To the Moon and Back (3 page)

‘So what do you think about that, then?'

Shit. Typical. Zack snapped his attention back to the reason he'd come along to the Ivy today. Well, the original reason.

‘I think it's… interesting.' He nodded thoughtfully.

‘And what's the verdict? Do we have a deal?'

This was ridiculous; he was a professional. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before.

‘Ian, I can't come to a decision today.' Chiefly because he hadn't the faintest idea what Ian had been saying for the last hour. ‘I need to go over the figures again, have a word with a couple of other people. But I'll get back to you by Monday afternoon, and that's a promise.'

Ian sat back, took a swallow of water, and shot him a suspicious look. ‘Everything OK? You seem a bit… distant today.'

What would Ian say if he were to tell him, if he suddenly leaned across the table and said, ‘The thing is, there's a girl over there, a complete stranger, but just looking at her is making me feel like I've never felt before in my life'?

How would bluff, ruddy-faced Ian react to that?

Except it was a rhetorical question because they were two businessmen, here to discuss business, and he wouldn't dream of saying any such thing.

‘I'm fine. Just a touch of jet lag.' He flashed a brief, reassuring smile at Ian. Apart from anything else, there was such a thing as street cred to consider. He didn't want to become a complete laughingstock.

***

By the time they left the restaurant it was three thirty. Out on West Street, Tony flagged down a taxi and Ellie gave him a hug.

‘Thanks so much for lunch. It's lovely to see you again.'

‘I know.' He opened the cab door and said, ‘Hop in. I'll drop you home.'

‘But it's out of your way.' Ellie shook her head. ‘Honestly, I'm fine. I can get the tube.'

‘It's raining. Let me give you a lift.' Amused, Tony said, ‘It's OK, I can afford it.' Indicating that she should climb in ahead of him, he added, ‘Please?'

OK, he was right about the rain. It was starting to come down more heavily now too. Relaxed by the wine, she gave in gracefully and climbed—slightly less gracefully—into the cab. It wasn't until they were on their way to Hammersmith that Tony said, ‘Besides,I want to see this wallpapering disaster of yours.'

‘Oh no, you can't come in!' The words burst out before she could stop them. She'd already planned for the taxi to halt at the end of her road. Each time she and Tony had met up over the past fifteen months, it had been in restaurants; that was just the way it had happened. He hadn't visited the flat for almost two years. Her skin prickling with embarrassment, Ellie knew he'd be shocked by the state of it now.

‘That's not very friendly,' Tony observed mildly.

‘I'm sorry, I don't mean it like that.' She shook her head, ashamed. ‘It's just… you know, messy.'

He smiled. ‘You mean there's washing-up in the sink?'

‘It's worse than that.' Ellie felt her cheeks flush. ‘The whole place is, oh God, it's all just a bit… yuck. I'd really rather you didn't come in.'

But Tony Weston hadn't got where he was today by giving up easily. He patted her hand and said, ‘I'm not going to judge you, sweetheart. What am I, some kind of monster? I just want to have a look at this troublesome wallpaper of yours.'

‘Please don't. I messed it up, that's all.'

‘When I first left drama school and couldn't get any acting work, I used to help out a friend who was a painter and decorator,' said Tony.

‘Oh, I didn't know that.'

He smiled. ‘I'm full of surprises.'

‘Hmm.' Ellie sank back against the seat. So was her flat.

‘Jesus,' said Tony. ‘So this is why you didn't want me here.'

‘Yes, well. Now you know.' There was nothing like a fresh pair of eyes—and ears—to remind you of what a dump you were living in. Mortified and ashamed of herself for having put up with it for so long, and most of the time not even realizing how bad things had got, Ellie watched him pace around the living room. A year ago, her lovely, gentle landlady, Moira, had died of a heart attack, leaving her son to take over the property portfolio. Less than lovely Ron had wasted no time at all filling the flats with dubious characters. It had been a while before Ellie had discovered that the council were paying him over the odds to take on families who were well known to them, chiefly because they'd caused so much havoc they'd been evicted from their previous homes. This, now, was their last resort but rather than calm down they seemed to want to vie for the honor of becoming the noisiest and most disruptive tenants in Hammersmith, if not the whole of London.

As if to prove it, what sounded like a rugby scrum was currently taking place in the flat upstairs. On bare floorboards, because their putrid carpet was currently occupying the table-sized front garden. Josh Groban was belting out something heartfelt at maximum volume. The two dogs were going mad. The matriarch of the family, a fifty-something woman with a face like a bulldog and a voice like a cement mixer, was roaring, ‘If you two fookers don't fookin' stop that, I'll chuck youse through the fookin' window.'

‘Is she talking to the dogs?' said Tony.

‘Maybe. Or her sons. There are four of them.'

‘And get out the way of the TV, ya fookin' junkies!'

‘That'll be the two youngest boys,' Ellie explained.

‘This is diabolical.' Tony was outraged.

‘You get used to it.' Most of the time she managed to tune the worst of the noise out.

‘And what happened there?' He pointed to the badly stained ceiling.

‘Someone left the bath running.'

‘As if the place isn't damp enough already.' Breathing in the musty odor that Febreze hadn't managed to dispel, Tony surveyed the bare wall she'd been working on last night. ‘If you managed to put wallpaper over that mold it'd fall down again in no time. For crying out loud, this place is a health hazard. Haven't you asked the landlord to get it sorted out?'

Only about a million times. But why would he bother? Ellie knew Ron wanted her out; packing another family in here would allow him to crank the rent right up. She shrugged and said, ‘I have asked, but—'

‘Fook off yourself, ya fat cow!' bellowed a male voice, followed by a door slamming and the sound of footsteps thudding down the stairs. Then the front door slammed too. Tony watched from the living-room window as the boy, scrawny and blue-white in color, stood hunched on the pavement and made a phone call. Within seconds a gleaming BMW with blacked-out windows screeched to a halt. A window slid down, money was exchanged for a small package, and the car sped away.

‘Don't let him see you,' Ellie said hurriedly.

Too late of course. The boy had already swung round. Spotting Tony at the window he grinned nastily, stuck his middle finger in the air, and spat on the ground before letting himself back in the house. As he passed her door on the first floor, he yelled, ‘Nosy fookers around 'ere, i'nt there?'

Peering down at the tiny front garden, most of which was taken up with spilled-open bin bags and stained carpet, Tony said in disbelief, ‘There are syringes lying in the mud.'

‘I know.' Ellie's neck prickled again, as ashamed as if she'd thrown them there herself. How must this compare with his multimillion dollar palace in the Hollywood Hills?

‘Ellie.' His tone changed. ‘In God's name, why didn't you tell me it was like this?'

She shrugged, unable to explain. On the scale of misery, losing Jamie had been a ten. Compared with that, having to tolerate undesirable neighbors had barely scraped a two. And if that made her sound ridiculous, well, too bad. ‘You get used to it. It's just noise.' To distract herself, she had got into the habit of conjuring up Jamie and having a chat with him instead. It was just a question of tuning out the rest, the yelling, the door-slamming, the incessant Celine Dion.

‘There are used syringes in your front garden. This flat should carry a government health warning. You can't stay here.'

‘Fook off, ya gobshite, that's me last can!'

Ellie pressed her lips together. She knew he was right. And if she was a friend she'd be telling herself exactly the same thing. But what Tony didn't understand was that this was where she and Jamie had lived together. They had found the flat, moved into it as ridiculously happy newlyweds, loved and laughed, and had the best time here for over three years. The rooms were filled with memories and she didn't know if she could bear to leave them behind…

‘OK, I'm not completely stupid.' Tony's voice softened as her eyes filled with tears. ‘This is about Jamie, isn't it?'

Her throat had constricted. ‘Yes.' Embarrassingly it came out as a high-pitched squeak.

‘So the flat didn't used to be like this. But it is now.'

She nodded.

‘You know what I'm going to say next, don't you?'

Wearily, she nodded again. ‘Probably.'

‘If Jamie could see this place now, he'd be horrified.' Tony's manner was gentle but firm. ‘He'd want you out of here.'

‘Owwwww, ya bastard, I'll fookin' get you for that!' There was a roar, a crash, and a shower of glass rained past the window, along with a spraying, somersaulting can of lager.

‘He'd want you safe,' said Tony. Tilting his face up to the ceiling he added drily, ‘Although your neighbors have timing, I'll give them that.'

***

Was this another reason she'd done her best to hide the situation from Jamie's father?

Three days after their lunch at the Ivy, Ellie found herself standing outside an imposing Victorian end-of-terrace property on Nevis Street, just off Regents Park Road, in the heart of Primrose Hill village. The outside of the house was painted palest yellow, the sash windows were framed in white gloss, and the front garden was small but well-tended, without a manky discarded carpet in sight.

This was what you called a Seriously Nice Area.

‘Well?' Tony stood next to her. ‘What do you think?'

‘Honestly? I feel sick. I can't believe you're doing this.'

‘Listen, I'm not doing it for you. It's a sound financial investment. Every time I come over to the UK, I stay in a hotel. It's a very nice hotel, but it isn't home.' Indicating the building in front of them, he said, ‘I need a pied-à-terre, and this looks pretty good to me. But if it's going to be standing empty most of the time, my insurance premiums will shoot up. And I'll spend all my time worrying about squatters. Whereas if I have someone living in the place, keeping an eye on things, I won't have anything to worry about. Makes sense to me.'

The estate agent arrived and let them into the flat, situated on the first floor like the one Ellie had lived in for the last four years but otherwise different in every conceivable way. There were two good-sized bedrooms, each with a bathroom en suite. There was also a small third bathroom, a huge airy living room, and an ultra-modern kitchen. It was like something out of a glossy magazine. Everything was clean and dry, freshly painted, and sweet-smelling.
Immaculate.

‘No mold,' Tony pointed out. ‘No damp. No Celine Dion.'

‘Just as she was starting to grow on me,' said Ellie.

‘Do you like it?'

‘Of course I like it.' What was there to dislike? She shoved her hands into the pockets of her red jacket to hide the fact that they were trembling.

‘Could we have a moment?' Tony waited until the estate agent had left them alone. ‘Sweetheart, now listen to me. I can afford it. We'd be doing each other a favor.' He paused. ‘James was my only child. What else am I supposed to do with my money?'

Ellie nodded. ‘I know, and I'm grateful. But… it just feels like too much.'

‘OK, how about this then? Say I buy the flat anyway. And you don't move in, and squatters take over the place, and they wreck it and cause all kinds of trouble and end up bringing down the whole neighborhood.' He shrugged. ‘If that happens, it'll be all your fault. Everyone in Primrose Hill will hate you.'

She smiled. ‘No pressure, then. Um, can I meet you downstairs in a couple of minutes? I'd just like to… have another look around on my own.'

Tony followed the estate agent down the stairs. She knew she was being ridiculous, but it was something she just needed to double-check. Ellie closed her eyes, concentrated hard, then opened them again.

‘Oh ye of little faith,' said an amused voice behind her.

Turning, she saw Jamie leaning against the closed living-room door. White shirt, clean jeans, arms crossed, head shaking in good-natured disbelief.

Oh, thank God.

‘Did you seriously think I wouldn't turn up?'

She exhaled with relief. ‘I just wanted to make sure.'

‘Well, I'm here.' He spread his arms. ‘Ta-daaa!'

‘Your dad's been amazing.'

‘I know. He gets it from me.'

Ellie searched his face. ‘So what do you think?'

‘About this place? It's fantastic.'

‘Should I say yes, then?'

‘I think you'd be stupid to say no,' said Jamie.

Which was cheating really, because the words were coming from her brain. She was making him say them.

Oh well. He didn't seem to mind.

‘Right then.' She nodded. ‘I'm going to do it.'

Jamie winked and gave her the kind of encouraging smile she missed the most. ‘Good.'

‘God, look at this place, it's like a dream come true, you're so
lucky…
oh no! Sorry!' Paula clapped her hands over her mouth. ‘I've done it again, you're not lucky at all.
Ow
.'

‘From now on, every time you say sorry I'm going to have to hit you over the head with a cushion.' Ellie put the gray velvet cushion back on the sofa and gave it a little house-proud pat. Had it only been a month since she'd come along with Tony and seen the flat for the first time? But that was the power of cold hard cash for you; with no need for a mortgage, Tony had simply put his solicitors on to it and the sale had gone through in record time.

And now here she was in her new home, surrounded by packing cases and so far not missing the old Hammersmith flat at all.

Well, it had only been three hours.

‘OK, tell me what to do.' Paula made a show of rolling up her sleeves and looking efficient. ‘I want to help. Shall we start on these?' Without waiting for an answer, she ripped the tape off one of the boxes and said, ‘Just let me know where you want everything to go… oh… oh no, are these Jamie's?' Appalled, she hurriedly bundled the armful of shirts and sweaters back into the box. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean it! I didn't know!'

Paula left at five. Between them they had done a fair amount of unpacking, and it had been kind of her to give up her day off to come over and help. Ellie was grateful, but it had also been kind of exhausting. Emotional, soft-hearted Paula had welled up on three separate occasions. Unwrapping a silver photo frame containing a picture of Ellie and Jamie on their honeymoon in Cornwall, she'd wailed, ‘Oh God, how can you
bear
it?'

Watching from the bedroom doorway as Ellie had packed some of Jamie's favorite clothes away at the back of the wardrobe, she had declared tremulously, ‘I don't know how you cope.'

And when she heard about Ellie having lugged three bags of Jamie's belongings down to the charity shop, she had wiped her streaming eyes and hiccupped, ‘Oh, Ell, you're so
brave
.'

Like she had any choice. Ellie had found herself, not for the first time, having to comfort Paula.

Not even for the hundredth time, come to that.

***

The next morning Ellie didn't wake up until gone eleven, partly because she was exhausted but chiefly because her alarm clock was still packed away in one of the boxes she hadn't got round to tackling yet. The good news was that she had three days off work, so it didn't matter. In her white terry-cloth dressing gown, she sipped a mug of tea and stood at the window gazing across the street. The sun was shining, glinting off the polished windows of the houses opposite. Tiny wrought-iron balconies bore potted plants, and well-tended window boxes abounded. Even the air seemed cleaner here in Primrose Hill. The street was lined with gleaming upmarket vehicles. A glossy fifty-something brunette in sprayed-on jeans jumped down from a black four-by-four, slung an expensive-looking bag over her shoulder, and sashayed off in the direction of the shops. A yummy mummy pushed a state-of-the-art buggy along the pavement. Further along the road, a black and gold chaise longue was being carefully unloaded from a smart bottle-green delivery van.

Ellie mentally compared this with her old street. Yesterday as she'd been in the process of moving out, she'd seen a used condom lying on the ground by the front gate. Instead of being repulsed, her initial response had been relief that someone had at least bothered to use one.

She leaned against the windowsill and admired the clean, litter-free scene. Now another van had drawn up, a tulip-pink one this time, and a vast cellophane-wrapped bouquet of lilies was being delivered to the house next to the one receiving the chaise longue.

Crikey, was she going to fit in here or would she feel awkward and out of place? What if it was
too
genteel and perfect?

The next moment a taxi drew up, an emerald-green front door swung open, and a blonde raced out of the house directly opposite. For a moment Ellie thought it was a skinny boy in a white T-shirt and low-slung combats, a male hairdresser perhaps, with his hair bleached silver-white and cut in a super-short, choppy crop. But no, it was a female; when the figure turned, she saw the bright red lipstick, dangling earrings, and jewel-encrusted shoulder bag. And OK, maybe that didn't prove anything conclusively, but if it was a boy he'd have taken the trouble to stuff his bra with socks.

As Ellie watched, the girl suddenly screeched to a halt, signaled to the cab driver to wait, let herself back into the house, and reappeared twenty seconds later triumphantly waving her mobile phone and slamming the door shut behind her. Then she threw herself into the back of the cab and disappeared off up the road.

Leaving something small and glittery swinging from the lock on the front door.

Whoops.

Were the residents of Primrose Hill really as relaxed about security as those in village communities in the nineteen fifties?

Just in case they weren't, Ellie left her coffee mug on the windowsill, fastened the tie belt on her dressing gown, ran downstairs to the ground floor, and let herself out.

Better safe than sorry.

The edges of the dressing gown flapped around a bit as she hurried across the road. The tarmac was cold beneath her bare feet. A passing teenager in a gray hoodie, having also spotted the key ring dangling from the lock, had abandoned his bike on the pavement and was heading for the emerald-green front door.

Ellie sprinted past him and snatched the keys a millisecond before he could reach them. Looked like Primrose Hill wasn't sodifferent from Hammersmith after all. Startled, the boy blurted out, ‘I wasn't going to do anything, honest. I'd've taken them to the police station.'

He was pale, spiky haired, radiating guilt.

‘Of course you were. But it's OK, you don't need to now.' Flashing him a cool smile, Ellie dropped the keys into her pocket. She felt like Wonder Woman. Well, Wonder Woman in a dressing gown and with a scary case of bed hair. ‘I'll take care of my neighbor's keys. They'll be safe with me.'

The boy stared at her defensively, an opportunist rather than a hardened criminal. ‘They'd've been safe with me too.'

‘Excellent, glad to hear it.' She patted her pocket and turned triumphantly to cross the road. Ha, get her, less than a day in Nevis Street and already a pillar of the community! If she hadn't intervened, the girl over the road could have come home to a furniture-free house.

There was a whoosh of tires on tarmac and the would-be burglar sped off. The two men further up the road, who'd now delivered the chaise longue, eyed her state of undress with appreciation. The younger one wolf-whistled and called out, ‘Bin sleepwalking, have you, love? 'Orrible, innit, when you wake up and find yourself out in the street.'

Ellie grinned and waved at them before letting herself back into her own flat. It wouldn't do to start lowering the tone of the neighborhood.

Upstairs, she showered and dressed in black jeans, a charcoal sweatshirt, and pink flip-flops. Before getting on with the unpacking she would take the keys along to the police station.

Except, where
was
the nearest police station? And if the girl came home and found herself unable to get in, wouldn't it be quicker and easier for her to pick the keys up from here?

Ellie wrote a note, searched and failed to find any tape, and ended up using the next best thing. Heading once more across the road, she unpeeled the backing off the Band-Aid and stuck the note securely to the doorbell.

Pleased with her own ingenuity, she then returned to her flat.

At two o'clock, Paula called from work to see how she was getting on.

At three, Ellie stopped for a Krispy Kreme doughnut and a packet of crisps.

By three thirty she had a collection of cardboard boxes, emptied and collapsed and ready to go out for recycling.

Twenty minutes later, in the middle of a complicated battle to get the cover on her duvet, the doorbell rang. Struggling backwards on her knees out of the duvet cover, Ellie prepared a cheery smile and went to answer it. Time to meet the girl from over the road and be welcomed to Primrose Hill. Plus, of course, she'd explain all about her encounter with the would-be burglar and how she'd seen him off—

‘Hi, you've got my keys?' The voice over the intercom was breathless.

‘Oh, hello. Yes, I have! Hang on, I'll just press the buzzer and you can come on up. You'll have to excuse the mess, I only moved in yesterday so it's—'

‘Look, sorry, but I'm in a real rush, could you just chuck them down?'

Oh. Oh. Put out, Ellie took her finger off the buzzer and went over to the living-room sash window. Pushing up the lower half, she leaned out and saw the girl with the cropped white-blond hair waiting impatiently on the pavement. The moment she spotted Ellie, she held out her arms and yelled, ‘I'll catch them. Quick!'

The keys were on the coffee table, held together by a multicolored Swarovski crystal key ring. Ellie did as she was told and threw them down to the girl, who promptly missed and let out a shriek as they scooted into the road, inches from the drain.

When she'd retrieved them, she raised a hand in acknowledgment and called out, ‘Cheers, you're a star,' before hurrying past the waiting taxi and letting herself into the house.

Never mind thank you.

Oh well.

Ellie exhaled and went back to the bedroom to resume her fight with the duvet. Five minutes later the phone rang in the living room. As she answered it, she saw the blonde girl emerge from her house once more, now wearing a bright red dress and matching spiky stilettos.

‘How are you doing?' It was Tony, calling from LA.

‘Great.'

‘Natives friendly?'

‘I don't know.' Ellie watched the girl dive into the taxi without so much as a glance up at her window. ‘I haven't met any yet.'

That evening the emptiness closed in and even a visit from Jamie didn't help.

‘You've hardly eaten all day,' he pointed out in that maddening way of his. ‘Come on, cheer up. Make some pasta or something.'

She looked at him. ‘Don't tell me what to do.'

‘I'm not telling. I'm making a helpful suggestion. You could do that sauce I used to like.'

Ellie's stomach rumbled. He was nagging her, but he had a point. She made the tomato and red wine sauce, stirred in fried onions and garlic, and left it to simmer on the hob. God, there was nothing to watch on television. She felt herself weakening, her eyes drifting over to the box of DVDs pushed up against the wall.

‘Don't do it,' said Jamie, effortlessly reading her mind. Of course he could read her mind; he was
in
it.

‘Why not?'

‘It always makes you cry.'

‘And?'

He looked at her, shook his head. ‘I hate it when you cry.'

‘Oh well, too bad.' Ellie sorted through the DVDs, found the one she wanted. ‘Sometimes I just want to. You don't have to watch.'

Jamie shrugged and left. She bent down and slid the disc into the DVD player.

Was this cathartic or a form of self-torture? Putting the box of tissues within easy reach, she pressed Play and sat back to watch Jamie and herself on the beach in Cornwall two years ago. Not imaginary Jamie,
real
Jamie, actually on the TV screen, captured by Todd with his camcorder as they'd mucked about in the waves, chased each other in and out of the water, and ended up rolling around on the sand. Back when life had been normal and happy, because it had never occurred to them that what they shared could be ripped away without warning and—

Bbbbbrrrrrrrbbbbb.

The doorbell. At eleven thirty at night. For heaven's sake, she hadn't even had time to start crying yet.

Bbbbbbrrrrrrrrbbbbbb.

Was this some kind of joke? In disbelief, Ellie clambered off the sofa and went over to the intercom. Curtly she said, ‘Yes?'

‘Are you awake?'

She closed her eyes. ‘What?'

‘Sorry, I know it's kind of late. I saw your light was still on. You weren't asleep, were you?'

‘No.'

‘Oh good. Now listen, was I a bit rude earlier?'

Ellie leaned against the doorframe, listening to the anxiety in the girl's voice. ‘Possibly, yes, a bit.'

‘Oh, bugger, I knew it! Did I not even say thank you for my keys?'

‘Now you come to mention it, no, you didn't.'

‘OK, so will you let me tell you why? The thing is, I was so bursting for the loo that I thought my bladder was going to
explode
. I could hardly speak, let alone make it up your stairs. When you threw the key down and I had to bend over to pick it up, I thought that was it, I was going to flood the road! And I'm not even exaggerating. I've never been so desperate in my life. So that's why I forgot to thank you. And I'm really, really sorry if you thought I was rude.'

Ellie smiled and felt herself relax. ‘Apology accepted.'

‘Hooray!' The girl gave a little whoop of relief. ‘I've got something for you too. OK if I come up?'

‘Only if you think your bladder can stand it.'