How to Break Your Own Heart Page 7

  It took us over an hour, but finally we had all Kiki’s clothes folded into neat piles and I produced the bag of assorted hangers I’d bought at John Lewis in my lunch hour the day before.

  To make a point, I sat on the bed and made her hang it all up herself in the – mostly empty – built-in wardrobes, and then we filed all the T-shirts and knitwear on to specific shelves.

  ‘Wow,’ said Kiki, stepping back and admiring our work. ‘I can’t believe the difference. Thank you so much. I could never have done this on my own. It looks like a Prada boutique.’

  I smiled to myself. Anyone else probably would have said it looked like a branch of Gap. Ed was right about her living on a different plane. Still, I was rather enjoying myself. I got some Post-It notes out of my handbag and marked each shelf with its contents.

  ‘Those stickers are temporary,’ I said. ‘ They’re just to get you used to putting things back in an ordered way, so you won’t need to rake through all your clothes to find one cardigan. OK?’

  She looked at me with a bemused expression on her face. ‘Is this what your wardrobe is like?’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, shrugging. ‘But without the sticky labels – or the really beautiful clothes.’

  ‘Who did it for you?’

  ‘No one,’ I laughed. ‘I’ve always done it like this. It never occurred to me not to.’ I consulted the masterlist on my clipboard. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘ That’s the clothes done – where are your accessories?’

  Looking sheepish, she led me through to the third bedroom, which I hadn’t seen inside before. When she opened the door, it was like Selfridges handbag department, there were so many designer bags strewn across the bed.

  I decided they could wait – at least she could see what she had – and she hadn’t been kidding about the shoe trees either. There was a small conurbation of shoes on the floor of that room, every one with its shoe tree in and arranged in neat pairs. About 120 of them.

  I was temporarily lost for words and just spread my hands in disbelief.

  ‘So how come you can do it for the shoes, but not anything else?’

  ‘I guess I just love my shoes,’ said Kiki, sliding off her ballerinas and slipping into a pair of purple velvet pumps with dizzying heels. ‘Aren’t they gorgeous?’

  ‘They sure are,’ I said, wishing I had tiny feet like Kiki and a fraction of her shoe collection. ‘But I don’t think they should be on the floor like this.’

  I made a note on my clipboard: I was going to get someone to build her a whole wall of shelves specially for shoes and bags in the bedroom with the wardrobes, so that could be her dedicated dressing room and this could be a proper spare room.

  By five thirty, when the man-with-a-van arrived to take away all the recyclable detritus – and I’d booked Rentokil to sort out the kitchen – we’d at least made a start on every room, except the dining room. I’d decided that the morass of financial admin could wait for another day, when we were both feeling stronger.

  For the final assault of this session we moved back into the drawing room. We’d had a stand-off earlier in the day about getting rid of all the old magazines that were lying around in there, which I’d won after threatening to leave, but nothing prepared me for her emotional attachment to the home-recorded videos.

  ‘Right,’ I said, approaching the pile of Morse episodes holding a black bin-liner.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said in a tone so sharp it brought me up.

  ‘Well, you can’t tell me you watch all these,’ I said.

  ‘I might,’ she said, her voice still tight. ‘And, anyway, they’re all sorted already, we don’t need to touch those.’

  I dropped the bin-liner and sat down on the floor. There was no room on any of the chairs. They were all covered with more videos.

  ‘All right, Kiki,’ I said. ‘Let’s talk about this. What exactly are all these?’

  ‘What do they look like?’ she said. ‘ They’re videos of TV shows and films that I really love, and I am not throwing them out, so forget it.’

  I felt adrenaline flush through my system. I was so furious at her rudeness, I felt like telling her to get stuffed. I didn’t very often let myself get angry – I’d spent too much time dodging my dad’s temper tirades to have any desire to indulge in my own – but her tone and attitude really pissed me off.

  I had spent my entire Saturday sorting out her crap when I could have been in my lovely garden in the Sussex countryside in the spring sunshine, and she was treating me like some kind of serf. I should have listened to Ed. I was about to get up and stomp out when something stopped me.

  Although it had meant sacrificing my weekend, I’d found sorting out Kiki’s chaos strangely rewarding. On top of that, I just never liked leaving anything unfinished. It went against my nature.

  That was probably why our flat and the cottage were so nice to be in, I reflected. Whether it was unpacking the shopping, clearing up after a dinner party or sorting Ed’s receipts, I always carried on until the job was done. He had always said he thought it was one of my special qualities. So, however rude she was being, I wasn’t going to leave this job half done. It just wasn’t my style.

  So I took a few deep breaths and looked steadily at Kiki. I decided to let her break the silence, and she did – she burst into tears. I was so amazed, my anger left me as quickly as it had come. She was clearly in serious distress. I went over and put my arm around her.

  ‘It’s OK, Kiki,’ I said. ‘Just let it out, whatever it is. Let it go.’

  She carried on crying for quite a while, before she started to speak. I groped in my bag for some tissues and gave them to her.

  ‘I know it’s stupid,’ she said, between sniffs. ‘But I have to have these videos. It’s just I’m so scared of being on my own and, whenever I am, I put on one of these and I feel OK.’

  ‘Do they remind you of someone?’ I said gently. There had to be more to this than just watching old TV shows and, sure enough, that question provoked another attack of wailing. Bull’s-eye, I thought.

  ‘My dad,’ she said. ‘He loves TV. It’s his great relaxation and, when I was a kid, I used to be allowed to watch with him in his den. It was the only time I ever had on my own with him. So when I’m alone and sad, I feel like he’s with me.’

  ‘Does he like The Simpsons?’ I asked, noticing a stack of them next to the sofa. By reputation, Gary Wilmott was something of a business tyrant. It was hard to imagine him watching a cartoon.

  ‘He loves them,’ she sniffled. ‘He always says Lisa is me – small, smart and bossy.’ She managed a smile.

  ‘Well, you don’t have to throw your videos away, Kiki,’ I said, thinking perhaps I had been a bit hasty about it. ‘But maybe we could just come up with a better way of storing them, so they don’t fill up the whole room?’ She nodded. ‘Maybe you could just get the entire Simpsons and Morse collections and everything else you love on DVD, and that would take up a lot less room, wouldn’t it? Better quality too.’

  She looked at me as though I had just invented penicillin.

  ‘That’s such a great idea,’ she said. ‘A lot of these tapes hardly work any more, I’ve watched them so many times.’

  ‘Well, then,’ I said. ‘Let’s make a list, right now – on my dreaded clipboard – and we can order all of them from Amazon tonight and you’ll have them on Monday. Then you can store them in those nice cupboards on either side of the fireplace there – and you’ll have your drawing room back.’

  ‘I can have a drinks party,’ said Kiki, her face brightening.

  ‘You sure can,’ I said.

  There was nothing like the prospect of a party to energize Kiki, and she immediately grabbed my clipboard and starting scribbling a guestlist, which seemed to have reached 150 names in a matter of moments.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ I told her, grabbing the clipboard back. ‘Not so fast.’

  I unclipped the sheet of names and handed it back to her. ‘Put that on your fri
dge, as your motivation – and when this place is completely finished, then you can start inviting people.’

  Then I went to the kitchen and opened the bottle of champagne I had pinched that morning from Ed’s home supply.

  7

  Ed and I arrived early on the night of Kiki’s party four weeks later, so I could show him around before the hordes descended. I’d brought him over for a look right after my first clear-out, so he could see it in a relative ‘before’ stage, the greater to appreciate the full transformation, and it was clear he did.

  ‘Amazing work, Agent Amelia,’ he said, as I showed him the home office I’d created in the large hall at the back of the flat. My fiendish plan was that by having all her admin out in the hallway, rather than in a room she could close the door on, she couldn’t just forget about it.

  ‘I’d ask you to create a home office for me like this, you clever girl,’ he said, kissing my forehead, ‘but you already have.’

  Then I took him to see the makeover I was most proud of: the bedroom with the wardrobes, which was now a proper boudoir dressing room. We’d got rid of the bed, replacing it with a lovely old chaise longue, hung a huge gilt-framed mirror on the wall opposite and moved the dressing table in there from her bedroom. Kiki loved it. She called it ‘Planet Kiki’. And, as a concession for good behaviour, I’d let her keep her beloved ironing board up.

  ‘Look, Ed,’ she was saying, prancing up and down by the wall of specially built shelves, which was quite an achievement in the heels she was wearing. ‘Look at my darling shoe children, they each have their own little house on Planet Kiki. Isn’t it great?’

  She took down a pair of vertiginous gold sandals and, after regarding them with satisfaction, she changed into them, putting the shoes she had been wearing before back in their place. I smiled to myself. She was a quick learner.

  Then she pulled down a grey shoebox from a top shelf and turned to me.

  ‘These are for you, Amelia,’ she said, handing me the box. It had ‘Christian Louboutin’ written on it.

  I opened it to find a glorious pair of peep-toe high heels in black satin, with the delicious red soles I had so often admired on Kiki’s feet. I checked the side of the box and was amazed to see they actually were my freakishly large size. I didn’t know serious designers even made shoes that big. I was thrilled.

  Kiki was grinning at me.

  ‘Go on,’ she said, nodding and smiling encouragingly. ‘Put them on.’

  I kicked off my flats and climbed into them, holding on to Ed’s shoulder for support, then I took a few tentative steps. I never wore heels and felt like a baby giraffe.

  Kiki was clapping with delight. ‘They look great on you,’ she said, grabbing my hand and leading me over to the mirror to admire my new look. ‘Look at yourself, you glorious Amazon. I was sick of seeing you in flat shoes, girlfriend. Get out and strut your stuff, Amelia. You’re gorgeous and you don’t make enough of it.’

  I looked at myself. Even though I was wearing the muted green Jigsaw dress and beaded cardigan that was my staple cocktail-party outfit, I could see that the shoes had given me a whole new look – and I liked it.

  As I was admiring myself, I caught sight of Ed’s face behind me, and he didn’t look so thrilled. I wondered for a moment whether I should take the shoes off, but after glancing back at myself in the mirror I decided to keep them on. I liked the way they looked – but I really loved the way they made me feel.

  It was only when I went to give Ed a kiss on the cheek, to snap him out of his grumpy disapproval, that I realized my new shoes made me inches taller than him.

  He kissed me back. ‘Don’t worry, Melia,’ he said, his face softening again. ‘I just won’t stand next to you tonight.’

  Maybe it was the shoes, maybe it was all the champagne

  – Veuve Clicquot, supplied by Ed, of course – but I had a wonderful time at that party.

  I knew quite a lot of Kiki’s friends already, because so many of them were Ed’s clients, or the kind of people who hung out with Ed’s clients, that is, various combinations of witty, smart, famous, grand, beautiful, ambitious, well-connected or just plain opportunistic. And most of them were good value at a party.

  The freeloading opportunists, in particular – Ed called them ‘the courtiers’ – made careers out of being good company, and I was having a very funny time hopping from group to group and catching up on all the latest gossip and chat. It was a great night, and I was particularly delighted – and somewhat amazed – when my brother Dick appeared.

  ‘Dickie,’ I said, trying to run over to him through the braying throng in the drawing room and nearly breaking my neck in my new shoes. ‘How lovely to see you. I didn’t know you knew Kiki.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Dick. ‘Well, I didn’t until three minutes ago, but now she seems to be my new best friend.’

  I laughed. Dick had clearly been recruited. ‘But how come you’re here?’ I asked, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

  Even now I was in my heels, he was taller than me, one of very few men in the room who was. Dick was a very big man in every way – not fat, just big. He had an enormous head, and his hands were to scale, about the same size as the rugby balls he was so adept at catching and holding on to. His glass of champagne looked like a toy in his massive paw.

  ‘I’m here because Ed called me,’ he said, draining the glass in one mouthful and stopping a passing waiter for a refill. ‘ Told me how many crates of pop he was supplying for this do, so I reckoned I’d be nuts to miss it.’

  ‘Ed rang you?’ I said, mystified.

  ‘Yes, I was a bit surprised too, but you know me, never one to miss a booze-up. Apparently, Kiki had rung Ed and asked him to invite some friends of yours as a surprise, so he called me. Secret Squirrel.’

  ‘Aha,’ I said, as it all became clear. Kiki’s social engineering was a complex matter; it was probably part of her permanently ongoing plan to expand her circle of friends.

  Sometimes I thought she wouldn’t rest until she had met every single person who lived in London, had lunch with them and added their names and numbers to her Blackberry and her Rolodex, and their birth dates to her birthday book. It was the one area in her life – apart from her shoes – that she was organized about. Mainly because every new friend was a possible conduit to more new friends.

  I really didn’t know how she managed to keep so many pals going at once, especially the way she seemed to make all of us feel like we were each her very best and dearest one. I had never been able to do that. Ed and I were very social – it was an integral part of his business, and of the gallery – so I knew a lot of people, but they weren’t really friends.

  I still kept in touch with some of the girls I’d been at school and university with, but they were all so tied up with young children these days I hardly saw them any more. My closest pal, Louise, had moved from Fulham to Cornwall a couple of years before with her growing family, including my special goddaughter Posy, and since then I had pretty much existed in a private universe with Ed. I think he actually preferred it that way, having me to himself, but one of the things I liked about Kiki was the feeling that she was becoming the proper girlfriend I so needed.

  ‘Seems a great girl, Kiki,’ said Dick, taking in the room. ‘And clearly very popular. By the way, she says you “did” this flat for her. What does that mean?’

  ‘Oh,’ I shrugged. ‘I just helped her sort it out. She’s a little chaotic.’

  Dick laughed fondly and put his arm around me. ‘Still little Mrs Tittlemouse, eh? Still playing house with your toy dustpan and brush?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, brother dearest,’ I said sarcastically. ‘And are you still living in grotesque bachelor squalor?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, Amelia Jane,’ he replied, using the full name I hated. ‘Do you think there might be any suitable wives for me at this event?’

  I glanced around the room. It was full of beautiful women of all types and ages.

  ‘Positi
vely brimming with them,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you could go and talk to some of them…’

  Dick pulled a face. ‘ They all look too scary,’ he said.

  ‘Richard Paul Herbert,’ I said, shaking my head, ‘I’ll never understand how you can launch yourself headfirst into a roiling mass of human muscle, sweat, bums and teeth on the rugby field and be too shy to chat up a perfectly nice woman at a civilized party.’

  ‘But rugby is fun,’ said Dick. ‘Girls are much scarier.’

  I sighed and shook my head at him.

  ‘Spoken to Mum recently?’ I asked, deliberately changing the subject. Dick’s ongoing single status was one of the many areas in my family where you had to tread carefully. A little teasing was OK, but then it was time to move on quickly before anyone actually felt something.

  ‘Hmmmm,’ mumbled Dick. ‘Last week, I think. You?’

  ‘Oh, I speak to her every couple of days,’ I said. ‘She seems OK. Stormin’ Norman has been behaving himself, because the school got a glowing report from the inspectors. I’m going to have lunch with her next week.’

  ‘That’s nice. Give her my love. I know I should go down and see them, but I’m still getting over Christmas.’

  I rolled my eyes at the memory. Christmas in the Herbert household was always particularly fraught. If we made it through to Boxing Day without anything being thrown, it was a really good year. The last one had not been good.

  ‘Don’t worry, Dick,’ I said. ‘It will soon be his birthday…’

  Dick crossed his eyes and pulled a face like Munch’s scream, one of our large repertoire of private jokes at our father’s expense. Making light of it had always been our defence against his volatile personality, and I was laughing so much as Dick clawed the air and pretended to gasp for breath I hardly noticed that someone had joined us, until Oliver’s unmistakable tones reached me.

  ‘Hello, you old tart. That is the ugliest fucking dress I’ve ever seen, but I like your shoes,’ he was saying, thrusting his stubbly chin into my face to kiss me. ‘You actually look quite sexy in those.’