As I prepare to leave the house, I glance at the hall mirror, positioned according to my feng shui books for maximum good vibes. I don’t predict any luck coming my way in the immediate future and I am far from being the fairest of them all. In the bright fluorescent light of a badly lit hallway, this creature with unicorn hair is an insubstantial, brittle thing. You can almost see through her.
Chapter 23
I feel better after a night’s sleep. While getting dressed, I pick up a message from Vince with a link to an article about him in theLondon Gazette. He’s delighted with how he’s been portrayed and tells me I may do well out of it too. I click on the link, and a portrait of the handsome American loads onto my screen. In the body of the copy, Vince talks about his new series and how it made him reassess his opinion of the law profession. He mentions the therapising he has been undergoing in recent weeks and chews over his dramatic withdrawal from his show and public life. I cringe at the therapy word, still stung by Aurora’s charlatan accusation, but brighten when he calls me his ‘amazing personal happiness guru’. The headline is ‘Almost Happy’.
There’s a promo at the end of the article for my column and when I check theGazette’s inbox I find quite a few new queries. There’s also quite a bit more interaction on my Twitter feed.
As I prepare to leave, I bump into Eva, also up and dressed, but not for work. ‘Kai said take morning off.’
‘Exhausted after all your winking face and aubergine fun at the Emojitel last night? He’ll probably take a whole week off to get over it.’ I meant to keep it light.
‘I try to work out if you are jealous or tiny minded,’ she fires back and I don’t mention the same thought passed through my mind a few nights ago.
Instead, I correct her word choice. ‘Small minded.’
‘Small mind and small spirit.’ She says it so vehemently her spit lands in my face.
‘Get over yourself, Eva. I hope you had fun in the upside-down smiley face suite, the mermaid spa or wherever place you chose to get horny with his budget emojis but what you do with that man is of zero interest to me so I’m hardly jealous of your relationship,’ I say, as her attitude is starting to irritate me.
‘I show interest in you! Every week when we do shot put for litter bin Olympic with old business plan, drink wine making new business plan or watch bad movie about people with arm hanging off. And always support Happiness Fair, where to have it and who to invite.’ She moves her arms to her chest and crosses them firmly. ‘Support Joe too. Every time you ask if he have girlfriend or wife, if picture in coffee is sexy, if kiss was terrible. Kai bad boss but give you job. Kai pretend to not notice strange behaviour. No problem when damage wall with screwdriver taking mirror down, shout at guest to put down umbrella in reception, always look for third accident, and want day off on Friday thirteen. Also turn blind eye when set up coaching business in work time and do social media instead of clean toilet.’
Eva remains still, legs apart, hands on hips. Watching me. Waiting for a reply. Her words sink in. Am I a bad person? I try to analyse why I hate Kai so much and have an epiphany. He reminds me of my dad. Neglectful. Unable to acknowledge his responsibilities. Not showing up to support those in his care. But Kai is not my father and has no allegiance to me. Have I been unfair? Should I be more accommodating of their relationship?
I think about saying sorry, but my words become bullets, lodged in my throat and trapped by a safety catch.
The caretaker of the hall is a man in his eighties who vaguely resembles Peter O’Toole. He proudly punches a code into his new security system before showing me a high-tech sound system and declaring his toilets are the cleanest in London. When I’ve admired the porcelain, I explain more about my needs. He becomes excited, leading me back into the main hall. ‘This part of the room will be perfect for the stalls, and we can unearth some furniture from behind the stage for your panel sessions. There are a couple of small rooms you can use for consultations, and we have new teapots now and a proper boiler for hot water.’
The huge teapots swing it. Eva has volunteered to look after refreshments, and I know she will love them. We agree on a date and he gives me his details so I can pay the hire fee. He tells me his wife is on the committee of a mental health charity who might like to work with me. As we part, he is ringing her and selling her the event.
On the way back, I hear the opening notes of ‘Your Song’ and sigh. My father has more than thirty London boroughs to choose from, with all manner of streets and stations and shopping centres, yet here he is again, singing his little heart out on my patch. Using a trusted and well-worn loop pedal, he starts laying down tracks like a prehistoric Ed Sheeran, rewarded only by a youth chucking a hash brown into his guitar case. By the time he starts riffing with his guitar there’s a stream of people going past, all ignoring him. He is used to that; he was always a jobbing musician and never complained he didn’t make it big. Yet his lacklustre career was still more important to him than I was. As I near the Tube, I narrowly avoid walking under a ladder, deciding my neighbourhood is becoming a hazardous place to live. And that’s before you count the man serving coffee at the top of my road, who might hurt me most of all. I jump on the Tube to Holland Park, where everything is safer.
I’ve learnt I can guess Vince’s mood from the way he opens the front door. Today, he flings it back and hoovers me into a hug before bounding into the house. ‘I got myself a present, but I don’t know how to make it talk,’ he says, knowing I will pick up on the Brucie reference. ‘I downloaded Guitar Tricks but it’s way beyond me. Like trying to teach a three-legged pony to win the Grand National. Did you know loads of the world’s best pop songs use the same four chords?’
‘I did actually. “Two Become One”, “You’re Beautiful”, “Poker Face”, “Barbie Girl” …’
‘You watched that YouTube video too?’ He grins again. ‘Shall we list them all together?’
It would be hard to miss the shiny red Gibson. This brand has a curve and shape I admire as my dad has something similar. No beginner’s instrument for this TV star.
‘Why have you bought a guitar?’
‘A birthday present to myself. You told me having an interest that I pursue regularly can give me a long-term goal, and provide dopamine hits to improve my mood. So here we go– a new and shiny hobby.’
I smile. ‘You were listening.’ He picks up the guitar and strums it. ‘It’s out of tune. Pass it over …’ I say.
I take the instrument, placing my fingers lightly on the strings, demonstrating a simple pick for the chord of D. ‘This guitar is basically sex. But it definitely needs tuning. Wait a moment.’ I pull out my phone, select an app and quickly make it sound better. I then strum a D minor 7, followed by a G, an E minor, an A minor and A7. ‘That’s a quick tune in the chord of D. It’s a little bit tricky to get your head around at first but you’ll pick it up. Once you’ve mastered that I can show you the Travis pick if you’d like.’
His eyes light up. ‘I’d love to learn the Travis pick. You didn’t tell me you played.’
‘I don’t. How is being fifty?’
‘Reviews for the new show are still fabulous, although people can only stream one episode at a time of my unrivalled awesomeness. I’ve apparently made Sunday night TV a thing again.’
‘I didn’t ask about your reviews. I asked about the mental health of the man behind the role.’
‘Did you like it?’
‘I haven’t watched it,’ I tell him, crossing my fingers behind my back. If I admit to having seen it, his vanity will demand a whole hour dissecting the nuances of his performance and I want to crack on with the session.
