Elliot stood in the rain in front of them, smoking and looking at the choppy sea, while Bryan sat down next to Ida and felt for something in his coat pocket.

“Here, darling, I wasn't sure whether to give it to you, but, I think I should. It's not exactly nice, but it's at least honest – she did love you in her own funny way.” He was whispering loudly, his breath hot and boozy.