19th April — Ten Days Earlier
It was a sparse room. A mottled mattress lay slouched upon the floor to the right of the entrance, and an old wooden chair sat by the plain, rectangular windows, staring out above the high street. The walls were off-white colour having not seen the touch of a paintbrush for more than two decades, and the cream carpet was so worn, it may as well not have been there. At the far end of the room, a clothes rail on four little black wheels stood, only half doing its job.
Directly opposite the window was the other door to this bedsit, leading into what can only be described as a cupboard masquerading as a kitchen. The work surface had a single hob camping stove perched upon it and there was nothing else except a sink. Along the back edge of the work surface stood a single box of cornflakes, a bowl, some cutlery, two mugs and a carton of sweetened soya milk. An energy saving bulb hung from the ceiling, as did one in the living area. To the left, there was another door and this, in turn, led to the smallest shower room in the world.
Evie Potts was sitting on the little wooden chair, staring out at the world over her pearl white bowl of steaming noodles. She focussed upon faces in the street below, as she twirled the boiled food upon her fork and put it into her mouth without giving it much thought. Outside the day was warm, but Evie had the window closed and her red cardigan on, looking more suited to a bitter winter’s day.
By and large she ignored the women, unless one of them sparkled in an outfit that took her attention, but mostly she watched the men. She was searching, seeking out a certain young man. For years, ever since she was an adolescent, she had been looking, expecting him to come into her life at any given moment. Now she was twenty six, and still searching. Finishing the noodles, she placed the bowl and fork on to the thin carpet without taking her view from the street.
The knock upon the flat door was hard and concise. Raising from the chair, Evie accidently kicked the empty bowl and fork across the room and into the mattress. ‘Shit!’ she yelped, running to the door.
A flight of neck-breaking steep stairs awaited Evie as she peered down to see Joel’s frosted silhouette waiting behind the door. ‘Hold on!’ she called, gripping the wooden rail that helped her to descend safely.
As Evie came to the door, she couldn’t help but remember the first time she set eyes upon her best friend, Joel Marks. He wasn’t the tallest guy in the world, around five-nine, but he was, to her and everybody else at that party, deliriously good-looking. Blonde and ruggedly handsome, Joel was the centre of attention. Nobody could take their eyes off him, and he was also blessed with the gift of the gab. Evie thought him the perfect man. Until she got to know him, of course.
Joel’s angry face greeted Evie when the door was opened, yet within a second of seeing his best friend, his anger melted, replaced by a softness and empathy. ‘What have you done?’ he asked, after their long embrace.
‘Come in, I‘ll explain everything,’ she teased, and Joel followed her in, closing the door behind himself.
Seeing the stairs that he now had to climb, Joel paused. ‘Do I climb them all at once, or is there a base camp or something?’
‘Very funny,’ Evie replied without stopping her ascent.
‘I’m serious,’ Joel mocked as he climbed. ‘Shouldn’t I have an oxygen mask, or something?’
Raising her eyebrows as she approached the halfway point, Evie stopped. ‘You? Thermals?’
‘Just get the kettle on,’ Joel ordered with a wave of his hand.
Continuing her ascent, she apologised. ‘No kettle, I’m afraid.’
‘And I suspect you only have soya?’ Joel growled and Evie nodded.
‘You invite me over without a whiff of full cream and expect me to stay?’ Joel was not impressed by his host and feigned a retreat.
‘Please, Joel!’ Reaching the top, Evie held out her hand, and after a moment of reflection, Joel took it and together they entered the flat.
Standing at the entrance, Joel’s smooth, tanned chin dropped. He leaned against the doorway whilst Evie went straight to the kitchen area and filled the pot with water to boil. ‘Are you kidding me?’ Flabbergasted, he staggered into the room. ‘What on earth possessed you to live here? If you can call here, “living.”’
‘I’ve been looking for him,’ Evie joined Joel, her eyes bright with prospects. ‘He’s close, I know it.’
‘Are you talking about who I think you’re talking about?’ he asked.
Evie nodded.
‘So, you haven’t found him yet?’ Joel looked around the room, concerned.
‘Not yet.’
‘Thank God for that!’ He pulled her back in for a hug and took a deep breath. ‘For a minute I thought the man of your dreams was a squatter!’
‘You’re unbelievable!’ She declared from the warmth of his chest.
‘I know,’ Joel congratulated himself.
‘It wasn’t meant as a compliment.’ Evie looked up at him and they parted.
Joel was frowning. ‘Your mum’s been worried sick. She said you just upped and left without as much as a goodbye. What’s going on in there?’ he asked, stubbing a finger towards her head.
‘I told her I’d be in touch in a couple of weeks,’ sighed a disgruntled Evie.
‘Well, what about me? I thought you’d been…’ He trailed off, unable to say it. ‘We have been worried sick,’ he continued, ‘I must have texted you a hundred times, you heartless cow.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I suppose I just got a little obsessed.’
‘I agree.’ Joel took another look around, making his way to the window, peering out. Then, circling the room, he turned to his girlfriend, arms wide.
‘Why?’ he asked.
Evie smiled. ‘I’ve been waiting months for this place to become available,’ she said, her face beaming.
‘That doesn’t answer the question,’ Joel tentatively peered into the kitchen, as he approached her again.
‘This,’ she gestured to the room, ‘this used to be my…You’re in my bedroom.’ Stepping over to the window, Evie peered down. ‘There wasn’t always an electrical shop below. It was my home. And down there,’ she pointed, reminiscing. ‘Down there was not always the high street. Well, it had three shops. A grocer, a butcher and a tobacconist.’
Evie faced Joel, who by now was intrigued by Evie’s intentions. He smiled and nodded his support. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Tell me more.’
Evie explained to Joel that the landlord of the property was willing to allow her to redecorate the flat to her own liking, as long as she returned it to its “original state” when her tenancy was up.
‘And what a state!’ Joel couldn’t help but add.
‘I need you to help me,’ Evie said, placing the palms of her hands together, mock begging.
‘Yeah, like I’ve got all the time in the world at the moment,’ Joel protested, all the while knowing that his love for Evie would always cause him to give in.
‘But this is a special project,’ she went on. ‘You’ve got contacts in the TV world, yeah?’
Joel couldn’t believe that Evie would remember that! ‘Imran was two years ago!’ he said, his voice high. ‘It was a fling. A rebound from Luke. I doubt if he’d even remember me!’
Evie shook her head, disagreeing. ‘Now, you know as well as I do that when a man meets Joel Marks, he never forgets him.’
Joel nodded, his ego taking off into the stratosphere. ‘You’re right, so right!’ he grinned. ‘What on earth,’ said Joel, stepping out of his own sunshine, ‘would you need Imran for?’
‘I thought he worked in the props department at the BBC?’ she asked, vaguely recalling.
‘Did he?’ Joel tried to hide his knowledge, but Evie was having none of it.
‘Would you call him for me?’
Joel took out his i-phone and went through his contacts list. After a few seconds, he shrugged and lowered the phone. ‘Must have deleted him.’
Evie clasped her hands together even tighter than before. ‘I promise to buy a kettle if you help me to do this.’
The i-phone came out again and Joel thumbed up Imran’s number. ‘Only for you,’ he said.
They took a taxi across London at Joel’s insistence. Evie agreed, knowing that his salary as an area manager for a chain of mobile phone shops would easily swallow the cost.
Forty three minutes later, Joel was leading Evie into The Lord Nelson public house in Bayswater. The modern lounge, with its LED lighting and strobe lights glowing behind the bar, was empty apart from two young men sat drinking bottled beer. The barman, Clive, a middle aged bald man with long thin grey sideburns came over to Joel, who shook his hand. ‘Joel, you ol’ devil!’ he cheered.
‘Clive, you beauty,’ replied Joel. ‘Married yet?’ It was clear to Evie that Clive was very happy to see her best friend.
‘You haven’t asked me!’ The Barman’s eyes sparkled, obviously smitten by Joel.
Evie rolled her eyes, as Joel looked about. ‘Imran been in recently?’ he asked, and Clive nodded.
‘The boy lives here, ever since you dumped the poor bugger.’ Clive began to pour Joel a pint without being asked. ‘Yeah, he’s in here most nights. Unless he’s away filming.
‘Welcome back, Evie.’ Clive smiled at the pretty girl still by the entrance. ‘Still drinking Pernod and black?’
‘Yep,’ Evie said, coming to the bar. ‘Still trying to keep the eighties alive.’
Clive placed the pint of bitter before Joel, who handed over a five pound note. ‘See you’re still paying in the eighties,’ Clive took down the Pernod bottle.
Joel placed the blue note back into his wallet and drew out a ten, holding it up to Clive. ‘Miss Austen, okay with you?’
Evie’s drink was put upon the coaster before her. Clive took the ten from Joel. ‘That’ll do,’ he said, turning to the till.
Joel and Evie toasted in silence, and before he could take a sip, Imran Sharif entered the lounge. Joel paused, the pint glass to his lips. Evie noted the slight wobble of his hand, and the liquid spill. She turned to see Imran coming towards them, dressed in black jeans, Tee shirt and jean jacket.
‘OMG!’ Clive squealed, ‘It is the nineteen eighties! Quick, put “Wake me up before you go go” on the jukebox!’
Twenty-three year old Imran pointed at Clive. ‘Put a pint on the bar!’ he said in his Geordie tones, before strolling across to Joel, offering a hug.
‘Splitting don’t mean never calling again,’ Imran berated. ‘I left a dozen voice-mails,’ he went on. ‘Not one reply. Git.’ Joel could only apologise.
Imran gave Evie a kiss on the cheek. ‘He’s in love with you, you know,’ Imran told Evie, but she shook her head. ‘It’s true. No one has a place in Joely’s heart like you. I’m so jealous.’
The three of them finished their greetings before taking their drinks over to a table in the corner. Joel and Evie sat opposite Imran, who seemed confident and relaxed during their chat. Joel on the other hand, Evie noticed, was constantly fidgeting with his mobile that he had placed upon the table.
Finally, after ten minutes of idle talk and anecdotes, Imran asked why on earth Joel had wanted to see him after two years apart. ‘It’s because of her,’ Joel thumbed at Evie.
Evie wrinkled her nose and bit her tongue, ignoring Joel’s reply. ‘I’m looking to decorate my new flat,’ she leaned forward, blocking Joel from her periphery.
Imran glanced at Joel, who was now staring down at his mobile. ‘You waiting for a call?’ He pointed at the i-phone being toyed with.
Joel grabbed the mobile and then put it back down. ‘This?’ he asked, ‘No. No.’
Imran smiled a thin smile. ‘Well, you haven’t stopped playing with it since we sat down. If you want to make a call, make it. It’s fine.’
Evie threw a cold glance at Joel, who pocketed the mobile and shook his head again. ‘Anyway, as I was about to say…’ She punched Joel lightly on the shoulder, as Imran sniggered. ‘I’m decorating my flat and, I was wondering, Imran, if you could help me?’
Imran pondered for a moment. ‘You understand I already have a job? Albeit as a slave to a bastard in a roll neck jumper.’
‘Nathan still wearing that brown jumper?’ Joel piped up. ‘Christ, it must smell like it looks!’ Both men, like little boys, burst into laughter and Evie began to wonder if she was going to get a serious answer to anything today.
‘So,’ Imran returned his attention to the question Evie had thrown at him. ‘You need a decorator, and you came to me?’ Slyly he looked back at Joel, knowing there must be ulterior motives.
Evie cottoned on at once to what Imran was thinking and waved his thoughts away. ‘No, no,’ she said, as Joel began to catch up to the dialogue. ‘It’s not a decorator I’m after.’ She placed the palm of her hand on her forehead and smiled at Imran. ‘I’m after a specialist.’
‘She’s gone crazy,’ Joel interrupted, swigging his beer.
‘I’m confused,’ said Imran, drinking some more.
‘I noticed you worked on that docu-drama about evacuees during world war two?’ Evie could almost see Imran’s eyes rolling like marbles in their sockets. ‘You are a set designer?’
Joel wrapped an arm around Evie’s shoulders. ‘What Evie’s trying to say is, she wants her flat decorated nineteen forties sty-lee. Can you do it?’
Imran asked why and was told, by Joel, that it was Evie’s passion era. ‘She loves it,’ he concluded.
‘I can’t just conjure the materials up, you do know that don’t you?’ Imran finished his beer and, waving over to Clive, asked for another round. ‘It costs money.’
‘But that’s why we’ve come to you,’ Joel leaned forward, working his charm. ‘I know you have an Aladdin’s cave of treasure. You already have the material.’
Imran shook his head, ‘I can’t just waltz on into BBC stores with a shopping trolley! Questions’ll be asked. I’d lose my job!’ He seemed genuinely worried.
‘I never took you for a job’s worth,’ Joel challenged with a wry smile.
‘I am not a job’s worth, you tosser!’ Imran snapped at Joel, who had hit the raw nerve that he’d aimed for.
Evie apologised for Joel’s remark, scowling at him all the while. Yet, Joel allowed all of their comments to whizz by over his head. ‘Can you help us. Point us in the direction that we need to go in? Finding wallpaper, or ornaments?’ he asked.
Imran shrugged. ‘I could ask Nathan,’ he conceded, before folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. ‘Why on earth does somebody decorate their flat to a forties spec?’ Imran wondered aloud.
‘If you hang about and give us a hand and you might just find out,’ teased Joel.
As the next round of drinks arrived, Imran promised to research the possibility of finding materials. Evie thanked him and Joel called him a twat who could do better.
Imran said that he would see if anything was being thrown out by the art department and if he could obtain it for a minimal fee. They left it at that, drank their drinks, and said goodbye, agreeing to meet at Evie’s in one week’s time.
Joel insisted that they take a taxi back home.
The traffic on the return journey was surprisingly busy for a Sunday afternoon, so the drive back took twice as long as the one there. As they sat quietly in the back of the taxi, listening to the growl of the engine, Evie reached for Joel’s hand and gently held it. He turned to his girlfriend, giving her a comical grimace. ‘Thank you,’ she leaned in, kissing his cheek.
‘Life isn’t life without at least one fruitcake for a friend,’ he replied, still grimacing.
They turned away from one another to stare out at the passing world and all its complexity. Evie understood her own complexity; it was a gift that she was born with, and it had given her a seemingly effervescent nature; a freedom to be herself. Yet this freedom came with a price. Inwardly, and Joel knew this, she was in pain. A pain that never left her. It was the pain of a love lost, an ache that, for Evie Potts, had no place of origin. It simply lived within every cell of her body, refusing to die unless her love could be found again. How could she ever move on from someone she had never known? He was always there in her thoughts, part of her soul. She had watched her friends lose love, witnessing the heartache it brought to them. Yet, undoubtedly, each friend had eventually found the strength to move on. This was the crux of it. She couldn’t move on. She was caught in a perpetual state of loss. Yet, for the first time, sitting in that taxi and staring out of the window, Evie could feel that ache, that awful pain easing its grip upon her. He was close. She knew it.
‘How was it, seeing Imran again after all this time?’ She held Joel’s hand a little tighter.
‘It was okay. He seemed well.’ He only faced her when his words were done.
Turning away from Evie, he spoke again. ‘Did I make a fool of myself?’ he asked, trying not to sound too concerned.
‘No,’ Evie lied, badly. ‘I know you found the whole thing a little awkward but, you did it for me. Thank you,’ she said quickly in an attempt to hide the lie.
Raising his eyebrows, Joel turned back to the window once again.
‘I was a little confused,’ Evie continued, waiting for his attention. He gave it to her. ‘I couldn’t tell if you couldn’t wait to get out of the pub, or if you wanted to stay. You and Imran smoulder together. I just don’t get it?’ As she spoke, a melancholy passed over Joel’s face that he quickly dismissed with a shake of his head.
‘You’re insane, girl,’ he laughed. ‘Smoulder?’
‘Joel, don’t lie to me,’ Evie pulled at his hand, ‘You still like him, don’t you? Admit it!’
Joel shrugged, as Evie moved closer to him, and they cuddled. ‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you try again?’
‘No,’ Joel said resolutely.
‘Why not? You two were good for each other.’
‘Evie, Imran was a rebound. Rebounds never work, you’d know that.’
She thought about it for a moment. ‘Do I?’ she said.
Joel closed his eyelids and hugged Evie tighter. In his time on earth he had met all the types of people that life could offer, yet none of them came close to Evie, not even the lovers. To him, she was this worldly wise, naïve contradiction. She was the happiest, saddest woman he had ever known. She was sometimes boring, sometimes outstandingly funny. She was both weird and wholesome. She was Evie. She was his Evie and he wanted her to be nothing but happy.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ he opened his eyes and looked down at the top of her head.
‘What?’ Evie didn’t move.
‘I’m thirsty,’ he looked out at the world. It had started to drizzle with tiny specks of rain flicking at the window.
Evie sat up, facing him. ‘I’m skint. The flat’s taking everything,’ she replied.
‘Drinks are on me,’ he grinned, and told the taxi driver to take them to the Admiral Duncan in Old Compton Street. ‘Let’s get drunk and talk bollocks.’ Joel’s eyes were dancing bright with hopes of mischief.
‘Do we talk anything else?’ she replied, perking up.
