London Calling (3 page)

My mum broke my maudlin thoughts with a timely knock on the door.

“Jess, can I come in?”

She poked her head round the door before I could answer, as was the pattern of my childhood. When she saw me still lying on the bed, she recoiled.

“You’re not dressed yet! I’m going to the shops in a bit and wondered if you wanted to come too?”

“Into town?”

“No, Sainsbury’s. Why don’t you come with me and we can buy you some food. I don’t know what you like to eat anymore and I want you to feel at home.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Jump in the shower then – half an hour?”

She closed the door and I knew she was right. I had to start moving and getting on with my life, not lying flat and procrastinating. I swung my legs off the bed and propelled my body upwards. First step in the process, food shopping.

I looked out the window to check on the weather – compared to Sydney, it looked like the ice age had cometh. I dressed appropriately in thick socks, T-shirt and my favourite red hoody. However, as soon as I stepped outside the front door and saw my breath running away from my body, I dashed back in and rescued my old work coat from the spare room wardrobe. It didn’t really go with my casual attire but right now warmth was my priority, not fashion.

CHAPTER SIX

I was early in town to meet Kate, full of the lasagne mum had cooked and wearing a jacket that I’d forgotten I had. I was looking for some shoes when I came across it and it immediately took me back to working at the call centre and late-night drinking sessions in Soho with my mates. There was even a stain on the side that was testament to my amazing durability back then.

Getting on the tube again was an experience too, having done it every day for six years and then not at all in Sydney. But now I was back in London, I’d have to get used to it again – the crowds, the smells, the elbowing. As we pulled into Oxford Circus I was sucked into a swathe of commuters and swept along towards the neon way out sign. A minute or so later I was spat out into the swirling central London winter air, infused with the smell of cigarettes, traffic fumes and hot nuts sold from tiny metal carts.

Being 20 minutes ahead of schedule, I decided to find the bar first. Once inside, I ordered a Heineken from a surly bartender in a black vest top who wasn’t as cute as she thought she was. I sat myself down at a table near the door so I wouldn’t miss Kate, but it was also good for people-watching. I was curious to discover what, if anything, had changed in my three years away.

I dimly recollected that London dykes had been more standoffish than those in Sydney, with hair and attitudes that could do you some serious damage. Sydney women had been more welcoming – or perhaps I’d thought that because I’d got a shag within ten days of landing there.

But today was a different day, a different time and perhaps my luck was about to change. My mind flicked through my Karen album as I thought this, so I took a swig of beer in a bid to cleanse the images.

If I was looking for evidence of a better scene, this bar was proof. It was cool but charming with a smart wooden bar and they’d got the lighting spot-on, keeping it low and intimate. I shifted in my seat, watching a couple of lesbians walk by hand in hand in the early evening sun. I smoothed myself down in an effort to ensure I was presenting a positive face of lesbianism through the bar window.

I clearly was, because two minutes later a cute, dark-haired woman walked in wearing a T-shirt that said ‘Treat Yourself: Take Me Home Tonight’. She flashed me a killer smile as she walked to the bar and I returned the favour. By the time Kate arrived 15 minutes later, I’d nearly finished my beer so I accepted her offer of another, along with a welcome hug.

“Great to see you – how are you?” she said. She set down two beers on the table before unwinding her enormous black scarf from around her neck. She slung a thick lumberjack-style jacket on the back of her chair before sitting opposite me.

“Surprisingly unjetlagged for now. How was your day?”

“Another day in publishing,” she said.

Kate was tall, slim and boyishly handsome. I’d seen pictures of her in her teens with the same flowing locks that her sister possessed but that was in the days before she realised she was a dyke. As soon as she’d acknowledged that, she’d chopped it off. Her hair was now stylishly cropped and peroxide blonde, framing her stand-out cheekbones and piercing green eyes perfectly. She was wearing dark blue jeans, a green shirt and white Converse boots.

“You’re looking well anyway – heartbreak obviously suits you. Or perhaps the Aussie climate? Whichever, give it a month and you’ll soon be looking pale and grey like the rest of us.”

“Try another week with my mum,” I said.

“How is the lovely Shirley?”

“She’s well. She sends her love by the way.” I shifted in my seat. “And you must have done something right because she was not-so-subtly telling me earlier that I could do worse than you – you’re a catch in my mum’s eyes.”

“She fancies me – I knew it!” Kate said.

“I think she might. If I went home tonight and told her it was on, she’d be thrilled.”

“Well, I have a plan to tease her beyond her limits – her and our delightfully coupled siblings. Ready?”

I nodded.

“You can come and live with me.”

“Okay – but you already have Roger the lodger if I’m not mistaken. And shouldn’t we at least have a drunken shag before I move in?”

Kate grinned.

“You’ve seen through my dastardly plan. Yes, at the moment I do still have Roger – but not for long. Dear old Rodge has been saving like a demon and bagged himself a shared ownership place. He didn’t think he’d have it for at least a few months but it’s going to be ready in five weeks. So if you can wait that long, the room’s yours.”

I thought about it for a millisecond.

“Sold, you’re a lifesaver. I’m sure I can cope at mum and dad’s till then,” I said. I pushed back my chair and stood up.

“Something I said?”

“Just nipping to the loo – beer runs straight through me.”

“Some things never change.”

When I got back, the cute T-shirt wearer I’d smiled at earlier was on her haunches chatting to Kate. When I sat down, she put her tanned hands on her thighs and stood up. She had short, dark hair, lucid hazel eyes and a transfixing smile. She was around 5ft 6 inches tall and wearing jeans that clung to all the right places.

I tried to stop my eyes assessing her too obviously but I think I failed. I was gratified to notice that she seemed to be doing the same to me too, lingering on my breasts before raising her smile to my face. Kate made the introductions.

“Jess – this is Lucy. This is my mate Jess who’s just traded in sunny Sydney for freezing London.”

“Nice to meet you. You’re from Sydney?” Lucy asked. I shook her outstretched hand.

“No – I’m a returning Brit.”

“Well, good to have one back here – there are far too many Aussies in London hitting on our women and drinking our beer.” She paused, then wrinkled her forehead. “Not that I’m complaining, some of them have been gorgeous…”

“Don’t worry, there are plenty of Brits in Sydney doing the same thing.”

She laughed at that.

“How long you been back?”

“Just landed yesterday.”

“Really? God, you’re doing well – I’d still be too jetlagged to even breathe.”

I smiled at her. She was so animated when she spoke and I felt an instant pull towards her.

“I’ve just moved back to my parents’ house so it tends to propel you into getting out and about a bit quicker.”

“I’m going in a few days, so maybe I can get some tips from you?”

“To Sydney?” I said. To say I was surprised was an understatement.

She nodded and her grin showed up a cute dimple in the side of her cheek.

“Absolutely,” I continued. “I can tell you where to go and, more importantly, where to avoid.”

“Excellent,” she said. A satisfied smile.

There was a slight pause in the world for me right there as I considered how she said ‘excellent’: it was warm and inviting.

“Anyway, I better get back to my friends,” she said, turning, breaking me from my train of thought and flicking her head towards a bunch of women at the bar.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” she added to Kate, “…and get the Sydney lowdown from you,” switching her gaze to me. “Nice to meet you, Jess.”

“You too,” I told her, to which she beamed.

I followed her retreating figure to the bar and she turned to smile at me, which made my stomach lurch. Recovering my poise, I took a swig of my beer and tried to adopt my poker face to Kate.

“So, how do you know her?” I asked. I wasn’t sure it was working.

Kate crossed her legs and assessed me.

“She’s a friend of Caroline’s – we’ve been out for drinks quite a few times.” She smiled at me before stroking her chin.

“She seems nice.”

“She is. Single too. And very available from what I remember her saying.”

I held up my hand, lying before I could stop the words tumbling out.

“I’m not looking – I’m off women, they’re poisonous.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No uh-huh about it.”

“Sure,” Kate said.

“Anyhow, crashing on, I have a message for you from your sister. She told me to tell you to stop being a dick to this new woman you’re seeing, who I take it is Caroline. I said I’d pass on the message.”

“She did, did she?”

“She did. So spill?”

“I think you know most of it. She’s called Caroline and she’s a nurse.”

“Handy for bedside manner.” I put my elbows on the table. “Where’d you meet?”

“Bijou – a monthly night just off the Strand. Vic thinks we’re serious just because I took her to babysit the boys last week but it’s early days. So just because I haven’t proposed marriage yet, she thinks I’m being a dick. I tell you, she’s so desperate for me to get married since it’s allowed now. I told her not everyone necessarily wants to do that but she doesn’t listen.”

“And how was the babysitting – did you get to first base?”

Kate rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you start. I had Vic and Jack giving me wide eyes when they got back. I think they expected ruffled beds and hickeys. We actually watched CSI and had a takeaway.”

“Did you touch her tits at least?”

“Enough! So anyway, you’re on for the flat then?” Kate said. The subject of Caroline was officially closed.

“How much?”

“£500 a month all in.”

“Sounds fine.”

“To us then?” Kate said, holding up her beer.

“To us,” I replied.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next morning I slept through till 11, lulled by alcohol and the knowledge I’d left a note for mum telling her not to wake me. Amazingly she complied so I awoke refreshed, if a little hungover. Kate and I had stayed at the bar till around 11 and Lucy had joined us for the last hour after her mates had left, where I’d discovered she was an optician by day and a wannabe drag king by night.

I told her about the Sydney shows and my ex and she was amused at the stories, although assured me that UK drag king shows weren’t quite as advanced. Unbelievably, she was heading out to Sydney for six weeks for an extended holiday and to take in Mardi Gras – bad timing on our part if we wanted to get to know each other better. She seemed pained when she told me that both her evenings before she departed were already accounted for, but she promised to look me up when she was back and fill me in on her time in the Harbour City.

I hoped she wasn’t lying as I could seriously get used to the way she looked at me, her gaze unerring as she listened intently to my stories, settling momentarily on my lips before looking me directly in the eye. Her raw intensity made me swallow down. Hard.

“Where are you staying?” I’d asked as Kate had got up to get the final round in as last orders rang out.

“I’ve got family near Bondi so I’m staying there at first, then meeting up with some friends and we’ve hired a flat for two weeks in the city. I’m really excited – never been before and I’ve always wanted to do Mardi Gras.” She’d paused to drain her beer.

“Is it as good as everyone says?”

“Mardi Gras?” I’d asked, stalling.

She’d nodded.

“Fantastic,” I’d said. This wasn’t the time to tell her I hated dressing up, parading and being proud. Instead, I’d described the Sydney party atmosphere, the vivid colours, the drink, the women. Actually, not so heavy on the women part, that was on a need-to-know basis.

“It’s a shame you don’t still live there. Maybe we would have met anyway,” she’d told me, her dimple standing out as she’d flashed me that smile again. She was intoxicating.

“Perhaps we would. At least, I hope we would have.”

Kate had arrived back with the beer, curtailing our flirting although Lucy’s eyes carried on surveying me. When it was kicking-out time, we’d made promises about meeting up when she was back and had exchanged numbers. Her hug goodbye was firm and I knew I wanted to see her again.

“Keep in touch – and see you in six weeks I hope,” I’d told her softly as we pulled away.

“Count on it,” she’d told me, kissing me on the cheek. Her breath that close had made my blood race and we both knew something had shifted as we stepped slightly unsteadily out of each other’s space, our gaze steady, our brains scrambled. I let out a deep breath remembering it even now.

As I lay in the guest room on day three of operation UK, the move somehow didn’t feel so catastrophic. Thanks to Kate I now had somewhere to live and had received a timely ego boost from a sexy woman – how my mother would swoon over an optician. Actually, who was I kidding? I’d swoon too, although perhaps not so much over her occupation and more over her. My mother would have swooned over Karen’s TV exec badge too, but that was not to be.

I reminded myself to concentrate on the present and not the past as I went downstairs for breakfast. As my self-help ahoy friend Kevin used to say, if you’ve got one foot in the future and one foot in the past, you’re pissing all over your present. I certainly didn’t want to do that.