31 Dream Street (12 page)

‘Eight months. Whatever. It’s not very long.’

‘No, it’s not. But then I’m not very young. And neither is she.’

‘Yes, but,
Jesus
. Getting married. I mean, that’s such a fucking big deal. That means…’ And then it hit her, exactly what that meant. It meant no more her. ‘What about us?’

‘Well, that’s the thing, Rubes. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Oh, God.’ Ruby let her head fall into her hands. The tiredness she’d been fighting all morning at rehearsals hit her directly between the eyes like a left hook.

‘There’s no way that this can carry on.’ He gestured at the two of them. ‘No way. It’s one thing messing round in a casual relationship. But, you know, we’re
talking engagement rings here. We’re talking a major fucking commitment.’

‘Yes, yes, I
know
what you’re talking about.’ Ruby pulled her hair away from her face and glanced up at him.

‘And I can’t have you in my life any more.’

Ruby laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can. You’re my best mate.’

‘No, Ruby, I’m not. ‘Best mate’ is just a term that you bandy about because it makes you feel better about the fact that you sleep with men without commitment. I’m not your best mate. You don’t have a best mate.’

‘What?’ Ruby sat up straight.

‘Well, you don’t. I’m sorry. You have friends. Lots of friends. And you have lovers. Lots of lovers. But you don’t have a best mate.’ He stopped and appraised her for a moment, as if he was about to say something harsh. ‘But anyway… anyway,’ he sighed, and pulled his hands down his face. ‘I didn’t bring you here to give you a character assassination. I brought you here because I wanted to do this properly. Because you deserve it. So here…’

He pulled open his jacket and removed a box from his inside pocket. He passed it to Ruby.

‘What is this?’ she said.

‘Open it,’ he said, nodding at the box.

The box clicked open and something glittered at her. It was a tortoiseshell hair comb, one of those Spanish-style ones. It was decorated with tiny pink rubies set into the shape of flowers. Ruby gazed at it
for a while not sure how to react. It was a beautiful gift, but what did it mean?

‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it’s beautiful. But what’s it for?’

‘It’s for your hair,’ he said. ‘A hair thing.’

‘No, no. I mean – why have you given it to me?’

‘To say thank you. To say goodbye.’

‘Right.’ She let the box snap shut and laid it gently on the table in front of her.

‘Was it a mistake?’

‘No,’ she sighed. ‘No. It’s stunning. It’ll be nice to have something to remind me of you. Of us.’

‘Are you being facetious?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘of course not. You don’t owe me anything. This was always a, you know, an easy-comeeasy-go thing. It’s fine.’ She stopped and caught her breath as a dreadful thought occurred to her. ‘But, what about our arrangement?’

Paul lowered his gaze and waited while the waitress arranged their drinks on the table.

‘Well,’ he said, after she’d gone, ‘obviously that’s going to have to stop.’

‘Right,’ she said, panic surging through her. ‘So what am I going to do? How am I going to pay my rent?’

‘Toby will let you off the rent, I’m sure.’

‘Yes,’ said Ruby, ‘but what about everything else? What about food and clothes and… and…
life
?’

‘You’ll find a way,’ he said. ‘You’ll get a job, sell a song. It’s time for you to grow up, Ruby…’

‘Christ,’ she felt panic engulf her, ‘what’s going to
happen to me? I owe Kev for the rehearsal this morning. I’m overdrawn as it is. Fuck. Can’t you, maybe, just lend me some money. Just to tide me over?’

‘No, Ruby. I can’t. This is it. This…’ He gestured at the gift box. ‘And this…’ He gestured at her oysters which had just been placed in front of her. ‘After this there’s nothing. It has to be like this.’

‘What – not even fifty quid?’

Paul sighed and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out a sheaf of twenty-pound notes and slid them across the table to Ruby. She covered them with her hand. It was more than fifty, probably about a hundred. They were still warm. She slipped them into her handbag without looking at them. ‘Thank you,’ she said, then she stared at her oysters, while she tried to corral her thoughts. Who was the first person to eat an oyster, she wondered, prodding one gently with her fork? Who prised open that first shell and thought it would be interesting to put it in their mouth? She tipped a teaspoon of pink vinegar and shallots into the shell, picked it up between her thumb and forefinger, and lifted it to her nose. The smell reminded her of summer holidays, of barnacle-encrusted shipwrecks and razor clams on empty Kentish beaches, of fish and chips eaten with wooden forks, and buckets full of seaweed and tiny translucent crabs. She tipped the oyster into her mouth and bit down on it, once, twice, swallowed it. She glanced at Paul. He was watching her wistfully over tented fingers. ‘Aren’t you worried about me?’ she said, softly. ‘Aren’t you scared I won’t survive?’

‘No,’ he said, picking up his cutlery.

‘Why not?’

‘Do you
want
me to be worried about you?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Seriously?’ he laughed.

‘Yes. I’m scared. I’m… I’m…’ She felt herself dangerously close to tears and paused for a moment. ‘I don’t know who I am and I’m scared that without you I might just float away.’ She stared at Paul with glassy eyes. Paul smiled at her apologetically and covered her hand with his.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘I know you. You’re a strong woman and you will be absolutely fine.’

Ruby smiled stiffly and pulled her hand away. Because if that was what he thought then he really didn’t know her at all.

22

Con was in the kitchen, washing up a dinner plate. Toby smiled at him as he reached past him to grab a glass off the draining board. ‘All right?’ Con said.

‘Yup,’ he said, ‘just getting some water.’

He was about to leave the kitchen and head back upstairs when Con turned round. ‘Toby?’ he said.

He looked at him enquiringly.

‘Would you say that you were posh?’

Toby smiled. ‘
Me?
’

‘Yeah. What are you? I mean you’re obviously not working class, but are you posh or middle class, or what?’

‘God,’ he said, ‘I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.’

‘It’s just… it’s funny, isn’t it? Meeting people and they talk a certain way or look a certain way and you think you know what sort of background they’ve had, but then maybe you’re wrong. I mean, there are people in stately homes who haven’t got any money. And you – you own this huge house, but you haven’t got a penny to your name. Are you still posh? Or does being poor make you common?’

Toby smiled and leaned against a chair. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Dunno,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m just curious.’

‘Well, I suppose I’m middle class in some ways. My father’s a businessman. My mother was a model. I was brought up in a four-bedroom house in Dorset, nice but no land. I think we probably had a mortgage. But then I went to a pretty snazzy public school, hung out with some pretty posh people. And now, as you say, I’m penniless. I don’t have a career, but I own a property.’ He shrugged and smiled. ‘I’d say I’m a bit of a mess, really.’

‘But you see, compared to me, you’re still posh. My mum’s pretty much homeless. I don’t know what my dad did. I was brought up on an estate, went to a comp. It’s all about the inheritance, isn’t it, what you get when they’re gone? Whatever happens to you, you’ll have this house, maybe some more off your dad when he goes. I’ll get nothing. Well, unless my dad’s actually really rich and suddenly remembers that he’s got a son…’

He stopped and stared at Toby for a moment. Toby fiddled with the glass in his hand and waited for Con to continue. He wanted to talk about Ruby, it was blindingly obvious.

‘I’ve met this girl,’ he said, eventually.

Toby nodded. Here it came.

‘At work. And I’m trying to work out how posh she is.’

Toby blinked and tried not to show his surprise. ‘Ah, I see. So, tell me what you know about her.’

‘Well, she’s about my age. She’s a junior in the fashion department at
Vogue
, so she probably earns less than me. She’s called Daisy and her sisters are called after
flowers I’ve never heard of. She lives in Wandsworth with her sister and her boyfriend. He owns it. It’s really small, apparently. And that’s it. She talks posh and she looks posh. But she’s not bothered about people not being like her. She’s comfortable around normal people, you know.’

‘And that’s it?’

‘Yeah. So far.’

‘So, what’s the problem? She sounds lovely.’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I think she’s interested, but I don’t want to blow it.’

‘Well, what would you usually do if you liked someone?’

‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged, and sat down at the table. ‘Just play it cool, I guess.’

‘Right, so, that’s exactly what you should do. Just because she’s…
posh
, doesn’t mean she’s any different to other girls.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘yeah. You’re right. I should just be myself, right?’

‘Yes,’ said Toby, trying desperately to sound as if he were a font of all emotional intelligence. ‘Yes. That’ll do the trick. Be yourself.’

‘Yeah. OK.’ He stood up again. ‘Sorry about that – I didn’t mean to, you know. Anyway. I’d better get on. See you later.’ He sidled past Toby and into the living room.

Toby went back to his room, feeling slightly bemused but touched that Con had felt able to confide in him. The fact that Con was showing an interest in a girl
without (he presumed) silicone implants and without (he presumed, although, God knows, these days
everyone
seemed to want to look like a glamour model, maybe even
Vogue
girls) a fake tan gave Toby hope. Maybe Con was expanding his horizons, leaving his childhood behind. Maybe he was getting ready to move on. Maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult to get him out of the house after all.

Toby smiled to himself as he climbed the stairs back to his room. He sat at his computer and gazed across the street. The lights were off in Leah’s front window. He wondered where she was. Maybe she was looking at another flat share. Or maybe she was on a date. He’d watched her coming and going from his bedroom for years without giving her more than a split second of airtime in his thoughts. She had a boyfriend. Girls with boyfriends wore a kind of invisibility cloak. They didn’t exist.

As he stared at her window he saw her. She was walking towards her
front door. Her hair was in a ponytail and she was carrying two fat M&S carrier bags. She stopped outside her house and started feeling round in her handbag. When she was unable to find what it was she was looking for, she sighed, rested her carrier bags at her feet, balanced her handbag on the garden wall and started searching through it again, more and more impatiently. Eventually she brought out a bunch of keys, picked up her handbag and headed to her front door. A light was activated by her presence, and for a moment she was lit up like an actress on a stage. Her front door clicked open and she walked through it. And then, suddenly, she turned, as if someone had called her name, turned and looked straight up at Toby.

He almost ducked, but didn’t. Instead he smiled at her and waved. She smiled, too. And she looked, for just one brief, fleeting and exhilarating second, like the most beautiful woman Toby had ever seen in his life. The thought brought a rush of simmering blood to his head. He gulped and turned his gaze back to his screen.

23

Ruby saw him coming home through her bedroom window. He was holding a yellow Selfridges carrier. His hair was different – softer, less spiky, less manicured. It was the first time she’d seen him since Toby’s birthday and her reaction took her by surprise. A jolt of excitement, a quiver of happiness. The boy she’d shared her home with for more than a year, the boy she’d seen as nothing more than a schoolboy with a job, had turned into a man.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She looked fine. She’d thought about crying when she got home after an interminable, strangely numb Tube journey back from the Wolseley, but changed her mind and decided to have a bath instead. She was glad now, as Ruby had a face that didn’t recover very easily from the indignity of tears.

She pulled out her Rimmel concealer and smeared a little underneath her eyes. Then she blobbed some translucent pink gloss onto her lips and went downstairs.

Con was in the kitchen, boiling the kettle. He jumped when he heard her come in behind him.

‘Hello, stranger,’ she said, pulling open the fridge.

‘Hi,’ he said, turning back towards the sink.

She pulled out a carton of mango and passion fruit juice and poured herself a glass. ‘How are you?’

He nodded. ‘I’m good. I’m fine. How are you?’

‘Excellent,’ she smiled. ‘It’s been a long day, but it’s looking up now.’ She smiled at him.

‘Cup of tea?’ he said.

‘No, thanks.’ She pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Can’t believe I haven’t seen you. It’s weird.’

‘What’s weird?’

‘You know – after what happened last week. I haven’t been avoiding you, you know. I’ve just been busy.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, dropping a flattened teabag into the bin, ‘me, too.’

‘Had a gig last night. Didn’t get home till five.’

‘God, you’ve got more energy than me. I can’t do late nights any more.’

Ruby laughed. ‘You’re nineteen!’

‘Yeah, I know. I’m a growing boy. I need my sleep.’

Ruby laughed again. She glanced at him. He looked as if he was about to leave the room. She stalled for time. ‘I like your hair,’ she said. ‘Looks better without all that stuff in it.’

‘You think?’

‘Yeah. Softer. You look more…
mature
.’

He snorted and looked embarrassed.

Ruby felt a wave of longing fall across her like a shadow. He was so new, so clean, so unformed. She wanted to touch him. ‘What are you up to tonight?’

He shrugged. ‘Waiting on a couple of calls. Probably heading home to meet some mates.’