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Kitabı oku: «The Big Dreams Beach Hotel», sayfa 4
‘I’m in Brooklyn,’ I said. ‘I’ll get the subway. Where do you live?’
He took my hand as we started walking towards my station. ‘In East Bumfuck, Nowhere,’ he said. ‘It might be a free apartment, but it’s completely inconvenient. The company had all these empty buildings that were bad investments even before the financial crisis. Now they’re stuck with them, so they hand them out as perks to their employees.’
‘Where is it exactly?’ I was pretty sure there wasn’t really an East Bumfuck, Nowhere.
‘Sorry, I should have said. Scarsdale in Westchester. Do you know it?’
‘Only by its reputation as suburban hell. I’m sorry.’ We seemed to be back on safer ground with the talking. I wasn’t sure if it was the manhattans or the snogging that were making me so light-headed. I’d gone overboard on both.
‘I’ve got a one-year lease, but I can’t wait to move closer,’ Chuck went on. ‘The firm signed me up for a private member’s club that’s got pretty cheap rooms, so I can stay there sometimes if I have a late night.’
Was that where we’d have gone if I’d taken him up on his offer? Would I get another chance, or had I blown it?
‘I’ll see you again soon, okay?’ Chuck said when we got to the steps leading down to my train. ‘No, fuck it, that’s not what I mean to say. Rosie, I’ve had such a wicked time tonight. I know I’m supposed to be cool about these things, but I can’t wait to see you again. We can see each other again, right?’
‘I’d love it!’ I said, but I’d hardly got the words out before he was kissing me again. At the rate I was going, I’d be nothing but a puddle of hormones on the Seventh Avenue Line.
‘Are you getting the subway?’ I asked him when I came up for air.
‘It’s the commuter line for me. Suburbs, remember? I’ll walk over to Grand Central. It’s a nice night for a walk.’
We both looked up at the rain that was just starting to spit. ‘It feels like a nice night, doesn’t it?’ he asked.
It felt like a perfect night.
I just missed my train and when I got on the next one it was obvious someone had just weed in the corner of the carriage I chose, but I still smiled all the way home. It was a perfect night.
Chuck stood in front of me at the reception desk the next day at lunchtime. ‘I need your advice,’ he said.
I turned away so Andi couldn’t overhear us. Whatever it was, she’d say no on principle. ‘Is this your way of asking me out, or do you really need my advice?’
His grin was wicked. ‘I really do need your advice. But maybe we can go out later.’ He turned to Andi. ‘Can I please borrow Rosie? It’s about the party.’
My God, he was fearless in the face of danger. ‘It shouldn’t take longer than her lunch hour.’
As if I ever got a lunch hour. ‘But we might be a few minutes late getting back. We have to go to Tiffany’s to pick out Christmas presents for the party.’
Seeing Andi’s face, Digby grimaced and practically ran into the back room. I was tempted to join him. Chuck had no idea how hard he was making things for me.
In about a nanosecond, Andi’s expression morphed from thunderous to sweet-as-you-please. ‘Of course. Anything for our clients. Rosie can take all the time she needs to help. We’ll see you later.’
Translation: You’ll pay for this later and don’t even think about being gone longer than your legally allowed lunch hour. You’re lucky you’re even getting that.
But how could I say any of that to Chuck in front of Andi, when the only thing worse than making my boss angry was making her look bad? ‘I won’t be long,’ I murmured when I caught her shooting daggers at Chuck’s back as we left.
He waited till we rounded the corner, checked that no one from the hotel was watching, and grabbed my hand. ‘I really do have to pick out corporate gifts for the party, but I wanted you to come here with me. It sounds lame, I know, but Audrey Hepburn was my sister’s favourite actress. She force-fed me Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I want to go there with you. Though I can’t promise not to bawl. Just thinking about the end of that movie gets me every time.’
‘Cat!’ I wailed, causing people around us to glance over.
Later, as we squeezed through the revolving doors together at Tiffany’s, he hummed ‘Moon River’ into my ear. It couldn’t be any more romantic.
But we didn’t see each other again until the Christmas party. Our work schedules were nearly exactly opposite now. Andi scheduled me on the five-to-one shift, probably in retaliation for my afternoon disappearance. And Chuck got his next assignment – organising all the firm’s year-end investor meetings – so he was working straight through, from early in the morning until late at night. We did get to snatch quick calls with each other during the day when Digby could cover for me. And we had long rambling conversations late most nights while Chuck was on the train back to Scarsdale.
But I was going round the bend, dying to see him. Chuck was addictive. ‘I know it’s frustrating with work,’ he said, ‘but we’ll see each other at the party. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’
‘That’s bollocks. Absence just makes you frustrated.’
He laughed. ‘I can’t wait to see you. I bet you’re going to look gorgeous.’
I could hardly stand the romance – imagine sipping champagne and dancing with the hottest bloke in the beautiful art deco room at the top of the hotel. Except …
‘Yes, but we can’t be together at the party,’ I pointed out. As far as everyone except Digby knew, Chuck was the hotel’s major client and I was his event planner. It was strictly forbidden to bring one’s romantic life into work. If Andi even suspected there was anything between us, she could scupper my Paris assignment. And she definitely would too. That woman had icicles in her heart. No, colder than icicles. Dry ice.
‘We’ll get together,’ he promised, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Oh, really.’
‘Trust me, I’ve got a plan for us.’
I did trust him.
Was I in love with Chuck already? I think so. At least I was in the snow-blind kind of mad lusty love that can come at the start of a relationship. It may not have had the depth of love that develops over time, but it had every bit of the intensity.
‘He does clean up well,’ Digby said, when he saw Chuck coming through the hotel lobby on the night of the party.
‘You look beautiful,’ Chuck whispered so that only I heard him. Andi had let me switch my usual grey uniform for a plain black dress, but I’d wanted to wear a frock to make Chuck think I looked like a princess. Or at least one of the minor royals.
‘Where do you keep your phone in that dress?’ he teased.
I held up my silver and diamante handbag. ‘It’s surprisingly practical. There’s an entire toolbox in here. And the kitchen sink.’
‘It’s handy to have the toolbox in case the sink springs a leak.’
‘I didn’t see any problems upstairs, but you might want to go up and check before your bosses get here. I’ll be up at seven.’
The caterers were going full tilt in the kitchen. The bar staff were already in position and the sound system and lights had all gone up around me the night before while I hurled tinsel all over the Christmas trees. I know it wasn’t my party per se, but I couldn’t wait for Chuck to see it.
The room sparkled with royal blue and silver baubles and ribbons nestled in pine branch garlands wrapped in fairy lights. All the art deco mirrors magnified the effect. Little round tables with fringe-draped lamps, like they had in Prohibition-era speakeasies, dotted the edges of the parquet dance floor. Twelve-foot-tall live Christmas trees, trimmed in blue and silver, of course, stood in three of the corners of the huge room – the fourth was taken up by the DJ. She didn’t have to spin her records till later, though, because against the back wall was a sixteen-piece old-timey jazz orchestra.
I’d love to be dancing with Chuck to their music. In my mind I was Ginger Rogers. In reality I was probably more Gangnam Style.
But I needed to push those thoughts aside to focus on my job, because I was a professional. From a purely careerist point of view, the party would be something else to put on my CV… as long as it went well. If it didn’t, then the last month of work would have been for nothing.
Well, not exactly for nothing, I thought, as I watched Chuck’s face when he came into the room.
He laughed and shook his head as he took it all in. I’d emailed him about the decorations, but they were so much more lush and blingy in real life. Walking into the room felt like being wrapped in a big sparkly Christmas hug.
Chuck beamed and nodded in my direction, but he couldn’t come over. His bosses were on either side of him. Then the whole company seemed to enter the room at once –sharply tuxedoed powerful-looking men and young elegant women. Suddenly he wasn’t my Chuck anymore. He was swallowed up by his Wall Street colleagues.
These were the women Chuck worked with every day! He’d mentioned that the firm hired from the top schools where everyone was super-clever. I imagined a bunch of speccy number-crunchers in corduroys and cardigans. These girls looked like they’d just strutted off the Victoria’s Secret catwalk.
I hated every bit of them, from the tops of their artfully messy hairdos to the tips of their flawlessly painted toes and all the cleavage in the middle. With so many micro dresses and plunging necklines in the room, my little black dress seemed too prim. And as much as I told myself I was there to do my job, the only thing I wanted was for Chuck to notice me.
But I couldn’t even see him, let alone be extra-gorgeous so that he’d come over. He was swept off into the melee while I had to run around – well, hobble around, given the four-inch heels that I was definitely not used to – making sure there were enough vol-au-vents and ice cubes for our guests.
By the time I caught sight of him again, the orchestra was in full flow. The champagne was too. One of Chuck’s bosses was popping open bottles with a sword. Don’t ask me why he was carrying a sword. Judging by the fact that no one seemed alarmed, it must have been his usual party trick.
Chuck was busy being chummy with a trio of Amazonian underwear models, allegedly his colleagues. I couldn’t exactly barge in on them. For one thing, from all the way down here they’d wonder where the noise was coming from. Besides, what would I say? Sorry to interrupt, but I’d like you to stop being so flirty and beautiful around my … around my what? What was Chuck? Not my boyfriend. Or my lover. He was just my crush.
I had to stop being stupid and leave the man to enjoy his Christmas party in peace.
Summoning every ounce of British resolve, for the rest of the night I was as tough as the façade on Buckingham Palace. While everyone else got merry, I did my job. That meant being efficient, solving problems left, right and centre, and definitely not looking for Chuck.
He slipped up behind me near the end of the night, just as the first notes of ‘Moon River’ floated over us. ‘It was my request. Come with me,’ he said, turning towards the door.
My façade crumbled. Of course I followed him, into the storeroom across the hall. Even with the door closed we could faintly hear the music.
‘May I have this dance?’ He held out his hands.
‘What, in here?’
‘You’ll have to step over the slide projector when I dip you. Come on. I told you we’d be together.’
It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but then, what else did I expect when we couldn’t let anyone see us?
I stepped into his arms and it felt wonderful. Who cared if we weren’t in the ballroom? In front of so many people, we couldn’t have snogged. Or rubbed up against each other like outtakes from Dirty Dancing. And his hand definitely couldn’t have got under my skirt. ‘Are you clocked off for the night now?’ he murmured between kisses.
‘Uh-huh. What have you got in mind?’ I was glad he was holding me up. Up against the wall, actually. I was probably too dizzy to stand anyway.
His next words made me swoon. Swoon, I tell you. ‘God, I want you, Rosie. Not here, it’s too tacky and you don’t deserve anything tacky. I just don’t know if I’d last till we got to my place.’
The way I was feeling, I wasn’t sure that I would either. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ I said. ‘Stay here. I’ll ring your mobile in a few minutes, okay?’
A wicked smile bloomed across his face. ‘What are you doing?’
‘You’ll see.’
Straightening my dress, I hurried to the lift to get back down to the lobby.
‘How’s it going?’ Digby asked when he saw me. ‘Good, I’m guessing. Everyone who’s come down so far is wasted out of their minds. Hey, what are you doing?’
‘Nothing.’ I pulled up the room reservations on one of the computers.
‘No, seriously, what are you doing?’ He glanced over his shoulder, though we both knew Andi had been gone for hours.
I blocked one of the singles. Mustn’t be greedy.
‘Rosie.’ Digby made me look at him. ‘This is dangerous.’
‘I won’t get caught, if nobody tells.’
‘I don’t just mean the room.’
But I couldn’t think about that now. I wasn’t thinking about anything except Chuck. I popped a key card into the machine.
My hand was shaking as I rang Chuck’s mobile. ‘Meet me at the lift on the sixth floor.’
It was the start of everything.
Chapter 6
‘What century are we in?’ Lill scoffs as we gawp at the brawny builders carrying everything inside. ‘I thought bidets went the way of the dodo.’ She smoothes down the front of her minidress. It’s surprisingly subtle for her, in a purply blue, but she’s got them in every colour – and often all colours at once. Lill’s a huge fan of rayon, and between her dresses and her white pleather go-go boots, we were all relieved when she finally traded her fags in for a vape. She risked catching fire whenever she lit up.
The hotel bar is completely off-limits now that the mountain of fixtures and fittings is growing fast in there. It’s also become a home-from-home for the builders. Every surface is littered with their takeaway cups, nails, screws and odd bits and bobs.
‘I definitely didn’t think toilets came in colours like that,’ I tell her. Pale pink? Mint green? Where are we, Miami in 1955? Not even the builders can hide their scorn, and a few of them are old enough to have gone through the eighties, so they know a thing or two about horrid decor.
It’s not only the renovation that we’re finding difficult, though. None of us were prepared for the pace of change when the Colonel first told us we had new owners. The Americans aren’t wasting any time.
‘Time is money,’ Rory intones for about the hundredth time when I whinge at him later. It’s nearly lunchtime and the builders are sequestered in the bar, drinking mugs of tea. ‘They think they can get most of it done within a month.’ He pushes his specs back up on his nose.
‘A month! But it takes builders a month just to complain about the job that needs doing,’ I say. ‘And it’s less than three months till Christmas. We can say goodbye to any work in December.’
But Rory shakes his head. ‘The owners worked a fixed-price contract for completion by the end of October. They might not know eff-all about the UK, but they do know what builders are like.’
‘Does that mean we’ve got to be ready to open before Christmas?’ When he nods I suddenly wish the owners weren’t quite so savvy. ‘What did you mean that the owners don’t know eff-all about the UK?’
Rory grins. ‘They’ve never been here,’ he says, rerolling the sleeves on his shirt. Now that he knows us, he doesn’t wear his suit jacket anymore. In fact, he doesn’t look like a harsh City type at all. ‘They haven’t even got passports, but you didn’t hear that from me, so don’t mention it on the call, okay?’
We’re Skyping with them in a few minutes. Meeting my bosses. Yikes!
‘They hired some kind of business scout from London to find the hotel,’ he explains. ‘The scout hired me and found the builders. I’ve never even met them in person. Are you ready for the call? Just try not to stare too much at PK’s hair.’
‘Please, Rory. I’m a professional. What’s wrong with PK’s hair?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘It’s not worse than yours, is it?’ Rory hasn’t got what I’d call a hairstyle so much as a follicle garden growing out of control on top of his head.
‘You can be the judge,’ he says, not offended at all. ‘We’ve got the other brother, Curtis, first, though.’ He clicks through to Skype. ‘Ready? You look nice, by the way.’
It’s just one of my usual cardis that I wear over a plain t-shirt – navy blue with little sparkles near the collar – so I’m not sure why it’s particularly nice. And my trousers are baggy at the knees, but I’m not about to object to a compliment. ‘Ta. Is there anything special I need to know?’ I probably should have asked that more than two seconds before the call.
‘Nah, just be yourself. And try not to get flustered. His questions can come from left field. Usually he’s just thinking aloud. It’s best to wait to see if he actually wants an answer before you give one.’
‘In other words: shut up. Got it, ta for that.’
When the call is answered, our laptop screen is filled with a colourful fifty-something man sitting cross-legged on top of his desk. ‘Hey, how’s it hangin’ in the UK?’ He makes a devil’s horns sign with his hand.
Rory waits a second, maybe deciding if Curtis really does want to know how it is hanging, before saying, ‘Everything is fine, thanks, Curtis. May I introduce Rosie MacDonald? Rosie, this is Curtis Philansky.’
‘Pleasure to meet you,’ I tell my new boss.
‘You too, Rosie.’ He laughs. ‘Pleasure to meet you. You Brits are all so proper. If we ever meet in the flesh, you’d get a hug, you know.’
Then I’m glad we’ve not met in the flesh. I don’t really go in for hugging strangers. Especially ones who look like him.
His sky-blue t-shirt reads ‘Billabong’. Casual Friday, you might think, if it weren’t a Tuesday. Or maybe he’s a Silicon Valley exec. They wear jeans and trainers to work.
But he’s not wearing jeans. He’s not wearing any trousers at all. He looks perfectly at ease video-conferencing us while sitting cross-legged on his desk … wearing green and white shorts and flashing his undercarriage.
His eighties blond-tipped bouffant hair is putting me off too. It isn’t flattering to his jowly face.
This bloke seems to think he’s one of the lost Beach Boys.
But he is now one of my bosses. I need to remember that.
It’s just that I haven’t had a real boss in three years, since Andi in New York. The Colonel couldn’t be less of a boss. He just wants to be left alone to follow Lill around the hotel with a drink in his hand. Everyone who works for him knows their job backwards. As long as we take care of the few guests we get and don’t let the hotel slide further into dereliction, he’s happy enough.
I’m going to have to get used to being an employee again.
‘Rory says you’re a beach babe, Rosie.’
Rory looks as horrified as I’m sure I do. ‘I think Curtis means that I told him about you being raised here by the sea in Scarborough,’ he explains.
‘Right,’ Curtis says. ‘You surf?’
That’s when I put two and two together. Those are surfboards lined up along the back wall behind his desk. ‘No, I’m sorry. The water’s usually too cold for me. Even in summer. It is the North Sea.’
‘North sea, south sea, you could wear a wettie. Anyway, I’m totally stoked about the hotel. Wait till they finish. It’s gonna be amazing! Have they started on the rooms?’
‘They delivered the toilets and other fixtures just this morning,’ Rory says.
‘Yeah, awesome! Aren’t they epic? Our guests on Sanibel love them. You should see all the Instagram photos we get.’
I can just imagine: #tacky #Whatcenturyisthis? ‘They’re very … striking,’ I tell Curtis.
‘Tip of the iceberg, dudette. Listen, Rosie. I want us to talk every week. I’m a very hands-on person, unlike like my brother, who’s got the people skills of a goat. I won’t just leave you with a bunch of instructions, okay? You can talk to me about anything. I want you to know that I hear you, Rosie. You can page me any time.’
Page him?! I wait a second, but he does seem to want an answer. ‘Yes, okay. Of course.’
‘I’m relying on you and Rory to make the hotel as epic as our others.’ He runs his hand over the top of his head, making his hair froth up like an over-steamed cappuccino. ‘The competition’s tough out there, man. When in doubt, paddle out, that’s what I always say.’
‘Where are we paddling, Curtis?’ I ask.
‘To England, dudette! The British Oahu! The US is a crowded line-up, but Europe’s got empty waves. This is gonna be heroic. Sun, sand and surf in Scarborough. Can you get urbal tea there?’ It takes me a second to realise he means herbal. ‘Lapsang souchong and matcha? We’re gonna need urbal tea for the hotel.’
‘We can get any kind of tea you like,’ Rory says.
He waves his devil-horn hand at us again. ‘That’s cool, little dude. We’ll talk tomorrow. Same time.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, but I’ve got a dentist’s appointment tomorrow at eleven,’ I say. ‘I might not be back quite in time.’
‘I meant Rory,’ Curtis says. ‘We’ll talk as usual.’
‘Right, yes, talk to you tomorrow,’ Rory says.
‘Peace out, till next time.’
The screen goes blank.
‘Do you talk to him a lot?’ I ask. This possibility isn’t sitting well. Rory may have only been here a few weeks, but he seems like one of us. Not one of them. Or is he?
‘Most days,’ he admits. ‘They like to know everything that’s going on.’
‘And you can always page him,’ I smirk. ‘Why don’t they just come over here and see for themselves? If I’d invested a wodge in a hotel, I’d want to see what I was getting. But maybe they’ve got more money than sense.’
Rory shakes his head. ‘They can’t come over unless they take the QEII. They’re both afraid to fly.’
‘That’s why they’ve never been here?’
‘That’s why.’
‘Curtis is off his trolley,’ I say.
‘That’s nothing. Wait till you meet his brother.’
No matter how much I needle Rory, he won’t give me any more hints about PK’s hair. I’m quickly learning that Rory is one of those annoyingly discreet people. Which is good, I guess, if you tell him a secret. But it makes him useless at gossiping. By the time he’s dialling into PK’s side of head office, I’ve imagined everything from tattoos to badgers on his head.
Rory wasn’t kidding when he said that our new owners despise each other. That’s why we’re having separate calls with them, even though they share an office building. Rory says that’s because it was their head office before the problems started, and neither one wants to give up their stake. So they fashioned two entrances and sit within spitting distance of one another, without ever speaking directly. They must use their employees like a bitterly divorced couple uses their children.
I thought I was ready for anything after the call with surfer dude Curtis, but when our screen lights up with PK’s face, the snort of laughter escapes before I can stop it. Covering it up with a cough doesn’t fool anyone.
PK’s hair is ginger, but that’s not what made me honk. After all, I’m Titian-hued myself. I just can’t stop staring at its candy-flossness, which is combed in the most amazingly complicated style that looks …
Well, if Curtis reminded me of Patrick Swayze in Point Break, PK’s barnet is the spitting image of a certain reality-TV-star-turned-Leader-of-the-Free-World.
Rory writes something on his notepad and slides it over so I can see. Look familiar? Stop staring!
I have to look. OMG, seriously?!
PK has braces on over his blue stripy business shirt (with its contrasting white collar). He’s got the sleeves rolled up and every molecule of this bloke means business.
‘Rory, hello,’ PK says. ‘And you’re Rosie? Nice to meet you. Have the bidets been delivered?’
‘They came this morning, PK,’ Rory says.
‘Good. It’s all about being classy over there, right? We’ll start with their asses and work our way up.’ He smiles at his own joke. ‘Keep an eye on the builders, I don’t want any slacking.’
‘We’re just waiting for the final letter from the Council to start,’ Rory says. ‘I’ve chased it up and we should have it by the end of the week.’
‘Nobody’s gotten ahead by following the rules, Rory. I want the builders starting yesterday.’
Rory hesitates. ‘If for some reason we don’t get approval, the Council can make us reinstate everything as it was. That would mean more delay and more money.’
But PK just laughs. ‘They aren’t going to make us undo anything. I want those builders started. Are we clear on that?’
‘As long as you’re clear that I’ve registered my objection.’
Rory’s voice is steely. He might be a nice bloke, but he’s no pushover.
‘Good,’ says PK. ‘I’ll be faxing over a list of ideas to consider. You can register any objections once you’ve read them.’ Then he laughs. ‘I did hire you because you don’t take nonsense from anyone. Speaking of nonsense, have you talked to my useless brother yet?’
‘We will, PK, after this call,’ Rory lies. I guess PK likes to think he’s the priority.
‘Now, walk me around,’ he says. ‘I want to see what’s going on at my hotel.’
Rory seems to be ready for PK’s request. He carries PK around on the laptop – like some dismembered head – complaining about everything he sees. The furniture in the bar is too old-fashioned. The oak panelling is drab. Yes, those are velvet curtains, but we need them to keep the wind from blowing through the old sash windows. No, there’s no spa. Or gym or fancy bottled water or hot towels for when guests arrive. Sorry we don’t wear uniforms or rigor-mortis smiles of welcome. The only thing he can’t complain about is the view from the conservatory at the front of the hotel.
We sit perched on the clifftop overlooking the bay. The hotel would have been impressive back in the day, when Scarborough was heaving with seaside tourists. Some of the old black-and-white photos in the bar give a glimpse, but the reality would have been loads more chaotic and colourful, with horses and bright carriages, bathing huts, ladies in pastel hats and men in yellow straw boaters. Bright advertisement boards would have lined the promenade with everyone selling ice cream, candy floss and fish and chips.
It didn’t fade away with the Victorians either. To listen to the Colonel, Scarborough was as exotic as Thailand when he was growing up, but with donkeys on the beach instead of elephants. It was the place to be, right into the sixties. There was live entertainment every night – dances and performances and variety acts, the orchestra at the Spa and household names like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones at the Futurist. That would have been when Lill first came on the scene, too, as a fresh-faced teenager with a great voice, great legs and great ambitions.
They were catching Scarborough’s last hurrah, though they didn’t know it at the time. People started going abroad for their dose of sea and sun and suddenly donkeys on the beach didn’t seem quite as appealing.
We still get tourists in the summer, who sit near the water eating ice cream and fish and chips. But most of us are struggling to bring in enough business. Having grown up here, I can tell you it’s hard coming from a town that was once something. There’s a saddening air of nostalgia about it and I, for one, couldn’t wait to go somewhere that felt hopeful.
So I really can understand why the Colonel has sold up, even if Lill can’t. I’m just not sure our new owners can do any better.
I’m really afraid they’ll do worse.
We can hear Lill long before we carry PK into the restaurant. ‘She’s rehearsing,’ I whisper to Rory. He’s got the laptop open in front of him as we walk, so we can talk behind our boss’s back, as it were.
‘We have to go in,’ Rory whispers back. ‘It’ll be okay.’ Then to PK he explains, ‘One of the hotel’s residents is a professional singer. That’s Lill you hear practising in the restaurant.’
I hate to interrupt Lill when she’s doing a number, so we stand and watch her finish. It’s a dress rehearsal, so she’s got her microphone to her red lips, even though it’s not plugged in. She’s changed since this morning, and her shell-pink minidress with the shimmery fringe undulates as her body sways with her signature sixties twist. She always goes to auditions glammed up to her back teeth.
Lill’s musical career began alongside some of the greats, and you know they’re great because they only needed one name: Petula, Dusty, Marianne, Cilla. They’re a roll-call of sixties talent, though I bet you haven’t heard of Lill. Not many people have outside of the north-east, but even after fifty years in the business, she’s still trying for her big break.
Her rich voice fills the large restaurant, sweetly hitting the high notes and digging down into the lower growly chorus too. Opening her eyes as the last of the song dies away, she says, ‘Hey, doll, who’s this?’
‘Lillian Raines, may I introduce you to PK Philansky, one of our new owners.’
Lill fixes the screen with a sultry stare. She bats her double-thick false eyelashes. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’ She doesn’t seem to be thrown by his hairstyle, but then she never watches telly. She might not even know who his doppelganger is.
‘Wow, lady, you’ve got some set of pipes!’ PK says.
‘Thank you. That’s exactly what my friend Dusty once said to me.’ She flicks her blonde bob away from her shoulder. ‘I’m practising for my audition tomorrow. That was one of Dusty’s numbers. I’ve always thought it was one of her best, though Cilla would never admit it.’
Unfortunately for Lill, PK is unmoved by her name-dropping. ‘Break a leg!’ PK tells her. He’s probably got no idea that she’s talking about some of Britain’s best-loved singers of her generation. ‘Let’s go see the kitchen,’ he says. ‘Come on, you’re driving, Rory. Nice to meet you, Lillian!’
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