Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend Page 20

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Really. Anywhere round here is fine.’

  Eck stood opposite me in the hallway. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’ve been living in poverty since I became a student again. And so have you, since all this happened. But we won’t for ever. Things will change. I’ll have had my time trying out this art stuff, and you’ll get your money back, or something will turn up, and we’ll forget that we ever lived on one pot of chilli con carne for a week.’

  ‘In the future,’ I solemnly swore, ‘I will never eat a kidney bean again.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’ said Eck.

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said.

  ‘We might even look back on this and think it was quite funny.’

  ‘Funny? Trying to get people to write down their phone calls in a little book with a pencil attached to it?’

  ‘Well, maybe not funny, exactly. But what I’m saying is, we won’t be brassic for ever.’

  ‘We won’t?’

  ‘You can’t believe that, Sophie. I won’t let you.’

  I sniffed.

  ‘So, to prove it to you, I’m taking you out. Proper out, actually, so jeans won’t do. You get a frock on and we’re taking a cab. A black cab. And you tell me where we’re going.’

  I can still see Eck’s face as we drew up in front of the lovely restaurant I used to go to with Daddy. Thank God, the maître d’ remembered me, and welcomed me as if nothing had ever happened, otherwise we might not have got a table. Eck’s eyes were pretty wide.

  ‘Oh God, isn’t that . . .’ and he named a famous actor. ‘Wow,’ he said, turning his head to look at the massive chandelier hanging overhead. ‘Oh,’ he said to me as we got to our lovely table in the middle of the large room. ‘Am I acting like a hick that’s only just seen electric lighting for the first time?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re fine.’

  And he smiled at me and opened the large leather menu.

  ‘Well, that’s good. And now, I want the suckling pig. Stuffed with diamonds. And a Tia Maria and Coke. And a Toblerone. And some chips. And . . .’

  ‘Excuse me, sir?’ said the waiter.

  ‘Uh, two glasses of the house champagne please,’ he mumbled, politely. And I looked straight at him and grinned.

  ‘This is the best bread I’ve ever had in my life,’ said Eck, scoffing. ‘Shit. We’re ruined. I don’t know how I’m going to go back now. Maybe they’ll let me sleep in the kitchen, like in Ratatouille.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, inhaling the fragrant, warm, fresh bread. When in my life did I think that I didn’t want to eat the bread? If I’ve learned anything, it’s that life is too short not to eat the bread.

  Eck sat back as his soup arrived and sniffed the steam greedily.

  ‘Oh God, I’m going to have to chuck the art in and go back to doing something I completely hate just so I can come here every day, aren’t I?’

  ‘Can’t you just become a horribly successful artist and come here all day and all night?’ I asked.

  Eck squirmed a bit. ‘I dunno. Not many folk do.’

  ‘But some do though. Why won’t you let me see any of your stuff?’

  Eck looked around as if he was about to confide a terrible secret. Then he leaned forward across the table.

  ‘Can I tell you something?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘They’re not very good.’

  ‘What do you mean, they’re not very good?’

  ‘I mean. I’m not a very good artist.’

  I stared at him. It had never actually occurred to me that the boys weren’t good at what they did. I mean, they were art students. I kind of assumed they were reasonably good at what they were doing.

  ‘But you got into art school,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Eck. ‘Copying my Warlord comics, mostly.’

  ‘You are joking.’

  ‘I wish.’

  He bent back to his food.

  ‘But why did you go?’

  Eck squinted. ‘Well, I just hated the accountancy, and I just wanted to do something more fun, more interesting, you know? Plus in those days mortgages weren’t interesting, nor was having a nice car or anything like that.’ He paused reflectively. ‘I find them more interesting these days.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I said as my oysters arrived, on a huge place of crushed ice, with the onion vinegar perched on top. I couldn’t help smiling with delight. Eck smiled to see me smile.

  ‘That’s how I know you’re posh.’

  ‘Oysters aren’t that posh,’ I protested. ‘Have you really never had one?’

  He shook his head. I think he was just pleased to have changed the subject. ‘I’m a bit scared of them.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You can do it. Try one.’

  ‘I’m not sure . . .’

  ‘Go on!’

  ‘You know, the last time I tried something out of my comfort zone, I ended up at art college living in an unheated hovel.’

  I ignored him and put some lemon and vinegar on the oyster.

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, you do,’ I said, giggling. Finally he closed his eyes and tilted his head, and I poured the oyster down his throat.

  Well, I don’t know if it got stuck, or if he was already constricting his throat or what, but anyway, mass panic ensued. Coughing, choking; thank God for the friendly waiters who flooded over, whacking Eck hard on the back, till the oyster flew out, shot halfway across the room and bounced off Ralph Fiennes. He was very nice about it, considering.

  When all the hacking and retching had finally subsided, we sat down again, trying to look inconspicuous. Eck was red-faced and his eyes were popping slightly. Nobody said anything for a little while.

  ‘Well, that could have gone worse,’ I proffered finally.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Eck. ‘It could have been Sir Anthony Hopkins.’ I grinned up at him. ‘So,’ I said. ‘Another?’

  ‘Or I could just poke this fork in my leg,’ said Eck.

  ‘Tell me about your degree show?’

  ‘Actually, I will take that oyster.’

  ‘What’s your stuff like?’

  Eck sighed. ‘Well, I try to express the frustrations of contemporary life,’ he said. ‘The chaos of industrialisation. The politics of pain.’

  ‘That sounds kind of interesting,’ I said.

  ‘But they all come out looking like big twisty metal spiders, ’ said Eck.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ I said.

  ‘Even if they came out like twisty metal flowers,’ said Eck gloomily, ‘that would be a teensy bit more commercial.’

  ‘What’s Cal’s stuff like?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, it depends what you like,’ said Eck. ‘He mostly smashes things up and kind of half jams them back together.’

  ‘That’s a job? ’ I asked. ‘Sounds more like what I’m doing with my life.’

  ‘He does beautiful figure work too,’ said Eck. ‘When he can be bothered, which isn’t often. I mean, some people don’t care about being skint. They really don’t care. Look at Cal. Banging on about bourgeois scum and living on cider.’

  ‘Yeah, but Cal doesn’t give a fuck about anything, or anyone.’

  ‘Well, that’s a good way to be though. At least, I think for an artist it is.’

  ‘Not for a human being,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I do care about it,’ said Eck. ‘I care a lot.’

  I looked at his strong, gentle hand lying on the table top and wondered what it would be like to hold it.

  ‘So I was thinking . . . after graduation. I might go back and get a proper job. A real job.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Back to accountancy, or recruitment, or something like that. Something real. Something that I can earn a living at, get a mortgage, do something useful with my life.’

  ‘Art is useful,’ I said.

  ‘Not the way I do it,’ he said.

  When the bill came he took out his credit card and paid with a flourish.

  ‘See. That wo
uld be nice to do more often,’ he said, as the waiter took it away. Then he stole an anxious glance at the waiter’s retreating back as he took the card to the machine.

  ‘Are you worried?’

  ‘Bricking it.’

  ‘Well, thank you. That was lovely,’ I said. And it was. After careers we’d talked about our upbringings, and school, and he told me funny stories and we just had a lovely, easy-going time. He made things so easy, Eck, just by being gentle.

  Outside the restaurant, we turned without thinking into St James’s Park. It was dark and quiet under the moon; the bright lights of the West End fading quickly back into the night.

  ‘Tell me about your dad,’ I said, finally. I wanted to probe how it felt. And whether it got easier.

  Eck paused for a long time. It was obviously still difficult.

  ‘Uh,’ he finally started, stiltingly. ‘He always wanted me to go to college. He was a gas fitter. Not a bad job or anything, but not much money in it. He was disappointed when I wanted to go to art school.’

  ‘But you were eleven when he died, weren’t you? Did you know even then?’

  ‘Uh, yes. Kind of.’

  ‘Wow. You know, Eck, you shouldn’t give up too easily. It may be a vocation after all.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Do you still miss him?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eck. Then he added softly, ‘I think your dad would be very proud of you.’

  ‘For the floor scrubbing?’

  ‘For how well you’ve coped. A lot of people just wouldn’t have made it through.’

  ‘Where would they have ended up though?’ I said. ‘I mean, it was get through or, I don’t know, debtor’s prison.’ I had a sudden vision of myself sharing with my stepmother in that tiny room. ‘Or hell. And look, I got to meet you. And that makes it all better.’

  He looked at me, a smile playing on his lips.

  ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. I meant it. Eck was the only decent thing that had come into my life. All those nights of coming in knackered and dispirited, he’d been there, making me tea. All those times Cal tried to put me down he’d been there, standing up for me, being on my side. The only person who’d really been there for me through all this had been Eck, a near-stranger - and he was standing right here in front of me. I took a step closer.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘What for?’ he said.

  ‘For this,’ I said. Then I turned my face up to his and let him kiss me as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  ‘Ooh, hope it’s me next,’ said James chirpily, as we finally fell in the front door, arm in arm, wrapped up in each other. Blokes.

  ‘At ease, Corporal,’ I said, as Eck ignored him.

  ‘Tea?’ I said.

  ‘God, no,’ said Eck, looking at the light on in the kitchen. I agreed. Too late. Cal was pushing through the door. His head was caught in silhouette as he was looking behind him, laughing hard at something a petite, drunk Icelandic girl was saying. They were both in hysterics as she seemed to be trying to imitate a puffin. Then they caught sight of us and pulled up short.

  ‘Uh, evening,’ said Cal. He didn’t look pleased to see us at all. Then he blew air out of his mouth. ‘I thought you two must have headed out together. Lovely,’ he said.

  ‘Hello,’ said Eck, with a set to his mouth.

  ‘You two having fun?’ said Cal.

  ‘Leave it,’ said Eck. I could feel Eck’s arm in mine go stiff.

  ‘Still a party girl, then?’ said Cal to me.

  ‘I said, leave it,’ said Eck, more firmly. ‘I’m sick of it,’ he went on. ‘You and your patronising asides and little remarks. Your blithe assumption that you can just sleep with anything. ’

  Cal’s raised eyebrow made it clear that he did feel this was a fair assumption.

  ‘You treat girls like meat and you don’t give a shit about their feelings. Watch out for him,’ he said to the Icelandic girl.

  ‘Treat girls like meat? You’re the one who lets them think topless modelling is OK.’

  Then Eck pushed him. ‘Shut up.’

  Cal pushed him back. ‘You shut up.’

  ‘Pathetic low-life shagger.’

  ‘Pathetic low-life failure.’

  ‘You just think with your dick.’

  ‘And you are one.’

  At that, Eck pulled back his hand and clenched it into a fist. Cal actually laughed at him. Eck was red and trembling and was just about to throw a punch when, shocked, I jumped in the middle.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ I yelled. The little Icelandic girl looked alarmed.

  Cal and Eck instantly drew back and immediately looked ashamed of themselves.

  ‘Sorry man, OK?’ said Cal. ‘I’ve just been stressed out about my degree show. So should you be, incidentally.’

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ said Eck. ‘Too many things . . . you know.’ Cal nodded. ‘Friends?’

  ‘Friends.’

  ‘Hey, is no one going to apologise to me?’ I said petulantly. Everyone in the house turned to look at me in surprise.

  ‘Well, I was very frightened,’ I said.

  Cal shook his head.

  ‘Girls,’ he said. ‘Nothing but trouble.’

  ‘Isn’t anybody going to fight?’ said James. ‘I have a lance.’

  ‘Nope,’ said Cal. ‘Show’s over.’

  And he headed upstairs to the room at the top of the house, the little Icelandic pixie scampering behind him.

  ‘Well . . . that went well,’ I said.

  Eck held out his hand to me. I stared at it, confused for a moment as to why my flatmate was offering me his hand.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  He took it back.

  ‘Sorry, not if . . .’

  I took it.

  ‘Yes, please,’ I said.

  Eck and I lay together in the bed, kissing and stroking each other. He smelled of Plasticine and something slightly metallic. It was nice. Weirdly, though, I couldn’t quite get into the mood. It was exciting and new, being so close to Eck. But I couldn’t help thinking about the last time I was in this situation - just a floor above - and I somehow couldn’t quite get my mind to switch off. Plus, of course, knowing Cal was upstairs doing exactly the same thing with someone else. What was she like? Was she better than me? I didn’t want Cal, but I couldn’t close my mind off, especially in a new situation when I was nervous anyway.

  Eventually, after having to shift about a bit in Eck’s narrow bed, we reached a comfortable position where we were just kissing, and tickling a little, and giggling and chatting. Eventually Eck said, ‘Do you just want to sleep here? You know, not rush anything?’ and I realised straight away that this what I wanted after all.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ I said. ‘As long as you don’t mind?’

  Eck tried to intimate that obviously he did mind terribly but it would be very bad manners under the circumstances, which I thought was extremely gentlemanly of him. The truth, I suspected, was that he was nervous too. Which was comforting. So, kissing and nestled in each other’s arms, we drifted off to sleep. I felt warm and calm and looked after for the first time in a long time. There would be no nightmares tonight.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I woke up before Eck in the morning, and for a long time looked at his sweet face and brown hair strewn out on the pillow. I felt, for the first time, better waking up in the morning than I had the night before.

  I sat up. The morning light was coming through the dirty windows. I felt a momentary shaft of positivity. Right. Eck and I . . . oh, I quite liked that. The sound of it, like we were boyfriend and girlfriend. OK. I was going to work as hard for Julius as anyone ever possibly could, take over the twins’ shoots and anything else I could get my hands on. I’d start building up my own portfolio and have a proper job. A real job. And a bloody cleaning rota. I’d never thought it could ever be a dream of mine to have a cleaning rota, but we all have to adjust our expectati
ons as we grow up.

  I left Eck to sleep. I suspected I’d probably given him a dead arm and he’d need his rest to restore his circulation. Downstairs, there was no one else in the kitchen apart from baby Bjork.