Читать книгу One Thing Leads to Another - Jamie Holland - Страница 10

Neither Jessica nor Geordie heard anything more from Flin until the following Sunday night. For Jessica, Sunday nights were sacrosanct and she always did her level best to make sure that nothing came between her and the television. She did not want to talk to anyone, go to a party, watch a film at the cinema or any other extramural activity; she just wanted to eat supper on her lap (preferably something that was easy to cook with minimum fuss from Marks & Spencer), watch telly and then go to bed, safe in the knowledge that she had passed a relaxing and undemanding evening in readiness for the week ahead. She had a television in her room, but it was good to be able to relax in front of the twenty-four-inch model Geordie had hired from Radio Rentals without his snide comments on her viewing choice.

When the phone started ringing, Heartbeat had only just begun with a group of teddy boys from Whitby arriving in Aidensfield to cause trouble at the annual fair. Generally speaking, Jessica tended to screen any phone calls whatever the time of day. If Flin or Geordie were there, they would pick up the phone but in their absence she just waited for the answer machine to click into action. There were several reasons for this, all perfectly valid from Jessica’s point of view: firstly her mother had an annoying habit of phoning her at least once a day. ‘Ah, Jessica, chérie, how are you, my darling?’ she would start in her heavy French accent, and then barrage her with inquiries about what she was up to, how her day had gone, where was she going that night, who was seeing whom – questions, questions, questions. Jessica found it exhausting. Much easier not to pick up the phone and then she never had to feel awful about being rude to her mother and hurting her feelings. The second reason was that people like Rob would phone, or some other man she was trying to avoid, and she hated having to deal with awkward confrontational conversations, particularly during free evenings. Thirdly, quite often she couldn’t be bothered to talk to anyone. If she were stuck on a desert island she supposed she might eventually bore herself, but on the whole she enjoyed her own company and was perfectly happy doing her own thing – reading books and magazines, watching telly and videos. So when the phone rang, she ignored it and carried on watching Heartbeat, where PC Mike Bradley had just arrived on the scene.

The answer machine switched on. ‘Jessica, I know you’re there. Please be there. It’s me. Pick up the phone.’ Sigh. Pause. ‘Jessica, pick up the bloody phone, please. Jes—’

‘Flin, do you realize what time it is? Heartbeat has just started,’ she barked into the receiver. ‘Stop being so selfish.’

‘Listen, Jessica, darling, I’m really sorry, but I need a huge favour.’

‘If you think I’m coming to pick you up from Heathrow, think again.’ What was he on?

‘Look, please, Jessica, I really need you to.’ He always said her name a lot when he wanted something. ‘I had my card swallowed in Florence, I’ve used all my traveller’s cheques and I have no other way of getting home. You know I wouldn’t ask you if there was an alternative. Please.’ Flin continued through her silence: ‘Can’t you record Heartbeat and come back in half an hour and pretend I never interrupted your Sunday night at all? Please. I’ll make it up to you.’ Having finished yelling down the phone at the open-air kiosk at Terminal One, Flin waited for her verdict.

‘How?’

‘How what?’

‘How will you make it up to me?’

‘I don’t know. But I will and you’ll be glad you came and picked me up, I promise. What about a subscription to Jackie or something?’

‘Hm,’ she said. She knew she would have to fetch him. ‘Oh, all right – but this is the last time.’

‘Thanks, Jessica, you are more than gorgeous. I’ll be outside Terminal One. I can’t tell you how good it is to hear a friendly voice once more.’

Jessica put the phone down and scrabbled around for a blank video and then headed off. Flin was so annoying. Typical of him to have had his card swallowed up, and even more typical of him to bank on either her or Geordie to come to his rescue. But what did he mean by that last bit? she thought to herself as she quickly put on some lipstick and tidied her hair.

Any irritation Jessica may have felt disappeared by the time she saw Flin standing helplessly by the pick-up point; somehow, for all his height, he looked like a lost little boy. Hopeless, but it was good to see him. For his part, Flin was elated to see Jessica. He’d forgotten just how beautiful she was. Elegance personified and a true friend indeed. An hour earlier, with enormous relief, he had said his farewells, and then, while waiting for Jessica, had wandered around happily looking at all the comforting signs of English life. Warmth stole over him as he recalled his life before Poppy.

‘So?’ said Jessica, as soon as they started off again.

‘You don’t want to know. It was awful. A total, unmitigated disaster.’

‘I do, I want to hear the whole saga from start to finish.’

‘Jessica, I just can’t bear to – and please don’t say “I told you so” in a superior way, or I’ll probably go mad.’

‘Well, I did, and I do think that in return for picking you up – on a Sunday night – the very least you can do is tell me what happened.’

Flin acquiesced. ‘It was dreadful, J,’ he told her, having explained about Poppy’s bombshell. ‘You were so right. She was just using me to bolster her confidence, but it was a bloody long way to go to find that out. I felt such an idiot although I completely realize it was as much my fault as hers. Should have known my image of being carefree and in love in Italy was too good to be true.’

‘Not really – just with her,’ Jessica said, hoping to sound sympathetic.

‘The first morning I was there,’ Flin told her, lighting one of her cigarettes, ‘I remember waking up very early and sitting outside on the terrace and thinking, I would do anything to see Jessica and Geordie cheerily walk round the corner. Or any of my friends for that matter – just someone friendly I could talk to. I really wished I had a mobile I could call you on. Geordie would’ve had his internationally linked up and ready to use.’

‘Of course he would,’ Jessica laughed.

‘The real tragedy was that it was such a beautiful place. The air was fantastically fresh and I was sitting there, drinking coffee and watching the early-morning sun beginning to lift the lingering mist from the slopes of vines. A bell even started tolling from the nearby village – I felt as though I was in some sort of advert or Merchant Ivory film.’

‘Sounds heaven.’

‘It should have been. Such a bloody waste.’

‘My poor darling. So what did you do all week? Did you just pretend nothing was amiss?’

‘Exactly. I mean, what else could I do? If I acted sulky and petulant, a) that would have made things worse, and b) it would have looked rude to her parents who quite clearly had no idea that Poppy and I had at any stage been romantically involved.’

‘And what were they like?’

‘Liz and Donald? Really sweet, but Christ, did Liz like sightseeing. She was nice, but completely ran the show all week and we all trooped round museums and monasteries all day long while she gave us the guided tour. She was a bit like Eleanor Lavish from A Room with a View. Great if you’re into history of art, not so brilliant if you’re not.’

Jessica laughed once more.

‘Well, I’m sure I’ll laugh about it one day,’ Flin continued, ‘but there was one time when I very nearly lost it completely. We’d been looking round the church of San Marco and Liz had been giving us another lecture. “Just look at Fra Angelico’s brushwork,”‘ he said, imitating Liz’s precise speech. “‘You can see every sweep of the brush as the paint was carefully applied to this figure’s robes.” That was the sort of stuff she’d come out with. What’s more, I’d been there before with Josh when we went inter-railing and frankly, once you’ve seen one fresco, you’ve seen them all. Well, as you can imagine, by the end of it, I was pretty keen just to get back to the villa. But no, we then had to go round the bloody Duomo, with Liz starting yet another lecture. By the time we finally headed back to the cars, I was feeling decidedly tired and grumpy, but I was also determined not to get in Donald’s car as he was just about the worse driver I’ve ever seen.’

‘Worse than you, darling?’ asked Jessica.

Flin ignored the jibe. ‘Much, much worse. Believe me. Anyway, having engineered my way into Liz’s car, I thought I was safe until Poppy and Alice, Poppy’s sister, started singing rounds.’

‘Rounds?’

‘You know, singing the same tune but at different times.’ Flin shuddered at the thought. He had never felt so awkward in his entire life, and doubted he would ever forget that particular car journey. With a renewed wave of gloom sweeping over him, he recalled his feeble attempts at joining in.

‘Oh, Flin, haven’t you ever sung rounds?’ Poppy asked him. ‘You know, I sing a line, then Mummy sings a line as I’m starting my second, then Alice joins in, then you join in and so on. You can sing, can’t you?’

Yes, Flin thought to himself, but it always made him feel self-conscious, especially when he was the only male amongst three females. Liz started the ball rolling. ‘London’s burning, London’s burning.’

Then Alice sung the same line as Liz moved onto ‘Fetch the engines, fetch the engines.’

At the moment Flin was due to join in, Poppy and Alice, and Liz in the mirror, all nodded at him gleefully. But at that appointed moment, racked with horror and embarrassment, he remained mute.

‘Come on, that’s when you come in,’ Alice said, at this stage still humouring him.

‘I’m not very good at singing.’ Flin knew he sounded lame.

‘Nonsense, anyone can sing this,’ Liz scoffed.

‘Have a go, Flin, it’s good fun, honestly.’

A dark cloud of self-consciousness lowered above his head before enveloping him completely. From its murky depths, he growled out his lines.

‘There, that was easy enough.’ Poppy smiled at him encouragingly.

‘You’d find it a lot more comfortable to sing at the proper pitch, though, Flin.’

‘Mummy, don’t bully him. Flin can sing however he likes. Now what next?’

The next ‘round’ was considerably more complicated and, try as he might, Flin was not able to get to grips with it at all.

‘Look, sorry, I’m spoiling your fun. You three sing without me. Let me just listen to you doing this properly,’ he had told them.

Deciding that Flin was a lost cause and that any further attempts at coercion were useless, they finally ignored him and carried on singing increasingly complicated sequences. Flin chewed his fingers and abstractedly watched the Tuscan landscape drift past his window, conscious that his week from hell was descending into new depths of surreal horror.

‘God, that sounds horrific,’ said Jessica, laughing out loud yet again as Flin recounted the sorry tale. ‘Why on earth didn’t you just do your own thing?’

‘I thought it would seem rude, but after the Day of the Rounds, I decided that I had to make a break for it, whether I offended them all or not.’

‘And did you?’

‘Not in the slightest, which made things even worse. I should have left them to their sightseeing much earlier.’

‘So at what point did you lose your credit card?’

‘The same day – my day of supposed freedom,’ Flin told her.

This had been a further disaster. Liz had decided they should look round the church of Santa Croce in Florence and then spend the afternoon in the Uffizi. Flin had excused himself from both but had gone with them into Florence. After pottering about on his own he made for a café-bar in the middle of the Piazza della Signoria and had got chatting to two girls, fresh out of school and on their years off.

‘That must have been quite fun,’ suggested Jessica.

‘It was really. They were quite impressed by my job and I enjoyed showing off a bit. But they also made me feel a bit maudlin. They were so excited about everything, with all that fun and freedom of college ahead of them. I really wished I was four years younger and sitting at the table with friends, with no responsibilities in the world. Being grown-up and constantly having to worry about work and money is so boring. I really liked idling about and being a student.’

‘Yes, but when we were younger we couldn’t wait to grow up. I remember that very clearly,’ Jessica told him.

‘Yes, I s’pose you’re right.’ Flin was silent for a moment. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘we all got quite drunk, especially one of the girls, who tipped her wine glass all over me. Her friend decided she should take her back to their hotel and I stayed in the bar for a couple more drinks. I had wine all over my crotch and I didn’t want to get up until it was dry.’

By that stage he felt quite drunk himself, but sleepy as well – the sun had been beating down all day – and so went for a nap under a tree. He was only supposed to sleep for an hour or so, but when he awoke realized that it was evening and that he’d missed his rendezvous with the others by several hours. Of course, he’d rushed off to the meeting place but there was no sign of them or the cars anywhere. What was he to do?

‘What did you do?’ asked Jessica.

‘I panicked,’ Flin confessed.

It was true, he had. He remembered that moment particularly clearly. His head was pounding furiously from the combination of hangover and exercise. It all seemed a bit bleak. He didn’t have the telephone number of where he was staying – it had never occurred to him that once in Italy, he would need it. Nor could he quite remember the address, but was confident that he could find it – probably. Near Greve somewhere; Montefiore, or something like that. He would go to a cashpoint, take out some money and find a taxi to take him there, with a driver who hopefully spoke some English. It would cost him a fortune, but he could see no alternative. Wondering whether the others would have tried to look for him, or gone to the police, he tried to think what he would have done if he were them. He hadn’t been able to think.

Finding a cashpoint easily enough, he put in his card and opted for ‘inglese’, but then realized with absolute horror that he could not quite remember his pin number. This was a new card he’d only had for a couple of weeks. He felt sure it was 4432, or 4423, or was it 2243? He tentatively tapped in 4432, but it was rejected, as was 4423. No, it was definitely not 2243. Holding his hands up to the sky, he circled round for a moment and then stood staring at the cash dispenser. This was too much. How could he have been so stupid? If Italian cashpoints were anything like British ones, it meant he had one chance left. What the fuck was the stupid number? There were definitely a couple of fours in it, and he was pretty sure there was a three and a two, or was it a three and a seven? He pressed 4473. And his card was retained.

‘So then what?’ Jessica asked him. By now they were approaching Hammersmith.

‘I had to take a taxi ride and hope that I’d firstly be able to find the place and secondly the others would have enough cash to pay the driver.’

It was an experience he hoped he would never have to repeat. The taxi driver had clearly been confused by his nonsensical attempts at Italian. Flin eventually worked out where he needed to go by doing a lot of pointing and saying ‘scusi’ at regular intervals. First he directed his finger towards a dog-eared map in the taxi, and then pointed to where he knew the village was.

‘Ah, Montefioralle!’ the driver exclaimed with almost as much relief as Flin. By the time they reached the village it was dark and Flin realized that they were lost again. Eventually though, exhausted, thoroughly fed-up and nursing a splitting headache, he found the correct track down to the villa and made it back.

‘Flin, that sounds just about the most horrific thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, what did they all say?’

‘They weren’t very amused. Especially as I’d racked up about fifty quid with the taxi driver. “Where on earth have you been? We’ve been worried sick,” and all glaring at me accusingly. It was awful. And Poppy had a complete fit, at which point so did I.’

‘What did you do?’ Jessica was incredulous.

‘I told her I was really ill, had sunstroke and had lost my card and that her yelling at me was the final straw. She swallowed it actually, and was really quite attentive for the remaining days. Still, if I never see her ever again, I can’t say I’ll be sorry.’

‘You poor love. I don’t know what to say,’ Jessica told him as she pulled into Turneville Road.

‘At least we’re all in the same boat again. Unless, of course, there’s something you haven’t told me.’

‘Well, something has happened, actually,’ admitted Jessica.

‘Oh, no, what?’ Flin responded, unable to check himself.

‘Geordie.’

‘Geordie? No! What?’

‘He thinks he’s in love. Although nothing’s happened yet,’ Jessica added hastily. Then she told him all about their night at Tommy’s and how Molly had asked Geordie to call her.

‘Oh, great,’ sighed Flin. ‘So now not only will I have to put up with a love-sick housemate, but Geordie’s also ahead in the competition. Don’t tell me you’ve found someone too.’

‘Don’t be so mean-spirited. Anyway, I don’t think I have, but Tommy was definitely acting keen.’

‘Tommy? Not your type, surely.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ Jessica gave him a capricious smile.

‘Oh, just brilliant. And I thought I was glad to be home.’ Flin sighed once again and slowly stomped upstairs with his bags.

Sitting forlornly on his bed, Flin looked at his belongings. A few clip-framed posters and a couple of shelves of books, CDs, records he never played any more and a few other bits of bric-à-brac. And his tired-looking old Aiwa music deck. As far as his worldly goods went, that was about it. Twenty-five, he reflected sadly, and his most valued things were his cherished collection of Beatles vinyl originals and CDs. He had no trust fund like Geordie, no savings and brilliant pay package like Jessica and virtually all his other friends. Just a large overdraft not far from its limit once again after an extravagant and utterly miserable holiday.

Part of him was glad to be back, especially with the fun of living in the new house, but a larger portion still felt incredibly low that it was over with Poppy. He hated being single and the thought of having to start all over again depressed him. Three years down the line from graduating and he felt he’d hardly progressed. Eddie Fussle was getting married in three and a bit weeks’ time. Perhaps that was the answer. Maybe they would be post-student workers one minute and then suddenly emerge from the chrysalis as fully fledged marrieds. Mind-boggling. It had never occurred to him that people of his age were even remotely ready to undertake something quite so … well, he supposed ‘grown-up’ was the only phrase.

Buying a house was probably the next big step. If he had his own house he would feel considerably more inclined to treat it with respect, but this seemed another impossibly futuristic scenario. How on earth was he ever going to be in a position to afford a house, let alone furniture to go in it? He thought about all the thousands of houses in London. How could anyone afford them? Even a tiny flat seemed ridiculously expensive, and despite his near-constant penury, he was aware he earned more than most Londoners. Life could be so demoralizing. Still, he should be glad for Geordie. Jessica was never going to have a problem finding a boyfriend, but Geordie – well, he had to admit his friend deserved a break, and if Molly did materialize into something good, then, competition or no, he should be glad for him.

Having unpacked, Flin was back downstairs being told by Jessica to stop feeling sorry for himself when Geordie walked in.

‘Flin, you’re back! How was it with the luscious Poppy?’

Jessica glanced at Flin to await his response.

Flin sighed. ‘Not quite what it was cracked up to be, actually.’

‘No?’ Geordie grinned. ‘The parents interrupting your nights of hot sex?’

‘Something like that,’ Flin replied, shifting on the sofa.

‘You’re going to have to tell him, darling,’ put in Jessica.

Geordie was looking expectant. ‘Tell me what?’

‘Oh, nothing. Look, do you fancy catching last orders?’ Flin asked him. Of course, Flin was going to have to tell Geordie about it, but he wanted it to be a highly edited version, out of earshot of Jessica. His car-ride confessional had been cathartic, but then again Jessica was a good listener. Admitting all to Geordie would take him down to a new level of humiliation – Geordie may be his best friend, but there were some things that simply could not be discussed with blokes.

Over a pint in a quiet corner of the pub Flin explained how he and Poppy had had a bit of an argument and things had gone badly wrong from then on. He did tell the story of the taxi-ride, but skirted over the other details of the holiday.

‘What a nightmare,’ Geordie said, recognizing that tact and sympathy were required at the present. Making him suffer could be saved for later.

‘Yeah,’ said Flin sullenly.

‘I mean, I really thought you had it sewn up.’

‘Hm,’ nodded Flin

‘To be honest, I was jealous as hell! She was absolutely gorgeous! I had all these images of you shagging under the olive trees or vines or whatever. I bet she looked even better with a deep tan.’

Flin winced. ‘Geordie, can you please stop going on about how gorgeous she must have been? It’s very painful for me.’

‘I’m commiserating,’ said Geordie.

‘Well let’s just change the subject,’ said Flin.

‘Sure,’ said Geordie, then added, ‘but I must admit I wouldn’t have wanted to be in your shoes. It does sound really embarrassing.’

‘It was.’

They both sat in silence for a moment, looking at the brown, flat liquid in front of them.

‘Anyway, on a brighter note, I think I’m about to fall in love.’

‘Yeah, Jessica said. That’s great.’ Flin looked up wearily from his beer. ‘Well done.’

‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me about it?’

‘OK, sorry.’ Flin took one of Geordie’s cigarettes. ‘Go on then, let’s hear it.’

As Flin got into bed that night he decided he would just have to try and put the Poppy débâcle behind him. It was no good being permanently maudlin. And he may suddenly be behind with the romantic part of the competition, but there was still a long time to go and there was always work. Bruklin Sale was coming over – the talk of Sundance – and he knew that this presented a golden opportunity to make a big impression. He had the opportunity to help establish this bright, new and exciting director/star in the UK; and well aware that Bruklin was unspoilt by years riding the publicity bandwagon, Flin knew he would have more influence over what this new star would do to promote than the vast majority of campaigns he worked on. Internal promotion was difficult in his line of work; the way forward was to put together campaigns that people in the business noticed. Get noticed, and get headhunted. It was as simple as that.