Chapter 25
25
‘Was that electricity?’ Connor’s whisper reminded Bel he was doing this by special request. She needed her pathetic body to catch up. It felt like he’d pushed a key into her ignition and, with one swift twist, her engine had coughed into life.
Although she’d given him this pass, she’d never thought he’d use it. For a surreal second, when Connor pulled her towards him, eyes locked on hers, and the Arctic Monkeys’ ‘Knee Socks’ blasting out, she even thought he was going to kiss her. She discovered she had no chill about it, whatsoever. Undercover revelation: it turned out kissing someone was still going to feel like kissing, whatever motive you’ve ascribed to it. As Connor wasn’t single, she wasn’t sure the politics of it were very sound. Fortunately it was her neck his lips brushed, as Bel tried to ignore how good it felt.
There would be no daydreaming of the pushing of keys into ignitions, no thanks. This wasn’t real– and anyway, Connor might be good-looking, and smell nice (sort of spicy oranges? Almost Christmassy), but he was also awful.
Awful, and yet able to dramatically improve for a special occasion? Bel hadn’t worked out how she felt about Connor morphing into this approachable, considerate doppelganger. She was grateful and relieved, and wondering which version of him was the real Connor.
Amber seized on them excitedly: ‘You’re here! You came!’ She was in a pink Birthday Girl sash across an off-the-shoulder citrus yellow dress, ushering her boyfriend Rick over. ‘Meet Bella and Connor, my new favourites!’
The blokeish, silver fox Rick, in band T-shirt and wooden bead necklace, was pleasant enough, though Bel got the impression, less interested in novelty people than his girlfriend. He made nimble excuses to talk to guests he knew.
‘The food is so good,’ Bel gushed.
‘Thank you! It’s from the Italian restaurant round the corner. Are you a food person?’
‘Only in the sense I’m greedy and I enjoy cooking a lot.’
‘Wow, as in you cook for guests? I’m so shit. I will only touch the deep fat fryer here in an emergency. I get huge anxiety in hostessing if it’s my food,’ Amber said.
‘It doesn’t bother me,’ Bel said. ‘I think if I’m going to trouble at the stove I want as many people to know about it as possible, hah.’
‘Would you let me join the Bella Supper Club?! I would love that,’ Amber said.
‘Of course!’
‘Where’s your place again?’
Bel had a sense of losing control of the direction of travel.
‘Ancoats. One of those duplexes where everything is distressed brick and uplighting and downlighting.’
‘Like a converted loft-type place? I have such a thing for those, being from the suburbs.’
‘It’s so swaggy but my rent is criminal.’
‘Oh my God, I’d love to nosy around! Would you cook for me? Is this too cheeky?’
‘No. Absolutely,’ Bel said, looking towards a studiously blank Connor. She was cheerfully scribbling out a cheque she had no idea how she’d cash. ‘Bring Rick!’
As she said it, she thought, whatareyoudoing. Just say yes now, like it’s not a thing, and then kick it into the long grass?
‘Any chance you’re free next weekend?’ Amber made prayer hands. ‘I’ve got cover on the Saturday which literally never happens and we said we should do something good with it.’
‘Uhm …’
Bel realised she was experiencing a high-performance collector-networker in her natural habitat. She was trying to make an overnight friend for a purpose, Amber did this as a hobby, if not a living.
Did Bel bluster her way out, or did she grab the opportunity and cannonball from the diving board? How large a problem was it for Amber to know Bel’s address, versus the sense of trust engendered by having them in her home? Toby said she had six weeks.
‘I think so?’ Bel said, stalling. ‘Con, can you remember?’
Connor produced his phone as if to check a diary, squeezing the button at the side to bring the display up. With a lurch of sickening dread, at that moment, Bel saw he had a sun-dappled photo of Jennifer The Girlfriend as his lock screen.
Oh. Holy. Fuck . How had they not noticed this during the Platt Fields planning? They were so absorbed by what they found on his phone, they didn’t examine the artefact itself. It must have become invisible to Connor in its familiarity.
Amber had seen, for sure. Connor had effectively held it under her nose.
‘Who’s that?’ Amber said, in confusion, darting a look at Connor, and then Bel.
‘Connor’s sister,’ Bel babbled, in panic, and then realised she’d in fact made it worse. Sure, everyone in his part of London has a romantic portrait of their sibling on their handset.
Amber’s look of confusion increased and everything they’d worked for now hung in the balance. Bel heard herself say: ‘She passed away.’
‘Oh, God!’ Amber’s hand went to her mouth. ‘I shouldn’t have asked, I’m so sorry.’
‘No, it’s fine, you weren’t to know,’ Bel said, reaching out to touch Amber’s wrist in reassurance.
Connor was stonily unreadable throughout the entire exchange, but as soon as Amber moved on, he said to Bel: ‘Let’s go.’
His manner felt ominous.
They had pre-agreed that they’d taxi together back to Ancoats, debrief, and Connor would journey onwards to Salford. They French exited into the balmy night (was it still a French exit when ninety-nine per cent of people didn’t know who you were? Maybe simply an exit).
The taxi driver was blaring a Ministry of Sound CD and making conversation about local crime, so their debate was delayed.
As they entered her flat, Bel threw the lights on and she saw Connor’s eyes widen at the interiors.
‘Cup of tea?’ she said, apprehensively.
‘No, thanks. What on earth was that?’ Connor said. His tone was combative.
‘I’m sorry,’ Bel said, ‘I improvised.’
‘No shit. My dead sister ?’
A late-arriving thought, one that should’ve arrived earlier for Bel: what if Connor actually did have a dead sister? Her skin prickled.
‘I didn’t know what else to say. She’d seen your girlfriend’s picture. It was either that or it looked like incest.’
‘What do I do next time my girlfriend visits? What with her now not only supposed to be someone else, but also not alive?’
‘I have no idea,’ Bel said. ‘Fuck. Sorry. Could you visit her in London instead?’
Connor ruffled his hair and cynic-laughed. ‘Why did I have a premonition that it’d be up to me to fix this through sacrifice?’
‘I’m not telling you what to do.’
‘What else do I do?’
‘I don’t know! You’re assuming I just said what I said with some sort of nefarious plan, as opposed to just blurting the first thing that came into my head?’
‘And if I decline to murder my girlfriend, you’ll go to Toby and say the story is sunk because the intern is both an idiot and a wanker?’
Bel was bewildered by this interpretation of what had happened. Why would she run him down to their boss? Connor Adams had, above all, a terrible victimhood complex.
‘Why are you behaving like I inflicted this on you? I wasn’t trying to paint you into any corner, I was reacting in the moment. You left the photo there. This is not a single parent fuck-up, we both had a hand.’
‘Yes, except the entire “lying about who we are in the first place” situation is borne of you.’
‘You knew the deal! I notice you’ve not explained what I should’ve said? Who were you going to say your girlfriend was?’
Bel put her YSL Niki bag down on the kitchen island, metal hardware straps clattering like a bicycle chain. She opened the cupboard and picked up a water glass, proffering it to Connor. He shook his head.
‘I don’t know what you should’ve said,’ Connor said. ‘I know I’m not putting Jennifer into witness protection to service a story to benefit you, that probably won’t even come off.’
‘Great. Thanks. It’s your decision to walk away– but stop acting like I’ve suddenly persecuted you.’
‘You genuinely don’t think I have any right to be upset, do you? You don’t care what goes back to Toby. I need this job. I don’t have loaded parents to fall back on, and I can’t treat it all as a jape.’
Bel’s heart leapt into her throat.
‘Loaded parents? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’
Connor glanced at their surrounds. ‘It doesn’t seem to me like you’d be in huge trouble without your salary.’
This was sufficiently personal that Bel decided unless he disclosed a deceased loved one, she was going to assume he was simply a massive arsehole.
‘You know absolutely nothing about me. You’ve disliked me since the first second you set eyes on me. You’re not exactly hard to read, I’m sorry to break it to you, if you thought this was an elegant facade,’ Bel waved a hand in front of his face, knowing she was losing control, and not caring. ‘You’ve been practicing kicking off about petty stuff, now you’ve finally found a mistake you think you can attack me with. It’s so perfect that it was only me covering for YOUR error. But hey, why let logic affect things when you’re massaging the chip on your shoulder?’
‘I don’t dislike you. That’s a total invention on your part simply because I haven’t fawned over you, like Aaron, or Toby.’
Oh please! She might’ve guessed: the problem was her expectation of special treatment.
‘How would you describe your attitude towards me?’
‘Neutral,’ Connor said. ‘Completely indifferent.’
‘If this is neutral, I’d hate to see actual animosity.’
‘You know what? This is main character syndrome,’ Connor said. ‘You have to invent this … grandiose antipathy on my part, because someone simply not caring either way about Bel Macauley is too much for you to process.’
‘I’m a rich kid, now I’m egomaniacal—’
‘How would you describe your attitude to me, from the start?’ Connor said.
She didn’t want him to win but she had nothing better: ‘Erm. Neutral.’
‘Exactly.’
‘You don’t like that I’ve stood up for myself in the face of your “I’m So Important And Special I’ve Got To Establish My Superior Mind” Mr Darcy energy.’
‘As opposed to your “I’m So Important And Special, I’m The Feisty Girl Who Wore Converse Boots With My Prom Dress” energy.’
‘You know what, you can leave,’ Bel said, walking over and holding the door open.
‘Pleasure,’ Connor said, striding past her.
At least she no longer needed to wonder which was the real Connor.