Читать книгу Clicking Her Heels - Lucy Hepburn - Страница 12

CHAPTER SIX

‘OK,’ Amy began, ‘here goes. I’ve been seeing a man for about a year now.’

‘You’re a dark horse,’ Debbie breathed.

‘But it’s not like that at all!’ Amy protested. ‘He’s just a friend!’

‘I take it you didn’t tell Justin?’ Jesminder asked gently.

Amy shook her head.

‘Why not? Does he know him?’

‘His name is Sergei Mishkov, he’s maybe forty-four, he used to be a dancer, and he was one of my mother’s best friends. I think I may have even mentioned him a while back …’

‘Ah,’ said Jesminder and Debbie simultaneously.

‘Now he’s a choreographer – he’s very famous in the ballet world, lives in the States, mainly, but he tours a lot, and often visits the UK. He’s wonderful.’

‘Fit?’ Debbie asked playfully. Jesminder dug her in the ribs.

Amy ignored her. ‘He got in touch a year ago, about a year after Mum died – they’d been dancing partners for a while, though Mum was quite a bit older than him – and I invited him round for dinner.’

‘As you would,’ affirmed Jesminder. ‘Quite right too.’

‘Well, I thought so, but Justin didn’t take to him at all, which upset me at the time.’

‘Pig,’ Debbie spat. ‘Sorry. That slipped out.’

‘Well, Justin said he didn’t like the way Sergei looked at me, and he said he felt excluded from the conversation all evening, like Sergei and I had made some sort of connection, so …’ Amy tailed off, and shrugged.

‘Did you like him?’ Jesminder asked, her sandwich halfway to her mouth.

‘Oh, yes, I really enjoy his company, he’s so different, so grown-up and charming, but he’s funny too,’ Amy said fervently. Maybe Justin’s jealousy was understandable after all.

‘Anyhow, after Sergei left, Justin and I had this huge row. I was mad at him for behaving so stroppily in front of my friend, and he accused me of flirting with him the whole night.’

‘I don’t like the sound of that possessive streak of Justin’s,’ Debbie mused.

‘It’s not possessive, as such,’ Amy said defensively, groping for the right words. ‘He’s, well, he is afraid of being cheated on, though. I must have told you that his last girlfriend, Natasha, cheated on him with his best friend?’

‘You did,’ Jesminder affirmed quietly. ‘So it’s not surprising he’s wary.’

‘Hmm.’ Debbie wasn’t convinced.

‘Anyway, not long after that Sergei rang up and asked me to go to the ballet with him.’

‘And you didn’t tell Justin?’ Jesminder guessed.

Amy nodded. ‘It seemed easier. Justin’s not interested in ballet. Oh, he’d go with me if I begged him, but there was something really, really nice about going with Sergei. He’s so passionate about it, and he’s such lovely company, and he knew my mother …’

‘Was it only once?’ Jesminder pressed.

‘No. That’s the trouble. Last week was the fourth time. I’m afraid I used you as an alibi, Jes. I’m sorry.’

Understanding spread over Jesminder’s face. ‘Aha, that would explain why Justin rang me up last week to find out how my evening had gone.’

‘I told him I was going to the pub with you,’ Amy mumbled, touching Jesminder’s arm. ‘I’m really, really sorry for involving you. What a mess! No wonder he’s changing the locks.’

‘Outstanding. He was checking up on you,’ Debbie growled.

‘He had good reason, don’t you think?’ Amy replied.

‘So you do fancy this Sergei, then?’ said Debbie.

‘No! I don’t! It’s just … well … he’s a link to my mother – to both of my parents, really – and we have the same things in common, and he’s charming, and interesting, and fun …’

‘Can I have him, then, if you don’t want him?’ Debbie teased. ‘I’m coming over a bit Anna Karenina all of a sudden …’

‘Have you tried calling Justin today?’ diverted Jesminder, rolling her eyes in Debbie’s direction.

Amy nodded her head, and tears began to well up for the umpteenth time. ‘He won’t answer his mobile. I’ve tried about twenty times.’

‘Did he really sell all of your shoes?’ Jesminder asked, unwrapping a chocolate chip muffin and cutting it neatly into four. Without asking, Debbie helped herself to a quarter.

‘He did. At least, I think he did. He says he did, and there’s no sign of them, and I really loved them, and he knew that and … do you know what?’

‘What?’ came in chocolatey chorus.

‘I don’t think he could have done anything more hurtful if he’d planned it for a thousand years. Mum’s ballet slippers … they were the only pair of her shoes that I had.’

‘We’ll need to get them back,’ said Jesminder.

‘Some people keep diaries or photographs to remind them of special times …’ A tear ran down Amy’s cheek and plopped onto the paper plate in front of her.

‘Too right we will,’ agreed Debbie, thrusting her paper napkin under Amy’s nose.

‘Most people my age can talk about old times with their parents, but I can’t …’ Amy wasn’t really aware of the other two any more as she sank deeper into moroseness.

‘And I think I know how we can do it.’ Jesminder was smiling conspiratorially at Debbie.

‘I can tell you ten, twenty stories about each pair …’

‘I’m all ears,’ smirked Debbie.

‘… where I was, what I did, who was there – it’s mad, I know, but … sorry, what did you say?’

‘I said,’ Jesminder repeated patiently, ‘that I know how to get the shoes back.’

‘How?’

‘Go and retrieve them from the buyers, of course.’

‘Road trip!’ Debbie yelled, to the alarm of the old lady at the table in front of them who dropped her umbrella on the floor, triggering the automatic opening mechanism so that the brolly exploded into a fan of pink and white roses with a loud pop.

‘Yeah, right. How will we even track them down? Besides, I can’t even get into the apartment without Justin’s mother’s say-so. That’ll really work. But thanks, guys.’

Jesminder’s beautiful, almond-shaped black-brown eyes had narrowed. ‘We’ll see, Amy, we’ll see.’

It was almost half-past eight that evening by the time Amy plucked up the courage to ring her own doorbell.

Phyllis’s thin voice answered. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s Amy. May I come in?’

There was a pause and then a buzzing sound. Amy’s knees felt decidedly wobbly as she mounted the stairs. Phyllis was standing at the open doorway to meet her. Her face was filled with pained disappointment.

‘Phyllis,’ Amy began, ‘this is all a terrible misunderstanding—’

‘I’ve already put most of your things into boxes,’ Phyllis cut in, although there was no anger in her voice. ‘You can get the rest some other time.’

‘Truly, Phyllis, I haven’t—’

‘I’m sorry, Amy, I really am, but Justin is so hurt, and so am I.’ Amy walked past Phyllis, into the flat, as though drugged. Why wasn’t she being believed? It all seemed so surreal. And so unfair.

But nothing prepared her for the sight that greeted her in the sitting room. A neat stack of large cardboard boxes stood in the centre of the room, immaculately labelled ‘Clothes’, ‘Books’, ‘Bags’, ‘Toiletries’, ‘Paperwork’, ‘Kitchen Equipment’, ‘Miscellaneous’ and, as a final insult, ‘Shoe Boxes’. It must have taken Phyllis all day.

Phyllis followed her into the room and handed her an envelope.

‘What’s that?’ Amy asked, her voice utterly flat.

‘It’s a cheque. From Justin,’ Phyllis replied. ‘The proceeds of the sale of the shoes. I don’t necessarily approve of my son’s action, but I know one thing: he is not a thief.’

Amy took the envelope. She didn’t know what else to do. But just as her mouth was about to form the heartfelt ‘Oh, yes he is,’ a piercing, deafening noise made both women jump.

‘The fire alarm!’ Phyllis shouted, as they covered their ears. ‘It’s probably another false alarm, but you can never be too careful. Quick, can you smell smoke?’

Amy couldn’t, but she followed the older lady to the door. The fire alarm had gone off twice in the last month and both times had been false alarms. Amy knew for a fact that the Turkish couple in the apartment opposite were fond of smoking shisha.

‘Oh, no! Mrs Tompkiss!’ Phyllis exclaimed.

‘Be careful!’ Amy shouted above the din, as the older woman hurried downstairs to find Mrs Tompkiss, her precious cat. There were still no signs of smoke or flames. People were beginning to emerge onto the staircase above and below, and clatter downstairs to the fire assembly point.

But not Amy. Seizing her chance, she glanced from side to side and slipped back into the now empty flat, sitting down in front of Justin’s home computer. Loud voices told her that the landing was busy, and she shook all over as she waited for the machine to boot up. It seemed to take for ever – Phyllis could return at any moment – but at last it sprang into life and Amy began to navigate her way to Justin’s eBay account. She was dizzy with anticipation: two more minutes, and she’d have all of the buyers’ details …

Only he had changed his password. Amy typed in the familiar ‘moshpit’ password four times before forcing herself to accept the obvious – he’d won.

Stunned, Amy sat back, wanting to wail with anguish. So close! How was she going to get the information now? Justin sure as heck wasn’t going to email the details to her, however nicely she asked. She knew he wouldn’t back down. He was such a stickler for seeing a job through, doing things thoroughly …

Aha – light-bulb moment! At once, Amy had her solution. Justin was such a stickler, wasn’t he? He was bound to have done proper printed address labels on his computer, wasn’t he? There was no way he would do anything as time-consuming as writing on the parcels with a pen if there was a technological and cunning way of doing it! Excitedly, and ignoring the panicked voices outside, Amy opened Justin’s Word documents.

There it was. A file carefully titled ‘Shoe Labels’.

Quickly, Amy printed it off, shut down the computer and was about to run downstairs when she remembered the letter.

The night before, unable to sleep, she had taken out her writing pad and poured everything out in a letter: all about Sergei, and why she hadn’t told Justin about their meetings. She hadn’t been sure whether she would ever let Justin read it, as it ended up tear-stained and far, far too emotional, but now, with all her senses jangling, she thought, oh, what the heck, and laid it down beside the computer for Justin to read – or not – when he eventually came home.

She made it downstairs to the fire assembly point just a minute before Phyllis, who arrived clutching Mrs Tompkiss, relief spread all over her face. Neighbours were milling around chatting. Since the fire alarm had started malfunctioning, the neighbours had actually got round to knowing each other by name rather than just flat number.

‘Looked everywhere for her. Finally found her hiding in the laundry basket.’ Phyllis beamed at Amy, before obviously remembering that they were no longer supposed to be close, and sidling awkwardly off to talk to someone else.

It cut Amy to the core.

A moment later, Jesminder crept up and stood by Amy’s side.

‘My goodness, someone really needs to see to that smoke alarm. Anyone could wander in off the street and set it off, oh, say, by waving a lighter underneath it.’ Jesminder winked.

‘Thanks, Jes. I owe you. Did you have any troubles?’ Amy hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

‘None at all. It was scarily easy – I could get used to the criminal life,’ came the euphoric reply. ‘Success?’

Amy frowned. ‘Kind of. I think I’ve got all the addresses, but no phone numbers, unfortunately.’

‘Worth doing, though?’

‘Definitely!’

They basked in a momentary enjoyment of an illicit job well done before Amy sighed and turned to her friend. ‘Well, guess we’d better start loading our cars with all my surviving worldly goods. Thanks again for letting me use your spare room.’

Jesminder nodded and gave her a hug, and Amy walked sadly over to Phyllis, to seek her permission to return, briefly, to clear her things out of the apartment.

Two hours later, after the girls had done lugging all Amy’s stuff out of their cars and into Jesminder’s tiny South London basement flat, the thrill of their successful mission had thoroughly worn off. Instead Amy felt the beginnings of a numbing blankness. It had actually happened – Justin had kicked her out. And Phyllis had helped. Oh, Phyllis’s sadness over the situation had been as plain as day, but it had been obvious where her loyalties lay.

‘Poor Phyllis,’ Amy sighed as at last she sank down on the carpet in front of Jesminder’s gas fire. ‘This must be awful for her.’

‘Pardon?’ Jesminder poked her head round the kitchen door. ‘Poor Phyllis?’

Amy nodded. ‘Yes, it can’t be nice for her, thinking her son’s girlfriend is a cheap shagabout, can it?’

‘She knows you’re not that!’ exclaimed Jesminder. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

‘Does she, though?’ Amy pressed. ‘Why shouldn’t she believe her own son? He obviously believes I’m a cheap shagabout, doesn’t he?’

‘Stop it!’ Jesminder made a show of covering her ears. ‘Stop using that word! And you’re not! In fact, you deserve a medal for feeling sorry for anyone other than yourself right now. Glass of wine? Beer?’

Amy gazed at the photo of Jes with her beaming parents on graduation day. She was very, very tired. ‘Please may I just have a great big mug of tea?’

‘Of course you can, sweetheart. Then you and I must begin plotting.’ Jesminder ducked back into the kitchen and Amy heard the splishing sound of the kettle being filled. ‘Stick some music on, why don’t you?’

‘Sure.’ Amy crawled on all fours over to Jesminder’s CD collection – with its Punjabi MCs, Rishi Rich and, horror of horrors, Justin Timberlake – which was housed in an unsteady wicker tower beside her stereo and portable TV in the corner of the room. ‘Got any new stuff from the festival? I could do with something cheerful.’

‘’Fraid not. I downloaded all the festival stuff last night. Put on Justin Timberlake, there’s a pal.’

‘Must I?’ Amy whined. ‘I’ve had about all I can take of Justins for today.’

‘Ah – sorry. You choose, then. Want a biscuit?’

‘No, thanks. Actually, Jes, do you mind if we don’t listen to anything?’

‘Sure.’

Amy sat back and closed her eyes. She felt too flat for tears – that would have involved dramatic emotion and she’d had enough of that for one day. But nor did she want to go to bed. She knew with certainty that sleep would be in short supply. Her brain was repeatedly turning over the events of the day.

Where was Justin? He could even be in the apartment right now … reading my letter … reaching for the phone, racked with guilt …

‘… just the way you like it, not too strong, just a touch of milk.’

‘Jes, you are an angel. I’m so grateful.’

Jesminder sat on the sofa and curled her long legs underneath her. She shook her head. ‘It’s fine, Amy, truly. I know you’d do it for me.’

‘Course I would,’ Amy replied.

‘But we need to make a plan, don’t we? You’re going to have to hit the road and get your shoes back. You have to.’

Amy sniggered.

‘What’s so funny?’ Jesminder asked.

‘Sorry, but I notice you’re not kicking off with a plan for getting my man back. Priorities, huh? You been listening to Debs all afternoon?’ She grinned as she spoke.

‘No!’ Jesminder aimed a cushion at her. ‘But you’ve got to see this through, right? Besides, this’ll be good for you. It’ll keep your mind occupied and, most importantly, get you your mum’s dancing slippers back. Now, where’s that list of addresses?’

Amy stretched towards her Karen Millen bag and pulled out the list, checking her phone as she did so for the umpteenth time to see if Justin had sent her a text.

‘OK.’ Jesminder gently prised the list from her hand and scanned the details. ‘Ah. Quite an itinerary for you. Wow, Japan!’ She read further. ‘And the USA! Ireland! Newcastle!’

‘But I can’t go all round the world knocking on doors asking for my shoes back,’ Amy moaned.

‘Why not?’ Jesminder actually looked serious.

‘Oh, come on. I’ve been thinking about it. Hacking into Justin’s computer to find out where they’ve all gone to is one thing, but setting off round the world to ask for them back? People will think I’m a bizarre shoe fetishist if I turn up on their doorsteps and start asking about their shoes.’

‘Your shoes, Amy,’ Jesminder corrected. ‘And you are a bizarre shoe fetishist. Get over it, as Debs would undoubtedly say if she were here. Right, how long can you take off work?’

‘Two weeks max,’ Amy replied instantly before checking herself. ‘I mean, no. I didn’t mean that. No time off work. Drop everything and circle the globe, not knowing if the people will even be there or what I will find? It’s bonkers. Who on earth would do a thing like that?’

‘Someone with nothing to lose?’ Jesminder said quietly.

Amy opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. Instead she turned her head and gazed out the basement window to the shoes of pedestrians passing by on the street outside.

Is Jes right? Do I really have nothing to lose? She shook her head, panicked by the notion, and rounded on her friend.

‘Since when was I defined by my boyfriend and my shoes?’ she said, far more sharply than she meant. ‘I’m me! I’ve got a life! And a job! And friends! And … and …’

Jesminder slid down from the sofa and sat silently by her side. Now both of them gazed outside with glittery, tear-filled eyes. The only sounds were the faint hum of traffic outside and occasional slurps as they gulped their tea.

‘Do you know something?’ Amy said, after a long, long time.

‘Not yet,’ Jesminder replied.

‘I miss them. I miss my shoes. But I don’t miss Justin – not yet. I’m too angry with him to miss him and that’s not going to change until he believes my “side of the story”, as Debs put it – huh, cheek! That makes it sound like there are two sides, doesn’t it? But there aren’t. There never were. I’m not cheating on him – there is no so-called other side. And if he won’t believe me, well – y’know, I’m starting to think that even if he does believe me now, I can’t imagine just jumping back into his bed tomorrow as though all this never happened. I didn’t know he had such a vindictive streak in him, Jes, I really didn’t.’

Jesminder nodded. ‘Sounds like it’s going to take time, sorting that lot out in your head. You know you’re welcome here for as long as it takes.’

Amy reached over and hugged her friend. When she drew back, her eyes were like saucers. She’d made it. Out of the blue, she had made a decision.

‘That’s the key, isn’t it?’ she cried, leaping to her feet. ‘Time!’

‘Erm …’

‘Time. It’s like, time is showing me the way.’

‘Is that a song?’ Plainly Jesminder thought Amy had flipped.

‘No. Well, probably, but anyhow, listen, Jes. Justin needs time to read my letter, calm down and come to his senses, correct?’

‘Definitely.’

‘And I need time to work out how I feel about him not being prepared to face me like a man and hear me out. Correct?’

‘Correct.’

‘But on the other hand – or at least, on the other foot – with the shoes, there’s no time to lose, is there? I need to get them back in as short a time as possible so that their owners don’t become too attached to them and wear them to death and forget where they bought them from.’

‘Bingo,’ Jesminder agreed.

‘And if I don’t go and find them, then in time I’ll forget them and that would be horrible.’

‘Bingo again.’

‘And even if it’s impossible to find them I’ll be getting away and giving myself time to think things over.’

‘Bingo times three.’

‘And I’m due some holiday, having finished that big Morocco contract last Thursday ahead of time, so work might just about manage to stay afloat without me if I took off now.’

‘Uh-huh, we’ll muddle through somehow,’ Jesminder nodded, her voice full of mock-doubt. ‘Debbie and I will pull every string in the business and get you some disgustingly cheap flights, have no fear.’

Amy was circling the room, her hands fidgety. ‘The time is right!’

‘Is that really a decision?’ Jesminder asked. ‘You’re going to get your shoes back?’

‘I am. It’s show time!’ Amy gulped, flinging her arms out wide and feeling better than she had done in hours.

‘Don’t you mean shoe time?’

Laughing, Jesminder ducked to avoid the cushion that flew in her direction.