I decide to try the garage. The garage at the Beaumont is underground. The parking attendant might be wearing a suit, but he’s much more amenable. Unfortunately, all the names of part-time staff are kept on the computer. You need a supervisor’s key to unlock details. I slip him three hundred quid, and he assures me he can get me info on the mystery valet. It just might take time. As I walk away, I know this waiting around for someone to help tie up the missing dots and dashes as to who the guy is, has to be my last resort. Time seems achingly long. Pulled out and twisted into shapes I didn’t even know it was capable of holding. Elongated beyond all recognition without work or Clara to fill in the hours and make them sing.
Wandering back down the road, I realise I have nowhere to go. I could go home to my fish tank apartment. I could look down on the city from my terrace. Watch the world going on below me; all those people sitting in their gardens, planting tomatoes, blowing up paddling pools, while all the time my large plush terrace stands empty and alone, with just Johnny-no-mates to look out over the view, mocking me. No. I don’t want to do that. Then it hits me – Nelly. I’ll go talk to Nelly. Maybe he knows where Clara lives.
‘I can’t believe you let that one go.’ Nelly is up to his arms in dressing a woman. ‘Breathe in just one more tiny…’
The woman does as instructed, pulling air into her cheeks as Nelly fastens some kind of cord. The woman with the dark hair and photoshoot look smiles as she drops her skirts around her legs. ‘That should hold,’ she says, patting her hips.
‘Take fifteen, honey,’ Nelly says. ‘Just don’t eat, drink, or laugh.’
The woman nods before walking stiffly off towards God knows what possible pursuits have been left open to her.
‘Now.’ Nelly turns his attention back to my sorry face. ‘Clara. What did you do to piss that lovely young woman off so badly?’
‘Sorry?’ I have no idea where this is going.
‘At the gala.’ Nelly waves his hand as if these details are oh-so-pedestrian and boring. ‘She described the event as…’ He pauses. ‘Okay, these are her words, not mine.’
I nod, eager to hear anything she had to say.
‘A disaster,’ he says simply, with a finality I’m not keen on.
‘Disaster?’ I say, confused. ‘What exactly did she mean by disaster?’
‘Her words.’ Nelly shrugs. ‘I’d say disaster is one down on the enjoyment scale from total fuck-up and one up from Armageddon. So,’ he purses his lips, ‘well done, you.’
‘Not funny.’
In sympathy with Nelly’s garage-style leather couch, I sink deeper into my shoulders. I’m feeling so grouchy. If there was a bin, I’d climb right in.
‘She was lovely. Gorgeous. Sweet,’ Nelly says, plucking at the air with his hands as he delivers each adjective, just to lay the cuts that bit deeper.
‘Nelly, stop,’ I groan, placing my hands against my ears. ‘I feel like a total fuck-up. And they’ve kicked me out of the Towers.’
Nelly looks shocked. ‘You’re joking, right?’
I shake my head.
He grabs a seat with casters and scoots up to me; suddenly, the playfulness has vanished.
‘This missing voice,’ I say, feeling irritated, feeling as if I’ve gone through this so many times. Although, having said that, Betsy has given the narrative a whole new twist. ‘Betsy says that I coerced someone. Promised them a recording deal in return for…’
‘A shag?’ Nelly offers helpfully.
‘Yeah,’ I say.
‘Shit.’ Nelly’s permanent joy and animation seem to have slid. ‘But…’ His eyes narrow. ‘Not Clara? This has got nothing to do with Clara?’
‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘No.’ He looks thoughtful as he eases the cuticles down on his thin fingernails, mulling the whole thing over. ‘Cos, it’s clear she’s into you and that you’re into her.’
‘I’m not–’
Nelly throws his hands up in despair. ‘Best friend here. I know you…’ He waves one wand-like finger in front of my face in a circular motion. ‘Know you inside out and upside down. You are so into her.’
I’m feeling all the tells of a desperate man, and actually seriously not giving a fuck anymore.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and for one bliss-infused moment I think it’ll be her. Even though she’s never called me, and I’m not even sure she’s got my number, still… hope is a hard beast to dampen. I glance at the screen. Hope gets put out pretty damn quick.
