Chapter 12
Mam couldn’t stop talking about the new apartment.
‘And tell me, is there a kitchen island?’
‘Yes.’
‘Five hundred a month, that sounds like an awful lot.’
‘It isn’t.’
‘Well, I can come with you on Saturday to help you carry some stuff. You don’t want to be up and down in the lift like a yo-yo.’
Cassie sighed. That much she could concede to. Mam was also bursting with curiosity about Ramona, not to mention feeling more than a little guilty about the speed of her daughter’s exit.
‘I’ll make you a batch of scones to get you started. I’m sure your flatmate would like that.’ The thought of Ramona in her gold hot pants bothering about scones felt so incongruous that she inadvertently scoffed.
‘Oh, all right, then, I won’t. But, believe me, there’s very few people in my experience that don’t appreciate a good scone.’
It turned out she was right.
*?*?*
Saturday at 11 a.m. on the dot she and Mam, both laden down with cardboard boxes, knocked on the door marked 16D. From inside they could hear the beat of loud, pounding music, which stopped dead. A moment later the door was flung open by Ramona, her bleached hair tied up in a brightly coloured headband; she was dressed in red leggings, the chunkiest pair of runners Cassie had ever seen, which added another couple of inches to her height, and a T-shirt that said: ‘Attitude Matters’.
‘Come in, babies,’ she hollered. ‘I was just hoovering.’
Which seemed unlikely, as the hoover wasn’t even plugged in. This time the curtains in the living room were thrown open to create a somewhat more lively feel, but the shiny pole was still the focus of the room. A pile of richly coloured ostrich-feather fans was strewn across the sofa.
Mam clapped her hands like a child at Christmas.
Cassie’s heart sank. Mam had a way of becoming obsessed by people she saw as exciting, a remnant perhaps of her own uneventful life. There was more than a little Shirley Valentine in her. Cassie’s fear was that, having asked her to clear out of the family home, Mam would now try to follow her.
‘Attitude matters, it certainly does! A girl after my own heart,’ she cried. ‘Oh my God, look at the pole – go on, show us how you do the dancing.’
There was no need to ask twice; Ramona hit the sound system and as the strains of Ariana Grande filled the room, she handed her phone to Cassie and explained, ‘For my Insta feed, just press play and keep it centred, OK?’
She grabbed the pole high up, flipped her body upside down, did the splits and rotated slowly, lowering herself to the ground. Cassie had seen things like that on film, but up close it was even more obvious just how much strength and control were required.
Mam was enchanted, clapping like a small child at a circus show, which in fairness, it pretty much was.
‘Isn’t that fabulous! See, now, that’s performance. That’s entertainment.’
Cassie was stung by the implied unfavourable comparison, and for one awful moment was terrified that Mam would clamour to have a go herself, but fortunately just then she remembered the scones and produced them triumphantly, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of her tote bag. Ramona accepted the box like a winning cheque from the Lotto. In absolute fairness to Mam’s tact, she declined a coffee, with the excuse that she’d arranged to meet Eric in Roly’s Bistro round the corner for brunch – where they served the most scrumptious omelettes, she explained – and she’d hate to spoil her appetite, but another time would be absolutely gorgeous. As Mam made her exit, waving and blowing kisses, Ramona watched her go. ‘You’re so lucky, your mother is amazing .?.?. I mean, there she is heading off to meet her little man to have their little omelettes, it’s so cute.’
Which was all true. It was just .?.?. Sometimes it was easier for other people to see that than it was for her. And she’d no doubt that Mam probably felt the same way about her.
*?*?*
Later that evening, Cassie unpacked her clothes and hung them up in the cavernous wardrobes. She placed Ronron, her balding stuffed rabbit, on the bed, plugged in her lava lamp and arranged her budget toiletries in the chi-chi en suite. She gazed doubtfully at the incongruity between the high-end setting and her humble possessions. Just then, there was a loud knock, causing Cassie to jump.
‘Hey, hon .?.?. can I come in?’
Cassie pulled open the door and Ramona, now dressed in a gold dress with a skater skirt and red platform shoes, paraded in and plonked herself on the bed.
‘Oh, hi, I was just putting my things out.’
An unreadable expression crossed Ramona’s face as she looked around, taking in every detail almost hungrily.
‘My Lord .?.?. this room really transforms with every new person who lives here.’
OK, so had the place been host to a succession of occupants?
‘I’m going out clubbing later,’ she announced, which explained the even more arresting outfit than usual, as well as her makeup, which was as good as what last season’s Drag Show winner wore. Is there anything this girl can’t do? Cassie thought.
‘Let’s open a bottle of wine and order a little Chinese to celebrate your first night – how about that?’
It was exactly what Cassie felt like doing. She had to admit there was always a bleakness about the first night in a new apartment, and she’d had more than a few of those over the years.
Cassie seated herself on a Perspex chair at the glass table in the kitchen, as Ramona presented her with a large, very chilled glass of Sauvignon Blanc. In fairness, she couldn’t have been kinder or more welcoming; nonetheless, Cassie was a little anxious: she’d taken a wild leap into the unknown and was now looking around to see where she’d landed.
‘Come on, let’s take a shot for Insta.’
Ramona leaned in and snapped the two of them, cheers-ing the lens. She studied the photo, switched on the beauty filter and smoothed out any imperfections in the faces, highlighting cheekbones and shading hollows so they both looked dewy-faced and glowing and all of about twenty-three.
Pre-show drinks with my new BFF/flatmate.
She added the caption and hit send without a moment’s dithering. This was a professional. Wow, thought Cassie, ‘BFF’ on the first day. That was either very flattering or slightly off. She decided to go with flattering. It was clear Ramona’s world was composed of one part reality and a whole lot of spin, but what the hell, it was fun. You could get way too much reality.
It felt exciting to be part of an aspirational world that other people could flick through and envy. Just then she remembered Da’s old advice that he’d dole out if she was nervous when heading out to a party as a teenager: ‘Just be yourself, love,’ he’d say. ‘Then ye can’t go wrong.’
Those simple words had always felt solid and reassuring, but up here in this polished world, watching the uber-glamorous Ramona flicking through her Instagram with fifty-five thousand followers, it struck her that just being the bog-standard version of yourself mightn’t cut it after all.
Ramona was commenting as she scrolled. ‘People will recognise you, you’ll see. Your face – well, your armpit – is everywhere. I have to keep my sponsors happy. They love to know what I’m doing, where I’m going, what I’m wearing.’
Cassie nodded. She thought back over her own life. Who was following her right now? Josie was probably sitting at home watching Netflix, as the faithful Pal brought her cream cheese on water biscuits with cucumber – her latest obsession. The girls were probably busy baby-wrangling or else had managed to get their kids settled and were flopping onto the sofa and gratefully pouring themselves a drink. Finn would have Cici, Conor and Samantha with him, the mythical three children who had a place in her imagination as they occupied his pale apartment. She glanced down at WhatsApp, only to realise that over the past frantic half hour with Ramona she’d missed a message from him.
Kids going to family party tomorrow (surprise!) u free to drop over 1 p.m.?
Her face lit up.
Surprise!! ? Think I might just manage that!
She looked up and caught Ramona staring at her.
‘Just my chap,’ she explained. ‘At least, he is sort of my chap but we’re only new, so still feeling our way. No expectations, if you know what I mean. I actually didn’t expect him to be free this weekend.’
A shadow of unease crossed Cassie’s mind, but it didn’t have time to settle.
‘Got a photo?’ Ramona beckoned insistently towards her phone. Cassie laughed, enjoying her no-holds-barred familiarity.
‘Handsome,’ she pronounced, ‘in an IRL sort of way. Wholesome.’
She was looking at him with curiosity, like he was a rare animal that had been captured in the wild.
‘Nice sweater. Very .?.?. normal. But then, so are you.’
That could’ve been insulting said in a different tone, but in this case, it sounded almost wistful.
‘Ramona, I have to ask you .?.?. I’m really curious. Your style .?.?. aesthetic?’
Ramona eyeballed her. ‘What am I, you mean?’
‘Well, I wasn’t going to put it quite like that, but .?.?. how would you label yourself?’
‘Honey, I try not to label myself at all. But if you were to force me .?.?. I would say I’m a bio queen. Preferred pronoun she, with a capital S.’
‘So .?.?. you’re a woman, but in drag. Sometimes. Gotcha.’
‘Good for you. Not everyone does. See, the drag queens have been celebrating what it is to be a woman, in a radical version, for years. Now some of us feel it’s time to reclaim that for ourselves. Not from them, you understand, they’re welcome to it, but for us as well, the cis women.’
‘OK .?.?.’
‘Take the female icons of the past, chicks like Elizabeth I, Marie Antoinette in her wigs, they weren’t just biological women – their femininity was political.’
It struck Cassie that the example of Marie Antoinette was a bit doubtful but she thought better than to say so.
‘See, every time you step out of the house dressed like this, it’s innately political.’
‘Er, OK .?.?.’
‘It’s two fingers to the patriarchy and two fingers to gender norms.’
‘OK, but you’re a woman .?.?. dressed as a woman.’
‘Honey, how many women do you see dressed like me?’
Cassie looked down at her own comfy sweatpants and hoodie. She was a woman, and one with a decent figure, to be fair, but she really wasn’t celebrating it. She made a mental note to make a bit more of an effort in future. Ramona had a point. One really shouldn’t take one’s sex for granted. It was kind of lazy, when you came to think of it.
‘I’m really curious, what was your family like? I mean, what sort of woman was your mum?’
Ramona’s reaction was barely a flicker, but Cassie was aware of her energy closing down.
‘Sorry, I really didn’t mean to pry. Just tell me to mind my own business.’
‘No, it’s OK, dear old Mom.’ There was a note of bitterness in her voice. ‘I didn’t know her very well. She had her issues. She was an addict, among other things. I was mostly brought up by my grandmother .?.?.’ Her voice petered out.
‘I suppose it’s hard to be brought up by someone of a different generation, even if they’re a good person.’
Cassie was conscious of trying to rescue the situation.
‘She got stuck with me, poor woman. She’s filthy rich, by the way. I got a shit ton of money when I turned twenty-one, hence this place, so at least I owe her that.’
There was something about Ramona’s brittle tone that didn’t make Cassie feel like she could probe any further.
‘Well, I just want you to know I’m incredibly grateful for you renting to me at mates’ rates. I really don’t take it for granted.’
This seemed to jolt Ramona out of her slump. She perked up.
‘Cassie, what’re you like? You’re such a goddamned chatterbox, look at the time. I have to get my ass out the door, this night won’t start on its own. Don’t wait up.’
With that, she drained her glass, grabbed her orange faux-fur jacket and disappeared out the door. Cassie waited until she heard it close with a bang then finally released a long breath. Phew.
She lay in her new bed that night and looked around. Hers was the smaller bedroom, nonetheless there was a floor-to-ceiling window to her right covered by expensive-looking curtains. The polished floor was made of real wood, not laminate, and the wardrobe fittings closed with a discreet clunk. Everything had the air of a life where you bought exactly what you wanted, not just what you could afford.