Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend Page 6

‘There isn’t a snake!’ said Eck. ‘Cal! Admit you were telling a lie.’

  Cal rolled his eyes. ‘There isn’t a snake,’ he said. ‘Yet. But I’m getting one. Probably. Tomorrow. Just to have lying about. Do you still want to move in?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I need a new python handbag.’

  There was silence and I wondered if I’d gone too far. Then Eck laughed.

  ‘OK! Look,’ he said, turning to Cal. ‘We don’t have enough money to give Wolverine a room of his own for free. We just can’t do it. We have to rent it out.’

  I watched as Wolverine tipped the last of the sugar into his mouth.

  ‘That’ll give you worms,’ said Eck.

  ‘He’s already got worms,’ said Cal. ‘Eck, please don’t make me share with Wolverine any more.’

  ‘If you can pay for it, you can have it,’ said Eck. ‘I’m sorry. That’s what it boils down to.’

  ‘Money,’ said Cal. ‘No one with any artistic integrity has any money.’

  I wondered what Julius Mandinski would say to that. He was reported to own a huge penthouse in Shad Thames and a chalet in Gstaad. But Cal had already flounced out.

  Eck led me out of the kitchen and along the dank landing. Various boyish smells emanated from different rooms, which I tried manfully to ignore.

  ‘Here’s the bathroom,’ he said, pulling on a string without a handle, and setting off the world’s loudest extractor fan. It clattered madly into life.

  ‘It’s a big noisy,’ he howled unnecessarily over the din. ‘Normally I just pee in the dark.’

  I peered into the windowless room to see an orange suite, every available space was piled high with nearly empty bottles of shower gel and gummy razors.

  ‘Is there an en suite?’ I screamed back. He looked at me in consternation as I considered miming it, then decided against it, and we moved on. But the truth of it became increasingly clear.

  ‘Is . . . is that the only bathroom?’ I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. With one, two, three, four . . . well, three men and one feral thing living here . . . plus me . . . it couldn’t be the only bathroom, could it?

  Eck flashed me a quick half-smile. ‘Yeah, we need to do shifts in the morning.’

  ‘You do what in the morning?’ I said, mishearing him. ‘Oh. Oh.’

  Finally we stopped at the end of the landing. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as the rest of the place. Maybe it would be a nice bright room that I could put a feminine stamp on and it would be like Katy’s sick room in What Katy Did, a nice bright place for people to come and have a nice time and . . .

  Eck opened the door. Oh.

  I tried to get myself not to say it, but it just blurted out.

  ‘This is . . . this is like a prison cell.’

  ‘People keep saying that,’ said Eck. ‘Is it the metal sink?’

  ‘Or the bars on the windows.’

  ‘Well, yes, because it’s at the front . . .’

  ‘I see. Noisy, is it?’

  A huge cement lorry rumbled past, followed by a car transporter. Both honked venomously for no apparent reason.

  ‘Um . . .’

  The room contained one single bed with a metal frame; a cheap MDF bedside table; the metal sink (why? Why?) and one cheap MDF wardrobe with one door hanging askew. And some dust on the horrid fuchsia-coloured carpet. And that was it. That was absolutely all there was. It wasn’t just the ugliest room I’d ever seen in my life (I had been to boarding school); it was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen in my life.

  ‘Actually,’ said Eck. ‘We have had a couple of people who do want to rent it. You shouldn’t listen to Cal.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Sure. Lots of people have never had a bedroom to themselves before.’

  I thought of my lovely suite of rooms at home; my four-poster bed, my bath set in the centre of the bathroom, overflowing with Jo Malone suds. No crying. No crying. No crying. Six months, six months, six months. Princess, princess, princess. Be strong. And what were my alternatives?

  ‘I’ll take it, please,’ I said, quickly and loudly, so that my voice wouldn’t crack, and before I had the chance to change my mind. It was a step on the road. Despite the hideousness of it all, it was a step on the road. I felt a tiny flicker of satisfaction. It wouldn’t be for long. Eck seemed nice. Cal didn’t, but he certainly improved the view.

  ‘Really?’ said Eck. ‘Great! Great! Let’s go into the sitting room to sort things out.’

  ‘Over tea?’ I said.

  He thought about it for a moment.

  ‘There is going to have to be a time when you have your first cup of tea here,’ he said finally.

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘If you just hold your nose to begin with, it’s not so bad.’

  ‘Unless you get a slug.’

  ‘Yeah. God, I wish Cal hadn’t mentioned the slugs. Could you forget about them?’

  ‘Could you knock something off the rent?’

  ‘Ah,’ he said.

  We headed back to the kitchen. It looked out over a car park where some kids who I thought should have been in school were desultorily kicking a ball around. I looked again at the mismatched chairs around the rickety table.

  ‘That’s pretty cool,’ I said, still up for making a good impression. ‘The vintage “salvaged” look.’

  Eck looked a bit pained. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It is salvage. You’ve got to be fast to get to the skips round here.’

  ‘Oh, yes, definitely,’ I agreed.

  Eck tried to push a copy of Front magazine, showing a pair of naked girls holding motorbike helmets over their boobs, behind a dirty-looking teapot. It only really drew attention to it. ‘Well. Anyway.’

  I crouched nervously on the stool as Eck did some paperworky things.

  ‘Why do you live here, Eck?’ I asked suddenly.

  He looked up, surprised. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Well, I’m a student. Obviously. Why else would I be at home at eleven in the morning?’

  Everyone I knew was generally at home at eleven in the morning, I realised. It wasn’t that unusual to me.

  ‘I’m at the art college down the road. Goldsmiths.’

  ‘Oh, are you an artist?’

  There wasn’t a single picture up on the walls anywhere, just a calendar hanging in the bathroom. For 2003. I thought artists lived in quaint garrets in Paris with large easels set up and the Eiffel Tower nice and visible through the balcony windows. Ooh, when I got my inheritance maybe I’d get somewhere like that and set it up as a photographic studio. I was almost veering off again when I realised Eck was still talking.

  ‘I’d like to be. I work in metal.’

  ‘Really? Can I see something you’ve done?’

  Eck looked pleased, but awkward. ‘Not at the moment. They’re all at college. They’re about nine metres long. I’m going through a bit of a spider phase.’

  ‘Ah, a spider phase,’ I said sagely, nodding my head, as if it was a well-recognised artist’s path. Maybe it was. Not for the first time, I cursed myself for not paying more attention at school.

  ‘Cal’s at art college too. He’s a sculptor as well.’

  Ooh, this was looking up. Suddenly I saw us all at a glamorous opening (somewhat dressed up) with someone saying, ‘And of course, the Old Kent Road school very much used Sophia Chesterton as a muse . . .’

  ‘And Wolverine . . . he’s just . . . I don’t know where he came from actually. A lot of flats have someone like that, don’t you find?’

  I had not found. In my limited experience, someone you didn’t know very well living in your house did nice things for you, like your laundry, or getting you a frappucino when you had a hangover.

  Eck bent his head over his papers again and cleared his throat a little nervously. My dad always did say Limeys were funny talking about money.

  ‘So. It’s six hundred quid a month for the room. So I’ll need that and the deposit, and did you bri
ng references? ’

  I looked at him. What was he talking about, deposit?

  ‘What do you mean, “deposit”?’ I said.

  ‘You do know,’ said Eck, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘You have to leave an amount of money with the landlord in case you break stuff or mess up the flat.’

  Shit. Shit, I hadn’t known that. Why hadn’t I known that? Did everyone else know all this stuff? Did everyone get a handbook when they turned eighteen and I hadn’t been paying attention that day?

  ‘Uh,’ I said. Then I just said what was on my mind.

  ‘Eck, really - how could I break stuff or mess up this flat?’ I said. ‘I don’t have a deposit. I’ve got six hundred pounds. For now. Then next month I’ll have it again. Definitely.’

  I tried to say ‘definitely’ with as much honest confidence as I could muster. If I could get a flat, I could get my old job back, couldn’t I? Couldn’t I?

  But I wasn’t lying about the money. That really was it. I couldn’t put any more down. I just couldn’t.

  Eck looked really pained. Which was good. At least he wasn’t going to hurl me out on the street. I felt my heart beating hard.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘have you never rented a flat before?’

  I shook my head, mutely. Eck excused himself, and disappeared into the hallway. I hoped and hoped that this was a good sign, that he would be able to sort something out. Because if he couldn’t . . .

  I crept to the sitting room doorway, but I could just hear a discussion going on between Cal and Eck, with occasional grunting from Wolverine. I went back to my seat and closed my eyes. Just don’t send me away, please. Because I really, and truly, had nowhere else to go.

  After what seemed like an age, the boys filed through into the kitchen. Cal looked snotty, Eck embarrassed, Wolverine . . . well, hungry, probably.

  ‘Here’s the thing,’ said Eck, staring at the floor, ‘Cal thinks—’

  ‘We all think,’ interrupted Cal.

  ‘. . . that one way we could get round the fact that you don’t have enough money—’

  ‘But Eck would like you to live here . . .’ Cal’s lip curled up. Eck stopped momentarily and shot Cal a dirty look.

  ‘One way might be if you helped—’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, spit it out,’ said Cal. ‘Listen. If you want to stop me putting Wolverine in that room—’

  ‘You won’t,’ said Eck. They shot looks at one another and I wondered how well they actually got on. Cal took over the conversation.

  ‘You need to make up for not paying your share of the deposit.’

  I couldn’t quite concentrate, but it sounded like they were going to let me stay. That was a good thing, despite the state of the place.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you can see the state of this place.’

  I could.

  ‘If you could look after it for us, we could forget the deposit.’

  Nooo!

  I looked at Eck. He shot me a hopeful glance.

  ‘What do you mean, “look after it”?’ I said, in case they meant, take nice long lovely baths here.

  Eck rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Well, you know. Do the hoovering. Scrubbing. Cleaning up mostly. We’re usually too busy.’

  Too busy? That wouldn’t be the student life I remembered then.

  ‘But we’d all chip in to pay your deposit so you could stay.’ He looked awkward again. ‘Will you have money coming in after that?’

  ‘Of course,’ I assured him.

  There was a silence. For the last time, just in case I’d got it wrong I said, ‘So you’re saying I can stay if I clean?’

  The boys glanced at each other, then Eck nodded. Oh great. So not only was I going to have to live in a germ sanctuary, I was going to have to clean it too.

  ‘Isn’t this a bit sexist?’ I said.

  ‘No,’ said Cal. ‘It’s poor-ist.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Eck. ‘But we were trying to find a solution . . .’

  I looked for my positive side again. It was fleeing for the exit, but I grasped it manfully.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘You’re on!’

  ‘Great,’ said Eck, looking relieved. ‘Cup of tea to celebrate? ’

  We looked at each other.

  ‘I’ll just go get my things, I think.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Eck. ‘OK.’

  Chapter Seven

  Of course, I didn’t know what to pack. Vogue hadn’t done an article on ‘Capsule Wardrobes for Your New Shit Life’. If I was thinking logically, Wellington boots, three hundred jumpers and a hazmat suit.

  I gazed at my wardrobe. It was arranged by colour so that shades segued into one another. I loved it. There was the raspberry Temperley silk dress I’d worn to Theo’s twenty-first, which ended up in the fountain. In fact I couldn’t have worn it more than once, but it had been a good, fun, dress and only about seven hundred quid, I seemed to recall. Christ. Maybe I could sell the dress? But I could see the heavy water stains the dry cleaner’s hadn’t been able to get out from here. Maybe not.

  Oh, and that lovely pale green chiffon. I’d loved it to bits till a famous WAG had worn the exact same one ten days later and I’d had to abandon it for ever. So sad. Oh, bollocks, I was packing it anyway.

  Gail eyed up my bags in the hall. She’d been fluttering around apologetically - but not apologetically enough to say, ‘Do you know what, Sophie, I’ve changed my mind and in fact why don’t we convert the basement into a crash pad for you and you stay there for six months and we’ll say that that was probably what Daddy meant in his will.’

  ‘It’s just clothes,’ I said, in case she thought I was stuffing oil paintings into the lining. ‘And I had to put them in the Louis Vuittons, there aren’t any other suitcases.’

  ‘Good luck,’ she said, smiling nervously. ‘I couldn’t wait to leave home. It was the most exciting day of my life.’

  I stared at her.

  ‘I realise this isn’t the same.’

  ‘It’s not the same at all,’ I said, miserably.

  ‘But your dad thought you could do it,’ said Gail. ‘And, you know . . . I reckon you’ll be stubborn enough to make a go of anything.’

  This is probably about the nicest thought Gail’s ever had about me.

  ‘Yeah, thanks,’ I said, a bit ungracefully, but I was really shocked. She moved towards me then, and I thought she might be about to give me a hug, but at the last minute something in both of us stopped it happening.

  We could probably both have done with it though.

  Now came the really hard part. I tiptoed downstairs and whispered her name.

  ‘Esperanza?’

  She came out of the kitchen, drying her hands and looking fearful.

  ‘Miss?’

  I twisted my hair awkwardly.

  ‘Esperanza, you know I’m leaving.’

  Her face gave nothing away. I couldn’t tell if she was pleased or sad. Probably best not to know. I wondered how I would have felt if Esperanza had left one day and never come back? Would I even have noticed?

  I felt really ashamed of myself.

  ‘So, em. I wondered. Where I’m going . . . I’m going to need to do some cleaning. You know, look after things. And I wondered if you could help . . . show me what to do.’

  At first she looked like she didn’t quite believe it. Then her whole face crumpled - but with delight.

  ‘Miss Sophie! You need me to show you what to do? You want my help?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, finding myself blush.

  ‘But of course Esperanza can help you! Come with me.’ And she grabbed me by the hand like I was four years old and dragged me into the kitchen. As she did so, I had a sudden sense memory of her hand on my arm. But as far as I could recall she’d never touched me before. Yet there was certainly something very familiar about her touch.

  ‘When you were small,’ she said, ‘you used to love to help Esperanza. Always when I was working you
would come downstairs. “What doing, Espraza?” all day long. I had to give you your own duster and brush.’

  That couldn’t be true, could it?

  ‘Then you went to school, and after that, pffff. You don’t want to help Esperanza any more. You want to buy shoes.’