Cloudy with a Chance of Love (15 page)

‘Okay, Daryl?'

Ben flicked his head briefly back from the bar to me, his face all friendly and genial.

‘Yes, thank you.'

He turned back again.

My second thought was that I must stop looking at blokes' bums. I looked further up. I liked Ben's shirt. It was brushed cotton and cosy-looking. He had the sleeves slightly rolled up and the hair on his arms was fair and quite bushy. As he reached into his back pocket for his wallet, I noted nails which were clean and neatly trimmed. Okay, these were all Brownie points, as far as I was concerned. A few boxes were being ticked. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

The bar was busy. Ben kept turning back to grin at me and missing his slot. Eventually he got served. I was hot now and I wanted to take my jacket off, but I knew it would keep slipping off my arm, if I put it over it, so I kept it on. My cheeks, with their added shimmer. were probably glowing bright pink, but that was okay – it was a better look for me than pasty and pale, and they no doubt distracted from my wrinkles.

Ben handed me my drink.

‘There you go.'

‘Thank you, Ben.'

‘It's Absolut.'

‘Absolute?'

‘Absolut Vodka.'

How fitting. I took a grateful gulp. Ah, alcohol, my old friend in time of need, I thought. I needed its steadying influence tonight. As I savoured it going down my throat to warm my stomach and take the edge off my nerves, I looked around me at all the old men, also gratefully gulping their beers, their whiskeys and their brandies. We're a funny old nation aren't we? A nation of right old boozers. Drink after drink after drink we chuck down our throats, down the hatch, bottoms up, before we starting shouting in obnoxious voices, getting off with each other and falling over in the gutter until the least drunk person drags us home. What was that quote? Something like,
We may be in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars
? Not true if we've had a skinful and have passed out with our dress round our hips, an empty bottle of Smirnoff Ice rolling down the street away from our outstretched hand. And I should know; I've been there. Well, not quite that bad, but almost. The night Will found me on the drive was not that pretty, that was for sure.

‘Cheers,' Ben said and clinked his bottle against my glass. He took a big swig. I took another slug of mine. I was glad the pub was so warm and the drink so cold. I still felt a bit weird. Effectively, I was here with a total stranger. Someone I'd met last night for all of ten minutes. I glanced at him, swigging his beer, one hand in his back pocket. He looked happy, friendly, harmless. He seemed okay. I needed to relax. ‘We'll have a couple here,' he said, ‘then move on to the party.'

Actually, Ben had three beers before we moved on; I made my drink last the whole time as I suspected it was a double. I relaxed. Conversation with Ben proved to be easy. There were no awkward silences, no stilted non sequiturs. He was very chatty, animated, amusing. He told me all about the day he'd had at work, how he was working on the garden of a huge house three streets away. The couple whose party it was tonight had recommended him for the job.

‘So tell me about these crazy people who have a house party on a Tuesday night,' I said. I looked forward to hearing about them. I was beginning to quite enjoy his funny stories and his little anecdotes. He
was
easy on the eye, too. His curls had dried now and he looked very handsome. I looked at his blue eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like if they locked with mine, then I did the same with his lips. Both were plausible situations, at this moment in time, weren't they?

‘They're former clients. Arty types. So cool, both of them. She has a quirky gallery and makes sculptures out of chicken wire or something – he's a film producer. Art school stuff. Black and white. Subtitles because the accents are so obscure you can't make anything out.' I laughed. I'd seen some films like that… Jeff had liked a bit of pretension. ‘They don't do the nine-to-five. That's how I got to know them. When I was working at their gaff they were always hanging around, drinking gin and stuff. Felix ended up helping me with some of the work – he had some great ideas – and Flick floated around looking glamorous and bringing me endless cups of green tea.'

‘They sound really interesting,' I said.

‘Yeah, totally. They're pretty awesome.' Ben sometimes spoke like a Californian valley girl, which was strange for a grown man in his forties. ‘I've had a few subsequent jobs through them. Met some great people.' He polished off his current beer. ‘Come on then, my lovely. Let's get out of here and go
meet
these fabulous folks!'

He put his hand on my back and steered me through the pub. The old men winked at me and nodded at Ben, and the double doors sent us out into the night with a tailwind of heat and light.

It was cold but I didn't feel it due to my snuggly jacket, the effects of the double vodka and the lingering warmth of The Old Bull. No stars were out tonight, the clouds gathered over London were showing no sign of budging, but our walk was quite pleasant. The pavement was wide and the street was empty of cars. My heels struck loudly on the wide pavement as Ben walked close to me. I noticed his hand was swinging close to mine and I had a feeling he was going to take it, but he didn't; he sort of bounced along the pavement like an over-excited dog. And he kept looking at me and grinning.

‘You all right?' he kept asking, every five seconds.

‘Wonderful,' I said.

And I did feel pretty good. I was out on a date with a lovely man and going to a party at the house of fascinating people on a Tuesday night. What was there to not feel great about?

We arrived outside a massive, double-fronted house. I looked up to three stucco storeys silhouetted by black sky, a massive, walled front garden with a dramatic wrought iron gate and a fairy-lit tiled path that led to the front door. It was beautiful. The house was chucking out the sounds of chatter and laughter and music and through the windows I could see people, and colour, and life. It looked so promising inside, like anything could happen.

Suddenly, I was nervous again. Oh god, they were horrendously posh, trendy people, weren't they? Was I going to fit in? Of course, I lived in Wimbledon, I was pretty much surrounded by well-to-do people with lots of money, but I wasn't like that. I was pretty ordinary. I was of East End stock. My Mum still said ‘we was' instead of ‘we were' and ‘I done' instead of ‘I've done'. I used to try and
correct her but I've given up now. I hadn't been to many posh parties; I hoped there wouldn't be too many Tarquins and Jocastas barking things I didn't understand.

I stopped still and just stared at the house for a few moments.

‘Shall we?' said Ben. This time he did take my hand, and we walked up the beautiful path and the three steps to the porch, my small cold hand in his warm, large one. Two people were already standing on the doorstep; a couple in the doorway were greeting them. There was a bustle of air kisses and hugs and squeals of laughter, and scarves and pashminas and pearls and diamante and dangly earrings and everyone's breath misted and mingled in the cold night air. Suddenly, the guests disappeared past the couple and were swallowed up into the house, and there we were, on the smooth top step by the front door with its gorgeous stained glass panels.

‘Ben! Oh, how wonderful!' A petite woman with huge hair and a tiny bird-like body, shrouded in cream wool and feathers, launched herself round his neck. A tall guy in a black polo neck extended his hand for a shake. ‘And you brought a plus one, after all!' she cried. ‘Miranda is it? Marvellous! Welcome, welcome!' The tiny rocket of a woman hurled herself at me. My chin nestled in a feathery fluff ball of Chanel No. 5 and cashmere.

‘Hello,' I said. ‘No, I'm Daryl.'

‘Daryl! Yes, of course! Wonderful! I'm Flick, and this is Felix.' She pulled back from me and allowed Felix to lean forward and air kiss me on both cheeks. Once he'd finished, she put her hands on my shoulders and did that thing where she stared at my face for far too long. I was able to count the specs of glitter on her eyelids; I could see where the foundation on her face met her neck. ‘Where did you find this wonderful creature, my darling Ben?'

I wondered if Ben would say.

He laughed and shrugged. ‘We met last night, in town. She's a lovely girl.' That was nice of him. And it was even nicer (and somewhat surprising) to be called a
girl
.

‘Fabulous! Well, come in, come in. The young people are going round with champagne and we'll have some flaming margaritas in about ten minutes or so.'

We stepped inside, onto a gorgeous black and white tiled floor. The walls were white and bare, apart from candles set into sconces. Someone stepped forward to take our coats and whisk them away. And Ben took my hand again – still no frisson, pleasant, but no cigar – and in the easy manner of someone who'd obviously been to this house many times before, led me into the party.

The first thing I noticed was that U2 was playing – their first album,
War
. The second was that impossibly trendy people were lounging on the edges of white leather sofas, standing in clusters by a huge marble fireplace and gathering in chattering packs around waitresses with trays of canapes and drinks. There were a lot of polo necks and arty, statement earrings.

Ben grabbed a beer in a tall glass from a passing tray. ‘What can I get you? Champers?'

‘Yes, please.'

‘Coming up m'lady,' said Ben, in a sudden and rather poor impression of Parker from
Thunderbirds
and grabbed one for me from another passing tray. I took a sip and we stood there, amongst the posh, madding throng.

‘So…' he said, smiling broadly.

‘So…' I said, smiling back at him.

And we didn't actually speak to each other again for an hour. A couple appeared at Ben's side, some people he'd met through Flick and Felix, and they wanted to talk to him for ages about lilac trees and
bee-keeping, of which he had scant knowledge. A man in a brown shirt started chatting to me about art and literature and what did I think of the Serpentine; I wondered if he meant the gallery or the river. Then Ben got talking to some girls about pergolas, and someone else came up and started chattering on about their bespoke scarf business and was I interested in investing?

The people at that party were extremely sociable. It must be the well-to-do, bohemian vibe. Everyone was over-effusive, huggy and generous with their air kisses: sometimes two, sometimes three, sometimes four. There was a lot of wild gesticulating and high-pitched shrieking. Ben knew a lot of the people there. He slapped people on the back, roared with laughter and high-fived along with the best of them. He was one of the gang.

Everyone was really gorgeous in this gang. Exquisitely dressed. There were a lot of very beautiful girls there and they
all
seemed to be acquainted with Ben. They approached, they stroked his arm. One actually tousled his hair. He appeared to be a sort of dazzling nucleus. And I was seemingly as popular. Loads of people came up to chat. Who was I, they hadn't seen me before? Where did I live? Who and what did I know?

I'd done all this very posh chitchat for quite a while, when a very animated young blonde in an oxblood leather dress – her eyes slightly bloodshot, her hand gestures way over the top – dragged me off to the kitchen to ‘admire the cheese board'. I wondered if ‘the cheese board' was a euphemism for something highly illegal, but no, it
was
an actual cheese board; it was on a massive piece of grey slate and looked amazing – there must have been at least four different types of stilton. I made all the right noises, said yes, it truly was a remarkable brie, then she fixed her bloodshot eyes on mine and told me she worked making prosthetics for films – all the gory scars and stuff. She told me all about her current project: werewolves and zombies, some sort of apocalypse. She never asked me what I did. All the time she was talking, she was leaning against the fridge, and I don't know why she didn't stand somewhere else, as she had to keep moving to let people open it. They'd get out what they wanted, then close it again, and she'd move back into place.

‘Ben's fun, isn't he?' she said. She gripped my arm with pincer-like, gold-tipped fingers as she spoke.

‘Yes, he's great,' I replied. We were like sentries now, either side of the fridge. I felt a bit of a lemon and wondered where Ben was.

‘I used to date him. Oh, it was ages ago,' she added hurriedly. What, when she was about ten? I wondered. She was really young. Way younger than me. I wondered, not for the first time, what Ben was doing with me. He was super popular, knew all the right people, obviously knew a lot of younger, hot women. I had the feeling he was out
all
the time, making friends, making connections. I was just a forty-something, curvy-to-fat weather presenter with a big bum who never went to parties and had forgotten how to make connections and what they were even for.

I waited for her to say something else, but it seemed there was nothing else to add to her story. She just stood there. After a while she opened the fridge to let someone look for a bottle of loganberry cider.

‘It didn't work out?' I offered.

‘No.' Her lips closed with a snap and she started looking vaguely round the room. Then she glanced back at me again ‘Let's just say we weren't too good for each other.' I wondered what she meant and why she didn't want to say more. Perhaps she was too high maintenance for him. She had that air; she looked a bit… needy, fragile, with her skinny arms and long, aristocratic neck. I bet that was it. She was high-maintenance and he couldn't be doing with it. He was far too easy-going and carefree for her.

She started talking to someone else – who was rooting in the fridge for more champagne – and ended up swigging out of the bottle with him. I had the urge to do the same, but instead wandered back
into the party to find Ben. He was hopping around talking to a guy with a massive hipster beard and put his arm round me as I came up.