It Felt Like A Kiss

Chapter Twenty-two




Ellie bit the inner skin of her bottom lip hard so she could focus on that familiar pain as David steered her through the wood-panelled hall with its beautiful black-and-white tiled floor into a huge living room-cum-dining room that stretched from the front of the house to the open French windows at the back. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books, framed prints and photos, little ornaments, tchotchkes and objets d’art: a tiny painted elephant, a vase made from a buckled, twisted piece of green glass, a set of netsukes. Ordinarily, Ellie would have liked to linger by the shelves and explore their contents, get to know about the people who lived here as she asked about the provenance of each treasure, but tonight she just wanted to choke down one bowl of soup and get the hell out.

At the French windows, the room extended into an L-shape and round the corner was an open-plan farmhouse-style kitchen with a scrubbed pine dresser full of mismatched plates and cups: blue and white Delftware, vintage gold-rimmed china be-sprigged with flowers, and a scrubbed pine table, one end obscured by piles of newspapers and magazines. There was even a scrubbed pine worktop, and copper-bottomed pans hanging from a rack above the range. The smell of a fragrant, aromatic, roasting chicken was the smell Ellie always associated with Friday night dinner, with coming home, but not this Friday night.

‘Your son’s brought someone round,’ David’s mother said in the same tight voice to a tall, thin man with a keen, clever face, these characteristics emphasised by tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and a head of thick, luxuriant white hair, who had suddenly emerged from behind a door Ellie had thought was a cupboard. ‘This is Velvet.’


‘Ignore her,’ David said, and Ellie wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or his father. ‘This is Ellie, who’s been staying with me for the last few days, and you shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers. Anyway, I thought you didn’t read those kinds of papers.’

‘I’ll only have The Times and the Guardian in the house, but judging by the browser history on your mother’s computer someone refreshes the Daily Mail on an hourly basis,’ he said, seizing Ellie’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically. ‘I’m Ludovic. Awful family name. Call me Ludo. This is Ruth.’

Ruth Gold was not amused about the Daily Mail reference. ‘I thought you were going to change before dinner,’ she said sharply to her husband.

He glanced down at his frayed chinos and grey cotton shirt, its breast pocket flapping forlornly. ‘But it’s only David.’

‘David and Velvet,’ Ruth Gold corrected him.

‘It’s Ellie. Nobody calls me Velvet,’ Ellie reminded her very softly. ‘Sorry again for turning up like this.’ She didn’t even dare look at David because she was sure that if she did her eyes would promise him unimaginable agony. He must have known his mother didn’t want her family Friday night disrupted by one of the most notorious women in the country. ‘Look, I could just … I’ll go …’ She was already backing away, but didn’t get very far, because David was standing behind her, and his hands came to rest on her shoulders. This time his touch did feel comforting.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said, and he must have signalled something to his mother, because Ruth Gold wrinkled her nose, then sighed.

‘Of course, you’ll stay for dinner,’ she said stiffly. ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you to leave.’

Ellie didn’t want to stay. She wanted to be with people who liked her, who’d be kind to her, but they were in short supply today. She had no choice but to stay put and offer to help lay the table. Her offer was rebuffed very jovially by Ludo so she perched awkwardly on a stool, clutching a Campari and soda, as Ludo and Ruth bustled about the kitchen and David slouched against the worktop next to her. Ellie couldn’t even imagine why he’d wanted her to come to his parents’ house for dinner or why she’d let herself be talked into it.

‘I’m only going to stay for an hour,’ she whispered to him just as Ruth announced that dinner was ready, and Ellie didn’t think he’d heard her.

Although Ruth had spent most of the day standing over a hot stove in a hot kitchen on a hot day skimming the fat off a slow-simmering chicken soup, Ludo had staged an intervention at four thirty that afternoon, and insisted that the world wouldn’t end if they had a cold Friday night dinner.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Ruth said to Ellie for the fifth time, as the four of them sat having dinner on the patio, which looked out over their rambling back garden. Two huge garden umbrellas were angled to keep the glare of a sun yet to set off the weather-beaten wooden table. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind having poached salmon? Because I have chicken. It would be no trouble to make you up a plate.’

‘This is lovely,’ Ellie insisted for the fifth time, and in other circumstances, she might have smiled and mentioned that Sadie would have been equally mortified if a stranger had rocked up for Friday night dinner only to find that chicken wasn’t on the menu, but she was sure that Ruth Gold would find some way to take offence if she did. In the big scheme of things, it really didn’t matter that she’d met two people today who didn’t like her. Not everyone had to like her and Ellie could see now that her entire life had been spent wanting people to like her, and going all out to make it happen. There was no point in wasting her energy any further, because now everyone she met would already have a negative opinion about her and there was no smile in her repertoire or crisp white dress in the world that would change their mind. But she was a guest in Ruth’s house, and Ruth was David’s mother, and Ludo was charming and the dinner was lovely. There was a whole poached salmon, homemade potato salad, crusty baguettes, and Ludo had persuaded her and Ruth to have another Campari and soda.

It was hard to reconcile Ruth and Ludo, who were so voluble that they invariably talked over each other, as David’s parents. There was no shade or shadows to them. Ludo happily told Ellie that the two of them had met at university forty years ago when they were doing postgraduate work and were both engaged to other people, and had been together ever since. Ludo was a Professor of Ethics at University College London and Ruth was a Professor of Modern and Gender History at Birkbeck.

They were very impressive as parents went, but they didn’t talk about lofty academic topics or tell embarrassing anecdotes about what David was like as a child, for which Ellie was hugely grateful. Not just because she didn’t want to think about a younger, cuter, possibly verging on adorable, version of him, but also because she couldn’t think of anything more likely to send him into a silent, seething, stiff-backed fury. Instead, Ellie was content to observe, rather than join in. She sat and smiled and nodded a lot as the three of them talked about the new installation at the Serpentine Gallery, daytime TV (Ludo was a big fan of Pointless) and the chances of another week of punishingly hot weather.

Was this what it would have been like if Billy and Ari had stayed together and the three of them had been a family? Somehow, Ellie doubted it. Dinner table talk would probably have been much more rock ’n’ roll-orientated.

‘It’s worse than 1976,’ Ruth sighed as she fanned her red face with a napkin, then lightly touched Ellie’s arm as if she might be thawing towards her a teensy little bit. ‘You’re very quiet. Is everything all right? Would you like some more salmon?’

‘I couldn’t eat anything else,’ Ellie said, and then, because old habits died hard and Ruth did seem really nice when she wasn’t being disapproving: ‘This dill mayonnaise is amazing. Did you make it yourself?’

Ruth’s smile was a fraction wider than it had been. ‘I did. Would you like the recipe?’

‘She really wouldn’t,’ David replied with a wicked grin. ‘Not if it involves anything more complicated than chopping or stirring.’

‘I can heat things up too,’ Ellie said. ‘And assemble. I’m very good at assembling pre-cooked items.’

‘You don’t cook?’ Ludo and Ruth asked in unison and also in some consternation.

‘No. My mum said it was far more important that I could play a musical instrument than make rough puff pastry or debone a duck,’ Ellie explained. ‘I’ve tried to learn but I don’t think my brain is wired in the right way.’

‘You’re exactly the same,’ Ludo said to his son. ‘Remember when I tried to teach you how to make an omelette? What could be simpler than that?’

‘Lots of things,’ David said, with a smile. He was leaning forward, elbows propped on the table, a bottle of fancy imported lager resting against one tanned cheek and Ellie could understand why Ruth, and even Ludo, would occasionally shoot him a brief, proud look as if to confirm that yes, we did raise this fine, upstanding man. This might be what he was really like with people who weren’t simply items on his to-do list. ‘String theory. What the Hadron Collider actually does. The plot of Inception. Far too many variables in cooking an omelette.’


‘It’s impossible to tell if the pan is too hot, not hot enough or just the right temperature,’ Ellie added feelingly. ‘And whenever I try to crack an egg, I end up with more shell than yolk and whatever the white stuff is called.’

‘Albumen,’ Ruth said, and she patted Ellie’s hand again. ‘I use ready-made mayonnaise so I’ll email you the rest of the recipe if you give me your address before you go.’

Ellie agreed that she would, and it seemed that they were done with the salmon and the salad, and though apple strudel had been mentioned she couldn’t force down another mouthful.

Ruth was already gathering empty plates. As Ellie stood up to help her Ludo turned to David. ‘I would ask if you read my piece in the Law Review about how a moral imperative is still relevant in today’s society but it would only lead to an argument, so would you like to come and see the foundations I’ve marked out for my new office shed?’

There was obviously back story there. Ellie had noticed that, apart from the few surreptitious proud looks, there hadn’t even been a hug and a kiss when he walked through the door. Ellie could never remember a time when she hadn’t been greeted by hugs and kisses from Ari or Sadie.

Still, it wasn’t her place to ask, and once it was just her and Ruth in the kitchen loading the dishwasher, the conversation became strained again. ‘How long will you be staying at David’s, do you think?’ Ruth queried after a long silence.

‘Really not that long,’ Ellie assured her. ‘I might go and stay with friends in Paris but I’ll probably end up at my grandparents’ tonight.’

‘Oh! Are they local?’

‘Belsize Park.’ Ellie gingerly slotted mayonnaise-encrusted utensils into the cutlery drawer. ‘So it’s only a short drive from Highgate.’

‘If you don’t mind me asking, what do your grandparents think about this mess you’ve got yourself into?’ Ruth asked, and Ellie did mind her asking but there didn’t seem a polite way to say that. She contented herself with frowning at Ruth’s back as the other woman abandoned the clearing-up entirely in favour of making another batch of Campari and sodas.

‘Well, they think I’d never have got into this mess if I only dated nice Jewish boys, but they love me quite a lot so they’ve been really good about it.’ It popped out before she could pop it back in. Ellie actually put a hand to her mouth in horror as Ruth looked her up and down, expression thoughtful. Ellie wondered if she’d just confirmed Ruth’s worst fears; that she had her talons firmly embedded in her son, which was not even remotely what she meant. Yes, he was Jewish, but he wasn’t that nice and he already had several girlfriends.

‘Your surname is Cohen, isn’t it?’ she repeated. ‘Belsize Park.’ She looked at Ellie again, standing in her kitchen in her nice Banana Republic dress that didn’t show too much skin, with her shiny straight hair and subtly polished toenails, and frowned. ‘I‘m sure there are at least fifty Cohens in Belsize Park but you’re not related to Sadie and Morry, are you?’

‘They’re my grandparents!’

Ruth Gold’s smile was as sunny as the late evening sun that spilled through the windows and gave the kitchen a golden glow. ‘Your grandmother is a remarkable woman. Remarkable,’ Ruth exclaimed enthusiastically. ‘And your grandfather is a darling. Oh! Both of them do so much for charity. They were on our table at a quiz night in aid of Darfur and I think one of Sadie’s other daughters, Carol, is married to … either Ludo’s second cousin or is it his first cousin once removed?’ She held out her arms. ‘Ellie! I don’t know what you must think of me. Obviously one doesn’t like to believe everything one reads in the papers but it’s so easy to get caught up in it. And knowing you’re related to that man. Can you forgive me?’

Ellie flapped one hand. ‘Don’t even mention it. How were you meant to react when I turned up like that?’

It was something else that Ruth and Sadie had in common: the inability to mention Billy Kay by his given name, which was … interesting.

Ten minutes later, they were nose to nose on the sofa, and now that Ruth had got over her initial suspicions and Ellie had decided that actually, yes, she did care what Ruth thought about her, they were getting on just fine. Ari was the best mother in the world, hands down, no contest, but Ruth Gold wasn’t too shabby herself. She had a challenging career, a beautiful house, had raised a family, collected interesting things like netsukes and first editions of children’s ghost stories, and was a firm believer that everyone should have a creative outlet.

‘I cross-stitch, and crochet very badly, and Ludo has become obsessed with gardening. What do you do?’

Ellie pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure I have a creative outlet. Most of the artists I work with tell me off for stifling their creativity in the name of commerce.’

‘They sound horribly self-indulgent,’ Ruth decided. She swirled the ice cubes round in her glass. ‘Anyway, you work in a creative field so it’s not so important. I wish David wasn’t so career-focused. Do you know that last year, in the middle of the Yom Kippur service, he had his phone on vibrate and left synagogue to take a work call? I was mortified.’

This was not a conversation that Ellie could have any part of. ‘He has his marathon running,’ she said a little desperately.

Ruth didn’t say anything, but the ice swirling became a little more manic. ‘Well,’ she said, then paused. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but someone who runs that many marathons is running away from something. He is not happy, Ellie.’

‘He seems very good at his job,’ Ellie said as brightly as she could. She’d sworn she was going to stay for only an hour and she should have stuck to her original plan. ‘About to become senior partner, from what I hear.’

Ruth made a face like she’d ordered lobster and been presented with fish fingers instead. ‘He’d be furious if he knew that I’d said this to you …’

‘He’s your son, it’s only natural that you worry about him …’

‘… bad enough before he went to the States. He’s meant to practise law, not find loopholes so his clients can get away with murder. Not literally. Well, maybe literally, for all I know,’ Ruth said, smashing the hell out of the last of her ice. ‘What is going on with the two of you? Or is this all some Machiavellian scheme involving that man and—’

‘Look, please, Ruth …’ Ellie held up her hands in protest. ‘I couldn’t step out of my front door without finding myself in the middle of a baying mob of paparazzi, and yes, moving me into his spare room was entirely for Billy Kay’s benefit, but at least David has given me a few days’ peace and I’m grateful to him for that.’

‘I just want him to be happy. Are you sure there’s nothing between the two of you?’

There was, but it was one-sided and ill-advised and not something Ellie was going to discuss with David’s mother. ‘I’m sure he’s not unhappy,’ she demurred. ‘And he’s very successful, and I don’t think he’s short of female company. Not that I—’

‘Oh, is he?’ Ruth asked sharply. ‘Well, he certainly hasn’t introduced any of them to me.’


‘Not even Jessica who lives across the hall?’ Ellie prompted, though she should have left well alone.

‘Jessica? Who’s Jessica?’ Ruth demanded with a pointed look so, for a moment, her friendly expression was replaced with something more forbidding – Ellie could see who David had picked up that little trick from. ‘The last time David introduced us to any of his girlfriends was when he was fifteen and seeing Daniella Rabin from next door.’

‘I must have got my information wrong, then.’ It was strange and unsettling that David kept all the different bits of his life separate rather than overlapping. He wanted to be all these different things to different people, but by doing that surely he had to lose something of himself? None of this was any of her business, no matter how much she longed to pry into the dark corners of his life. Ellie looked around frantically for a new topic. ‘So, does your daughter live near here?’

It was the perfect diversion. Sophie Gold (she’d refused to take her husband’s name, much to the horror of her in-laws) lived in Finchley with Justin and their two children. Ruth couldn’t wait to show Ellie photos of her grandsons on her iPad.

‘I think Sophie and Justin are probably done on the baby front,’ Ruth explained as Ellie made cooing noises because it was impossible not to coo at pictures of a three-year-old and a one-year-old with heart-shaped faces, big brown eyes and dark curly hair dressed as bumblebees for Halloween. ‘Sophie wants to concentrate on her career now. She has her own web design firm. You two would really get on. When all this silly business with the papers has died down, you must come for dinner again.’

‘I’d like that,’ Ellie said, and she would, though she was sure that David would probably like it a lot less. ‘And I’d really like to pick your brains about some research I’m doing. Any leads you could give me on female art groups in working-class communities or women’s organisations between the wars?’

‘How interesting! One of my colleagues might be able to help you,’ Ruth said eagerly as her husband and son came in from the garden.

‘We should probably go,’ David said and if Ellie had thought that there was a tiny little bit of tension earlier, now she was sure that if she held out a hand she’d feel it hard and sharp against her fingertips.

‘Oh, must you?’ Ruth cried, taking hold of Ellie’s hand. ‘I’ve hardly had time to get to know this gorgeous girl.’

‘Well, if this gorgeous girl wants to walk home across the Heath while it’s still light, you’ll have to postpone getting to know each other,’ David said flatly. His expression was so bland, it was beige.

‘You have to promise to bring Ellie again.’

‘Or Ellie could come by herself?’ Ludo suggested with a smile. ‘If you’re too busy greasing the wheels of a soulless, shallow industry.’

‘If you’re so bothered about the lapsed morals of the legal profession, maybe you should practise law again instead of writing incomprehensible pieces about the—’

‘Boys!’ Ruth struggled to her feet. ‘It’s been a lovely evening. Don’t spoil it.’

It was already spoiled, but Ruth was determined to put a brave face on it and Ellie didn’t want to leave on such a sour note so she smiled and nodded and talked in a cheery voice that sounded very fake to her own ears. When they left, David was handed a cool bag packed with the unserved chicken dinner and Ellie was presented with a warm, tinfoil parcel of apple strudel.

Before the door had even shut behind them, Ellie heard Ludo say enthusiastically, ‘What a cracking girl. If she could only cook, then she’d be perfect for him.’





Camden, London, 1986

Then one night Billy went AWOL. Fine. Artistes didn’t always come home in time for dinner. But he wasn’t at the studio and he didn’t turn up for three whole days.

When he did he was tired and unshaven. There was a scratch mark down one cheek. Ari suspected that if he took off his shirt, he’d have scratches down his back too.

‘Where have you been? Who the f*ck have you been with? You’ve been with her, haven’t you?’ Ari spat at him before he could even get through the door. She could never bring herself to say Olivia’s name. Billy didn’t have that problem.

‘Of course I’ve been with Olivia,’ he shouted. ‘The kid, Lara, she was sick.’

‘So? Are you a doctor? What use could you possibly have been?’ Ari shouted back at him, hormones and fear and resentment making her Medusa-mad.

‘She’s my daughter,’ he insisted furiously. ‘What the f*ck did you want me to do?’

‘You left me! You left me on my own in this freezing shithole. You got me in this mess,’ she gestured down at her swollen stomach, ‘now you have to stay with me!’

Billy looked at Ari like he didn’t even know her any more, though she was still wearing five inch f*ck-me heels and a huge beehive despite Carol’s fears that the Elnett fumes would hurt the baby. He looked repulsed at what she’d become.

‘F*ck this and f*ck you!’ he said. The door wouldn’t slam properly because the wood was damp and warped, but it was still one hell of an exit.

A week went by and Ari knew he was never coming home again.

She winkled the address out of Jimmy Vaughn for the price of a wrap of speed but didn’t have the guts to ring on the bell. So she spent long hours standing in the cold in Powis Square, then retreated to the warm fug of the pub on the corner.

There was another person hot on Billy’s trail too. More often than not Ari would see Georgina Pratt sitting with her nose pressed to the window as she nursed a vodka and Coke. Ari actually felt sorry for the kid, sorry enough to waddle over and give Georgina the benefit of her five extra years of experience in dealing with men.

‘Listen, sweetheart,’ she said kindly. ‘Go find a real boy and stop mooning after Billy. He’s not worth it.’

‘He is.’ Georgina rounded on Ari, her pudding face contorted into an ugly scowl. ‘He is worth it and he loves Olivia, not you. They’re perfect for each other.’

Ari pointed at the bun in her oven. ‘Not that perfect for each other, are they?’

‘They are, and you’re just an ugly tart who’s ruined everything,’ Georgina said. Then she stood up and, defying all laws of man and God, threw her drink in the face of the woman who was eight months pregnant.