‘The food is non-existent, the owner often tells you he’s a dragon and the games need wiping down with a damp cloth. But it’s warm and quirky, like so much of Shepherd’s Bush.’
‘I can’t stay that long. But I do like a game of chess.’
‘Afternoon, Daisy, don’t do ought daft, will you?’ says Johnny, trying to mend a brokenStar WarsUNO box with a roll of Sellotape and an elastic band. I introduce Audrey, and with a wink, she promises to be sensible.
‘Talking of chess, I’ve felt like a king about to be taken by your rook all week,’ I say, when Johnny ambles off.
‘Really? I said my piece at the Happiness Fair and probably went too far. I haven’t come here to castle you,’ she replies.
‘I checkmated myself. I’ve thought about what you said at the fair and there’s truth in it. My model was a mix of Twitter philosophy, bucket list goals anyone could set and analyse, and degree modules that are probably out of date. I charged £500 a session because I put the wrong figure on my leaflet. Well, when I say “clients” it’s actually only Vince. I validate my life each day by checking how many people have retweeted me and have no friends and even less family to tell me to get over myself.’ I take another deep breath. ‘Also, the dog wasn’t mine, although he is now because I vastly overpaid for him. He may turn out to be psychotic.’
She sits back in her chair. ‘You come across well you know. Chatty, enthusiastic, obviously very bright. I was hard on you the other day. I was lashing out at quacks and you got the brunt of it. I won’t be exposing you in the paper or online. But I felt it needed to be said. What many people like you do is a red rag to people like me.’
‘A lot of your digging paid off. My surname’s not Blane.’
She shrugs. ‘My first name is plain Audrey. I wasn’t christened Aurora.’
‘It’s the only plain thing about you. Your hair is amazing.’
‘A wig I’m afraid. The chemo took mine. Thankfully, before the cancer almost took my life. So why did you change your name?’
‘To piss off my dad. It backfired when he didn’t even notice. Also, I really liked watching David Blaine’s YouTube videos. Magic is all about luck isn’t it, and I wanted some of his to rub off on me.’
‘Magic is all about trickery. Luck doesn’t come into it. I believe we make our own.’
‘Not always. Sometimes bad luck or misery is forced upon you by fate, or the limitations of your body or mind or circumstances. Or other people’s decisions. I used to think I could squirrel away good luck, save it for when I needed it. Much the same way as Vince believed he could buy happiness. But you can’t do either. They’re forces bigger than us.’
‘Vince wanted a magic pill to solve his problems. You went some way to providing it.’ She smiles. ‘Do you still believe you can sell happiness?’
‘I’m not sure I ever did. But Twitter thought I could, and Vince is still going on about how I changed his life. I’m going to pay him back by the way.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ she says. ‘By his own admission he’s a rich asshole. And he really believes you saved him.’
‘All I did all along was tell people they could be happy. Yet I couldn’t get there myself.’
‘Perhaps the secret of happiness is believing you are holding it in your hand. You should try some of your own positive visualisations.’
‘Aurora … Audrey … there’s a launch party tonight for a new hotel down the road. They’d love the publicity if you’d like to come too. It’s suitably controversial– they’ve turned a corner of Shepherd’s Bush Green into a red light district for Instagrammers.’
‘Nice invitation but I’ll pass. I’ve a date with a Ferrari, that’s why I came west. Nothing serious mind– its owner is going back to America soon.’
Chapter 37
On the way to the hotel, I tread carefully, avoiding some but not all of the cracks. The pull of the superstitions is too strong and I’ve had a lifetime to make them habitual. But I dropped some scissors yesterday and didn’t freak. And I don’t chase black cats anymore– mind you I have Doodle for that. I’m a lot less lonely in my flat with his madcap company.
There’s a crowd outside the Emojitel and I’m pleased for Kai. An artist has added wings to the trees in the front garden, and everyone is taking their selfies as angels, devils or butterflies. Inside, the place is sparkling with youth, making me feel about a hundred years old.
‘Did you invite the whole of the local high school?’ I ask Kai, when I manage to separate him from his phone.
‘It worked, Daisy.’ His eyes are shinier than I’ve ever seen them, and I suspect his high is natural. One of his mates is DJing in the corner, and there’s an incredible smell of garlic coming from somewhere. ‘We made it work. Joe’s in there,’ he says. ‘Can you see if you can calm him down?’
Joe is as unfiltered and handsome as ever, but his face is red and angry. Dressed in chef’s whites, a sheen of sweat lines his brow as he lifts and kneads ridiculously large circles of dough. I observe his hands, his long, olive-skinned arms, the odd freckle dotting about. And then my eyes move past a honed chest to his face.
Not my family, but my chance of having one?
Deep down I know he’s the only one for me. Perhaps I knew it when he handed me my first coffee, his full lips and crooked smile capturing my attention shortly before the aroma of a Brazilian blend grabbed my taste buds.
He looks up. He’s so cross there’s no room for awkwardness. ‘Your boss is a complete tosser.’
