The Piano Man Project (18 page)

Mimi nodded. ‘Not with those though. I’ll have some red ones to match my cardigan, thank you very much, Billy Hebden.’ She spun on her low heel, winked at Honey, and then marched outside to be chained up.

Lucille shook her head as she watched her sister leave, her arms folded over her chest.

‘She’s always been the same. Had to be first at everything,’ she said quietly. ‘First at the dinner table when we were children. First to leave home.’ She paused, frowning. ‘First to be born.’

Honey noticed the chagrin behind Lucille’s words, more noticeable on Lucille because she was usually content to fall in line behind her more fiery sister.

‘But she wasn’t, was she?’ Lucille mused, almost to herself. ‘Mimi wasn’t the first-born. Ernie was.’

So that was what this was about. Honey nodded slowly. ‘Have you decided what to do about the letter?’

Lucille sighed. ‘Mimi has decided that there’s no point in us meeting him.’

‘And you?’ Honey said, taking care to stay neutral.

‘He’s my brother, Honey.’ Lucille’s rouged lips bunched tightly together, sending pucker marks zinging all around her face. ‘I’m going to meet him next week, and Mimi can’t stop me because she doesn’t know about it.’

Honey’s mouth dropped into a silent ‘o’, sensing trouble brewing on the horizon. Mimi and Lucille barely disagreed about anything, mostly because Mimi made the decisions and Lucille kept the peace. It was highly unusual for them to have such differing opinions on something so important, and a sense of anxiety settled over Honey at her own unwitting duplicity now that she knew of Lucille’s plan.

‘I really think it might be best if you told Mimi,’ she said softly. ‘I’m sure she’ll come around to the idea.’

‘Oh no she won’t,’ Lucille said. ‘She’s as stubborn as an ox, and besides …’ she wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging her secret to herself, ‘I want this just for me for a while.’

Honey looked at Lucille’s wistful and unusually defiant blue eyes. As tactics went, she couldn’t help but feel it was a dangerous way to proceed.

‘Why don’t I go and make us a cuppa,’ she said, leaving Lucille with her secret and her faraway smile, a deepening feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach.

The tap on Honey’s door later that evening didn’t come as a complete surprise. Never one to wait unduly for gossip, Tash deposited a bottle of red on the kitchen counter and shimmied out of her jacket, eyeing Honey speculatively.

‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘Out with it.’

Honey shrugged as she carried two wine glasses to the coffee table and sagged down into the corner of the sofa. ‘There isn’t much to tell. I threw myself at him and he blew me off.’

‘There has to be more to the story than that.’ Tash poured the wine and handed a glass to Honey, then curled herself into the other end of the sofa, bookends. ‘Did you just knock on his door and demand to be kissed?’

‘No, of course I didn’t,’ Honey said with exaggerated patience. ‘I … well, I wasn’t even going over there at all, because it was an incredibly stupid plan that was never going to work.’ She sipped her wine, glad of its deep, blackcurranty comfort. ‘And then I realised I hadn’t given him the electric razor I’d bought for him from work, so I popped over anyway. Not to kiss him. Just to deliver it.’

‘You bought him a razor? You know that’s random, right?’

‘He needed one,’ Honey said. ‘He was veering dangerously close to Grizzly Adams territory.’

Tash waved a hand for her to move the story on from the shaver. ‘So then what happened?’

Honey huffed. ‘I knocked on his door and lost my temper when he ignored me, then he opened his door and lost his temper too. Yelled at me that his name was Benedict Hallam and he used to have a life before he met me.’

Tash frowned, and then her eyes opened wide and round.

‘Shit! Hon. Benedict Hallam is your nutso neighbour?’

‘Do you know him?’ Honey said. His name had seemed familiar to her when he’d said it, but she’d spent the time since concentrating too hard on loving him or hating him to dwell on why.

‘You do too,’ Tash said, sliding her glass onto the table. ‘Benedict Hallam, the hotshot celebrity chef?’ Tash frowned, obviously thinking. ‘He had a posh restaurant in London … and oh God, that’s it! He had an accident … he was an adrenalin junkie … a snowboarding injury I think?’

Honey nodded slowly. It all sounded vaguely familiar, but she was less of a fan of the celeb magazines than Tash.

‘Is he over there right now?’ Tash said, instantly animated. ‘Can I go and meet him?’

‘No way, Tash! You’re not talking to him, and he wouldn’t answer the door anyway. He’d hurl abuse. He’s the most ignorant man you’ve ever met. I’m not even kidding.’

‘From what I remember of him from the papers he’s sex on a stick,’ Tash said.

Honey took a bigger gulp of her wine than she’d planned. ‘He’s alright, I suppose.’

Tash shot her a meaningful look. ‘He’s sex on a stick and you know it.’

‘Fine. Whatever. He’s sex on a stick,’ Honey grumbled, knowing there was little point in arguing the point because Tash was right. ‘But he’s miserable as sin, and he led me on and then threw me out.’

Tash refilled their glasses, frowning again. ‘So going back to your story. You shouted, he shouted, and then what?’

‘And then he flipped into sexy mode and asked me to shave his beard off for him.’

‘Fuuuck,’ Tash sighed. ‘I love him.’

‘And then he pulled me onto his lap, unbuttoned my dress and kissed the life out of me.’

Tash licked her lips, her eyes sparkling. ‘I know you’re going to say this is bad of me but I read in a magazine that blind men are better in bed. More thoughtful and skilled with their hands because they’re not rendered stupid by the sight of a naked woman. In the absence of a pianist, he might just be the perfect candidate to help you get over your little problem.’ Tash’s mischief-filled eyes shot to Honey’s crotch.

‘That’s just the thing, Tash. There’s something about him that I just can’t put my finger on, he only has to touch me and I turn into a jelly-kneed idiot. He’s rude to me, like proper obnoxious, and then he kisses me and I melt.’

Tash nodded slowly. ‘So he stripped you, kissed you, and then what?’

‘And then he let me practically beg him to do me before he decided he’d had enough and told me to get dressed and go home.’

Tash grimaced. ‘Classic clit-tease.’

Honey glanced up doubtfully.

‘Male equivalent of a prick tease,’ Tash supplied, reaching for her glass off the table.

Honey half laughed, wishing she’d known the phrase the other night.

‘He didn’t give you any explanation for breaking it off?’

Honey shook her head. ‘Just that I’d thank him in the morning. Which I absolutely sodding didn’t, by the way.’

‘Harsh, babe,’ Tash said in sympathy, and then blew out heavily. ‘Total horndog though. Christ.’

‘You’re supposed to be on my side, remember?’

‘I am. I am.’ Tash swirled the wine around in her glass. ‘It was a shitty thing to do to you. My advice?’

Honey nodded. All advice gratefully accepted, even Tash’s.

‘You either have to go over there and demand he finish what he started, or stop mooning over him and move on.’

‘I’m not mooning.’

‘When you told Nell and me about him, you were definitely mooning.’

‘I’ve never mooned in my life.’

Tash shot her a
whatever
look. ‘I recommend the first option, just so you know. You have a hot celeb chef holed up next door. Make use of him. Get him to cook you dinner and then do some more of that magic knee-melting thing he does to you.’

‘Umm … he rejected me last night, remember?’

‘Oh, Honey.’ It was Tash’s turn to adopt the exaggerated patience. ‘You’re a woman. He’s a man. You’re both lonely. He was probably just having an off day or something. Try again.’

‘My head says no. He drives me crazy. Honestly Tash, I don’t even like him half the time.’ Honey sliced her flat hand across her throat. ‘From here up, I think stop mooning. But then from here down …’ she skimmed her eyes towards the ceiling and then knocked back the contents of her wine glass, ‘I want him in a way I’ve never wanted anyone else.’

A few days of abstinence from Hal did little to make Honey’s heart grow fonder. She hadn’t knocked on his door, and he hadn’t shouted obscenities at her as she came and went through their shared lobby. If there was one thing she was sure of it was that she wouldn’t be the one to back down this time. She knew he’d never offer her an explanation for his behaviour but he owed her an apology at the very least. If he didn’t give it, then he could consider their friendship over.

It wasn’t usual for Honey to be so bloody-minded, but Hal seemed to bring out both the very best and the very worst in her; he made her lighthearted and sexy and even culinarily capable, and he made her stubborn and furious and frustrated. It was a lot of extra emotion to handle, and Honey was almost glad of the time out afforded to her by his most recent bout of silence. Besides, the campaign to save the home was gathering pace daily, especially since the residents had begun their daily vigil at the railings.

Honey leaned back on her stool at the till and glanced out of the window of the shop. It was Billy’s day today, and unlike Elsie yesterday who’d sat sedately humming to herself and smiling benignly at passers-by and the reporter from the paper, Billy was approaching his stint in the manner of a union leader whipping up a rally. He’d managed to find a pair of prisoner-style orange overalls, which clashed violently with the lime cuffs he’d used to chain himself to the railings by one wrist. In his other hand he brandished a loudhailer, and for most of the morning he’d been entertaining passers-by and the growing clutch of reporters who’d come from further afield as word of the story spread.

From her vantage point, Honey saw Patrick appear in his chef’s apron, ambling down the path with a tray laden with lunch for today’s activist. Soup, from what she could make out, and a plate of sandwiches. Billy laid down his loudhailer and sat down in readiness. A moment later, Christopher flew down the path behind the chef and bobbed in front of him, a human barrier between Billy and his lunch.

‘No. No feeding residents off the premises please, Patrick. I’m afraid it breaches our health and safety regulations.’ He waved his hand away towards the tray, his other hand holding his hair down as he leaned in and hissed for the chef’s ears only. ‘And you’re only encouraging them.’

‘I’m old.’ Billy had picked up his loudhailer again, his voice suddenly thin and wavering. ‘And I’m hungry. Please let me eat my lunch, sir.’ He all but doffed his cap at Christopher.

Honey stepped out of the shop to keep an eye on proceedings.

‘No can do I’m afraid, Mr Hebden. What if you were to choke on food prepared inside the home whilst you’re out here? You could get the place closed down. You’re more than welcome to come inside and eat in the dining room with the other residents though.’ Christopher turned and smiled at the photographers.

‘The place is being closed down anyway, you numpty,’ Billy boomed into the loudhailer, and Patrick started to laugh.

‘He’s got a fair point there, Chris. Out of the way so I can put this down, eh?’

Everyone knew that Christopher hated his name being shortened. Even Honey winced.

‘I absolutely refuse to permit eating on this pavement,’ Christopher said, reaching out and placing a warning hand against the edge of the tray. ‘Observe the law.’

‘“Observe the law”? Observe my bloody front door! It’s being slammed in my face!’ Billy wailed. ‘I’m being made homeless, I’m old and I want my soup!’

Honey wondered if Billy had ever been on the stage – he was a natural.

‘It’s coming, Billy,’ Patrick thundered, tussling to get around Christopher who refused to take his hand off the tray. ‘Let go,’ the chef muttered, and Christopher shook his head quickly.

Honey watched as they seemed to tug the tray back and forth between them, each man entrenched in winning the battle.

Billy peered hopefully between them. ‘Is it tomato?’ he boomed, still holding the loudhailer.

Christopher clenched his teeth and yanked hard at the tray, sending the food flying, the soup landing all down the front of Billy’s overalls. It was hard to say if it was deliberate or not, but either way Billy made the most of the situation, turning to the press, virtually in tears.

‘It’s burning,’ he moaned into the loudhailer, loud and pitiful, even though it had at best been lukewarm and he could barely feel it through the boiler suit and his clothing beneath it.

Honey ran across the pavement to help but found her way blocked by Patrick, who puffed himself up to Popeye proportions and swung a left hook at Christopher’s chin, sending him sprawling.

‘You just assaulted an OAP!’ the chef thundered, puce in the face.

‘And you just assaulted your boss!’ Christopher yelled back, sliding around the pavement on his backside in the sandwiches.

‘Up yours! I resign, ya great streak of piss!’ Patrick shouted, louder than Billy even without the aid of a loudhailer. He unfastened his striped apron and dragged it over his head then threw it at Christopher’s head before storming back into the building.

The press pack scribbled furiously and flashed their cameras, hardly able to believe their luck. This was turning into the story that just kept on giving. Honey stepped around Christopher to help Billy step out of the soup-covered overalls, revealing the slogan-painted t-shirt beneath it. ‘You say old, I say experienced. Fancy dinner?’

‘How do I look, darling?’ he winked.

Honey grinned at how much Billy was obviously enjoying himself. ‘Never better, Billy.’

He turned to smile winsomely for the cameras, and Honey stepped back into the shadows, hoping it was all going to be enough. Billy might seem clownish to the passers-by, but behind all of his showmanship was an elderly man who was genuinely frightened for his future, and that wasn’t funny at all.

‘We’re all starving, Honey. Skinny Steve is trying his best, bless him, but he’s wet behind the ears and burnt all the toast this morning. Old Don almost broke his false teeth trying to eat it.’