The London of Us Read online

  Rachel reappeared, her cheeks red, her blue eyes on me like a laser. My heart thudded in my chest as I wriggled out of their grip.

  Jake clapped his hands to grab our attention. “Okay, let’s take it from the top — I’ll get a close-up of you mixing the ingredients in the bowl before panning out for your introduction, okay?”

  Rachel nodded, giving me an encouraging glance before resuming her position, hands in the bowl.

  “In three, two, one, action.”

  “Welcome to another episode of Fit & Tasty — emphasis on the Tasty! — with me, your host Rachel Cramer, and my able assistant, Alice Di Santo!”

  Rachel spun around to grin at me, and I gave a hesitant wave.

  Hi everyone, my name’s Alice and I’m having a crisis of confidence and sexuality!

  I really hoped my wave didn’t convey that.

  “Alice goes out with the cameraman, so watch carefully as she gives him a full-on stare every time the camera turns on her,” Rachel said, which made my stomach churn and my cheeks flare.

  I might go out with him, but it wasn’t him that was making my equilibrium wobble and my hands shake.

  “Today, we’re cooking a really simple pasta dish which is terrific after a big workout session, so make sure you watch one of Jake’s Fit videos before you try this tasty dish.” Rachel gave the camera a grin, then swivelled on her right foot, remembering her mark for the camera, making sure to keep her head up and smiling as much as she could. After five months of doing this, she was a pro.

  “Alice, have you got some mozzarella all chopped and ready to go?”

  I stared at her, then at Jake, then back.

  Whereas this seemed to be getting easier for Rachel, for me, every shoot seemed to be a trip into ever denser unknown.

  Half an hour later, we were done with our shoot and then it was Jake’s turn. He was soon out on Tanya’s balcony, pumping his arms as he got into his stride during his latest high-intensity workout. Jake liked to record at least two 20-minute sessions a week, as well as doing daily motivational shout-outs to keep his followers on track, which they loved.

  This time, I was behind the camera, with Jake squat-jumping, which had to be one of the most sadistic exercises around.

  “So what’s going on with Hercules out there?” Rachel whispered, her arms folded, watching Jake from the balcony door.

  My heart rocked as I looked at her, a mix of heat and confusion twisting in my veins.

  What was wrong with me? I steadied myself before replying, not trusting myself to do otherwise.

  “He’s gone into machine mode,” I replied, as we both watched.

  “He’s pretty amazing,” Rachel whispered back. “Although I prefer yoga — I do too much heavy lifting at work, so when I get home, I like my workout to be more gentle.”

  Jake did his final repetition, and then jumped up, bouncing on his toes. “And that’s it for today with me your host, Jake Best. Just remember, do your workouts regularly, eat Rachel’s food and you’ll be a polished diamond in no time!” He grinned as I switched off the camera and gave him a thumbs-up. “And we’re done,” I told him, giving him a clap. “Good job, you made me exhausted just watching you.”

  “That’s the plan — if you get exhausted watching, you may as well join in, right?” His phone vibrating on Tanya’s balcony table interrupted us, and Jake ran over to get it. He rolled his shoulder as he relaxed into conversation, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was always happiest after a workout, and today was no exception.

  I turned to Rachel, gulping as I caught a whiff of her perfume. I had no idea what it was, but I’d smelt it on a woman in the supermarket the other day, and had involuntarily found myself following her to the frozen vegetable aisle before I knew what had happened.

  “What perfume do you wear?” I folded my arms across my chest to stop my hands doing anything stupid. My heart was leaping about in my chest. “I’ve been trying to work it out — it really suits you.” It was an effort to speak without tripping over my words.

  Rachel’s face lit up with one of her gorgeous smiles — her teeth were the straightest thing about her. “It’s Ralph Lauren’s Romance. I’ve worn it forever, but I still love it.”

  I nodded, staring at her perfect skin, inhaling the scent of her again. I could easily get addicted. It was mesmerising, just like her full, glossy lips, so perfect and kissable.

  Shit, why was I thinking that?

  “Have you got any plans today in the,” Rachel checked her watch, “seven hours till we meet to go for dinner?”

  Tonight was our monthly restaurant date, just the two of us. It had slowly become my favourite day of every month, when I got to spend a whole evening with Rachel.

  “Nothing big. Jake wants to go shopping for new towels and bed linen, but I’m trying to put him off. I can think of so many other things I’d prefer to do.” Plane my shins. Pluck my pubes out one by one. Eat an entire plate of offal. “How about you?”

  “I’m meeting my sister for lunch — she’s got a new girlfriend, so that’s going to put me to shame, again. My baby sister can get a woman, but I cannot. That’s the trouble with having a lesbian sibling — she shows up all my deficiencies. Without her, I’d just be the lesbian sister. Now, I’m the single, lonely lesbian sister.”

  I had no idea how that could be. I’d already come to the conclusion that lesbians in London were stupid, blind, or both.

  If I was single, I’d… Actually, I’d no idea what I’d do.

  Besides, I wasn’t single, was I?

  As if underlining that, my boyfriend walked up to us, a small white towel now wrapped around his neck, his bare muscles on show.

  Rachel squeezed one of Jake’s biceps, shaking her head as she did. “You are a walking advert for your mantra, sir. I hope you’re ready for women and men to swoon when we start getting more views. Especially if you keep doing your routines with your top off.”

  “I don’t think it’ll be anywhere near what you’ll get when you do your cooking section topless,” he said, breaking out his trademark grin.

  Rachel let out a cackle of laughter. “If we need the views, I’ll consider it,” she said, before looking down and grabbing her breasts.

  My breath caught in my throat and I concentrated hard on my mouth not falling open.

  “Although I’m not very well endowed in that department.” She glanced over at me. “Alice, on the other hand…”

  I held up the palms of both hands, in tandem with my eyebrows. “I don’t think that was in my job description.”

  Suddenly, an image of Rachel’s hands on my breasts flashed through my mind and heat rose in me, starting in my feet and finishing in my hair follicles.

  I was rooted to the spot: this was definitely a new thought, too.

  I was having an avalanche of them today, and I couldn’t quite shuffle my thoughts and reactions into working order, my breathing accelerating and decelerating like a learner driver with a foot twitch.

  Rachel gave me a look I couldn’t quite pin down. “I’m all for tearing up job descriptions,” she whispered, before walking back into the kitchen, shuffling her ingredients on the worktop.

  She was all for tearing up job descriptions? What did that mean?

  “Anyway, enough boob talk, although perhaps it’s something I could work into my script if I try hard enough.” Rachel paused, putting a hand on her hip, giving me a look that could stop wars. There she went being all exquisite again.

  “Although is that too much of a lesbian stereotype?” she asked.

  “Do whatever comes natural,” Jake said. “Lesbians like food and exercise, too, right?” He glanced at me, giving me a wink. “We still need to do the intros for this week’s show. So you want to do me on the balcony first, Alice, or Rachel in the kitchen?”

  And with that, my mind went completely blank.

  Chapter 3

  I bit into our main course and savoured the flavours — because they really
were like nothing I’d tasted before. Cod with celeriac, black vinegar and caviar, and it was a taste sensation. Coming on the heels of the opener of rhubarb, salted ricotta and buckwheat, it was almost taking my mind off the fact I was sitting opposite Rachel, who looked good enough to eat, too.

  When she glanced at me with her intense turquoise stare, I admired her daring gold eye shadow, how it was smeared upwards, like she was in a band, about to go on stage. I ignored the steady uptick of my pulse when I was around her and concentrated on the impressive food.

  That, after all, was the reason we were here.

  Rachel’s friend Adam was the chef at this new venture in Hackney. The restaurant was stylish and cosy, the space formerly a haberdashery store now converted to a ten-table ode to modern British cuisine. Bare wooden tables mixed with shiny cutlery, and the wafer-thin wine glasses shone bright under the low, shaded metallic lighting. Artwork from a local artist adorned the walls, sitting atop bare brick. But for all the skilled design that had gone into this place, the food was the star.

  “This is amazing, by the way.” I pointed at the cod while a party kicked off in my mouth.

  Rachel nodded. “I know — did you see the review in The Observer Food Monthly last week? Adam is on the up. And did you know he knows Jess?”

  I furrowed my brow. “Jess who owns the café near you? As in Jess and Lucy?”

  Rachel nodded. “Adam used to work in a call centre with her, would you believe? Small world.”

  I swallowed my food. “They both worked in a call centre and now they’re both serving up great food. Makes you think what other talent is hiding in call-centre cubicles, doesn’t it?”

  I put down my knife and fork as a waitress in jeans and black T-shirt bustled past, carrying the first course to a table nearby. The low hum of other guests’ chatter permeated the air, along with satisfied sighs over appreciated food.

  “My parents would love this place — I should tell them to come here. My dad would moan about the portion sizes, but he’d appreciate the flavours. He can’t help the first part, being Italian. You’ll never go hungry in our house.”

  I smiled as I thought about my dad, who loved nothing more than to recreate Italian classics for an appreciative audience — which me, my mum and my sister Sabrina always were. Dad had become especially insistent since his parents had died in the past five years. It was as if he was trying to invoke their spirit through food, making all Nonna’s specialities to keep her flame alive.

  “I’d love to meet your dad,” she said, her gaze making me wriggle in my seat.

  I smiled. “I’ll invite you round one weekend, I promise. My dad’s Italian dishes are a thing of beauty. Jake and I are going for lunch on Sunday, along with my sister, her husband and their toddler terror, Flavia.” I winced as I spoke. Somehow, saying that sentence to Rachel felt wrong. “Dad promised us tiramisu on our family WhatsApp group this week and he makes the best tiramisu.”

  “Like I said, whenever you want to invite me, I’m available.”

  “I’ll let you know when there’s an open spot at the table,” I lied. There was no way I’d subject her — or me — to that scrutiny.

  “So how was lunch today with your sister?”

  Rachel’s eyelids briefly fluttered shut as she recalled her day. Then the corners of her mouth turned upwards, and, not for the first time, her smile threw a lasso around my heart, tugging on it so tight I could barely breathe. I pressed my feet into the floor to ground myself, and hoped my thoughts weren’t seeping through my skin by accident.

  “It was the usual. Her telling me to go out there and find a woman, and me rolling my eyes. She’s had such a different experience from me and we’re not even that far apart in age. She came out at 16, she’s always had a girlfriend, and she wouldn’t know internal struggle if it bit her on the arse. I took a little more time to come out and was a little more worried about what everyone thought. I’m not sure Becca’s ever worried what anyone thought.”

  Was that what I was experiencing? Internal struggle? Maybe it was.

  “Sounds like Becca’s had an easy ride so far.”

  “She has, but that’s her own doing. She sees what she wants and she goes for it — I’m a little more cautious.” Rachel’s gaze was fixed on me as she spoke.

  My stomach flip-flopped, and I cleared my throat to cover it up.

  “Which is annoying when she’s 23, and I’m supposed to be the older, sorted one,” Rachel added, before looking away.

  “Families are always fun.”

  She gave me a rueful smile. “But this woman won’t last, and I told her so.”

  I scrunched my face. “And how did she take that?”

  “Not well. She told me I needed to get out more and get laid. And she might have a point.” Rachel grinned before continuing. “However, this woman won’t last because she’s not properly out, so this isn’t even a case of me playing my mystic psychic card again.”

  “But I love it when you tell me you’re psychic.” Rachel’s belief in her psychic abilities was legendary — even if they didn’t often come true.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve had some wins. I told Sophie that when she met someone, it was going to be big — and she and Tanya are.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t very specific though, was it?”

  “I’ve had other successes, too. But anyway: Becca’s new girlfriend is your age—”

  “—ancient, then.”

  “—nearly pensionable,” Rachel grinned. “And this is her first relationship with a woman.”

  Coming out at 35: I’d always thought that was ridiculous until now. Like you should have known earlier, surely?

  That is, until the many cases of being flustered and tongue-tied around my current dinner partner.

  “Is coming out late such a crime?” Did I sound too defensive?

  Rachel shook her head. “Of course not — people come out at all ages, I know that. A friend of mine recently came out at my age, 30. But Becca’s girlfriend’s family don’t know, her colleagues don’t know and she wants to keep it all quiet for now. I told Becca that’s a bad sign, but this has never happened to her before; she’s 23, she’s invincible. But not being who you truly are ruins relationships. I told her that and she told me to stop being so sanctimonious.”

  “Sounds like she might have a point.”

  Rachel frowned. “It’s just a bugbear of mine. I’ve been out with women before who weren’t committed. You have to be comfortable in your own skin for relationships to work, otherwise nothing does. But Becca’s going to have to find out the hard way.”

  “Or it might work.” Somehow, Rachel being so down on this woman wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

  “You know what, it might. I’d love to be proved wrong, so let’s hope this woman does just that.” She sat forward. “And I’m not being cynical, I’m just being honest because I’ve seen it a million times. But maybe, just maybe, this one will work. I’d love it to — I have faith in happy endings. Maybe we’ll be going to her and Becca’s wedding this time next year.”

  “I’m coming, too?”

  “Yes, because you’re on Gwen’s side — that’s her girlfriend’s name. She’s Welsh, and a vet.” Rachel threw me a resigned smile. “Maybe I’m just jealous because I never meet Welsh vets when I go online. Or perhaps I do just need to get laid.”

  My head filled with white noise and my teeth clamped together as I processed that gem, tiny frissons of something shooting up my arm and making my shoulders twitch.

  I picked up my wine and took a healthy slug.

  And then another.

  “You’ll meet someone soon, I have no doubt. You’re a YouTube star, and look at you, you’re gorgeous. I mean, what right-minded woman could resist?”

  But that right-minded woman was not me.

  Because I was straight and in a relationship with Jake.

  Check all my social media, ask any of my friends.

  Rachel held
my gaze as my words danced around my peripheral vision.

  For a moment, our eyes locked, and I entertained the fact she could see right through me, see exactly what I was thinking.

  But then I snapped out of it, because that was folly.

  She was gay, I was straight, and never the twain shall meet.

  Rachel sat back, another of her luminous smiles framed perfectly on her face.

  Damn those smiles of hers.

  “So says the woman who’s happily shacked up with a gorgeous man,” she said, shaking her head. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder what I’m doing wrong, and how I can fix it.” She paused, biting her lip. “Like I was saying to Sophie only the other day, I’d love to meet someone, I really would. Someone like you would be fabulous.” She waved her hand at me. “You’re beautiful, cultured, and you love food. A lesbian version of you would be great.” Another pause. “I’ve checked you haven’t got a sister, right?” She smiled as she finished.

  It was all I could do not to offer myself to her then and there, on a plate. “I do, but she’s married with a kid.” I tried to keep my voice even, my body still. Even though every part of me was shaking from her words.

  “Always the way,” she said, grinning. “But I don’t dwell too much, because where does it get you? I’m still doing my positive affirmations every morning, and I know that soon they’re bound to come true.”

  “Affirmations?”

  She nodded, then tucked her chin in, bashful. “It’s going to make me sound all hippy-dippy.”

  I grinned. “I happen to love hippy-dippy. Always remember, I’m an art teacher.”

  Her laugh coated the air like honey. “I forget sometimes,” she said. “At the risk of sounding like a loon, every morning I get up and tell myself I am worthy of love, and I will get a girlfriend this year.” She sat back. “But this year is moving fast — it’s May and still nothing. But I have faith in my affirmations.”

  “You should,” I said. “If you say something enough times, it’s going to come true, right?”