by Isabella May
River excused himself amidst the bubbling enthusiasm of the table, went to the toilets, and was briefly consumed by a bizarre white powdery trail. It seemed to lead into the Ladies; on first glance it resembled talc – the heavily perfumed stuff old ladies use, and for some reason, here it was decorating the busily patterned and carpeted floor. On second glance, he’d convinced himself it was cocaine.
Blimey!
Who’d have thought it, out here in the safe, timid countryside? It was true what they said, as much as Glastonbury was the pigeon-holed drugs capital of the entire nation, in actual fact all that assumption really did was act as a cover-up for what was really going on in the most unassuming of locations.
He walked on into the gents, lifted the seat of the toilet and peed into its rim, more than aware of someone chatting in the car park outside, so he squinted through the small gap where the porthole of a window sat above the cistern, eyes taking in the figure of Georgina, all fired up and talking to someone on her mobile phone.
He finished his business, pulled the flush, and waited several seconds for the silence which ensued. Call it instinct but something told him to hover by that window pane.
“Okay, Ara, yeah, everything’s in place my side. Chat soon, babe.”
Ara?
Frustratingly he missed the beginning part of the name Georgina mentioned – oh, it was definitely a name. Was she out there talking to Tamara on her phone? And then he shook his head and laughed at his crazily warped imagination. Georgina couldn’t possibly know Tamara… Of course, who else? It had to be Zara.
To hell with her anyway.
Yes, they may still work together at the moment, but she’d get the message soon enough once romance started heating up with Alice, as only it could.
Chapter Thirty-Two
ALICE
“Did you just hear that?” Alice said loudly, grabbing at the corner of her thin duvet and pressing it against her body to cover her modesty – just about; damn she should have slept in her pyjamas, but it was one of those hot and sticky, unsuspecting Indian monsoon nights, and who expected a visitor at this hour?
She jumped out of bed with a start and fumbled for the light switch, heaving the bedding behind her.
“Hmm?” said River, eyes not quite with the world, so that she wasn’t altogether sure if he was in fact, sleepwalking. He reached out for her instinctively as he emerged from his own bedroom and they met in the middle in the caravan’s kitchen.
“Stop it, Riv!” she said with a laugh as he moved in for a cheeky embrace, but she was too high on that very unique kind of lust that only comes with love to be able to censor its opaque translation. “I’ve told you before I can’t just jump into bed with you like that… even despite my promiscuity at lunchtime. It was risqué, I know, and perhaps I shouldn’t have encouraged you, but I want to take things slowly, to get it right this time.”
To be the absolute opposite of Georgina.
“I’m sure it’s just your rather excitable imagination,” he teased again, eyes very much open now and drinking all of her in, so much so that when she took in the size of his erection through his boxer shorts, she couldn’t deny that she too wasn’t just a little bit tempted to break her draconic self-imposed rules.
“I’ll go see anyway,” she said, stealing her eyes away from his groin before he had chance to register their interest. “Maybe it’s Blossom clawing at the door again.” Aunt Sheba’s cat was treating the caravan as her second home of late. Alice was sure Sheba would highly disapprove of the second helpings she was clandestinely feeding her, but Blossom had the loyalty of a dog, the most irresistible little face.
“Probably… that cat’s eating us out of house and bloody home,” said River, evidently more than a little miffed he’d been spurned after the tease of the foreplay she’d given him that lunchtime.
But she had to be sure. Sure that he was sure more than anything else. It wouldn’t do him any harm to serve his apprenticeship, for both of them to truly get to know one another’s domestic habits, to decide if they really could tolerate the dirty socks thrown on the floor, the toilet seat that was never put down, the dirty crockery piled up in the sink, the post cocktail snoring, oh, and her badly cooked eggs.
Alice trailed the quilt behind her and made for the door, as if she were trying out her wedding dress for the very first time. Mummy would definitely approve of the Princess Diana-esque length, a little less though if that were sweeping the floor in any kind of nuptials involving River, who paced the short length of the caravan to the left of her, no doubt trying in vain to get everything back under control down below.
Alice turned the key, just about able to make out the silhouette of a woman. Perhaps it was Sheba? The frosted glass made it impossible to pinpoint the figure’s facial features and so she opened the door cautiously, taking a couple of steps back as she peered into the darkness, fear now coursing her veins. Why hadn’t she let River deal with this? Admittedly, she wasn’t one for sexism in the twenty-first century, and she’d more than hedged her bets taking taxis alone and walking back to hotels in strange lands, usually just to defy Lennie who would insist that he accompany Cinderella after the ball. But there was no need to carry on like that now.
She froze to see she had opened the door to Georgina instead of a cat. And at that very same moment, River, evidently to satisfy his own agenda, re-appeared in the kitchen and began to wrap his arms protectively around Alice’s waist. But she was too stunned; too half-asleep herself to protest as she wished to, despite being all too aware she was painting the ultimate portrait of Man Snatcher.
“Well, well, well, isn’t this nice and cosy?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” said Alice defensively.
“It is what it looks like,” said River.
“One of you get your story straight, why don’t you? Just good friends, hey, Riv? Wasn’t that the lie you sold me?” If looks could have killed, River would be taking his last breath about now.
Alice freed herself from his arms, frustrated at River’s totally unnecessary knee jerk reaction – which only served to make matters far worse than they needed to be – as well as the unbelievably chilly air which nipped angrily at her décolletage screaming out Somerset’s brief summer’s end. Just as well too, caravan life, as much as she was grateful for it, was beginning to feel more like being holed up in a greenhouse.
She walked to the kettle, took it to the sink and filled it slowly with water, letting the tap’s trickle soothe her momentarily, leaving the two of them to battle this out alone. After all of this, the last thing she wanted was to be caught back up in a ménage a trois. If that was what he’d lured her back to, she may as well be plucking berries from bushes and filling up baskets. If nothing else that storyline was predictable.
“What the frick are you doing here? It’s half past one in the morning,” snapped River behind her, still guarding the door.
“I left something here so I came back to get it.”
“Not at this unsociable hour you don’t.” Alice turned to see River’s arms were folded now in defiance.
“You didn’t used to find one-thirty unsociable… or two-thirty… or three, as I recall.”
River said nothing. As comebacks went it was a pretty good quip, Alice had to grant Georgina that much.
She sighed deeply instead, flicked the switch down on the kettle, reached for three mugs from the cupboard, threw a tea bag into each of them, and began to walk back to her bedroom, like that might also help to erase the succession of images Georgina had just unhelpfully conjured up.
And then she changed her mind.
“Do you know what?” she said, her words directing her back to the kitchen, where she pushed past River and his cruddy attempt at imitating a bodyguard. “We are going to resolve this situation here and now tonight, the three of us, like grown adults, even if that does take until the dawn flipping chorus. I for one have had enough of this. Georgina, come in, you’ll catch your dea
th out there. Take a seat, have a drink and then take whatever it is you’ve left behind—”
“Big hint: it’s not me,” spat River, his eyes wide with disbelief at her audacity.
“Hilarious.” Georgina pushed past him and parked herself onto a seat at the kitchen table as she’d been instructed.
“River?” Alice continued, “Don’t just stand there, take up the opposite pew until the kettle’s boiled and then get pouring. I’m going to put some clothes on now. No, if you must know,” she looked to Georgina now, “your instinct doesn’t serve you right; we haven’t just had full blown sex, when I’m feeling hot, I always sleep naked.”
“With a body like yours, I know I would too.” River raised his eyebrows.
“River!” Alice reprimanded him, unable to completely hide the secret pleasure that was all hers.
Oh, how those words swirled in her stomach though. It was all she could do not to lead him to his bed, her bed, any bed behind a very closed door.
Instead she walked with the kind of authority one has when they know not only erotica, but love too, is reciprocated, the deal sealed; back to the bedroom, re-dressing herself in the very clothes he’d wanted to strip her naked from, the clothes from the meal Georgina’s father had footed the bill for, and re-emerged to a very awkward atmosphere. River had fixed everybody with their mugs of tea, and Georgina was staring angrily into hers, her silver teaspoon stirring and then poised, stirring and then poised until Alice could take no more.
“For God’s sake will you stop making that irritating noise and just fish the tea bag out; here.” She pushed forward a saucer inviting its deposit.
Unbelievably, once more, Georgina did as she was told. And then she removed her coat, as if it were her trump card and she’d been waiting for the optimum moment to reveal a pair of breasts nestled in a ridiculously low-cut, skin-clinging top, breasts that had evidently grown an entire cup-size in recent weeks. How had Alice not noticed them at work, at the pub that very afternoon? What exactly was this statement trying to imply? That she’d lied about the miscarriage… something Alice refused to mention. It was obvious Georgina had rehearsed this move a hundred times before coming here in the middle of the night. Sadly for her though, the episode was wasted on River.
And Alice had yo-yoed back and forth for long enough now herself. If this so-called loss had been a lie and this child really was a ‘thing’ – immediately she felt rather dreadful for silently referring to anybody’s unborn baby in that way, but in this case, needs must – the fact remained that not even the poor soul’s presence could dim the light that was them: River and Alice. The love of her life shoehorning himself back into Georgina’s, should a baby indeed turn out to be the course of events, would be cruel, unfair to the infant. And it would never last, not now, anyway. It was too late to rewind, to step back over that fine line.
“Now then, what have you left behind? Because it’s not, as River has already made it very clear, him.” She turned to Georgina again, her voice awash with sudden pity for this girl who had obviously had the shoddiest of childhoods to turn out quite as precipitated as this.
“Just some toiletries… as well as… uh… the pill… well actually… a whole pack of pills.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” said River.
“That she’s left some deodorant behind, some shower gel, some medication too,” Alice’s hands flailed about wildly. “Could it be any clearer? Okay, Georgina, then drink your tea, get whatever else it is you’ve got on your chest, well and truly off it, pick up your things and please leave us be. We’ll see you in the bar.”
Alice more than sensed that all of this was red rag to a bull, a bull who was evidently playing some kind of game, but as she’d realised mere moments ago, she really had now passed the point of caring. Frankly, she’d dealt with bigger things in the band, and in L.A. What threat could a lost twenty-something seriously pose? Sure, she could tip off the media as to their whereabouts, but months had passed now since Avalonia had split, they were yesterday’s news and tomorrow’s fish and chip papers. And who really cared enough about C-list-now-off-the-list people and their pastimes anyway? Not when there was an endless pot pourri of Pippa Middletons and Taylor Swifts to delight the camera’s lens and the media’s thirst for an exclusive story. And grassing Alice or River up to the paparazzi would hardly score her any of her beloved brownie points.
Speaking of which, it did seem more than a little strange that Georgina wouldn’t indulge in one yesterday afternoon in the pub. And then there was the avoidance of the wine. Before she knew it, Alice had let her thoughts come full circle on her once again. That was it. She couldn’t bear to look at Georgina for a minute longer.
“Call Hayley to take her home, River, I’ll cover the fare. Georgina, you come with me… and take this…” She went to the drawer and pulled out a plastic bag. “Fill it with your things, make sure you take them all this time… and I’ll say it one final time: consider this your very last chance… to say whatever it is you have also come here to say.”
But it couldn’t be that she was pregnant, after all. It was ludicrous, impossible, and besides, River had assured her that even if she ever had been, prior to this new twist in the story that she’d ‘miscarried’, there was absolutely no way on Earth it was his. She desperately wanted to believe him, and despite the odds which were increasingly stacking against her, Alice decided that was exactly what she was going to make herself do.
Eighteen minutes and thirty-one seconds later, she breathed a sigh of relief as Hayley buzzed her message through to River’s mobile:
“I’m here at the entrance to the park, like,” River announced, reading the nondescript text aloud.
Georgina walked slowly, carrier bag in hand, playing her moment out, evidently enjoying her final chance to string them both along, and then she stepped out into the cool evening air from whence she had come, so that Alice could release the breath she’d been holding, once again. But then Georgina turned unexpectedly, opened her mouth like a ventriloquist’s doll and stood there for several seconds, almost causing Alice to hyperventilate at the suspense. And yet at the same time she could sense the workings of her mind, the movie screen flashing and projecting the combinations of the possible future outcomes of her potential actions while her eyes glazed over, insulted to the core at the very sight of the couple who were yet to officially come out.
Finally, her head drooped in defeat and she started to walk the long dark path to Hayley and her ride home.
“I’ll message the driver to let you know you’re on your way. We’ll see you at work tomorrow,” said River loudly, voice awash with a badly disguised relief.
But she didn’t turn back. Still they stood there awhile, watching her form as it became smaller, ever more insignificant; maleficence morphing to mischief, morphing to meaningless. River shut the door and locked it. Twice.
Alice, overcome with a neediness she had never known, turned behind her to bury her head in the warmth of his chest, lifted her head to meet his and then smiled knowingly, possessively, one finger tracing the outline of River’s shoulder, running slowly, seductively down to his elbow, before making its way to his hand, which she took in hers, leading him back into his bedroom.
Chapter Thirty-Three
GEORGINA
“Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da,” sang Lennie. “This reminds me of The Great Escape for some reason.”
Blake scowled. Georgina frowned and held her hand out to receive the tools Lennie was passing her. Zara just carried on with her pastry, metres away in the open-plan kitchen area; rolling, dredging more flour, tossing and fastidiously patting it one side and then again the other. She had met them at the designated time in the bakery and let them through to the secret passage which led to the cocktail bar’s skittle alley. But that was only the beginning. It was impossible to calculate the tunnelling that lay ahead and how the hell were they going to complete it in just a few hours. Georgina didn’t trust
an outsider though, so they’d have to somehow do the job between them, the males having the least clue about anything when it came to hammers and nails.
“So, you’re the lady who provides my weekly dietary intake of organic Cornish pasties then; I’m Blake.” She could hear her brother chatting up Zara as opposed to getting his hands dirty.
Which would be about right; it was always Georgina who’d had to plunge the toilet when he’d pitched an unsavoury loaf, or take care of the crane fly that had ‘invaded’ his bedroom, or change the light bulb, or flick the trip switch in the pitch black dark of a power cut – the utter wuss.
“It’s Zara, and it’s a pleasure to meet you at last. Georgina’s told me all about you.”
“Only the good bits, I hope,” his voice was dripping with flirtation.
Great ‘first date’ material, Blakey Boy, part of a gang chiselling out a hole in the wall under the pretence of being a victim, like some kind of modern day Tim Robbins from that prison film. Yep, as far as first impressions went, this was pretty epic.
“Less of the chat, guys.” She found herself getting narky with the banality of their conversation when she was doing all the hard grafting. “There’ll be plenty of time to get to know one another later. Pass me the chuck key, Lennie, Blake, anyone. The drill bit seems to have come loose from the drill.”
“And what does one of them look like when they’re at home?” That was Lennie. And Blake was still stuck somewhere under a hypnotist’s spell.
“Forget it. I’ll do it myself. No wonder they call it DIY. Clearly Dad passed his genes on to me and not you,” she hissed over her shoulder.
She turned to the day-old toolbox resting on the day-old workbench. Tamara’s wodge of cash gifted to Zara on the National Express coach that day had kitted them out with state of the art this, that and everything. Lennie, living up entirely to the penny pinching portrait River had painted of him, had made a swift call to Alice’s sister mere minutes after his date with Georgina in the park. Tamara had needed little convincing to fund the whole thing, and had then tracked down the National Express bound for Glastonbury, racing down the motorway in her Jag. Handy of course that one of the nannies should be in the passenger seat, able to stick the succession of purple crayoned signs up to the coach driver as they overtook him, requesting he kindly “Pull over at Reading Services, please. One of your passengers has left urgent medication at their hotel, matter of life or death!”