Chapter 12
Ana’s alarm woke her up at eight-thirty the following morning.
She tried to turn over but her back screamed out in agony.
She’d never slept on a futon before but had always been under the impression that they were supposed to be much more comfortable than normal beds. What a load of bollocks that was.
She could hear some kind of activity downstairs, and then she suddenly remembered – last night – Tony – Marcus – Gill’s nipple.
Jesus. Had that really happened? Really and truly?
She slipped out of her bed and padded softly to the bathroom, looking around her gingerly for any errant naked men, but everything seemed back to what she supposed was normal.
Early morning August sunshine streamed through the spotless windows, the air smelled of Ambi-pur and Mr Sparkle, and Gill’s bedroom door was wide open and displaying a gleaming white, freshly made bed.
After an invigorating shower she made her way warily downstairs, just in time to see Gill, her hair in a perky ponytail, her body encased in an immaculate little Ellesse gym ensemble, glugging down a glass of something golden in colour and glowing like the healthiest woman in the world.
‘Morning!’ she chimed, as she spied Ana coming towards her. ‘Juice?’ she said, proffering the jug.
‘What’s in it?’
‘Mango, kiwi, papaya, egg yolks and honey.’ Gill counted off the ingredients on her fingers, jauntily. ‘The best hangover cure known to man. Have some – it’s yummy.’
Ana nodded mutely and accepted a glass.
‘There’s bagels, too. Fresh. I picked them up earlier on.’
Earlier on? Earlier on? How much earlier could it be than it already was?
Ana was feeling strangely out of kilter.
It was nine o’clock in the morning. A mere ten hours ago this woman had been off her tits and having sex with two men.
And now here she was, up and about, buying bagels, making juice and looking like the neatest, sweetest little PE teacher you could ever hope to meet.
Ana stood for a moment or two, feeling utterly shell-shocked.
She hadn’t, had she, imagined last night?
There had been two men in Gill’s bed? She had been smoking a cigarette?
She had been pissed senseless? Ana had seen her nipple, hadn’t she?
Maybe Gill had no recollection of it, maybe she had memory loss?
But no – surely not. It was one thing to forget how you got home, but to forget a ménage à trois? It simply wasn’t possible.
‘Anyway. I’m off to the gym. I’ll see you later?’
Ana was about to nod, and then suddenly remembered that she wasn’t going to see her later. She told her about Broadstairs.
‘Oh – Flint’s driving you, is he?’ she said. ‘You’d better keep an eye out for him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Flint’s a very naughty boy. Don’t let that gentle-hearted-giant act fool you. OK?’
Ana nodded, uncertainly.
‘OK then. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have fun!’ she tinkled, before bounding out of the door with her gym bag.
Ana finished her juice and poured herself another glass.
Gill was right. It was delicious. Then she helped herself to a gorgeous warm bagel.
It was all gooey with cream cheese and salty with smoked salmon, the crust a perfect chewy shell, the inside soft and glutinous.
She wolfed it down and then had another one.
Ana could hardly remember the last time food had tasted so good.
She pushed open the kitchen door and felt the early sunrays already burning her skin. It was going to be another scorcher.
She took her juice upstairs to her bedroom and started to pack for this peculiar daytrip, panicking as she suddenly realized that she’d run out of knickers and cursing herself as she pulled the little silver camera she’d found in Bee’s suitcase from the bottom of her tartan suitcase.
‘Fuck,’ she muttered to herself. She’d forgotten all about it.
She went to the hallway and phoned Lol.
‘Look,’ said Lol, ‘don’t worry about it. There’s one of those one-hour places at the bottom of your road. Bung it in there now and we can collect it later. There was something I wanted to do before we set off, anyway.’
‘What’s that then?’
‘Never you mind,’ said Lol, ‘we’ll be round in about twenty minutes. Flint’s just got here.’
‘So, what’s this Flint like then?’
‘He’s very tall, he’s very quiet and he’s got a very big car. Let’s leave it at that, shall we? See you soon.’
Ana found the photo shop and also, much to her joy, a pound shop, where she picked up ten pairs of cotton knickers for ￡5.
She was half-way through a third bagel and another glass of Gill’s juice when a horn sounded in the road outside.
She grabbed her bag and rushed to the door, and stopped in her tracks when she clapped eyes on the most massive Mercedes she’d ever seen in her life.
It was dark blue with tinted windows and a sort of stretched bit in the middle.
It was very shiny and disgustingly ostentatious.
Lol unfurled herself from the back, lifting a huge pair of black sunglasses from her nose and grinning at Ana. She had a big sunflower in her hair. ‘Darling,’ she drawled in a mock-posh accent, ‘how are you? You look simply divine. Mwah. Mwah. Do get in.’
Ana threw her bag in first and climbed in after Lol. ‘Oh. Wow. Fuck,’ she exclaimed, looking around her at the mahogany-trimmed interior, the discreet lighting, the buttons and the knobs. ‘Are we really going there in this?’
‘Uh-huh. Better get used to it.’
‘Wow.’ She ran a hand over the soft-leather upholstery. ‘Wow.’
‘That’s three wows, Lennard. Did you get that?’ Lol knocked on the glass partition with a chunky diamond ring. ‘Three wows. You might be losing it, but your car can still do it for you.’
‘Ha. Ha. Ha.’
Ana watched as a tinted glass partition slid down and the back of a man’s head was revealed. It was a large square head set on a wide neck and supported by vast shoulders. It was covered in short, thick, dirty-blond hair peppered with a smattering of grey.
‘Flint,’ said Lol, moving closer to the partition, ‘this here is the World Famous Ana. Ana – this here is the – er – well – this is Flint.’
‘Nice to meet you at last,’ said Flint, turning round stiffly to flash a quick smile at Ana. His voice was deep and coarse. And he was beautiful. Ana gulped.
‘Nice to meet you, too.’
‘I’m really, really sorry about Bee,’ he said.
Ana shrugged and smiled tightly. ‘Me, too.’
‘Flint was Bee’s driver back in the Eighties, when she was famous,’ said Lol.
‘Aaah,’ said Ana. She stared at Flint’s ears. They were surprisingly delicate for such a burly man.
‘Anyway,’ said Flint, leaning forward to find a button on his dashboard, ‘it’s too early for conversation for me, so I’ll leave you two girls to it. Keep your heels off the upholstery. Keep your hands off the champagne. Ashtrays are in the armrests. And give us a shout if you need a pitstop.’
‘Sure thing, Mister Flint,’ said Lol, and then the partition slid back across the car and it was almost as if Flint had never existed.
Lol turned to Ana. ‘Oh, bloody Nora,’ she said, a smile creeping across her face, ‘hark at the colour of you. You look like a fucking beetroot. But just forget about it, all right. That bloke might look like butter wouldn’t melt, but he’s a sly old bugger. Don’t fall for the act. OK?’
‘Jesus,’ said Ana, ‘that’s exactly what Gill just said, too. What is he? A serial killer?’
‘No,’ said Lol, ‘not a serial killer. He’s a serial shit.’
‘Well, anyway. He’s not my type, I can assure you.’
‘Good,’ said Lol, as she folded her long legs up under her and started fiddling with a pop-out tray in the inside door, ‘OK, then. What have we got here?’ She ran a fingertip across the surface of the mahogany-topped table and held it towards Ana.
‘A-ha! Colombia’s finest.’ A film of white powder clung to her skin.
‘Without fail,’ she said, wiping it off on her jeans, ‘every time I get in this car. God, I hate this stuff, I really do. I mean – is there such a thing as a celebrity who doesn’t do coke? ’
‘Celebrities?’
‘Yup. That’s what Mister Flint there does for a living. Drives celebrities around.’
‘Really!’
‘Don’t sound so excited. He doesn’t even get to see them half the time. Just has to clear up all their coke and spunk and puke after they’ve gone.’
‘Ooh,’ grimaced Ana.
‘Exactly,’ said Lol, turning to face the window. ‘Oh. Look. We’re here already.’
Ana looked out of her window. They’d pulled up on the side of a grimy main road lined with electrical repair shops, minicab offices and West Indian bakeries, and were parked next to a large flower-stand.
‘Where are we?’ asked Ana.
Lol indicated a sign just behind her with her eyes. It was painted with the words ‘West London Crematorium’.
‘Is this where …?’
‘Uh-huh,’ said Lol, ‘thought you might like to say hello. And goodbye.’
Ana nodded slowly. She was going to see Bee’s grave. She hadn’t even thought about seeing Bee’s grave.
She bought a bunch of orange gladioli and then wondered if they were quite suitable.
For a dead sister. Or for a dead popstar, for that matter.
Did anyone leave gladioli for Diana? She’d never seen gladioli tied to railings or on the side of the road, either, come to think of it.
Maybe they were all wrong. A floral faux pas.
‘They’re beautiful,’ said Lol, ‘orange was Bee’s favourite colour. ’
‘Was it?’ said Ana. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ Lol nodded. ‘Well. One of them, any road.’
The two women began walking. ‘Isn’t Flint coming?’ whispered Ana.
‘No. Flint likes to do things like this alone. You know?’
Ana didn’t really know but nodded anyway. They were heading down a meandering gravel driveway, flanked by plane trees and cypresses. The sunlight dappled on to lush green grass. A few other people were here, too, clutching flowers. The graveyard stretched out in front of them for miles.