Chapter 32
32
‘I’ve never seen Gerts like this with anyone other than Rick,’ Amber said, ‘Duchess Gerts, you’re such a flirt!’
It had been established that Duchess Gerts: 1. Loved Connor 2. Loved cheese and lamb and 3. Was sufficiently happy that she retained sovereign control of her bowels, for the time being.
Though Bel worried for Connor’s Levis if that changed, given she was now perched in his lap like a baby, worried eyes and flat nose peering over the edge of the dining-room table.
Connor had happily scooped her up after she pawed his leg, and now they were a devoted couple.
The necessity of bringing their pug was, in fact, an extraordinary stroke of luck: fussing over a small creature was in British DNA– Connor was a dog person, and Gertie absorbed any anxious oxygen in the room in an instant.
Despite the concealed apprehension on the part of the hosts, when Amber, Rick and airborne-in-arms Gertie clattered through the door, Rick bearing an entire box of bottles of red wine, the evening had effortless momentum.
‘I didn’t know if you were wine people , you know? When Bella said bring red, I panicked and fired up the Wine Society site and bought anything expensive and French.’
‘You’d think I’d know, running a wine bar, but we sell a lot of rosé– that chicken wine!– and cocktails,’ Amber shrugged. She was slinky in a long bias cut silk skirt, shoulder-grazing hoop earrings and her trademark slicked-back Grace Kelly hair.
‘Girl dinners,’ Bel said.
Rick wasn’t as standoffish as Bel originally thought, simply stretched too far by the number of introductions when they last met. Bel was disarmed by him, apologising instantly: ‘I’d stopped taking information in by the time we met, I’d gone fugue state, hahaha.’
He was the creative director at a marketing agency and said ‘don’t make me explain’ and Connor said: ‘What if none of us talked about employment all evening? Forced ourselves.’
Bel offered them Old Fashioneds, and they were off.
If you were going to play-act, it was helpful to have an alluring stage, and Bel’s showy flat helped her feel as if she and Connor were the Gatsby aspirationals they were imitating. Bel spoke of a holiday in the Hamptons that Connor hadn’t attended and he described a sports car he once owned and they made separate histories sound entwined. Bel realised she and Connor didn’t have a single photograph of themselves together and thought: all Amber needs to do is ask to see a picture, and we’re cooked.
‘Do you own this place? It’s absolutely lush,’ Amber said, looking up at the candelabra on braided cord, after she and Rick had eaten a gratifyingly large amount of Greek lamb and potatoes, amid much praise for the cook.
(‘So good, Bella leaves me in the dust with her abilities,’ Connor had agreed, and Bel glowed before remembering all compliments tonight were voided by the treachery.)
‘God no, I don’t know what it would cost but think it’s well beyond our means,’ Bel said. ‘The rent is steep enough.’
‘I’ve still got my flat in Stoke Newington and I rent it out,’ Connor said. ‘My plan is a property pension. Do you two rent or own?’
Oh bravo, Bel thought, clocking what he was doing. She got up to clear plates.
‘Mmm, need another drink for this! Hah,’ Amber set her glass back down, which Connor refilled. Rick’s wines were strong and fruity and tasted to Bel like some potent fairytale sleeping draught. ‘I live rent-free in my flat in Didsbury but that’s the nepo baby thing I mentioned, Bella. And it’s tiny. I know, diamond clogs too tight.’
‘That sounds ideal!’ Bel laughed. ‘Nepo, not the clogs.’
‘It might be if my mum wasn’t … my mum.’
Rick wore a look of practiced neutrality, a war vet’s stare, having clearly heard this speech many a time.
Bel made an uncomprehending face. Connor made no eye contact while whispering sweet nothings to a bewitched Gertie, cleverly taking the pressure off.
‘You don’t get on?’ Bel said.
‘I call Gloria the tractor because she rolls over you and crushes you, no matter what you do. She’s got a Wikipedia, if you’re nosy, and it’s not easy reading,’ Amber said. ‘But, I took the freebies, didn’t I? So I should shut up. As my mother regularly reminds me.’
Bel had an urge to fill the quiet that followed and instinctively held back, while Massive Attack soundtracked the brief pause instead.
‘There’s a bigger place in Didsbury she might let us have one day but it’s an Airbnb for now. I call my life the big carrot and the big stick. She needs someone reliable to run Cee Vee and that’s me. I’m not allowed to go get another job, on the hook waiting for the house. I should’ve said no when I was twenty-one, but now I’m used to the disposable income and I’m not skilled to do anything else.’
‘We’re not exactly badly off, though,’ Rick said, rubbing an eye. ‘Let’s not wash our stained pants in front of the nice new people, eh?’
‘I know,’ Amber sighed. ‘I’m being honest.’
It struck Bel they were collectively a good few shades drunker than they thought.
Bel smiled. ‘Please don’t fret about pant washing. We’ve all got family dramas.’
‘Some of our pants are more stained than others,’ Rick said, and Bel laughed.
‘I worry you’re all triggering Gertie,’ Connor said.
‘Do the Air Beeb guests behave themselves?’ Bel asked. ‘We thought about it for Connor’s flat but worried we’d get the lager lads.’
‘Mostly pretty good, actually. They’re not the problem.’ Amber dropped her voice. ‘It’s my mum’s friends having affairs and swinging and so on I can’t hack.’ She mimed two fingers to throat. ‘All meant to be respectable and married. Me and Rick call the house the Waitrose Brothel.’
‘Woah! There I was thinking Boomers behave better than us! What, do they book in saying they’re having a bunga bunga party?’
Amber helped herself to another scoop of ice cream and added the sultana garnish.
‘Damn you for making this, it’s too good.’ She spoke through a full mouth, hand held over it: ‘It’s always euphemisms about working in the city and “need somewhere to stay overnight” but here’s the thing: Ring video doorbell. Had to set it up due to the numbers of robbing scrotes. Unfortunately for them, I know who they’re turning up with. Get the alerts on my phone so it’s like …’ Amber gestured rollercoaster face pulling at her handset. ‘Why’s “Uncle” Brian with someone who isn’t “Auntie” Angela? Aargh.’
Bel pantomimed amazement.
‘If your mum does give us the house, I’m gonna ask for a deep professional clean,’ Rick said.
They moved to the sitting room, positioning Gertie on a beanbag. Bel had an urge to drag the chatter back to the Airbnb again, but this had already been such a win, she knew she shouldn’t be greedy.
Rick asked to use the loo. Bel was glad she’d done two full sweeps of the place to make absolutely sure she had no personal belongings lying around that could contradict her persona.
‘Through the bedroom over there,’ Bel pointed him the way.
‘You know, you two are SUCH a fit pair,’ Amber said, surveying them in open admiration.
‘Aw shucks, as if,’ Bel said, not least because she felt sure it was Connor who’d provoked the approval.
‘My friends were all who the hell were THEY , like, swoon.’
‘Probably Bella’s manners around the bagna cauda,’ Connor said.
‘Honestly,’ Amber said, ‘they said your body language was so in tune and you were clearly, like, the male-female versions of each other. Couple goals.’
‘Ugh! I sincerely hope not,’ Bel blurted. Luckily a completely honest response played as flirty humour. Connor shot her a look, because, of course he knew this.
After they discussed the merits of pedigree dogs versus the puppy that Connor bought in a pub who became Maurice, they realised Rick had been gone an unnaturally long time.
‘I better see where he’s got to,’ Amber said. She returned moments later, looking stricken, with the news: ‘He’s passed out on the bed.’
‘Is he OK?’ Connor asked.
‘Yeah, he’s breathing fine, he’s just comatose, I couldn’t wake him,’ Amber said. ‘Oh my God, this is mortifying. I was telling him to slow down on the vino!’
The three of them went to inspect the patient, lying crossways on the king-size divan, feet in red-and-white trainers dangling.
‘It must’ve looked too enticing,’ Bel said. ‘Maybe sit him up a little, because airways and all that?’
Connor helped Amber heave Rick to a more upright position against plumped pillows, with some difficulty.
‘Yeah, he’s a dead weight,’ Connor said. ‘Want me to make some black coffee?’
Bel looked at the semi-prone Rick, his eyes screwed shut and mouth contorted as if in disapproval. He reminded her of a petrified bog cadaver she’d seen on a school trip. It didn’t look like Nescafé Gold was going to get the job done.
‘How are you going to administer it, intravenously?’ Bel said.
‘State of him!’ Amber groaned.
Bel glanced at Connor: his widened eyes seemed to be trying to wordlessly communicate a message she might be able to decode if she’d not been drinking.
‘He sleeps like he’s had a general anaesthetic at the best of times,’ Amber said. She shook his shoulder. ‘Rick! Rick?’
He didn’t stir.
‘I can call an Uber but how am I going to get him into it?’ Amber said.
They gazed upon a slumbering Rick and assessed the impossibility. He might magically come round in half an hour, but …
Amber turned to Bel: ‘Would it be the most massive inconvenience if we stayed over? I am so, so sorry, this is beyond embarrassing.’
‘No problem!’ Bel said, not missing a beat. ‘Will Gertie be all right?’
‘Yes she’ll be fine if she’s with us. I can take her out for a wee. Are you sure this isn’t horrendous?!’
‘Hush, I’ve got a guest room for a reason. There’s the en-suite bathroom and … hang on, I bought a three-pack of toothbrushes the other day, I’ll get them for you.’
Amber’s words of lavish apology and gratitude followed Bel up the spiral stairs, as she heard Connor being solicitous about Gertie being brought her beanbag.
It was then that a pissed-up, prematurely triumphalist Bel belatedly translated Connor’s alarm. Their staying meant he had to stay too.