Sam turned to say something to Steven as she led him along the corridor, and caught him staring at her bottom. She forgave him his indiscretion immediately, expecting no better than this from your average man. Steven blushed and continued to stumble down the corridor behind her, keeping his eyes to himself.
The flat was bright, clean and well decorated, but it stank. Steven couldnt understand the smell. He was momentarily worried that the smell might be his fault, and furtively checked the base of his shoes before following Sam into the kitchen.
The kitchen was painted a meticulous white and filled with red utensils. Sitting at a large red table in the centre of the room was Sams mother, Brera, who was thirty-eight, had long auburn hair, fine features and slightly jutting teeth. She beckoned Steven towards the table without standing up. He found her grandly matriarchal.
The table was set with butter, jam, percolated coffee and a half-eaten plate of hot croissants. Steven noticed four settings and hesitated over where to sit. Youve not gone to all this trouble on my account?
Sam sat down on the chair to his left. Of course we have.
She picked up a croissant and ripped it in two with her fingers. Steven sat down and nervously unfolded his napkin.
She picked up a croissant and ripped it in two with her fingers. Steven sat down and nervously unfolded his napkin.
Brera poured him a cup of coffee. Youre over an hour late, which is hardly an auspicious start.
Sam grinned. Ignore her, shes only trying to frighten you.
Steven felt daunted by these two women, both so vibrant and voracious. So different. A black daughter, a white mother. Could you get more different than that? He picked up his coffee and placed it close to his nose so that its steamy aroma would cut out the smell of the flat which was starting to make him feel nauseous. He looked at Brera over the rim of his cup and said, Im very pleased you agreed to meet up with me like this. When I saw the two of you last week at the Bull and Gate I was bowled over. Its not often you see two such attractive women on stage together who can actually sing, I mean really sing, let alone write their own music.
Neither woman seemed especially impressed by this. Sam reached over for the coffee jug, scattering bits of pastry across the table in the process. She said, Weve got lots of ideas, if thats what you mean.
She poured her coffee and then licked her fingers clean. Steven watched her small pink tongue darting in and out of her mouth. It reminded him of a lizards tongue or a hamsters. Thats odd, he thought. Ive never even seen a hamsters tongue before. He wondered why she had to talk, why she couldnt just sit. Just sit.
Brera said, Sams in charge of this venture. She imagines everything, how we should be and so forth. Shes fussy.
Sam nodded. I am.
Steven laced his fingers together. I can deal with that.
Weve got a fairly pure vision. Its complex, but we can discuss all the details later. Brera picked up a croissant and then spooned on some jam. Were bullies. We dont like being told what to do.
Sam added, Weve already decided that we wont put up with too many changes musically. We like doing some of our own stuff, well, my sisters stuff. We know its eccentric
Steven began to look sceptical, but he kept in mind the fact that his latest client, a snooker player, had recently thrown in the towel to go back to his day job. He said, Obviously, the fact that you dont just do cover versions stands in your favour. Although my ideal image of the two of you is more as a mother-and-daughter soul and country duo. I prefer the country songs to the new-wave stuff.
Sam mouthed the words new wave at Brera and smiled. Steven was insulted. He thought, five years ago the term new wave was perfectly respectable.
Brera frowned at Sam and then said, Of course wed be willing to consider some new songs for the act, so long as we dont lose all our own stuff.
Sam leaned towards him and whispered, You think our own songs are crap, dont you?
Before he could think how to respond she added, Well, thats OK, we think so too, sometimes. The problem is that they arent written according to the standard musical scale.
Brera interrupted. Its complicated, thats all. Then she added, Dont worry, youll soon get the hang of us.
Steven was struggling to keep up. He said, So you both want me to manage you? They nodded.
He felt as though he was missing out on something crucial, was bemused, but threw caution to the wind and said, Then Id be delighted to.
He held out his hand to Brera. Brera hesitated for a moment before taking it. She had the strong yellow nails of a long-time guitar plucker. After pressing his fingers for a second she let go and picked up the plate of croissants. Take one. Theyre nearly cold.
Sam laughed. They are cold.
Steven was secretly irritated that this courteous gesture on Breras part had deprived him of the opportunity of shaking Sams hand again. Sam didnt seem to care though. She was sipping her coffee and looking over at Brera as though they were sharing some kind of private joke. He hoped emphatically that he wasnt it.
Sylvia had been asked by both Sam and Brera to attend the breakfast meeting. She had agreed to go. After all, theyd said, whatever the outcome, its bound to affect you.
She had agreed to go but had never had any real intention of attending, although this didnt dissuade her from standing outside the kitchen and listening to the on-going conversation inside. Occasionally she was forced to scamper back to her room to stifle her coughing, which was dry, hacking, and came in short bursts every few minutes.
She had watched Steven get out of his car and walk towards their block of flats from her window, and had disliked him, on principle, instantaneously. What she overheard from outside the kitchen didnt improve this opinion.
She was glad that she had kept out of the way. She was sure that her presence at the breakfast table would have spoilt the success of any joint venture.
Why should I care anyway? she thought furiously. I have my own bloody life.
She sat down on her bed and stared blankly at the carpet. She felt constricted. Things kept changing. Things always changed.
A sparrow flew in and landed on her shoulder. The pigeons cooed.
THREE
How long have you been waiting?
The policeman glanced at his watch. Five minutes.
Ruby found him moderately attractive, for a policeman. He was tall but thin and had a deep dimple in either cheek and in his chin.
Ive come about the bail, he said, stepping out of the doorway so she could get to her door.
Why? she said. What did I do?
He smiled at this. While he smiled, it dawned on her. For him? You must be joking. He expects me to pay his bail?
He told me that you were the closest he had to a relative.
Rubys startled expression made him laugh out loud.
Youre just a sadist, she said, in a bloody police uniform.
In case you wondered, I got your address from your manager. He said this was a company flat.
Ruby felt around in the pocket of her jacket for her keys. Im not paying his bail. I dont even know him.
Thats up to you. Hes got no money of his own.
She put her key into the lock. I never even met him before today.
You mustve made a good impression.
How much is it, anyway?
Two hundred.
She pushed the door open. He can sing for it. You can tell him that.
I will.
Is that all?
He nodded.
Thanks, then.
She stepped inside, then turned. Where is he exactly?
The local nick. He began to grin. Youre going to pay it, arent you?
Even I, she said firmly, am not quite that stupid, and closed the door behind her.
Two hundred, she thought, climbing the stairs. Hes crazy.
Shed almost reached the top when she heard the doorbell chime inside her flat. She swore, turned round, and walked back down again to answer it. Outside, instead of the policeman, whom shed half-expected, was her friend Pablo. Everyone preferred to call him Toro. She didnt know why. He was holding two bottles of cheap lemon vodka. Ruby took a bottle from him and inspected the label. Whats wrong with Martini or a crate of lager?
Toro smiled, his cheeks bunched up and the pressure of them squeezed his eyes into almonds. I saw you at Hackney, he said, on television.
Yeah? She turned and started to walk upstairs again. Where? In Ladbrokes? How did I look?
He slammed the front door and followed her. Completely beautiful.
Thanks.
Once inside, Ruby took off her jacket and slung it over the back of the sofa, then flung herself into an armchair and scraped her heels across the floor to pull off her shoes. She wriggled her stockinged toes and said, Maybe I should grow my toenails and paint them, then I could wear sandals and my feet wouldnt sweat as much.
Toro looked slightly disgusted. Why was the shop closed this morning?
She didnt answer immediately, so he searched for the volume percentage of alcohol on the label of one of the bottles he was holding.
Rubys flat was comfortable but shoddy. It consisted of a small sitting-room and adjoining kitchen, with an old Baby Belling, a sink and a fridge, a tiny bathroom and a small box-shaped bedroom. The walls were painted a uniform creamy yellow which gave the place a distinctly institutional feel. The furniture was old but solid. Ruby had few homely or ornamental possessions, but a lot of clothes and records. The records lined one wall of the sitting-room and items of clothing, clumps of accessories and numerous pairs of boots and shoes had been tossed about with general disregard. The room was dusty.
Toro unscrewed the top of a vodka bottle and asked for some glasses. Ruby picked up a couple of dirty mugs and went to the sink to give them a wash. She couldnt find a clean tea-towel to dry them with so used a bathroom towel instead. Toro grimaced at them. The mouth of these mugs is too thick.
Not mouth, lip. You should know. Youre the wine waiter.
She banged the mugs on to the floor next to his feet and sat down again while he poured. He half-filled both mugs and then handed her one. She took a sip, pulled a face, but said nothing. Two hundred quid, she thought.
Toro was over fifty and poorly though smartly dressed in a grey suit and old shirt. He was small and slightly overweight, with dark black hair, greased back, and sallow cheeks. His eyes were hooded, red, but lively. Shed never seen him clean-shaven, but often smelled aftershave on him a whiff of cinnamon and spearmint. He worked in a restaurant, but spent most of his time gambling.