‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m a hermit.’
‘You have a son. You have an agent. You have a massive Facebook group of fans.’ When he doesn’t answer, I push him further. ‘You have a life? It’s worth a glass of cheap fizz and a slice of cake with friends, surely.’
‘I don’t do cheap fizz.’
My stomach tightens as we walk down the path back to the tree Vince chose. I’ve been looking for my personal definition of happiness, and I wonder if I just found it in a yellow ribbon, tied to a tree on a glorified roundabout. Could it be the simple act of moving on?
‘My birthday is a crossroads too, of course,’ he says, as we stand together watching it flapping in the wind– a symbol of loss, and missing someone, and perhaps a symbol of waiting for them to properly depart.
When he turns back to me, I note the shadows have lifted from his face. ‘I’ll consider a party if you’ll help me organise it.’ He nods, to tell me our session is over, before striding down the path.
‘Actually, Vince,’ I call after him. ‘While we are talking about the crossroads I would like you to consider taking the first step down a new road. You haven’t sold your soul to the devil, but I think he might be consuming your liver.’ He looks confused. ‘Take the first step … of twelve?’
His face hardens and he picks up the pace.
I take out my phone, capture the yellow ribbon for a motivational tweet, and then delete it. This moment is not for sharing. So I text Eva instead.
Fancy some fun when u finish work?
Chapter 19
The owner of All Aboardonce charged people by the hour for time spent in his shop before realising it was putting off his main clientele– students who wanted to play Carcassonne all day while nursing a coffee. These days Johnny Jones charges a flat fee for a whole afternoon or evening, drinks and snacks not included. He’s often told us with fondness how it used to be ‘tinternet café’. Johnny is from Yorkshire and his manners are from another century. He likes to teach you the rules of a game, in a long and drawn-out way, even if you know it inside out. Today, he is wearing a Roman centurion’s outfit and laying out the board for Monopoly. ‘I saw you walk past to buy your sustenance. Feel free to imbibe but don’t do ought daft afterwards, will you?’
Johnny says ‘don’t do ought daft’ to anyone who asks him to take the top off a beer, as though they might knock it back and immediately try to smash up his VintageGuinness Book of RecordsMagnetic Ask and Answer Game. To alleviate his worries, he charges twenty pence for corkage. The deal is that for less than a tenner, a couple can bring a picnic, stay warm and amuse themselves with ten different versions of Monopoly all night. I settle down to gossip and game, sure Vince would disapprove of our pathetic attempt at nachos– basically a bag of tortillas and a jar of ready-made salsa.
Eva and I chat about my various projects while laying out the cards for our favourite game. I confess I’m nervous about the upcoming Ally Pally gig.
‘I didn’t realise how big the well woman conference was when I agreed to speaking at it. Thankfully I’m scheduled for lunchtime when most people will be taking themselves off to Costa for a cheese and ham panini.’ Eva clears the Monopoly board once, collects her money for passing Go, then lands on the Old Kent Road without buying it.
‘OK, what’s up? You never pass up the chance to bag a cheap property.’ When she doesn’t reply, I roll the dice again and it falls on a double two. When she gets her third double in a row she tries to produce a Get Out of Jail free card from a different set, claiming she picked it up earlier.
‘Oh no you didn’t. If you’re not careful you’ll get us thrown out for contravening the “don’t do ought daft” rule.’ She is wearing her favourite everlasting lipstick, the one she said was pillow proof when she sold me five colours.
She sulks for a bit and then crosses her arms. ‘Man not tell me about allergy to chocolate. Give chocomocho massage as special treat. Face puff up like anti-snore pillow. Also, Mama have bills. Need to send more money home.’
‘Ask Kai for a raise.’
‘Not possible.’
‘Even when you give him a happy ending in the spa when he’s supposed to be manning the desk?’
‘Daisy!’ She slams her miniature iron on the board, and despite her grumpy mood, I’m surprised at this level of anger. ‘What is problem with him?’
‘What isn’t the problem with him? He’s a lazy, self-opinionated, record-playing lizard.’
‘You never give him chance. He give you job.’
That much is true. I met Kai, king of decks, in Kensington Gardens when I was seventeen. I’d just found out about my inheritance, and was having an animated, one-sided conversation with Mum about what I should do with it.
My feet struck his body.
‘Ouch, watch what you are doing!’ said a young skinny bloke without looking up. He was using his jumper as a pillow and a bush as a shelter. When I asked why he was lying there, he sleepily told me his DJ shift went on till 4 a.m. last night. ‘Tried to make it to the Kube but got too tired and had to take a nap. Anyway, why are you talking to yourself?’
‘I’m actually speaking with my mother.’
