‘Um, as much … fun … as that sounds, I’m not sure my infant son will appreciate an epic house party. I’m sorry, Jess. I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to stay. Good luck, though. We’re actually having abirthdayparty for Henry in August. I’d love for him to meet his auntie Jessica. I’ll text you the details nearer the time, shall I?’
‘Oh! Yeah, definitely…’ I say, feeling itchy at the words ‘auntie’ and ‘Jessica’ in the same sentence. ‘Sounds great!’
Not.
We end the conversation a tad stiffly, and I scroll frantically through the rest of my phone book. I call each of the people I consider to be my closest mates, but it turns out to be one bloody disaster after the next. Emily, who I met in Tunisia, is far too busy to put me up because of her high-pressure job as a human rights lawyer. Callum, a web design buddy, is properly mad at me for forgetting to answer his texts, especially after we slept together last new year. And my good mate Michelle, the bisexual bass guitar player, turns out to not want to be good mates any more, since apparently I’m nottherefor her enough ‘when it comes to the real, meta issues’ in her life.
‘I’ll have a tequila, straight up, please,’ I say to Skanky Elaine. She yanks her eyes away from the telly and idly pours one out into a little shot glass.
‘Bit early in the day for tequila, eh, love? Sommat troubling you?’ She hands over the drink with a bony hand missing its little finger. I down it and nod towards the bottle for an immediate top-up.
‘This is a tequila emergency,’ I declare. ‘My friends have deserted me, I have less than a hundred quid in the bank, I lost my job and I think I might be homeless.’
Skanky Elaine looks horrified, which oddly makes me feel a bit better. I take the refilled glass from her.
‘You know, I just don’t see what everyone’s problem is. Folk have different friends for different things, don’t they? They knew what I was like when they met me. I’m the carefree, fun, adventurous buddy, not the talk-about-your-emotions-and-cry-like-a-chump friend. Why do people suddenly expect me to be a different person? I’m no good with all that daft touchy-feely stuff.’
Skanky Elaine shrugs as I knock back the shot, her eyes flicking back up to the TV. ‘Just go and live with your mam and dad for a bit, flower,’ she says, as if it’s all so simple. ‘They’ll sort you out.’
I sigh. ‘I can’t. That’s the problem! My mum died yonks ago. I’ve never met my dad. All I know is that he was a horrible trickster of a bloke who left my mum before I was even born and broke her heart into a million pieces, from which she never recovered.’ I shake my head and down another shot. ‘I was planning on travelling the world again, but that’s all gone to pot now! Maaan.’
‘You poor love.’
Downing the next shot, I feel a satisfying warmth in my cheeks and everything softens around the edges. I examine Skanky Elaine. She seems nice. Not that skanky at all.
‘Can I stay with you at your house, Skanky Elaine? I could help out at the bar? I’ve always thought it’d be quite cool to live in a pub.’
‘No, love,’ she says. ‘I don’t think so.’
I nod and hiccup, graciously accepting her rejection. ‘Can I have another drink then?’
‘There’s an offer on doubles, love.’ She points up to the blackboard signage behind her.
‘Brill. Hit me up.’
She pours out the double. ‘Do you not have an auntie you can go to, duck? A granny? A godmother? A cousin? An ex?’
I shake my head. ‘Nope. I don’t have anyone.’ I sigh. ‘I’m a loner. All alone in this stone-cold worl … Oh, although … I think I do have a grandma, actually. Or at leasht Idid. I’ve never met her. I don’t even know if she’s alive. I mean, she wasn’t at Mum’s funeral . . . at least, I don’t remember seeing her there, but then I don’t remember a whole lot about that day. Matilda, I think her name was… Thas right. Matilda Beam.’
‘You don’t even know your own granny? That’s bloody sad, that is, flower.’ Skanky Elaine gives a grimace, revealing a set of matt, green-tinged teeth and what I suspect is the reason for her nickname.
I rub my eyes, starting to feel a bit drunk. ‘Yeah, I s’pose it is sad.’ She and Mum never spoke, though I’m not sure why, come to think of it. ‘’pparently Grandma was shuper-rich, lived in this massive, fancy house in—’
Wait a minute.
I quickly grab my iPhone back out of my jacket and connect to the Internet browser with suddenly shaking hands. It takes me a little while because the tequila has made my fingers clumsy, but after three attempts I finally manage to google ‘Matilda Beam + Kensington’
The 192 website pops up. I click on it and scroll down blearily.
Gasp. There’s a Matilda Beam! Living at somewhere called Bonham Square in Kensington. The electoral roll shows the year 2014 as the most recent one registered and the age seventy-seven. That’s got to be her. Ithasto be. Matilda Beam is hardly a common name.
‘You fucking genius,’ I breathe, digging into my jeans pocket for some money.
‘What’s that, love?’ Skanky Elaine says, one gammy eye on Kirstie Allsop simpering into the camera.
‘You, you’re a – hic − geniush. You’re absolutely right. Idohave a Grandma. An alive Grandma. And I think, well, I think she might be loaded. Man, I should have thought of this ages ago! Wow, I wonder how much time I’ve wasted.’ I hurriedly pay the bar bill and hop down off the bar stool with a wobble. ‘She’ll be able to lend me some money. A loan or sommat. I’ll be able to go travelling straight away. I’ll go to flippin’ Jamaica! Yasssss! I’m going to go home, pack an overnight bag and catch the train back to London right away. There ish no time to lose.’
‘Hmmm.’ Skanky Elaine frowns. ‘You’ve had a fair amount to drink, love. You sure this is the best idea?’
