‘Sorry for bothering you – would you happen to be Lorna Smith?’
Her eyes narrowed, her hand tightening on the doorjamb. ‘And who are yous?’ Her New York accent was thick, the kind I’d heard more in films than during my stay so far.
Elle stepped in, introducing herself. ‘I’m a writer and we’re looking for a man called Trevor. We heard he lived here a while back?’
‘Oh yeah? What’s he done? And why is a writer looking for him? You gonna do his autobiography? Ha. I could write that. Born in England. Grew up to be a fucking jerk. Will die a fucking jerk.’
And there it was. This was the other side of the coin I was used to hearing about him. Heads: charming ladies’ man. Tails: despicable human. I’d definitely heard more of the latter growing up, my mum in the kitchen talking to her best friend, or even David in a low voice.
‘Wow,’ Elle muttered, ‘that’s some character reference.’
‘Isn’t it just,’ I agreed, distractedly. I was too busy trying to figure out what Trevor had seen in her that was anything like my mother – but then he hadn’t stuck around with my Mum and it sounded like he hadn’t stuck around with her either. Perhapsanytype of woman was his type?
Was that how it was for me? I’d never really had a ‘type’ – there was a lot to appreciate when it came to women, so I’d never really understood men who only went for blondes or a certain body type. Was that just greedy?
Lorna sneered at our comments and then her eyes narrowed on me with suddenly renewed interest. ‘Oh my fucking God,’ she said after a long moment. ‘You’re his boy, aren’t you? The one he left back in London?’
I took a deep, involuntary breath, like she’d just slapped me.
Elle’s head snapped in my direction, but I couldn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see her expression now she knew the type of father I had. That he’d left me behind like the pair of worn out trainers he’d decided weren’t worth the space in his suitcase.
‘He told you about me?’ I asked, lips numb. I hadn’t thought about that. I hadn’t thought it was possible that I’d playedanypart in his life at all, even in conversation.
‘Oh, yeah.’ She leaned her shoulder onto her door frame and her smile was full of spite. ‘He’d get drunk sometimes and talk. Said he felt guilty. Never made him put it right though, did it? I mean, that’s why you’re here, ain’t it? He never went back for you; else you wouldn’t be tryna track him down on my doorstep.’
I didn’t know what to do with that information. I’d spent so long telling myself that I didn’t care. There was a box with my feelings about him locked up inside me. It meant none of them got out, but it also meant I didn’t know how to put any new ones in it.
‘You don’t have to sound so damn happy about it,’ Elle threw at the woman. I didn’t want to know what she was thinking about this revelation. I should have told her before.
‘Misery loves company,’ Lorna retorted and shook her head, still staring at me. ‘Damn but you look like him.Better-looking in fact. Trevor 2.0.’ Her eyes flitted to Elle. ‘I’d keep an eye on him if I were you. He’ll be at it like a tomcat every time you’re not looking.’
‘It’s not like that—’ I started but she cut me off.
‘That’s what he always said.’
The words dried up in my mouth.
Elle’s hand curled around mine, squeezing. ‘Look, fine. We’re obviously an unwelcome reminder of a man you had a bad relationship with, and it’s made you feel bitter, but Stephen’s done nothing to you to deserve your disdain, OK? Can’t you help us out? For solidarity’s sake or something?’
‘Oh,“disdain”, is it? Youarea writer.’ Lorna laughed, harsh and short. ‘Honey, you got it bad. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I got troubles enough of my own without worrying about someone else’s bastard. Don’t come here again.’ And with that she shut the door in our faces.
Elle’s hand was still in mine, somehow an anchor when I felt like pieces of me had scattered and weren’t coming back together again.
‘I’d like to mail dog mess throughthatletterbox,’ she said and then tugged on my hand to make me follow her down the stairs to the street again.
Everything seemed unnaturally busy outside; all the bustle and the heat; blaring horns and chatter; shoes clattering on the hot pavement; the smell of suntan oil and food; the sun, relentless overhead and not a breath of air anywhere… It was getting to me. The citynevergot to me. London could be all this and more. The roads were even tighter, dirty pigeons picking atrubbish from skips and sticky, unmentionable substances over the ground. But it never bothered me.
What had Trevor done to that woman to leave her so angry for so many years? I’d always thought of him as someone who couldn’t commit but she’d confirmed he was a philanderer, too. Had he done that to Mum as well? Anger rose like a wave and crashed impotently against the fact I would probably never know.
‘Stephen,’ Elle’s voice sounded like it was coming at me from the other side of a pane of glass. ‘Are you still with me?’
‘Yes.’But I’m done, I wanted to say.I want to go home, back to my air-conditioned apartment and have a shower, so I don’t feel so dirty. Lie on my sofa with a tall glass of iced water, in the quiet.I didn’t want to think about this anymore.
She frowned at me as though she understood all that and more. I didn’t want that either. Her pity and, most likely, the dawning realisation that she was correct about me being chronically promiscuous just like my father and utterly right not to want to touch me with a bargepole.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked, quietly.
‘I’m ashamed,’ I answered, my voice sticky and slow. I don’t know what prompted me to say it. It was more honest than I’d even been with myself but I’d lied to her so much about this situation already. She’d asked for honesty from the outset and I hadn’t even had enough decency to give her that when she’d been trying to help me.
