One In A Billion Read online

  With that depressing thought in mind, and my head buzzing quite nicely from the booze, I climbed into bed alongside my slumbering prince, and waited eagerly for the morning to come.

  Chapter 2

  Marth tried to hump me in the morning like a horny dog. I had slept much more soundly than I expected to, only to wake up to something hard poking into my side. As soon as I realised what it was, I rolled towards the edge of the bed in disgust, and then promptly fell out of it, landing comically on the floor with a dull thud. Marth began to crawl after me.

  'I have to go', I said, attempting to gather myself together.

  'What?' Marth said. 'Why?'

  'I can't stay', I said. 'I've got to meet my parents.'

  My head hurt. Light was pouring in through the window where we'd failed to pull the curtains across last night, and it gave everything a harsh edge I could have done without. Marth just watched me from the bed like a life sized teddy bear, as I buzzed about as quickly as I could, collecting my things and getting dressed.

  When I was sure I had everything, or at least sure I had the things I really needed, I made half an attempt at saying goodbye, opened up the door to the closet, and then finally found the door to the hallway. Marth was angling for a goodbye kiss, but there was no way he was getting one. His lips were still stained red from the wine the night before, and he had a puffy morning face on that made him look like he was made of flaky pastry.

  'Call me', Marth shouted, as I hurried along the hallway.

  I found the stairs, found myself in the kitchen and then finally made my way back out to the street through the front door. Marth's mum was no longer plastered across her chair, but there was evidence of her occupation all over the floor.

  Out on the street, I had no idea where I was. I wasn't even sure if I was still in London. I hadn't lied to Marth, I did actually have to meet my parents today, and I knew without even knowing what the time was, that I'd be late again.

  It took an hour and a half to get back home. I walked for fifteen minutes before I found anyone I could ask for directions, and then another fifteen minutes to the tube station. On the tube I accidentally sat next to a man who smelt of wee, and couldn't change places for three more stops because the carriage was full.

  At home, Sophia was sat in the living room with her feet in a cold bucket of water, getting tattooed.

  'Here she comes, the dirty stop out', Sophia said when she saw me.

  'Sophia, what the hell are you doing?' I said, and got as close to her as I dared. 'Is that hygienic?'

  I prodded her arm. It already looked a bit swollen.

  'Probably', Sophia said, with a grin on her face. 'We washed the needle with hot, soapy water.'

  Sophia was my American flatmate, and she was balls to the wall crazy. I liked her a lot. This was exactly the kind of thing I expected her to be doing on a Sunday morning. She sipped her beer.

  'This is Tad', she said.

  'What up?' Tad said.

  'Hey', I said. Tad and I looked like we'd grown up on other sides of the socio-economic spectrum. I couldn't work out what it was he was tattooing on her, aside from a mess of black squiggly lines decorated by dots of leaking blood.

  'So, successful night?' Sophia said, smiling.

  'The guy was a douche', I said.

  'All guys are douches', Sophia said. 'You know that already.'

  'Yeah but this guy was-', I said. 'I don't know. I was expecting something else.'

  'What were his redeeming qualities?' Sophia said.

  'He didn't try and kill me', I said, clutching desperately at something worthwhile to report.

  'You look sad', Sophia said. 'Do you want a tattoo to cheer yourself up? Tad's got the machine until five if you want him to, you know, permanently mark your skin forever and ever.'

  'I think I'll pass', I said.

  'The right one will come along after a while', Sophia said. 'You've just got to wait and not worry about it too much.'

  'I don't know', I said. 'I guess.'

  'And stop sleeping with the bad ones just because you feel guilty about saying no to them. You'll feel a lot better about yourself if you do that.'

  'I know', I said. 'I'm trying.'

  'I've got some single friends if you want me to hook you up', Tad said. 'You're a good looking girl, I know people who'd kill to get alongside you, if you know what I mean.'

  Tad wiped away some of the excess ink from Sophia's arm with one of our kitchen tea-towels.

  'Oh that's sweet Tad, thank you', I said, 'but I might take Sophia's advice and take myself out of the game for a while.'

  'Whatever you want', Tad said.

  'Can I ask', I said. 'What is it meant to be?'

  'It's abstract', Tad said. 'It's a representation of where Sophia is in her life right now. It sort of symbolises the love we have for each other.'

  I'd never met Tad before. Last week Sophia was with a tightrope walker called Victor, and the week before that, Sergio was a permanent resident on our couch, while Sophia went through her Mediterranean phase. I'm not even joking. Sophia changes her men about as often as everyone else changes their socks.

  'Do you like it?' Tad said.

  'Yeah', I lied, badly. 'kind of. It's different I suppose. Unique. I mean, I've definitely never seen one like it before.'

  'The General called', Sophia said, changing the subject to save me. It was what she called my dad because he had a thick moustache like she imagined all British wartime officials were obliged to wear. My dad was born after the war ended, and he has never had anything to do with the army, but despite that, Sophia insists on the nickname. 'He said he couldn't get you on your mobile phone.'

  'It's turned off', I said. 'What did he want?'

  'Lunch', Sophia said, putting on her best British accent. 'Will be served at two. Don't be late.'

  'I better get ready', I said.

  'If you change your mind about the tattoo', Sophia said, as I walked to my room. 'Tad's a real artist.'

  I left them to it, and went to my room. It was how I'd left it the night before, when I'd been so full of hope for my date with Marth, and seeing it like this again now, reminding me of what could have been, made me want to vomit. There were several different outfit options on the bed, half of which had been tried on and rejected, and I had make-up scattered all over the desk, amongst assorted story notes, half filled notebooks, pens, post-it notes, and my trusty six year old laptop. It had been far too long since I'd last written anything worthwhile, and the computer sat there half hidden, like a secret I'd tried to bury away.

  I made a mental note to begin again on Monday, the same mental note I'd made to myself several times before, scooped up all of my clothes, piled them onto my writing chair in one big heap and then went to shower off the acrid smell Marth had left with me.

  Sophia and I shared a small, two bedroom apartment in Blackheath. It was difficult to get into central London from there, but it was a beautiful part of the city, and I didn't want to live anywhere else. We were close to parks, markets, and good pubs, and the restaurant I worked in was a short bus ride away in Greenwich. It was an old flat, but because of that it was much cheaper than most of the other properties around. I didn't earn a lot in my job, and Sophia didn't work all that much either by choice, so it suited us perfectly. She found it, in the same way she seemed to have luck finding everything else, and then she found me through a mutual friend.

  The ceilings were high, the sofas were old, the wallpaper was falling off and the shower ran hot and cold for approximately twelve minutes before it sorted itself out. Sundays seemed to be the worst day of all, for a reason neither Sophia and I could ever explain, and every Sunday, when I was running late, I rushed into the shower, completely forgetting about this idiosyncrasy.

  I stood there, hungry and hungover, trying to bear the extreme temperature changes for as long as I could, to clean myself and wash my hair. No matter how you set up the taps, or how minutely you turned them from left t
o right, there was no way of avoiding it. One moment as hot as the sun, and the next as cold as the sea. Eventually I had to give up, for fear of giving myself hypothermia with a side portion of burnt off skin. I washed the shampoo out of my hair under the tap in the sink, dried the parts of my body that I'd managed to get wet, and went back into my room to try and find something suitable to wear for the day.

  Every Sunday my family got together to have lunch, and every Sunday without fail, I was late. I was never late for anything else in my life, but for some reason I was never able to get to this regular event on time, and it made my dad label me as both lazy and forgetful. As I looked at my watch on the train over to their house, I knew that this Sunday would be no different. I decided to text ahead and blame a delayed train.

  I got there at 2:37pm, and considering I'd only had fifteen minutes back at home to get ready, I thought that was pretty good.

  I prepared myself, went to ring the bell to announce my arrival, despite having a perfectly good key, and mum opened the door anyway, as if she'd sensed me standing there.

  'Hello sweetie', she said and hugged me. 'Have you done something with your hair?'

  'You're late', dad said, from the living room, before I had a chance to answer. 'We've been waiting.'

  'Hi mum', I said.

  'Don't listen to him', mum said. 'We weren't planning to eat until 3 anyway.'

  I went through to the living room where everyone was gathered around the TV, watching a game of Rugby.

  My brother James was here already, with his wife Vicky, and their twin boys, Charlie and Sam. They were both at that awkward age where physical contact was avoided at all costs, so I ruffled their hair just to say hello, and they shook themselves away from me as quickly as possible.

  'You're late', dad said again, without taking his eyes off the screen.

  'What's up sis?' James said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 'Another late night?'

  'The train was delayed', I said.

  James was my older, much more successful, much more stable brother. He made me look like a life-long drop out, and he loved every bit of it. James and Vicky were college sweethearts, they got married when I was still trying to decide what to do at University, spent several years in successful careers, and had Charlie and Sam when they felt like they were ready to support children.

  I know it's a bit bad, but because James had always been so sure about where his life was going to take him, and what he wanted to do with it, it always gave me a certain satisfaction knowing that they had to resort to IVF in order to have their children. Vicky was a lawyer and James followed our father's footsteps into the world of medicine, before writing a series of children's books, and finding success too in that field. The fact that he was a published, well renowned and successful author really pissed me off. I shouldn't have been jealous of him, but he lauded it over me so much that I couldn't help but feel any other way.

  I loved my brother, but we weren't anything alike. He was dedicated, industrious, and proactive and I was much more creative, selfless and inclined to take my time about things. Basically what I'm saying is that James was a successful guy, but he was as boring as hell. I might have been a fuck up, but at least I had some interesting stories to tell people around the dinner table. Well alright, that's probably not strictly true either, James was a much better conversationalist than me, but at least I didn't rub my success in other people's faces. At least I had the decency to be humble about it all.

  Mum brought me a glass of juice, which I had to get her to swap for a glass of wine, and I pushed my way onto the sofa.

  'How's it going dad?' I said.

  'Fine', he said. 'What news do you bring from the world of waitressing?'

  'God, nothing really', I said. 'We had someone in the other day who looked like Tom Conti. That's about as exciting as it's got this week.'

  'Are you still at that place in Greenwich?' Vicky said. She didn't actually put the emphasis on the word 'still', but I certainly heard it in her voice. It sounded like, 'I can't believe you are still at that place in Greenwich.'

  'Yes', I said, 'still there.'

  'That's been a while, hasn't it?' Vicky said. 'You must love it.'

  'Ten years', dad said.

  'It's not ten dad', I was quick to correct him.

  'They'll make you a partner soon', he said.

  'How's the book going?' James said. 'You know I've got another one coming out this month.'

  'Another one?' I said, shocked.

  'Yeah. Actually, this one's a collaboration.' James said.

  'A collaboration with who?' I said.

  James indicated the two six year old boys lying on the ground in front of us.

  'You're kidding me?'

  'We brainstormed the story and wrote it together. My publisher thinks it's going to be a big hit. I'm telling you, there is money to be made in children's books. You should have a go.'

  'I write romance James', I said. 'I'm not really in it for the money either.'

  'Right, sorry,' James said. 'I forgot you only did seereeahs litrachur. Too bad you can't get it published.'

  'Go on, go on, go on, go on. Noooooo. You useless-', dad shouted at the screen. The boys cheered alongside him.

  'It is published', I said, defending myself. It was the same every bloody week. James was only doing this to rile me, I knew it.

  'Self published', James said. 'Isn't that vanity press?'

  'Have you read it?' I said, challengingly.

  'If it's anything like the stuff you used to write when we were kids, I don't think I need to. Anyway, I know the story remember. I know how it ends.'

  'Yeah well it might be different if you read it properly. I can't believe none of you are prepared to do that.' I said, and folded my arms.

  'I've read it', mum shouted from the kitchen.

  'I know mum, thank you.'

  'You're the only one', James said, and laughed. Dad and the twins joined in too.

  'Thanks James', I said.

  'I'm only kidding sis', he said. 'Don't get upset. What are you working on now?'

  'Ridiculous. What a waste of space', dad shouted at the screen.

  'Do you really want to know, or are you asking me to make fun of me?' I said.

  'I want to know', mum said from the kitchen again. 'Is it the one about the bank robber?'

  'No, that's. I kind of gave up on that one. No, this one is a sort of love story set in the future', I said. 'But also the past. It's difficult to explain. It has elements of time travel in it, and it's going to be pretty sad, because they don't really get together in the end. Not in the conventional sense at least.

  'Like The Time Traveller's Wife?' Vicky said.

  'Well sort of, but different too', I said.

  'That will never work. Never work. Idiot', dad shouted at the screen again. The game was coming to an end and he was either on the edge of his seat, pushed right back into it, stood up, or hiding his head in his hands.

  'Different how?' James asked. I knew he was teasing me, I could tell by the expression he had on his face.

  'Just different', I said. 'Better.'

  'That was a pretty good book', Vicky said. 'I think your mum lent me that one. Pam, you lent me The Time Traveller's Wife, didn't you?'

  'The Time Traveller's what?' mum said from the kitchen.

  'The Time Traveller's Wife', Vicky said again. 'Alice's book is going to be based on it.'

  'It won't be based on it', I said.

  'What a waste of time', dad said. The game had finally finished. 'Did you see that James? They need to sack that manager and get those boys back into training. It's the same every bloody week. Now, what the hell are you all talking about?'

  Dad passed the remote control over to the twins and the boys fought over who was to be in charge of it. Sam won, and clicked on cartoons that Charlie would have turned to anyway, had he been in control.

  'Nothing', I said.

  'Alice's new book', James said.
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  'Where the hell is this lunch?' dad said. 'Pam it's five to three, why the hell aren't we eating yet?'

  'We had to wait for Alice', mum shouted from the kitchen. 'It'll be ready soon. Have another drink.'

  'What's this about a new book? I thought you'd left all of that nonsense behind you?'

  'Dad', I said, shocked.

  'And when are you going to get yourself a real job? You're not twenty one anymore, you should take a leaf out of your brother's book and get on with doing something serious.'

  'I have got a serious job', I said, not sounding all that convincing.

  'Waitressing is not a career, darling', dad said. 'Despite what they might be telling you.'

  'I was talking about writing', I said.

  James began to laugh.

  'Lunchtime', mum shouted from the kitchen, not a moment too soon.

  If there was one good thing about coming home, it was the amazing food that mum always managed to prepare. Food that dad would take great care in finding faults with. My parents had been married for nearly forty five years, and it always amazed me how they'd stayed together for so long. Dad seemed to spend his retirement complaining, and mum had the patience of a saint to put up with it. This time the pork had been overcooked, the potatoes didn't have enough salt, the courgette wasn't cooked the way he wanted it to be, and the gravy wasn't proper.

  I ate a huge plateful and then went back for seconds, while dad continued to complain about things not being they way they should have been.

  'Have you heard from Harry?' dad said, while he mopped up inferior gravy with crusty bread.

  'Harry and I split up over a year ago, dad.'

  'I liked Harry', mum said.

  'So did I', dad said. 'He was good for you.'

  'He cheated on me', I said. 'Twice.'

  'He was a doctor. He would have made a good husband.'