Can We Still Be Friends (25 page)

It had been a big mistake to get back so late, but even if she’d been there all day, that wouldn’t have changed anything. She ran down the stairs and out of the house, leaving the kettle boiling.

The route to the hospital took her along one of the town’s busiest streets, its windows full of tweeds and waxed jackets, the needlework shop where the same needlepoint cushion had sat for as long as she could remember, and the coffee shop where her mother would order scones as a treat. Maybe it would be better not to bother her at the hospital. Let her get her strength back without having to waste it on chatting to her, since she knew how hard her mother would try to make Sal believe that she was OK. Also, her mother would be aware how furious Maurice was with his daughter and that would be a whole other thing for her to worry about. Her mum was always trying to make everything all right for him, which Sal thought was a thankless task. Nothing could ever be good enough.

She changed direction and headed towards the station.

The taramasalata was too pink. Annie knew the pinkness was in inverse proportion to its authenticity, but the Germolene-coloured tub had been the only one in the corner shop. The colour was more convincing once it was decanted into a china bowl and surrounded with a pile of pitta bread, chunks of cucumber, and placed by another plate bearing a round box of ungiving Camembert and one of salami. Sal’s arm appeared through the skylight waving a bottle as she emerged on to the roof terrace.

‘Ken. Don’t forget the glasses … and an ashtray,’ she shouted back down.

It was impossible to ignore the enormous diamond on Annie’s left hand which flared in the sun as she fiddled with the food, ensuring that, even though the ingredients were basic, they had an elegant appearance. Sal was always amazed how long it could take for Annie to adjust a plate of salami to her satisfaction.

‘The sparks off that rock could light a fire,’ she remarked, as she saw Annie looking proudly at the weighty evidence of her new status. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t get charged for excess, carrying that to Venice.’

Annie laughed. ‘I can’t believe I’m getting married. It’s not like us at all. It seems so – well, so … grown up.’

‘No,’ agreed Kendra, who had now joined them on the terrace and was examining a blister on her big toe. ‘It’s not like us. But I suppose “us” is changing. Letty must be thrilled, isn’t she?’

Letty had only met Charlie once previous to the engagement. She had taken in the tailoring of his Paul Smith suit, his polished black shoes, the authority of his deep voice and concluded that her daughter was in safe hands. She knew, of course, that appearances could be unreliable but, even so, everything she could see about Charlie
induced confidence, and his absolute certainty, even in the smallest of matters, came as such a relief. She had always liked a man who could take charge. His conviction that the only thing to order for tea at the French brasserie where they met was the croque monsieur rather than the more predictable tarts invited no debate not because he was a bully but simply because he was so obviously correct.

Annie had called her from Venice with her news. The line was faint and Letty’s response, although enthusiastic, was hampered by the slight time delay of an international call, which meant that they both kept speaking simultaneously, especially with Annie’s excitement at the turn of events.

‘You must come down as soon as you’re back. You and Charlie. I do want to get to know my prospective son-in-law.’

‘Charlie’s asking if we can come down next weekend? We can tell you all about it,’ Annie had said as she lay on the bed looking out over the Grand Canal, Charlie fondling her bare legs, moving up from her feet and approaching her knee. When she put the phone down to her mother, Annie looked out of the window opposite. It was exactly like she had always hoped it would be. She batted away the thought that it had been Jackson she had imagined would be in the bed making his way up her body rather than Charlie, but not before she explained to herself how much better it was, the way things had turned out. Charlie was the kind of man it was going to be wonderful to be married to. They would be able to plan everything together, and he was so good at making sure that those plans would work. Already he had suggested some changes to his flat which would make it feel more like it was hers as well, which was a small point, but it showed that he understood her. The only thing she really wanted to resolve was his relationship with her friends. Or lack of it. He didn’t really get the point of them, she could tell. But there was tons of time. That’s what was so lovely. They had all the time in the world to sort things out.

That afternoon sitting on the roof with Sal and Kendra was different, overlaid with an understanding between them that things had
changed. Annie knew that her friends were pleased for her that she was marrying, but also that neither of them understood why she was doing it – even though they hadn’t said so. Their silence was a Chinese wall. She supposed it was hardly surprising. After all, she’d been so madly in love with Jackson only a year ago, and then she had found Charlie (although it was rather more that he had found her) and, when it came down to it, Sal and Kendra hadn’t had much time to properly get to know him.

There hadn’t even been a real opportunity to share the complaining stage with them, the bit when the unquestioning joy of having a new bloke was over and he’d done enough annoying things you could tell the others about to reaffirm that boyfriends were always a potential problem and girlfriends, naturally, were the ones you always returned to. There hadn’t been any of that. None of the commiserating nor any of the jokes. And now Annie worried she was going to be excluded by dint of the ring on her finger, a thin line of separation.

‘What’s happening about the wedding?’ Kendra asked as she folded a chunk of cucumber into some pitta bread. ‘I’m only asking one thing. Don’t you dare ask me to be a bridesmaid.’ The thought of Kendra trussed up in the girly costume of the traditional bridesmaid made them all laugh.

‘Oh, you surprise me. I thought you would be so disappointed if I didn’t ask. And there was I, wondering how to get out of it.’

‘You joke, but actually I’d quite like to be a bridesmaid. It would be a laugh,’ said Sal, peering at her bare legs, with their scattering of short black hairs like scratches on the white skin. ‘Oh, what a pain it is to be dark. Do husbands love you even if you don’t shave your legs? That might be good enough reason to get hitched.’

‘I don’t expect Annie knows the answer,’ Kendra answered. ‘She’s never not shaved her legs.’

‘Well, Charlie’s not a great one for jungles of underarm hair. I don’t know how keen he is on
au naturel.
’

Uncharacteristically, Sal could see this conversational turn might easily provoke Kendra into a sulky unease about Gioia, who was
definitely on the
au naturel
side. It was extraordinary how her two best friends had ended up with people who couldn’t be more opposite, but then they had always, all three of them, been so different, right from the start.

‘How’re things at the Chapel now?’ She moved the topic on to safer territory.

‘Not so good. I wish I knew the details, but there’re big problems with the building, and Gioia’s being hassled to move out by some developers. She won’t really talk about it. It bugs me that she treats me like one of the kids and thinks I don’t need to know.’

‘What would she do if she had to move? Could you go somewhere else?’

‘It would be difficult. The Chapel has been her life for ages, and it’s not like we could easily find somewhere else where she could do the same thing. I think she’d go Tonto if we had to go.’

‘At least she’s got you now. That must mean something.’

Kendra realized that Sal was simply being loyal but, all the same, she found that last comment insensitive, in its implication that Sal had no understanding of Gioia’s deep commitment to her work.

‘How are things with your folks, anyway?’ Sal continued, completely unaware of how Kendra was feeling.

‘Oh, you know. I’m not exactly living their dream – the job, the girlfriend,
ya di ya di ya.
But I guess I haven’t made it any easier. I’ve just kept away. It seems simpler. I’m in such a different place now.’

‘Come on, you two. This is meant to be a celebration, not a wake. We haven’t toasted the bride yet. It calls for another bottle.’ Sal slid down the ladder, watched by the others.

‘So what’s happened with her mother?’ Kendra asked Annie.

‘I don’t know. She won’t talk about it, but she came back from Cheltenham with an A-grade hangover.’ Annie adjusted her ring slightly to make sure the diamond sat entirely central on her finger. ‘And just before she went I found an empty vodka bottle in a pile of towels. The drinking’s getting worse. I’m pretty worried about what’s going to happen. I’ll be moving in with Charlie soon, and she’ll have to move out of this place then. It’s going to be hard.’ She
sighed. ‘There just never seems to be a right time to have a conversation.’

‘I suppose I could try.’ Kendra didn’t sound convinced as she looked over the parapet towards the house opposite with the hanging garden of plants attached to its wall. ‘Yes. I guess we could both try.’

As Kendra cycled home, she was grateful for the breeze. Nearing the flat, she passed the Turkish restaurant where she and Gioia would occasionally treat themselves to filo pastry parcels stuffed with cheese and a spicy aubergine dip. She could hear the whistle from the nearby park signalling closing time.

When she looked up at the roof, the skylight windows were open. Gioia must be home. She hesitated before opening the front door, preparing herself to re-enter their world, a place that as yet was still apart from anything she shared with her friends, and positively alienated from her family home. Reaching the top floor, she opened the door to the flat, the pedal on her bike banging against her ankle as she tried to prop it up against the wall. At first she didn’t see the woman sitting next to Gioia.

‘Ken. My mum’s come by.’

Kendra took in the slight figure on the edge of the sofa, a head of tight grey curls, the milky white of her eyes accentuated by deep-brown skin. It made sense, she supposed, given how dark Gioia was, and the wiry consistency of her hair even when it was oiled and sculpted into its wonderful shapes, but, even so, it came as a shock to see that Mrs Cavallieri was obviously not Italian, as she had assumed.

She shook hands, acutely aware of being sweaty from the ride across the city. Mrs Cavallieri, in contrast, was bandbox neat: her white shirt pristine, a daub of coral lipstick brightening her lips, flat sandals polished to a sheen.

‘Mum’s come down to help out Gerass with some things.’

‘I hadn’t seen the boy in months. It was time. There never comes a moment when you don’t worry about what your children are
doing. It’s God’s way.’ Gioia was, as usual, sprawled, legs slung over the arm of the sofa, while her mother sat straight, her hands placidly on her lap.

‘I was saying to Mum how we wanted to take a trip to the seaside with some of the kids these holidays. It’s the kind of thing I couldn’t do on my own, but now I’m working with you it’s easier. Look what she’s brought me – over there, by the sink.’

Kendra walked over to the kitchen area of the bedsit, noting the
me
rather than
us
, the
working
rather than
living
. Kilner jars were labelled in pen: salsa pomodoro, spice mix, plantain chutney. A large Italian cheese lay in its web of string. She was waiting for Gioia to say something to explain Kendra’s presence to her mother. Surely she wasn’t going to pretend that Kendra wasn’t living with her. Jesus, should she ask her if it was OK to take a pee?

‘You must look after yourself now. We all work, but you must make sure that you take time to enjoy yourself, before you have a family and all those responsibilities.’ Mrs Cavallieri had a sing-song lilt to her voice. Despite being half her daughter’s height, the woman commanded attention. When Kendra came back from the bathroom, she stood to leave, Gioia jumping up to place a large arm over her mother’s narrow shoulders.

‘
Non preoccupare, Mama. Sto bene.
Ken. I’ll be back in a moment. I’m just going to walk with Mum down the road to meet Dad.’ What was it with this family? They were always telling each other not to worry,
non preoccupare
, thought Kendra crossly. As far as she could see, at the moment, there was quite a lot to
preoccupare
about.

Alone in the flat, Kendra wriggled out of her dirty clothes, throwing a black T-shirt over a clean bra and pants. She pulled her hair back tight from her forehead as if it might help restore order to her tumbling thoughts. She certainly felt like a stranger in the flat, returning from the afternoon with Sal and Annie to find that the life she had assumed she was having was not exactly what she had thought. What was all that about, Gioia not letting on that her mum was Jamaican? And, more to the point, Mrs Cavallieri certainly
didn’t appear to know that Kendra was her daughter’s girlfriend. Had Gioia kept Kendra’s presence secret from her own parents even as she watched Kendra go through all the difficulty of telling hers that not only was she living and working with Gioia but that they were also lovers?

‘I understand your need for experimentation, Kendra. You’re at the age.’ That was how Marisa had confronted her the last time they’d met at the house. ‘But surely you could have investigated your sexual leanings with somebody more … somebody more … interesting. There are, of course, some very interesting lesbian couples. And in many cases these relationships are wonderfully creative. But this woman, who is also your, well … the closest thing you have to an employer … it’s all so narrow.’ She looked up at the ceiling as if searching for a description. ‘So … limited.’

Gioia’s heavy tread on the stair stopped outside the door, followed by the familiar rattle of her keychain. She entered with a big smile, holding out her arms to Kendra, who remained stiffly across the room.