Part 4 (2/2)
'No thanks. But I'd like a table for lunch, in about half an hour. For two.'
'Certainly.'
'This won't take long, Tilly,' said Clayton. 'Get yourself a drink or whatever you want and I'll be back soon.' And he vanished, leaving me in my jeans, boots and fleece in one of England's poshest hotels. I had no bag, no money, not even a lippy or a hairbrush. The receptionist was hovering.
'Can I get you anything, madam?' he asked.
'Some coffee, please,' I said. 'And I don't suppose you could conjure up a hairbrush? A comb? Anything?'
'Of course, madam,' he replied, as if it was the most normal request in the world.
He rematerialised about two minutes later, with a d.i.n.ky little bag containing brush, comb, toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, face cloth, and razor. How many guests must arrive here as ill prepared as I was? I dashed to the Ladies, cleaned my teeth, brushed my hair, helped myself to some of their richly scented hand creams and cologne and felt a little better. Back in the reception area, the coffee was waiting for me. I sat back in the leather armchair thinking that I might as well enjoy all of this.
Then Clayton was standing in front of me, smiling down. 'Time to eat,' he said, 'and to drink something a bit more interesting than that.'
'What about the people you were meeting?'
'Gone,' he said dismissively. I didn't ask more. But I wondered who they were, why he would be meeting them all the way up here. I wondered if it was the sort of thing that Jake would want to know about.
We sat in the big bay window of the dining room, with a view across lawns down to the river. The menu was full of delicious things. I dithered over Thai-scented salmon salad with lemon potatoes, or maybe quails' eggs and capers, pigeon and celeriac, pumpkin gnocchi or sea trout...I would have liked to ask for a copy to show to Bill. Clayton hardly seemed interested. 'Just bring me some grilled chicken with lots of vegetables,' he said to the waiter, but then spent ages poring over the wine list.
'I know, Miss Foodie, who cares about every mouthful,' he said in a laughing, mocking tone, 'but food is just fuel to me. Yeah, I can see what the club dietician means about not too many pies and pizzas and all that, but food is just there to keep you going. But wine...well, wine is something else. Do you know,' he asked as he finally made his choice, 'I was seventeen before I first tasted wine? I thought it was for poofs and posers. Then Denny Sharpe, the manager at my first club-he was a bit of a wine buff-he gave me a gla.s.s of Chateau Laf ite. ”Just shut up and drink that slowly,” he said, and I was like, wow, why didn't anyone ever tell me about this before?! I was hooked. It is just so-o good.'
'Clever Denny.'
'Yeah, he was. Not just about the wine. I was a bit of a smart-a.r.s.e street kid, I guess, thought I knew it all. I knew nothing. Absolutely rock-all. But Denny was good. He was good with all us young lads. Tried to keep us in order-I say tried, because we were a wild bunch all right. He and his missus took us out to places like this, proper places, you know what I mean, taught us our table manners and stuff. He even had us doing exams.'
I looked at him, enquiringly.
'Bunked off school too much to do exams, didn't I? Too busy playing football. Reckoned I didn't need exams. But the club-well, Denny really-said there was an awful lot of life once our football days were over, so they got this tutor guy in. And me and a couple of others got some exams. I've got English, maths, PE and geography,' he said proudly. 'I'd have done some more but then I moved into the Premiers.h.i.+p and it was all different then. And I was nineteen by then, so they reckoned I was all grown up, couldn't tell me what to do.'
'Must have been hard studying after you left school.'
'No, it was all right really. Sort of interesting. There was just four or five of us and the teacher was pretty good. Didn't treat us like kids. Couldn't really. Even then we were earning shed-loads more than he was. But it was pretty cool. Never done anything like that before. My mum didn't do books. Too busy trying to survive. She was only a kid herself when she had me.'
I was trying to remember what I knew about Clayton Silver. A tough childhood, on a council estate where gangs and guns were commonplace. He was always being held up as an example of how sport could make a difference, provide a way out for a lad with talent and determination.
'No dad?'
'He skipped off when I was still in nappies. Turned up again when I signed for the Premiers.h.i.+p and said he wanted to make up for lost time. Yeah, right. Just wanted a slice of my money, more like. Told him where to go.'
For a moment his lively face looked bleak, far away. So I told him about my father and the drunk driver.
'So we're both half-orphans then,' he said. 'Not easy, eh? But I had lots of dads. Different one every few months. Mum would get lonely. Not surprising, she was only young. Then some bloke would move in, start throwing his weight around and then there'd be a row and in the morning he'd be gone too. There was a lot like that. Losers, most of them, absolute losers. Except for Travis. Travis was all right.'
'What made Travis special?'
'Well, for a start he stuck around longer than most. He could cope with my mum's moods and tempers-which took some coping with, trust me. She had a mean temper on her. And he used to take me to the park, so we could both get out of her way. He'd kick a ball about with me. He was sound. It was Travis who took me to the Lions Boys' club. Knew the guy who ran it. Told him I had talent. That was my big break, all thanks to Travis. He used to come and watch me, cheer for me. I told everyone he was my dad. Wished he was.'
'What happened?'
'Oh, in the end even he had enough of my mum. I looked for him, you know, when I signed for my first club. I wanted him to know. I wanted him to be proud of me. But I couldn't find him. Then a few years later I heard he'd died, been killed, knifed. Got into an argument with the wrong guy. '
He took a fierce forkful of the vegetables piled high on his plate.
'What's your mum doing now?'
'Selling overpriced clothes in a little shop in Spain. She went out there a few years ago with some guy she met on holiday. Actually, he seems all right. Don't see much of him. But he makes Mum happy. Him and the sun. She's really nice when she's happy, you know? If it had worked out with my dad, she might have been happy all the time and been a different person. Who knows? Anyway, I bought her this shop and a villa, so if it all goes pear-shaped-which it usually does with my mum-then she's got somewhere to live and a job to keep her occupied. But this guy seems to have lasted longer than most. He's a lot older than her but they do a lot of travelling together and a lot of partying. She's having fun and deserves that. Like I say, she was only a kid herself when she was left with me. Can't have been easy.
'Was it the same for your mum?' he asked. 'Was there always a new dad in the morning?'
I shook my head. 'The complete opposite. She didn't want anyone else. All she cared about was me and work. Too much so, sometimes. I wished she had let another man into her life. It might have taken the pressure off...' I went back to my meal-wonderful juicy scallops with lemon and ginger and the finest angel-hair spaghetti I'd ever tasted. My childhood hadn't always been easy, but hearing about Clayton's I had no right to complain.
'Which just goes to show,' Clayton went on, 'that in the end you're on your own and you've just got to look out for number one, because no one else is going to do it for you.'
There was a moment's silence as we both backed off from the conversation that had quickly got so heavy.
But soon Clayton was relaxed again. He leant back in his seat, took a sip of wine and grinned at me over the gla.s.s.
'You look nice, Miss Freshface,' he said, 'All clean and outdoorsy.'
'Well, I feel a mess,' I said, and told him about the goodie-bag of brush and comb, which made him laugh.
'I guess they're well used to providing such things for unexpected female visitors,' he said.
There was a sudden frisson in the air, a little ripple of something that suddenly made me feel not so safe. What had I got myself into-getting into a helicopter with a complete stranger, about whom I knew so little? If I had to make a run for it, I was done for. No money. No credit cards. I'd have to hitch back to High Hartstone Edge. It would take me some time. Especially as I wasn't even sure exactly where I was. As I began to panic, some spaghetti unrolled from my fork and fell messily onto my chin. Clayton leant over and gently wiped it away with his napkin. He held the napkin close to my face for a little while longer than necessary. 'What big eyes you've got,' he said, gazing into them. 'Beautiful big eyes,' he said slowly, dreamily, seductively...
Then he suddenly crowed with delight.
'And you blus.h.!.+ Oh Miss Freshface, you blushed.' This had him chuckling to himself. 'You know, I spend a lot of time with a lot of lovely ladies. Seriously hot ladies. They have all the clothes, the hair, the look, you know. But not once have I seen one of them blush. But you, girl, are the brightest, prettiest pink. I can't really believe you're a city girl. Really, you're a little country miss at heart, like that girl in the book, Tess, that's it-Tess of the D'Urbervilles.'
Oh G.o.d, why did I blush so easily? Now he probably had me down as a little girlie completely overcome by the big famous footballer. As if.
So to change the subject, I told him about my great-great-grandmother and how my family was from round here. He looked almost wistful for a moment and said it must be nice to have roots somewhere, to belong.
'Oh, I'm as much a stranger as you are, but it's interesting seeing where some of the family comes from, tracing any connections. And yes, I think it already feels special somehow.'
The waiter cleared our plates away and offered desserts. Clayton shook his head but said, 'The lady will have one.'
'No, it's all right. I'm fine, thanks.'
'Have a pudding. I bet you'd like to really.'
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