‘Right.’ He narrowed his eyes and looked around at the empty patch of park. ‘Is she a squirrel?’
He needed breakfast. I needed the ear of a stranger. Over bacon sandwiches in an overpriced café I spilled the news she’d left me an inheritance, payable when I turned eighteen. The money came from a property her parents owned in Battersea.
‘I’m jealous. My dad’s still alive and I have to suck up to him for God knows how many years to get my loot. You just had to stay alive long enough to bag yours.’
‘I didn’t ask for it,’ I replied, irritation creeping in at his snarky comments. ‘I didn’t even know about it until I got a letter. And I’m unsure of how to spend it. I could really do with a place of my own but it’s a chance to go to university too. I often ask my mum for advice during our park chats but as she died almost eighteen years ago I don’t get many answers. My dad’s useless and will try and persuade me to share it even though he’d waste it on guitars and girlfriends, and probably try and buy a tour bus.’
He took a bite of a veggie bacon sandwich. ‘My maternal did a bunk too. They do tend to be a bit out of touch after the first decade underground. If it was me I wouldn’t bother with the education– you should go and have fun with your money. Working in London is tedious beyond belief and should be avoided until you are old. I’d rather DJ at a bad wedding with all the world’s dad dancers than spend the winter managing the bunch of zero hours drones who work under me. But sadly, as I said, I have to suck up to my father. Oh, and if you take the degree option and want some work on the side, we always need people. The pay and conditions are appalling but there’s a YO! Sushi nearby and the rooms are small so don’t take long to clean.’ He reached into his pocket and gave me a card for his DJ business. ‘You can call me on that. But don’t ever, ever, phone before 6 p.m.’ I took him up on his offer the following winter. I’d laid down the deposit on a shoebox flat and could also afford to do a psychology degree if I worked at weekends and evenings to supplement my income.
Eva brings me back into the room by banging the nacho jar on the table. ‘Please support me, Daisy, like I support you. Need to let go of old Kai and see new Kai and accept new Kai is boyfriend now. What if I say bad things about Joe? You like it then?’
‘I’m not in a relationship with Joe.’
She throws her hands into the air in frustration. ‘Why not?’
‘Not this again. Not because I’m afraid to love him or shag him or even stab him if we are still playing that game, but because he thinks my kissing sucks.’ I may have raised my voice a little too loud as Johnny Jones wanders over in his sandals to hear us more clearly.
She picks up the dice and rolls. ‘Kiss fine. Kai fine too.’
I snort. ‘Kai is always fine.’
She raises her voice. ‘Kai manage debt of father. Too many property not make money.’
‘But Magik Kube …’
‘Magik Kube close if loss not turn into profit. His father cannot let go of past. My mother cannot let go of past. You cannot let go of past!’
She tips the board over.
Hotels and properties fly everywhere. Johnny is on it like a Yorkshire bonnet. ‘Er, I said don’t do …’
‘Ought daft? Sorry.’
I pinch my hand, trying to recall feeling good, on the green only hours ago, when I decided happiness was moving on.
‘Tell Kai I will meet him at the new hotel tomorrow. I’ll need a hard hat.’
‘Because of hard head?’ Her joke isn’t funny, but we smile. When Johnny wanders away she tucks her Get Out of Jail Free cards into her bra. ‘For luck,’ she says.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t shop you. I stole the cat in 2019. I keep it in my knicker drawer. And it’s not even black.’
Chapter 20
Kai has smartened himself up– even his super-skinny jeans seem less frayed. We meet outside his new hotel, bright and early the following Monday morning. My phone immediately rings and I apologise. ‘I’m organising a big party for a client.’
He looks impressed as I ask a specialist if they can set me up a champagne tower of a hundred crystal glasses, to make the toast go with a bang.
‘Perhaps we should have something like that for our launch,’ he says as we walk through the front gate, ‘but with beer or cider to appeal to the backpackers. Now don’t be put off by the exterior,’ he says. ‘It’s very different inside, as you’ll soon see.’
‘Right, son, I don’t have long,’ says a middle-aged man dressed in beige golfing trousers and a pink shirt who is marching towards us.
‘I was due to meet thepadre, so I thought you could have an inspection tour together,’ Kai mutters.
I turn to the older man. ‘You’re his dad?’
‘Father and son– the two things do generally go together,’ says Kai drily.
I thought his father was Japanese? I expected a gentle man in a suit who took off his shoes to cross the threshold. But this dad has hamster cheeks, a shock of almost white hair and magnolia trainers clearly ordered from a catalogue specially designed for people who put comfort above absolutely everything else. He’s also wearing rather a lot of jewellery; a gold watch hangs off his wrist like it needs adjusting.
