Chapter 21
One down, one to go, I thought as I left Josh’s flat about five hours and two Christmas movies later.
Heading to the Savoy to get Pim ready for the afternoon ahead, mostly shopping and eating out to distract her from the show – and bitching about Michael Holland – I debated calling Megan again. But if the past week had taught me anything, it was that she wasn’t going to pick up.
My phone had been buzzing non-stop all morning – as was now the standard – with messages from Pim cancelling her morning coffee order and requesting a lie-in, emails from journalists and publicists wanting a quote about the Michael Holland dispute, all of which I replied to with a very blank ‘no comment’ response and, in addition, near-constant reminders and notifications about the week ahead.
But nothing from Megan.
‘Afternoon, Miss Frost,’ Tony, the doorman, greeted as I approached.
‘Hey, Tony. How busy is the bar today?’ I asked, thinking that a little privacy wouldn’t be a bad thing.
‘Neither are open just yet.’
‘Ah, of course.’ Just as I had hoped. ‘Would anyone mind if I took a quick call from the American Bar? I’d rather not do it in Pim’s suite.’
Tony shook his head. ‘Francesco’s on today. You know he won’t mind.’
Francesco was the bartender responsible for making Pim’s wicked highballs whenever she needed a sensory-depriving nightcap to help her sleep. That worked in my favour.
‘Perfect! Thanks, Tony!’ I said, pulling out my phone as I slipped inside the world-famous bar. The space was dimly lit, cosy even when empty, and the mirrored walls reflected the quiet grandeur of it all. The door was unlocked, and I entered, spotting Francesco at once.
‘Tony gave me the heads-up,’ he said from behind the bar, motioning to the walkie-talkie in his apron. ‘Go ahead and take your phone call.’
I grinned. ‘You’re a gem.’
Settling in, I took a seat near the door, to avoid disrupting Francesco’s set-up for the day. Finding my phone under my many wintry layers, I pulled up FaceTime and tapped on Denise’s name.
It rang twice before Bob’s face appeared on the screen.
‘Evie, my girl!’ he bellowed, his voice booming through the bar.
‘Bob! I was calling Denise – I didn’t expect you to pick up?’
‘She’s currently lying under the Christmas tree.’
He was so matter-of-fact it threw me off my train of thought.
‘Lying under it?’
He nodded, completely unfazed. ‘She wanted to get to the radiator but reckoned the tree was too heavy to move, so she crawled under it instead.’
‘Isn’t that going to make the clothes more crumpled?’
Bob’s mouth opened, ready to agree, but Denise’s slightly strained voice rang out in the background. ‘It’ll be fine!’
Bob rolled his eyes. ‘What’s up, love? What can we do for you?’
I hesitated, my thumb tracing the edge of my phone.
‘How’s Megan?’
Bob’s expression softened. ‘She’s all right. She’s back in London now.’
That made me pause. ‘Oh!’ I’d assumed she’d stay in Kent through Christmas, maybe even to avoid me. But now she was back in the city? Did that mean she’d decided to cut me off completely?
Bob must have seen the worry flash across my face, because he quickly added, ‘Don’t panic – she went back with Alex.’
I sat up straighter. ‘Wait. So… they’re back together?’ That didn’t seem to marry up with what Alex was saying to me on the phone.
‘Don’t ask me, love. I know nothing,’ Bob said, shaking his head cluelessly. Or at least, pretending to be clueless. He gave the distinct impression of a man trying to bury his head in the sand.
‘Okay, okay,’ Denise’s voice got louder with each word. ‘I’m done. Give it here.’
‘I was talking to Evie!’ Bob whined in mock protest.
‘Away with you. That tea won’t make itself.’ Denise smiled as she came into view, her cheeks puffy and red from exertion. ‘Hello, love.’
‘Oh, so now I’m just a tea boy?’ Bob grumbled.
‘Yes,’ Denise and I answered in unison.
She settled onto the sofa, eyes twinkling. ‘So Alex and Megan are not back together. But they are together, if you catch my drift.’
‘Sort of.’ That sounded more realistic. ‘So are they talking again?’
‘I’d hope so. He drove her back, so I imagine that would have been one long drive on the M20 if they weren’t.’
I could already picture Megan sitting in the back seat with Alfie, her headphones on, listening to some TedTalk from a guru that didn’t like to be described as a motivational speaker – but was exactly that.
‘Well, so long as they’re not arguing, I suppose.’
‘He apologised for how he’d behaved,’ Denise said, stretching with a yawn. ‘I need a nap. She didn’t apologise for how she’d behaved, though, but then she is stubborn. She gets that from her father.’
She said it as if it explained everything. As if stubbornness was some kind of cute family trait. But it wasn’t cute. It was the thing that made Megan leave without a word and made me feel like an outsider for worrying.
A distant, muffled ‘I heard that!’ came from the kitchen.
Denise blinked and softened. ‘Look, you know our Megan. She’s a drama queen, bless her, and sometimes she needs a bit of parental TLC to reset.
Now she’s calmer, she and Alex can chat things through like adults and come to a decision.
Whatever decision that is, mind, we’ll support her no matter what.
I think she’s feeling a little neglected, but then so’s he.
So who knows!’ She exhaled sharply as if bored with the conversation – which she probably was if Megan had been staying with her for a few days.
‘Anyway, you’re welcome to some TLC too, you know, whenever you want it. ’
She meant it with warmth, but it landed oddly, like being offered a jumper you didn’t ask for. It didn’t quite fit, and I wasn’t sure it ever would.
I forced a smile, even as my face ached from the effort.
Denise studied me for a beat too long. ‘How are you? How’s Pim?’
‘Pim’s…’ I trailed off, my mind still on Megan and Alex.
I didn’t really want to change the subject just yet, I wanted to know how Megan was, how the drive with Alex went and what’s happened since she got back to Catford – without informing me she was back.
Was she okay? Was it over between her and Alex?
Did I need to set fire to his belongings?
Or help her move out? A dozen questions fought for space in my head, making it hard to focus on Denise or notice the concern creeping into her expression.
‘Erm, she’s fine. It’s been busy, though. Really busy.’
‘You’re worrying,’ she said. Not a question – just a fact. There was a finality to the statement that felt close to the bone.
‘Yeah.’ I shrugged. ‘I guess. This whole event is quite a big undertaking, and what with the new job and now this big Michael Holland blow-up…’ I heard a guffaw in the background and Denise turned around and tutted.
‘Honestly.’ She slapped something off-screen, probably Bob’s thigh.
‘He had it coming. The tosser.’ Bob continued to laugh.
‘What have you got against Michael Holland?’ I asked the body off-screen and suddenly Bob’s face appeared at the corner of the screen, upside down, looking comically like a Minion from Despicable Me with only one eye visible.
‘He said there was no difference between Manchester United and Man City on one of his old morning programmes. I’ll never forgive him.’
‘Christ, do you have to make every conversation about football!’ Denise batted him out of frame, and he continued to chuckle to himself. ‘I’m guessing the publicity fallout wasn’t the most fun experience for you.’
I shook my head, but it wasn’t worth going into detail over. ‘Just tabloid fodder; I think we’re over the worst. And it least the event sold out as a result.’
‘No such thing as bad publicity,’ Denise said warmly.
I cleared my throat. ‘Actually, apart from checking in on Megan – which I guess I need to do by calling her, if she’ll answer me—’
‘I’ll tell her to answer you,’ Denise interrupted.
‘We’ll see.’ I wasn’t convinced her mum telling her to do anything was going to be enough to get Megan to answer my call in this situation. I’d have to figure out another way of getting to her. ‘I was actually calling to ask a bit of a favour.’
‘The answer’s yes!’ I heard Bob call from off-screen. Denise smirked at him.
‘Well, I hope so,’ I laughed. ‘I spoke to Josh today.’
‘How is he?’ Denise asked.
‘Does he still support Tottenham?’ Bob shouted again. ‘If so, I revoke my answer.’
‘Oh, Bob!’ Denise scolded. ‘Really?’
I tittered. ‘I think he generally just supports whatever football, cricket, or rugby team his latest boyfriend supports.’ I think the last team was Millwall, which was quite a comedown from Tottenham Hotspurs ‘But, regardless, he’s had a bit of a break-up.’
‘Did he break up with that married man?’ Denise asked, leaning me – or rather, the phone – against a stack of coasters on the coffee table so that she could return to her previous task of folding laundry that was evidently on the floor of her living room.
‘So Megan filled you in?’ I queried, to which she nodded. ‘He knows it was wrong, and he’s sorted it all out now—’ I didn’t bother adding that he had caught his boyfriend sleeping with his husband; that was a little too messy for my liking. ‘We all make mistakes.’
‘That we do,’ she said. ‘And if you’re about to ask if he can come over for Christmas, the answer is and always will be yes.’
‘Even though he and Megan had a bust-up. And he got with a married man and, y’know, you’re married.’
Denise laughed abruptly. ‘I doubt he’ll be on the prowl for Bob, love.’
‘Eww! No!’ I cried as Denise chortled and Bob paraded into view doing his best Kinky Boots kind of walk that only made him look like a penguin. ‘Oh, God, stop! Please. I beg you!’
‘He’s welcome to him,’ Denise added, and Bob leaned down to give her the sloppiest of kisses he could muster.
One day I’d love a relationship like theirs, I thought, it’s so much fun and silly, but there was also an implicit trust that felt wholesome and rare.