Kitabı oku: «The Vintage Cinema Club», sayfa 2
He staggered backwards, clearing his throat and looking away quickly. ‘Alright up there?’
She dreaded to think what kind of acreage of her knickers she was showing, but frankly she no longer cared. Two kicks sent her pumps flying through the air, then as she splayed her legs, ready to jump, she heard a rip. Crap. The last thing she needed here was to leave her skirt behind her.
‘Hang on…’ The guy sprung towards her with a strangled squawk.
‘Okay, keep your hair on.’ Izzy gasped. Two strides later his hands closed around her waist. The breath left her body as he spun her through a glorious crazy arc, before setting her lightly and neatly on the ground beside him. For a moment she wobbled against the soft fabric of his jacket, getting a blast of aftershave that was way too delicious for someone so bad tempered. And then he stepped away, and she was the one left with wide eyes, and a sagging jaw.
3
Wednesday Evening, 4th June
DIDA
In the kitchen at Alport Towers
One husband, thinly spread
NEW MESSAGE TO: THE CREW @ VINTAGE AT THE CINEMA…LUCE, IZZY, OLLIE, LYDIA, DAMON, HENNI, DECLAN, SUZIE, ARTHUR, LEIGHTON, MAGDA, THOM, ALLIE
Dida checked the names on the email, crossed her legs, and gave a heartfelt sigh. Even if Aidie had slammed the cinema building on the market, it was doubly important to carry on as normal. However determined Aidie was to put a hatchet through her proverbial baby, not to mention her success, she was ten times as determined not to let him succeed. Though she hadn’t yet managed to track Aidie down to actually speak to him in person, or at the end of a phone, she was certain that her husband’s motivation for selling the building was as much about trying to limit her new found success, as it was about making a profit now the property market was improving. Although Vintage at the Cinema had started out as a tentative experiment, so much creative energy and talent had gone into making it what it was now, there was no way was she giving it up without a fight. Even thinking about it made her feel like her head was about to implode with rage at Aidie for doing what he’d done, and rage at herself for being so powerless to stop him. Whereas she should have been floating around on a champers-induced cloud, basking after a fabulously successful celebration, she was instead grinding her teeth in frustration, and biting on the bitter taste of humiliation.
Tonight she’d already bustled her youngest child, Lolly, off to bed in a blur, and now she was ready to sweat the bigger stuff. The disembodied roar of a football crowd meant that Eric was fully engaged with FIFA14 in the breakfast room.
Dida scowled round her apple green kitchen. The vile green paint was another reminder of Aidie’s tyranny. That Aidie flatly refused to let her get the fifty seven kitchen units repainted in a more appropriate colour sent her round the bend on a daily basis and it was so typical of him to make this into a battleground. Now, her perpetual fuming about the argument she referred to as Granny Smith-gate only aided her incandescent rage about what had happened today at the cinema.
It was alright for Aidie, he was hardly here long enough to get tired of anything, even something as extreme as vommy green paint. He flew in, then he flew out again. Right now he was in Lithuania, working on “something big” to do with pipes, and as usual she had zero idea what. In fact some weekends he was home so little, they had barely enough time for an argument. Unfortunately for Dida there was always enough time for sex, and that would be sex not once, but twice a day. She gave a rueful eye roll at the thought of his whale-like bulk grunting on top of her, and thanked her lucky stars it was only Wednesday and so she didn’t have that to look forward to. Although given what he’d pulled today, she’d be withdrawing that privilege until further notice. As far as the kitchen repaint went, if there was any excuse to wield his power over her, Aidie grabbed it with both his chubby hands. It was time she gave him a taste of his own medicine in the bedroom.
Her husband hadn’t always been bloated. The twenty something guy she first hooked up with at the office Christmas party back in ’94 had been relatively slender, albeit in a chunky kind of way. She’d first noticed him because he was the only one in the office with his own house, and she had an idea his sense of humour had been better in those days too. But years of expense account dining had pushed his BMI through the red zone, and straight on out the other side. His success had turned into one big power trip and now he pretty much claimed to be in charge of the world as far as the pipelines industry was concerned. He got his rocks off all week, ordering people around at work, and at weekends he brought his testosterone excess back home, and slammed them all into submission here too. And today he’d even managed to exert his power remotely, in the most awful of ways.
Aidie and his control issues. Dida gave a grimace. She was well used to them. It was an ironic twist that if Vintage at the Cinema hadn’t dropped into her lap to take her mind off the most difficult thing in life, i.e. her husband, she wasn’t sure she’d even still be here, despite the gorgeous home she’d thrown herself into creating. Ice cream was a crutch she leaned on in her struggle to stay cheerful. Usually, at ten o’ clock, in a mere seventy six minutes from now, she’d be having a two scoop helping, and tonight she should be dipping into dark chocolate and raspberry, and pralines and cream. But this evening she was so wound up, she had no appetite at all, not even for ice cream.
‘Mum, I just went up a league on FIFA, have you got any cake?’ Eric, play station controller in hand, wandered into the kitchen, his floppy fringe only partially masking his glazed expression, and walked towards a large pile of plastic containers stacked on the work surface.
‘Nope, hands off those, they’re Vintage at the Cinema ones, and I’m delivering them first thing.’ How much of a bad mother did it make her that she had cake for work and not for home? ‘How about ice cream. Toffee chip okay?’ She slid off her stool, grabbed a dish, trundled to the fridge and dolloped out some soft scoop, pushing it towards Eric, who gave a grunt.
‘It would be nice if you could say thank you properly.’ She knew she had to insist on the manners thing, although she’d be lucky to get anything as complex as two syllables out of Eric in his current PlayStation induced trance.
‘Thanks.’ He mumbled and waggled his spoon at her.
‘Bed by ten, alright?’ She was talking to Eric’s back as he sidled away, sighing as she saw how he even shuffled across the marble floor in the same way as his dad.
One of the many problems with Aidie was, as her Granny used to say, the all fur coat and no knickers thing. He boasted long and hard about his six figure salary, but when it came to housekeeping she simply couldn’t get him to part with his money. Vintage at the Cinema kept her sane, by giving her something other than the warfare with Aidie to focus on, but, more importantly, it gave her access to cash. For the first time since she gave up work and had the kids, so long as she fudged the figures she showed to Aidie, she had some kind of financial autonomy.
The morning after Aidie came home from Corks Bar saying he’d got his hands on the old cinema building, she’d got straight on the phone to Luce and Izzy, and, as she’d said in her speech, before she’d been so rudely interrupted, the rest was history. And as Vintage at the Cinema emerged, so had the new independent, happier, Dida. There was no way now she could go back to being who she was before. Vintage at the Cinema had made her into a new person.
Dida looked at the names on the email again. Everyone already involved with the cinema was there on this week’s email, although should she really still be including Ollie? Ollie, who’d waltzed off to the other side of the world five months ago at a moment’s notice, leaving his sister Izzy to fill his shop space as well as hers, and do a double share of the shifts? Dida was very fond of Ollie. He’d been hauled on board at the start to help with painting, and proved so useful he never left. He also made the most fabulous one off metalwork pieces, and had brilliant contacts on the industrial side. Dida tapped a thumbnail on her teeth as she deliberated. No doubt Izzy would have emailed Ollie to tell him the awful news from today. Not that she was in denial, but somehow Dida couldn’t actually bear to type the awful physical words in the weekly rota email, because that made the whole nightmare seem too real. Losing the business just wasn’t an option she could contemplate.
Even though she was pretty much in charge of the business admin, and it gave her a fab excuse to organise to the nth degree, she liked to think of this as a cooperative venture. Everyone pitched in, they played to their strengths and helped each other. True, they paid her rent, but mostly this was all about everyone benefiting, and having lots of fun along the way. And Ollie was fun, and he was dependable, when he was around, and she had an idea that it wasn’t just his sister who was feeling his absence. Luce was missing him a lot more than she was letting on. So she’d leave him on the list for now, in the hope that if he read the email, in some far flung internet cafe, he’d remember to miss them, and remember to come back soon.
She flipped the screen to take one last look at the rota, then hammered out the email.
The rota for week beginning June 9th is attached. FYI we have a guy with very deep pockets who’ll buy ANYTHING by Susie Cooper.
Come back soon Ollie, we’re missing your industrial pieces.
The week’s cake of the week is cocoa and banana :)
Dida xx
PS. Vintage at the Cinema is ready for the fight - we WILL survive!
That would do. She hoped the last line was enough of an acknowledgement of today’s disastrous events. She liked to send the email out at nine exactly, not that she was obsessive, but if you were consistent, everyone knew where they were. The sky might be falling in on her own personal world, but she could still stick to a timetable.
Ten minutes to spare before nine then.
Just enough time to make the daily updates to her Aidie Special spreadsheet. She opened his email account, and tapped in his password, grimacing at the double bluff. Aidie’s email account was the nerve centre of his life. He knew she knew his password, and he also knew she scrutinised his emails, which was his way of proving to her that he had nothing to hide. Quite how the negotiations for the sale of the cinema had slipped by her, she had no idea, but from now on she’d be doubly vigilant.
Dida never failed to be amazed at Aidie’s meticulous management of his email account, given that dotting the “i”s and crossing the “t”s wasn’t Aidie’s natural way. His approach to life was usually way more sloppy, which was probably why he’d failed to spot the fatal flaw in his plan. It was a constant source of amusement to Dida that Aidie deleted all the emails he didn’t want her to see, but just the same as at home, he never bothered to empty the trash.
Now for today’s deleted mail. She clicked on the dustbin icon and leaned closer to the screen as she flipped through the list, and read intently. Wow. This was going some even for Aidie. A breakfast meeting with someone called Bambi, an eleven o clock with Viktorya, then dinner with Dominika, Elvira and Albina.
Two minutes, and Dida had copied and pasted the names into her spreadsheet of Aidie’s misdemeanours, and added times and locations.
Had this been anyone else’s husband, she might have been impressed by the stamina of the guy. Some weeks he appeared to be keeping the sex industry of Lithuania in business single-handedly. When he managed to get any work done, she had no idea. Given today’s developments, she may well be using the ammunition she’d been collecting sooner than she thought. The way she felt about Aidie now, after he tried to crush her dreams, she couldn’t imagine being able to look at the man, let alone live with him.
Now nothing mattered, except what Aidie was trying to wrestle from her and her friends. It was too late to do anything more this evening. First thing tomorrow she was seeing Luce and Izzy. They’d have their emergency meeting. And together, they’d get their proverbial boxing gloves on.
4
Wednesday Evening, 4th June
LUCE
At her flat
Lace, sweat and tears
‘Thanks for being so patient, I’m almost done.’ Luce paused as she fingered the satin hem of the dress she was pinning, smiled up at Steffie, the soon-to-be bride, and took a minute to sit up, wriggling the ache out of her shoulders. ‘These full skirts take an age to get around, but they’re worth it.’
Steffie shifted slightly. ‘No Ruby this evening?’
‘It’s my lucky night. I think the cupcake sugar rush from this afternoon’s party knocked her out.’
Steffie laughed. ‘It isn’t the same without Ruby entertaining us whilst you pin.’
If Ruby hadn’t fallen asleep by the time Luce’s evening fitting appointments arrived, her bedroom was so close to the living room she invariably heard the chatting, and crept through in her pyjamas. The flat was such a good deal, and so close to work and school, the compromise on layout was one Luce was happy to live with, for the time being anyway. All her other vintage clothes and textiles were at the cinema, but she kept the wedding dresses at home because the fabrics were fragile, and so easily marked. Right now her bedroom was so full of lace and tulle, some nights it was hard to find the bed.
Luce did a mental double take and she gulped so hard she almost swallowed a pin, as she remembered in a sudden rush, that work might not be at the old cinema for much longer. She tried not to think how scared that made her. Vintage at the Cinema had brought a lot of things to her and Ruby’s life. She was so lucky to have found a way of working that gave her satisfaction, an income, and which let her be here for Ruby too. The thought that it might be whipped away from her made her spine go rigid. And even though she knew that Izzy and Dida would go to hell and back for her and Ruby, for some reason the sheer, unadulterated fear of losing the livelihood she’d worked so hard to establish, made her feel very alone.
Luce tried to push that thought away with a smile, but the most she managed was a grimace. ‘No, once Ruby comes through, it’s impossible to get her back to bed again. At least I won’t have a sleep deprived grump to deal with tomorrow.’
‘She’s such a cutie though.’ Steffie looked wistful. ‘Hard to stand up to I guess.’
Too true. There were times when Luce wished that the random guy who’d accidentally donated his genes to her child, via a broken condom the last night of her second year at uni, had been slightly less good looking, and way less good at sweet talking. Soulful brown eyes and a penchant for fast come backs proved hard to handle in an offspring, and neither of those things came from Luce.
It wasn’t that Ruby was naughty, because she wasn’t especially, but Luce often found there just wasn’t enough of her to go around. She couldn’t work and constantly keep her child entertained.
However high her ideals on bringing up children had been before she had one, now she was in the thick of it she often felt she failed on every level. And it had been much worse since Izzy’s brother, Ollie, left to go travelling. It was only since he’d been away that she’d realised how much she’d grown to depend on him. Lying awake in the early hours, she kicked herself for how much she’d taken him for granted. And she kicked herself too for letting everything get so out of hand between them, and it being completely her fault that he’d left. In the first three years of Ruby’s life she’d been determined to go it alone. She still was. But the friendship with Ollie had kind of crept up on her as they’d worked together. And tonight, when she was feeling scared and very alone, she knew it was wrong, and she knew it was weak, and she knew it was against everything she’d ever intended, but she could really have done with leaning on Ollie. Except he wasn’t here.
Luce grabbed a few more pins, rammed them between her lips, and bent down to secure the last yard of silky hem.
‘You look beautiful sweetheart.’
Steffie’s mum, perched on the arm of Luce’s sofa, finally broke their silence. Since she’d been working with bridal wear, and more importantly, brides, Luce had noticed that taking on the role of Mother of the Bride seemed to transform reasonable women into a) control freaks, and b) emotional wrecks.
‘Hankie?’ Luce caught the tremor in Steffie’s mum’s voice and offered her the flowery, fabric covered tissue box.
‘Thank you.’ Mrs Beeston plucked out a tissue, gave a loud sniff, and dabbed at the corner of her eye.
In her sleepless times, not that she enjoyed the luxury of many of those, given she usually fell into bed exhausted, Luce was already rehearsing her own “give this wedding lark a miss” speech to Ruby, to circumnavigate that particular minefield, and save herself from what had to be the last piece of hell in a mother’s line of duty.
But she couldn’t help herself but say, ‘you do look amazing, Steffie. The antique lace is so pretty over the champagne satin.’
Despite the fact that Luce just couldn’t see the point in getting over emotional about weddings, by the time they’d all been to hell and back together over the wedding dress, Luce invariably loved her brides and their mums.
‘We’ve done so much work here. All the changes, and then you’ve dropped three dress sizes or more.’ Luce thanked her lucky stars that not every bride who chose one of her one off vintage dresses was going to put both the dress and herself through the wringer in quite the same way as Steffie and Mrs Beeston had done with this one.
‘I know we’ve changed our minds on the shoes three times now.’ Steffie said as she rolled her eyes. ‘But the first pair of Rachel Simpson ones were so high, and we were sure the second pair were perfect right up until the moment I saw the Charlotte Olympia ones.’
Luce tried not to think that each discarded pair had a price tag in excess of her monthly food spend. And despite the fact that Luce had been on her hands and knees three times realigning this particular roll edged hem, her smile was genuinely warm. ‘Let’s hope it’s third time lucky then.’
What Izzy and Dida couldn’t get their heads round, was that someone as anti-marriage as Luce should end up dressing brides. Luce’s true feelings on matrimony for herself – no fucking way – were a well-guarded professional secret, and they all kept their mouths firmly zipped for the sake of their joint commercial venture. Dida and Izzy were big on loyalty as well as support, although they did rip the piss out of her too at times, especially about her customer service ideas and her sex life. Definitely no link between the two of those things.
Luce managed her sex life meticulously, and it had nothing at all to do with being a mum. When Ruby went to sleep over with her granny some Fridays, Luce went out on the town, and sometimes brought a well-chosen guy back home. Well chosen as in nice, and not wanting any more than the one night, because no way could Luce allow a guy into her life. She’d never had a relationship, and it wasn’t fair to make her mistakes and involve Ruby too. Ruby being used to having Luce to herself was the final decider.
Ollie had been different somehow. He’d come around the back way, almost letting Ruby coax him in, when they’d been thrown together at the cinema. Ollie and Ruby had this perfect understanding, and Luce had known Ollie since Izzy turned up at school in sixth form. But once he dropped firmly on the Ruby side of the fence, that automatically disbarred him from the Friday night area of Luce’s life. It was non-negotiable. There was no crossing that divide.
‘Okay, I’m finished, Steffie,’ Luce put in her last pin, and sat up. ‘Try a gentle swirl, and we’ll see if it’s level.’
Not that she was a religious person, but a tiny part of her was pleading to the god of beaded sashes that this was the last time she was going to be on her hands and knees in front of Steffie’s dress.
Luce half closed one eye, and studied the dress as Steffie slid across the carpet, hands clasping a make-believe bouquet in front of her waist.
Luce turned to Mrs Beeston. ‘What do you think, Betty?’
‘Yes, it’s lovely.’ Mrs Beeston was dabbing her eyes frantically again, as Steffie stopped in front of the full length mirror.
‘Steffie?’ Luce, smiled at Steffie’s reflection, and Steffie gave the kind of definite nod she’d given so many times before, but Luce had to sound optimistic here.
‘Well I reckon that’s a wrap. I’ll get the hand sewing done and you can pop around same time next week if that’s okay.’ Luce reined in her grin, and mentally punched the air, for now at least. ‘Lucky we’ve still got a couple of weeks before your big day. Fingers crossed we won’t need any more changes.’
‘I’m going to miss you once the wedding’s over.’ Luce folded out the screen for Steffie to change behind. ‘Wednesday evenings aren’t going to be the same without you two and your dress.’
No doubt about it, she’d also miss the money too. Another eeek to that, in the light of this afternoon and the ‘For Sale’ sign. Steffie and Betty’s mind changing had kept her and Ruby in luxuries this last six months. Hell, who was Luce kidding about the luxury part? In reality they’d probably kept them solvent. She’d dreamed of working with vintage clothes ever since she did her final degree show, which she’d somehow dragged together against all the odds a couple of months after Ruby was born, but the income was still precarious.
As she waited for Steffie to change Luce heard her phone ping, and looked at her watch. ‘Hmmm, nine o clock on the dot. That’ll be Dida, sending out the work rota.’
And how much longer would that be happening for? That thought alone was enough to make her heart jump against her rib cage, and kick up the beat rate to double speed. She tried to make her eyes less wide, before Steffie and her mum noticed she was sporting the saucer eyed loon look again. In the morning she’d meet up with Izzy and Dida, and together they’d find a way through this. But before then she had a whole night of worrying to get through. And for the first time since forever, she wished she didn’t have to spend the night alone.
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