Goodbye, Jimmy Choo

by Annie Sanders

  “Before you go, Maddy, I’m sorry it had to be like this. It was strictly business. But what happened between us, that was all about you and me. And it’s not over.” That arrogance was back again.

  “Oh, I think it is, Tom. Find someone else to screw over.” And she cut the line dead.

  She turned round slowly at a movement behind her and saw Izzie leaning up against the doorjamb, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help catching the end of that. Is everything all right?”

  “Er, yes, I guess.”

  Izzie thrust her hands into her pockets and scuffed her foot on the carpet. “Maddy, I’ve no right to ask this, but you didn’t do anything stupid in New York, did you?”

  The front door opened and Jean Luc, Marcus, and Pru barged into the hallway, arms laden with carrier bags, talking animatedly. Maddy and Izzie looked at each other before the moment was lost and celebrations took over.

  “Stupid?” said Maddy quietly. “Maybe. But sometimes we all do things we regret. Izzie, Marcus needs your forgiveness. You both need to put it behind you.”

  “Yes, mate. I think we’re getting there.” They linked arms and went into the noisy kitchen to join the others.

  Epilogue

  “Hi there. It’s me.”

  “Hi! I was going to call you, but our flight was delayed and we didn’t get home till really late.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  “Just brilliant. Will and Pasco are brown as berries, but poor Florence. She spent the whole time with her legionnaire’s hat on and factor zillion slathered on an inch thick.”

  “Poor love. Did you relax?”

  “Oh, you bet. Colette just let me sleep and drink rum punches until I was comatose. Moving house took more out of me than I thought.”

  “How’s the apartment looking?”

  “The work’s nearly finished. These bloody Parisian builders tried to muck me about though, but I don’t think they realized they’d taken on Attila the Soft-furnisher. They finished the children’s rooms while we were away, though they painted Will’s the wrong bloody color, and now they’re working on the kitchen. But exciting news—the other place is coming on brilliantly! Jean Luc’s promised that by the time we get down there next week the pool will be finished. Can’t wait for you to come and see it.”

  “Flights booked already. We’re arriving Good Friday. Anything you want me to bring?”

  “British cigs of course, and don’t forget the Tunnock’s Caramel Wafers!”

  “Already packed in bulk, my dear. That’s taken care of our excess luggage. Can’t believe you’ve got a place in the country. I thought you’d vowed never to set foot on a blade of grass ever again.”

  “Will insisted on a garden—it was a major factor in the moving-to-France negotiations. I’ll just try not to look at the view and go into Montpellier and breathe in some diesel fumes every now and then. But how’s things your end? How does the bathroom look?”

  “Since I cadged all your ideas from the one in Huntingford, it’s really beautiful, thank you.”

  “Stoke Newington builders come up trumps, did they?”

  “Do you mind, Maddy, we’re definitely Islington now!”

  “If it’s north of the park, it’s bandit country to me, old girl! Never mind that, I’m itching to hear about the wedding.”

  “Oh, you really missed something. It was lovely. The sun shone, Charlie and Jess looked angelic, even though he managed to spill Coke down his page boy outfit. The groom scrubs up pretty well too.”

  “And come on, tell, did she wear orange and green?”

  “No, strictly virgin white, but the flowers were as garish as you’d expect and clashed beautifully with her hair.”

  “Good old Lillian! Did she salsa?”

  “Like a good un! The best thing though was the wedding cake—the most enormous pile of doughnuts you can imagine—about a foot high in every flavor under the sun!”

  “And did Crispin eat them all?”

  “Almost. It was sweet—they shared one, biting from both sides until they met in the middle—like Lady and the Tramp. It was all so romantic—though Donna and Angie got absolutely slaughtered and Karen ended up paddling naked in the pond. I meant to tell you that idea they had for the mobile sandwich van has come off. They’ve called it—wait for it—Buns ’n’ Butties!”

  “Oh please!”

  “They’re doing a roaring trade, so Crispin tells me, and they’re the toast of every building site in the county. I think it’s as much the abundance of cleavage as the quality of the bacon sarnies that’s clinched it.”

  “Nice to know they put their payoff to good use. Well, that’s one happy ending. Did Marcus enjoy the nuptials?”

  “He was pretty busy doing the photos—which are terrific—but I think he genuinely did.”

  “How’re things going in that department?”

  “Much better. We’re spending time together and it feels like a more grown-up relationship. I can’t say it’s violins and roses all the time, but we have our moments. He’s had a few job interviews and he’s back in the loop. Thank God for the minuscule attention span of the advertising industry.”

  “Has Jess forgiven you yet?”

  “She won’t admit it, but I think she’s settled at last. She’s got herself a little girl gang in her class, and I hate to tell you, but we’ve plugged right into the after-school activities circuit. Violin, ballet, intermediate particle physics. You know the kind of thing. I’m becoming a regular Guardian-reading hypermummy.”

  “Nothing new there, then. Boy, I don’t miss that Eagles’s car park. The most we do after school is trot round to the Jardin du Luxembourg, all us mummies in our Miu Miu kitten heels clutching our teeny-weeny handbags, and watch our stylish offspring on the climbing frame. Not a Pokey Sue or a pair of gold loafers in sight.”

  “Sounds dead elegant.”

  “Well, it has to be an improvement, especially after the dirty looks I got when our gaffe was blown. Bloody Geoff and that photo. If I ever see that man again, I’ll shove his laptop where the sun don’t shine. And Peter was so upset about all that. It haunts me. Do you think we convinced him it wasn’t his fault?”

  “Good God, Maddy, you couldn’t have done more. He’s a smashing bloke, and he’s too honest for the way the City is now. There are few gentlemen left like him. Speaking of gentlemen, how’s that dishy French fancy? Is your new house far from his?”

  “About half an hour’s drive. He’ll be thrilled when he doesn’t have to come up to Paris to see us anymore. Of course I haven’t seen him since we went away, but we’ve been in daily contact from my sun lounger.”

  “Were you demanding regular updates on the building work?”

  “Erm, yes and no actually. It was just a good excuse to get him to call. I sort of miss it when I don’t talk to him.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Oh, come on, I’ve known him all my life! I feel so comfortable with him after everything that’s happened—I don’t have to explain anything, he knows me so well. And he’s so good to me. The children miss him too—of course, it’s for them really. Look, Iz, can I ask you something?”

  “Course you can. I’ve worn your knicks, haven’t I? There’s nowhere we can’t go. Shoot.”

  “Well, I know you and Marcus are solid now, but . . . what did happen between you and Jean Luc that day at the mas?”

  “Why ask about that suddenly? That’s ancient history.”

  “I know. But all you said is that you weren’t having an affair. Did you even . . . are you . . . do you still have feelings for him?”

  “I think he’s a very special man. But, okay, cards on the table. We came close that day, but it wasn’t right for either of us. Anyway, he had someone else on his mind. Still has in fact . . .”

  “Oh. Oh, I see. Is it serious?”

  “Would it bother you if it was?”

  “No! Well, yeah, I think it would. He’s been acting a bit odd around
me lately, and I wondered if there was something going on. I’d hate him to be hurt like he was with Pascale. He’s like a second skin to me and I feel . . . well, his happiness is important to me. But tell me about this other woman. Is he still in touch with her, do you think? Is he in love with her?”

  “Well, yes I think he might be.”

  “Are you sure? How do you know?”

  “He’s mentioned her to me in confidence. I reckon she could just be the woman for him—he’s pretty smitten, and do you know? I’m beginning to think she might feel the same way.”

  “Oh . . . oh right. Should I ask him about her?”

  “Yes, Maddy, I think you should, and as soon as possible. You just might be surprised what he has to say . . .”

  “Did he tell you what she was like?”

  “He didn’t have to. I’ve already met her.”

  “No way! Oh, God, Iz. Is she gorgeous? What if I hate her?”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t. She is gorgeous, and she’s the best mate I ever had . . .”

  About the Author

  Annie Sanders is actually two people and not in the way that means you need medication. Or at least not often. Though it sounds clever for two people to write a novel, we’re slightly worried that each of us is only half an author. Good thing then that we ran into each other. Though to confuse you, at the time of meeting we were actually four people—both vastly pregnant and launching immediately into the nitty gritty of hemorrhoids and stretch marks. Five children later and communication is still as frank. You sure have to know someone well to be able to say that at times their prose sucks and their plotting is slack.

  Goodbye, Jimmy Choo was the result of a hissy fit. After four years spent churning out consumer titles—we’d tackled everything from property guides to sex manuals—we longed to give rein to our creative urges. Plus there were too many “boy meets ditzy girl” and “does my bum look big in this?” novels out there. We searched in vain for novels that were relevant to women like us (very much the wrong side of thirty), books that made us laugh, were grown up without being too serious, and that tackled life after children when you think, “Is that it?” Answer? Have a go at writing one ourselves.

  We both have arts degrees and backgrounds in publishing, and Goodbye, Jimmy Choo contains bits of our own experience—enforced moves to the country, an unhealthy fascination with sexy footwear, and the challenge of working with small children around—but it is emphatically not autobiographical. Oh, if only.

  5 Spot Send Off

  5 things you need to know before heading for the country

  1. Go into a country pub and ask for a screwdriver, and they’ll ask you what’s broken.

  2. If you thought it would mean fresh air, wait till you smell a field that’s been sprayed with manure.

  3. It’ll be so quiet you won’t be able to sleep.

  4. You’ll have to say goodbye to the bright lights, but hang on—what are those twinkly things in the sky?

  5. Mud brown is the new black—and it ain’t going to change next season.