CHAPTER TWO
Hangover cures
I aimlessly made my way down the busy street of Camden Lock and inhaled as much fresh air as North London had to offer through the thick fog of industrial pollution. I was pleased when I finally spotted the small building in front of me, encased in an off-white pebble dashing and displaying a rather modest sign which detailed its name, proudly so - The Grind. It was a cute family run café and had fast become mine, Luke and Sasha’s meeting place since moving there a little over four months ago. Having decided to stay in London after graduation, Sasha and I wanted to rent separately from Luke, expressing our need to remain in the cheaper bracket. He rented a flat in Camden, not too far from where Sasha and I lived in our much dingier one in Golders Green. It was ten minutes on the tube at best but being in zone three made monthly rent that much more bearable, not to mention justifiable. Financially, it was a struggle and with waitressing my only source of income, it was a wonder I didn’t starve on a weekly basis. Still, it wasn’t forever and I was hopeful that soon enough, I would have my dream job in marketing.
“Hi petal, usual?” asked Albert, the owner.
“You bet!” I replied, desperate for a tea.
The inside's quaint furniture and Victorian atmosphere were unusually captivating, proving to be the perfect addition to a small business situated just off of Camden’s quirky Market. The streets were often filled with all sorts of weird and wonderful people; the smells just as often as mysterious. Fresh food cooked down at the dock mixed together with the natural aromas of not-so-legal marijuana was a sure sign you were nearby and oddly enough, often acted as a comfort.
Inside, the usual customers appeared in their normal seats, chatting away in their distinguishable groups with the odd tourist dotted around, desperately scanning maps as though their lives depended on it. In the corner, I spotted Mel, Albert’s eldest daughter, and offered her a friendly acknowledgement in the form of a huge smile.
“You okay?” I questioned, making polite chit-chat.
“Better than him,” she laughed, pointing towards Luke who was hunched over, looking worse for wear.
“Poor lad’s had a rough night,” I smiled, removing my jacket. "Hey gorgeous, looking fresh this morning," I sarcastically stated, forcing his head up so that his piercing blue, slightly bloodshot eyes met mine.
He was still in last night’s clothes which had become somewhat creased to fuck and his hair, although a glorious mess, looked as though it had been dragged through a hedge backwards, repeatedly.
"Oh Maya, I feel like death. Have you got a mint or something? I haven't even brushed my teeth this morning. I've lost my fucking house keys," he moaned, emulating the true essence of why one shouldn't engage in an alcohol-fuelled binge.
I outright laughed at his predicament and pulled out my packet of polo's, offering him the lot. Albert chose that moment to come over with my tea and placed a rather peculiar looking substance in front of Luke, stating the concoction to be the world’s best hangover cure.
"My kids swear by this,” he said, offering Luke a sympathetic glance before turning his friendly face my way.
He soon sauntered away when another regular entered the café, and I focused my efforts on making Luke feel a little more human again, starting with his lost key situation.
"I have a spare key for your flat in my bag. We'll have some food and get going," I suggested, watching him down the foul looking liquid in one.
"Christ, that's disgusting!" he informed, reaching for yet another polo. "Thank you. Where would I be without you, ey?"
I smiled at him in response and decided to ask how his night went, which was met with nothing but a blank stare on his behalf. It would appear Gemma was not worth the hassle after all.
"Shit! We got back to hers and as it turns out, she's a massive fan of cats. Have you ever had sex whilst being eerily stared at by a fucking white Persian?" he bellowed, sounding nothing short of outraged.
"Oh, Luke," I tutted, far too amused by my best friend's behaviour for my own good. "You'll never learn, will you? Maybe it's time you found yourself a nice girl and settled down," I presented, seemingly encouraging some sort of interest in him if his wide eyes were anything to go by.
"And give up my bachelor lifestyle? Never," he winked, rather suggestively. "Besides, the right girl hasn't found me yet," he added, glaring his somewhat semi-normal looking eyes into mine, silently sending me a message, though what that was, I didn’t know.
Fortunately, Sasha chose this time to saunter in, making her dramatic entrance in the form of a rather fitting film reference.
"Nobody puts Lukey in the corner!"
Her bold statement had many a filthy stare thrown her way. Had it not been for the two watermelons positioned under each of her armpits, I would’ve been rather concerned myself.
"Vodka certainly can," mumbled Luke, totally bypassing the exotic fruits Sasha was so randomly carrying.
She threw her head back in deep laughter and strutted towards us, oblivious to the odd looks she was receiving from other customers.
“Where’ve you been? I went to make you breakfast this morning and you weren’t in?” I asked, casually enough.
“I went to the gym, I left a note on the fridge,” she informed, carelessly plonking both watermelons down on the far from sturdy table.
“What’s with the watermelons?” I laughed, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.
Her jade green eyes briefly travelled towards the place on the table where she had disposed of the heavy objects and with a simple shrug of her shoulders, offered up a perfectly reasonable explanation.
“Mary caught me on the way over here. Offered me them for two quid. Bloody bargain.”
Mary was a lovely woman in her late sixties who’d had it rather hard in life. Losing her husband at the young age of fifty had seen her in a financial struggle for most of her supposed retirement. Having no other option, she took to selling fresh fruit at Camden Market.
“Bless her, is she doing alright?” I asked, genuinely concerned for the fragile woman who was always telling me how beautiful I was.
She once told me I had hips that were perfect for bearing children and although some may have taken offence to such a thing, I simply laughed it off. She had a way of making you feel good about yourself and had a total schoolgirl crush on our Luke, which was absolutely adorable.
“She should be after the twenty I just slipped her. The poor cow will probably blow it on a bottle of vodka before lunch time,” replied Sasha, rather harshly referencing Mary’s slight alcohol addiction. “Speaking of which, how are you looking so fresh? This one fell asleep in the taxi last night and had to have some hunk carry her to bed,” she added, aiming her words towards a suddenly alert looking Luke.
“Who took you to bed?” he enquired, narrowing his eyes into two perfect slits.
Sasha laughed from next to me and sat her perfectly round arse down on the stool positioned to Luke’s right.
“George Clooney,” she teased, raising her plucked eyebrows.
Luke immediately stiffened in his seat, seemingly waiting for some sort of elaboration on the matter.
“Our forty-four year old taxi driver,” I informed, laying his pent-up anxiety to rest.
Luke had always been protective of me, having been the only one to stick up for me from a young age. I wasn’t exactly blessed in the looks department during my teenage years, often falling victim to bullying. Had it not been for him, I would’ve suffered much worse than what I actually did. Being a popular lad at school meant he had most girls following his every beck and call; one mention of ‘leave Maya the fuck alone’ being all it took for them to do exactly that. Still, he couldn’t be there all the time and the subtle bullying continued well into sixth form, coming to an ugly head on the night of my seventeenth birthday party.
A story for another time.
“Eat up, kids, I couldn’t sleep tonight knowing I didn’t feed you,” interrupted Albert; placing three English breakfasts down in front of us.
His gaze cautiously lingered on the two rather out of place looking watermelons; his ability to remain tight lipped having failed him, “Nice watermelons, Sasha.”
“Stop flirting with me, you saucy minx!” she responded, teasing him with a twist of her body. “You’re a married man, Albert. Had things been a little different, I’d maybe consider it,” she continued, engaging in their shared roleplay, which was an ongoing thing the pair insisted on doing every time.
“Aye, if I was twenty years younger and wasn’t so in love with my wife,” he retorted, placing the cutlery next to our plates.
“Speaking of which, how is Linda? Her leg any better?” I asked, loading up on tomato sauce.
Linda, Albert’s wife, was mopping up the floors one night and broke her leg when she slipped on the soapy surface.
Dopey mare.
“Fine, I think she’s enjoying the special treatment. Has me running around after her like a blue-arsed fly,” he moaned, although I suspected he secretly loved it.
He couldn’t stop the smile growing on his face.
“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” inputted Luke, resurfacing from his hangover coma.
“You’re right there, lad. You’ll know exactly what I’m talking about with these two. I imagine they have you wrapped around their little finger,” he commented, nodding his head in Sasha’s and my general direction.
We both shared a knowing smile, fully aware we held all the power when it came to Luke. He was somewhat outnumbered, being the only male in the group, but like Albert, he secretly loved it.
“You’ve got that right. I’m always getting them out of trouble,” he sighed, dramatically.
Sasha was always a bit of a wild one back in our Uni days and Luke was often getting her out of sticky situations; the repercussions often proving too much. Her nickname back then was No Shit Sasha, making total sense if you happened to know her on a more personal level like we did. The story behind the name stemmed from a particular event that involved a one night stand, photos being taken and Facebook. Luke got involved as his knowledge for breaching the privacy of others somewhat overpowered ours, a given, considering he was studying law at the time. His bullshit story about how you could do actual time for such an offence had seen Sebastian Simons shit his pants and take down the pictures almost immediately. He did, however, trash Luke’s car a week later, although we never could prove it was him, so the little shit managed to get away with it. Still, Luke didn’t bat an eyelid, claiming the entire situation an act of immaturity. Luckily his car insurance had him covered, meaning he didn’t have to fork out a single penny.
“I’m sure you do but I’ll bet the favour is more often than not returned,” stated Albert, pointing towards the half eaten pack of polos that rested next to Luke on the table top.
His rosy pink, slightly chapped lips pulled up into an immediate smile, and his bright blue eyes momentarily met mine in silent gratification. He was obviously thankful for my annoying habit of carrying polos around with me everywhere I went.
“Absolutely,” he agreed, eyes still lingering on mine. “I’d be lost without her,” he added, quickly dropping his gaze from me to focus it elsewhere. “Them. I’d be lost without them,” he corrected, swiftly recovering from his minor slip up, surely not wanting to hurt Sasha’s feelings.
Albert smiled in response before leaving us to re-join his daughter in her attempts to carry three plates, a bowl of hash browns and a glass of Pepsi. Luke became momentarily engrossed in his food, and sensing a gap in the conversation, I decided to fill it by bringing up a topic I knew we’d all be interested in.
“So come on then, Sash. Tell us how you plan on getting Jace’s number.”