Forgive Me (23 page)

‘Well, thank you,’ she replied,
blushing because he was looking at her so intently.

‘It suits you. I bet you’ve been
dying for us to leave?’

She laughed. ‘Sort of … my
feet are aching. I hope you enjoyed your meal.’

‘I enjoyed looking at you more,’
he said.

‘Are you coming, Myles?’ his
older friend asked, holding the door open and looking back. ‘The girls are
waiting.’

Myles reached out, took her hand, lifted it
to his lips and
kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘Can I see you
tomorrow?’ he asked.

The suddenness of this completely threw Eva.
‘I can’t,’ she said instinctively.

‘You aren’t working here,
it’s closed on Sundays.’

‘I’ve got stuff to do,’
she said. ‘And your friends are waiting for you.’

‘I’ll come round, anyway,’
he threw over his shoulder as he walked towards the door. ‘Pottery Lane,
isn’t it?’

She didn’t get a chance to ask how he
knew that, because the door closed behind him. When she looked out of the window he had
his arm around one of the women and they were walking towards Holland Park Avenue.

Eva locked the door, turned the sign round
to closed, cleared the table and carried the glasses and coffee cups through to the
kitchen where Antonio, the owner, was cleaning the preparation surfaces.

Antonio was only half Italian and had been
brought up in England, but he put on an Italian accent for the customers. He’d
told Eva in confidence that his real name was Roger. She liked him; he was short, fat,
with a sallow complexion and bad teeth, but he was funny, generous and kind-hearted, and
he was a fantastic chef.

‘Do you know a customer called
Myles?’ she asked. ‘He was in that last group to leave.’

‘Good-looking bastard?’ he
said.

‘Well, yes. He asked to see me
tomorrow.’

‘Don’t sound so
surprised,’ he said, as he rinsed out the cleaning cloth and hung it over a rail
to dry. ‘You are a pretty girl. Shows he’s got good taste.’

‘But isn’t it a bit weird to ask
that when you are already with someone? She was just outside.’

‘Well, he’s the playboy type –
every time he comes in here
he’s with a different woman. I
thought I might ask him for lessons.’

Eva laughed. ‘I’ll be off now
then. See you on Monday lunchtime.’

As Eva passed by The Prince of Wales the
last drunken stragglers were coming out, and one called out to her.

She gave him a wide berth and hurried home,
her mind on Myles. He had made her feel fluttery inside, but it wasn’t a good
feeling – it was troubling. Except in films, good-looking men like him did not go for a
very ordinary-looking waitress wearing a green apron. Not when they were already in the
company of a glossy, expensively dressed model-type woman. Why had he done it? Was it a
wind-up?

Once home she made herself a cup of tea, put
a cardigan around her shoulders and went out into the garden. She loved sitting outside
on warm nights in the darkness. The white daisies and petunias in the tubs were almost
luminous. The honeysuckle on the fence smelled beautiful, and above her the inky black
sky was sprinkled with stars. Sometimes her neighbours, the unpleasant Mr Francis and
his wife, were out in their garden. They had lights and a barbecue, and they drank a
great deal, often speaking so loudly that Eva winced. It amused Eva to know they had no
idea she was out here, listening to him running down his work colleagues or arguing
about how much his wife had spent on clothes. Sometimes she was tempted to jot down what
they’d been saying, and then stick the note through their letter box to shame them
into silence in future.

But she had it all to herself tonight; there
were no lights either side, and it was very quiet.

She thought about Myles again and decided he
was one of those men who just couldn’t resist trying to pull a girl, just to
prove himself. He probably lived close by and had seen her come out
of the house at some time, and that was how he knew which road she lived in. He
wouldn’t turn up tomorrow; he and his friends had drunk so much wine he probably
wouldn’t even remember he’d spoken to her.

That was almost the story of her life. She
just wasn’t memorable to anyone. She guessed that if any of the customers
who’d been in tonight were asked to describe their waitress, none of them would be
able to. Was that how it was always going to be? Was she the reliable, hard-working girl
who would never be remarkable in any way?

Until tonight she had thought what
she’d achieved since moving to London
was
remarkable. The house was
sorted, she’d got a job, she knew her way around now, and she could laugh at the
state she’d got into over Tod. Yet she could also see she hadn’t really
moved forward at all: she’d made no girlfriends, and she knew no one to have a
drink with or take shopping. She hadn’t tried to find Patrick O’Donnell yet,
and she hadn’t gone right through her mother’s diaries either.

At the bistro she saw so many girls of her
own age having lunch or coffee. From overheard conversations she knew they were really
living, taking full advantage of everything London had to offer, going to parties,
clubs, cinemas and concerts, buying new clothes, going out with men. But she was just
marking time, and feeling lonely for most of it.

What did she have to do to become like those
other girls? Should she hurry up and get all the rooms decorated and furnished, and then
find someone to share the house? Or find a new job where she’d meet interesting,
friendly people and be on the same level as them?

These thoughts made her feel unbearably sad.
She seemed to have spent her whole life being on the outside, looking in.

‘You’re just tired,’ she
murmured to herself as she got up
to go in. She locked the door and
went upstairs to bed. But even as she got ready for bed, she couldn’t help but
think longingly of her job back in Cheltenham where there was always someone to have a
chat to and have a laugh with.

The next morning she got up early. The
sadness she’d felt the night before had vanished, because it was another lovely
day. She made herself a cup of tea, then put on some old shorts and a T-shirt to finish
painting the big bedroom. She’d already finished the ceiling and two white walls;
all that was left was the wall where she intended to put the bed. That was going to be
turquoise, and she’d already bought curtain material for the two windows – a white
background with a dainty turquoise motif.

The sun coming in through the bedroom
windows made her feel good as she painted with a roller. She thought she would have a
bash at putting up the curtain poles later and make the curtains tonight.

When she’d finished the first coat,
she went downstairs to get some breakfast.

By the time she got back to the bedroom,
ready to start on the second coat,
Sunday Love Songs
was on the radio. She was
singing along with Whitney Houston’s ‘One Moment In Time’ when there
was a loud knock on the front door.

She thought it might be Phil. She hoped it
was, because she had missed him and wanted to apologize for snapping at him about the
decorating.

But when she opened the front door and saw
it was Myles she was thrown into confusion, because she hadn’t for one moment
thought he’d turn up. He was grinning at her, waving a bottle of sparkling wine,
and he was dressed in a pale pink polo shirt and jeans.

She could only stare in consternation, very
aware she was
speckled with paint. Her hair was held back with a
stretchy band and, with no make-up, she knew she looked awful.

‘I didn’t expect you to
come,’ she said weakly. ‘I’m painting.’

‘So I see,’ he said. ‘But
I’ll scrub your back if you want to jump in the bath.’

That remark told her his sole purpose for
coming round was to get her into bed. But he was over the threshold before she could
gather her wits and make it clear that sex wasn’t on the menu.

Brushing past her, he walked straight into
the living room. ‘You’ve made a nice job of this,’ he said, looking
around. ‘It was a hellhole before.’

‘Yes, it was,’ she said.
‘Awful. But there’s still a lot more to do. I really ought to get on with
the painting. I only get Sundays to do anything.’

‘You can stop for a glass of bubbly
and see where that takes us, can’t you?’ he said. With that he popped the
cork, which flew out and hit the wall. ‘So where’re the glasses?’ he
asked. He then proceeded to go into the kitchen section of the room and opened
cupboards, pulling out two glasses.

‘It’s a bit early for
drinking,’ she said uncertainly. He might be undeniably handsome but she
didn’t like him behaving as if he had a divine right to do whatever he
pleased.

‘Never too early to drink,’ he
said and poured out the sparkling wine. ‘Let’s go out into your garden so I
can see what you’ve done there.’

Eva found herself meekly following him.
‘Have you been in here before?’ she asked.

He seemed to know his way around.

‘Yes, I have – about a year ago. I
heard it was coming up for sale, and I was interested.’

He sat down at the table and lit up a
cigarette, then offered her one.

‘No, thank you. I don’t
smoke,’ she said.

‘Don’t drink early in the
morning and don’t smoke! What are your vices then?’

The way he sat with legs astride, the
exaggerated way he drew in on the cigarette, and the way he looked at her like she was a
piece of meat, was just so arrogant. She didn’t want him in her house at all.

‘I didn’t know it was up for
sale a year ago,’ she said, ignoring his last question.

He laughed, a humourless sound. ‘It
wasn’t, that was just a rumour, but it was obvious the owner was a crackpot
letting it to junkies. Apparently she was living miles away, letting it fall apart. They
said she was an artist. I came round here to get the owner’s address. I made out I
was from the Council, following up a complaint about vermin, and made an
inspection.’

‘So did you get the owner’s
address?’

‘Yup, I frightened the tenants into it
and they handed it over sweet as you like. But their bloody landlady didn’t even
have the grace to answer my letters.’

‘What did you offer her for it?’
Eva said.

‘A hundred thousand by the last
letter, though much less to start with. Told her it was riddled with damp and infested
with vermin and that I’d get the tenants out for her too.’

‘But it wasn’t damp or infested
with vermin,’ Eva said. ‘Fancy telling her that!’

He just laughed. ‘All’s fair
when you are after a bargain property.’

‘I don’t call it fair to try to
intimidate someone in order to get what you want.’

He looked hard at her for a moment.
‘You paid the going rate, didn’t you? What a chump,’ he said
scornfully. ‘You’ve got to wise up, girl, or you’ll get skinned alive
buying property.’

‘I didn’t have to buy it,’
she said. ‘I inherited it when my mother died.’

His face tightened.

‘Yes, that bloody crackpot landlady
was my mother. And I’d like you to leave now.’

‘Oh, come on, Eva. How was I to know
she was your mother? Lighten up, girl.’

‘You are extraordinarily
arrogant,’ she said. ‘I didn’t invite you here, and now I want you to
leave. I am in the middle of decorating.’

He picked up his drink and gulped it down in
one. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me to leave?’ he said.

‘Because this is my house, and I
don’t want you in it. So please leave now without saying another word, or
I’ll call the police.’

He scowled at her. ‘Fucking
waitress,’ he said.

‘That’s it, get out now,’
she said angrily, pointing towards the French doors. ‘And take your cheap
sparkling wine with you.’

He got up, picked up the wine bottle and
began walking into the house. She followed him, her heart thumping, afraid he might
damage something just out of spite. But he kept on walking straight towards the front
door.

She moved closer, so she could shut the door
when he’d gone. But suddenly, without her seeing it coming, he turned and pounced
on her, grabbing her by the shoulder and pushing her up against the wall.

‘No one speaks to me like that,’
he snarled at her, and he smashed the wine bottle at the wall. She screamed and tried to
get away as wine and chunks of glass showered down on her, but his hand that had held
the bottle was now on her throat, pressing hard on her windpipe. She tried to push him
off, but he was cutting off her air supply and she felt powerless.

With his free hand he grabbed her crotch,
digging his fingers into her.

‘If you didn’t want to be
fucked, why didn’t you say so last night?’ he hissed at her. ‘Surely
even a dumb waitress would know I wasn’t coming round for a cup of tea and a
chat.’

Eva thought he was going to beat her up and
rape her, unless she found the strength to fight him off. His face was contorted with
rage, and he bent his head towards her as if he was going to bite her mouth.

She acted out of pure instinct, bringing her
knee up with all the force she could muster to hit him squarely between his legs.

He yelped with pain and jerked back
involuntarily, letting go of her. Quickly she bent to the floor, picked up a big piece
of broken bottle and brandished it. ‘Get out, you bastard,’ she screamed,
and jabbed the glass at his face. He backed away from her towards the still-closed door;
he was holding his crotch with one hand, bent over with pain, and blood was trickling
down his cheek.

Rage gave her new strength. She reached for
the catch on the door and pulled it open. Then, jabbing the glass up to his face again,
she kicked at his legs until he had no alternative but to back out of the door.

She slammed it shut, put the chain on too,
then ran for the phone to call the police.