The Wish List: Escape with the most hilarious and feel-good read of 2020!

by Sophia Money-Coutts

  ‘Sage. I had a very troubled client before you, poor man’s wife has just left him, so I needed to purify the room, to dispel all the negative energy.’ Gwendolyn sat down on the armchair opposite me and briefly closed her eyes. ‘Mmm, it’s helped.’ She opened her eyes. ‘Did you know, Florence, that the Latin for sage, salvia, means to heal?’

  ‘Er, no, I didn’t.’

  ‘So when you burn it, it releases negative ions which neutralize the space around us. But let’s not dwell on poor Mr Nicopoulous and his runaway wife. How are you? Is your romance still blossoming like a cherry tree in April? I do hope so.’

  ‘It is,’ I said slowly. ‘I think so. I went to stay with his parents at the weekend.’

  She clapped her hands with delight. ‘You did? And how was his mother? You wanted someone with a nice mother, did you not?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, and she was nice. Although his fath—’

  Gwendolyn interrupted by clicking her finger and thumb several times and shaking her head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Always this negativity, Florence. Have you noticed it? It’s a very pernicious habit of yours, almost as if you can’t allow anything to be going well.’

  ‘No, it is going well, it’s just that his father was a bit weird. And he’s got this old friend called Octavia who told me something strange.’

  She sighed as if I was making this up. ‘What was it? Tell me.’

  I twisted my mouth into a tight knot before answering. ‘She just said he was looking for a wife. She basically implied that’s all he wanted, and that it could have been anyone, but that I was docile enough to fit the bill.’

  ‘Oh goodness me, Florence, what’s wrong with that?’ Gwendolyn looked at me with wide-eyed astonishment. ‘Don’t you want to get married?’

  ‘Yes. But no, not like that. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to marry Rory, not yet. Why do I have to know now? And why is everyone so frigging obsessed with getting married? What is so bad about not being married?’

  ‘Florence…’

  But I ignored her and carried on. ‘I mean, we’ve invented driverless cars and vegan cheese but the marker of civilization is still putting on a white dress and staggering twenty metres down an aisle. What canapés to have. What cake to have. A fishtail dress or halterneck? Roses or lilies? DJ or a band? Should our invitations be white or blue? What should our wedding hashtag be? Jesus Christ, a wedding hashtag! That’s when you need more going on in your life, if you’re busy worrying about your wedding hashtag.’

  ‘Florence, have you quite finished?’

  I leant back against the sofa. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well I think there’s only one thing for it,’ she said. ‘We need to do a sage ritual with you too.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked wearily, but she was already leaning forward to pick up the small bundle of twigs from the bowl.

  ‘Because it will balance you out. Help clear all this toxic negativity. Now sit there and hold this.’

  ‘Hold what?’

  Gwendolyn stood, opened a drawer of the dresser behind her and turned back to me with a pale grey feather. ‘This. It’s from a very rare type of white-bellied forest owl found only in the Ural Mountains.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do with it?’

  ‘Just wave it slowly in front of you while I perform the smudging ceremony.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Florence, no more questions, close your eyes.’

  I wriggled myself further back on the sofa, dragged the feather back and forth in front of me as if it was a sparkler and listened to Gwendolyn light the bundle of sage.

  Inevitably, there was also a mad prayer.

  ‘May your hands be cleansed, that they create beautiful things,’ she said, as the first pungent whiff of smoke caught my nostrils. ‘And may your feet be cleansed, that they might take you where you most need to be.’

  She continued for several minutes, listing pretty much each and every body part. Even my reproductive organs got a shout-out. And the smell! The smell made me want to retch.

  ‘May this person be washed clean by the smoke of this fragrant plant. And may that same smoke carry these prayers, spiralling, to the heavens,’ she said finally, before telling me to open my eyes and hand back the feather. ‘There, I expect you’ll sleep very well tonight. You can report back in our next session.’

  One more to go, I thought, as I left her room a few minutes later and headed back downstairs to Harley Street. While strolling home through St James’s Park, I glanced down and saw a feather which looked suspiciously like that of the white-bellied forest owl. I picked it up as I heard a cooing above my head in a tree. It was a pigeon, so I’m not entirely convinced that Gwendolyn’s feather was from a rare owl at all.

  When I got back to Kennington, an unexpected situation was unfolding in the kitchen: Mia, Hugo and Rory were all sitting at the kitchen table wearing sleep masks over their eyes while Ruby poured red wine into glasses in front of them. Mia had a pink silky sleep mask on; Rory’s was lilac and Hugo’s was white and fluffy, shaped like a unicorn with closed eyes on the front of it and a small horn protruding from the middle. The table was covered with further wine bottles and used glasses, and from the speaker behind the sink came the sound of aggressive hip-hop. Ruby loved hip-hop.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, dropping my rucksack on the floor. ‘Rory, how come you’re here so early?’

  He lifted up one end of his mask and then stood and came round the table to kiss me. ‘I finished work before I thought I would. Where’ve you been? Did you not see my message?’

  ‘No, sorry.’ I’d been too busy contemplating pigeon feathers and the effects of sage to look at my phone on the walk home. ‘I was working late on my petition,’ I added quickly, before Mia and Ruby could remember that I’d had my third session with Gwendolyn.

  ‘Want a glass, Flo?’ said Ruby, waggling the bottle at me.

  ‘Yep, thanks,’ I replied as Rory sat back down.

  He and I had planned to meet here and order a takeaway on the sofa since, when Mia had mentioned the wine tasting a couple of days ago, I’d assumed that she meant they were doing it at Claridge’s, not in our kitchen. I wondered how long Rory had been here and totted up the number of open bottles on the table. Eight. There was a relaxed, end-of-dinner-party vibe to the room; the glasses were smeary with fingerprints, there was a bowl of half-eaten crisps on the table and Hugo and Rory had pulled their tie knots loose. But the thought of him hanging with my sisters and Hugo without me made me anxious. Or maybe that was the screaming hip-hop. Just please could they not have mentioned the list.

  ‘What petition? Were you with Zach?’ asked Ruby, handing me a glass.

  ‘I do hope not,’ said Rory.

  ‘Has he said anything about me?’ Ruby added. ‘I’ve started following him on Insta but he hasn’t followed me back.’

  ‘No, sorry. And it’s just something I’m doing at the shop tomorrow. To try and raise local support and so on and so on. But why the blindfolds?’ I pushed on, keen to get off the subject of Zach.

  Mia pushed her sleep mask back so her blonde hair stuck out behind it like straw from a scarecrow and explained, ‘We thought we’d make it a blind tasting, more fun.’

  I watched as Hugo, mask still on, fumbled in front of him for a plastic bowl on the table, then picked it up and spat into it.

  Ruby wrinkled her nose. ‘Just swallow it, Hugo, everyone else is.’

  ‘A spittoon is how the professionals do it. And I’m not sure about that one at all. The first red was better.’

  Ruby sighed and picked up a bottle from the table before squinting at the label. ‘That was the Merlot.’ She looked back to me. ‘I’ll come and sign the petition if Zach’s going to be there. Dad’s back this weekend too, did you know?’

  ‘What? No, I didn’t.’

  ‘We’re having lunch tomorrow, and then dropping into Claridge’s to show him the ballroom,’ Mia added. ‘Wanna join?’r />
  ‘Can’t. I’ve got this petition. How long’s he back for?’

  ‘Think just the weekend, it’s a very last-minute thing. Mum organized it. But listen, why don’t we all swing by the shop on the way?’ said Mia, presumably noticing the hurt I could feel rippling across my face.

  Hugo pulled his unicorn mask down around his neck. ‘We’ve got to be at Claridge’s at midday, Mia, I’m not sure we’ll have time to fit in a trip to Chel—’

  ‘Yes, we will,’ she replied, swatting his arm.

  I nodded while straining my eyes wide to stop the kitchen from going blurry. This sense of isolation took me straight back to being small again, to being shunted upstairs and feeling like the odd one out. We were supposed to be a family of five but at moments like this, it felt like a unit of four with an awkward add-on. The difficult daughter, the weirdo who played strange mind games and thought she’d have a bad day if she woke up at 7.13 a.m. instead of 7.14 a.m.

  ‘Great,’ said Mia, before turning to Rory with a wide smile. ‘You up for meeting the parents?’

  ‘Absolutely, although…’ he glanced at me with a wince, ‘I might have to go to the office afterwards to do some work.’

  ‘And the best news of all,’ went on Mia, clearly still in cheering-up mode, ‘is that Rory’s coming to my wedding.’

  ‘Our wedding,’ sighed Hugo. ‘Mia, how many times do I have to say it?’

  I looked at Rory in surprise. ‘Actually?’

  He nodded. ‘Absolutely. I’m very honoured to be asked.’

  ‘And to my stag,’ added Hugo.

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘Well, since Mr Popular here only has about three friends…’ said Mia, elbowing Hugo.

  ‘That’s not true!’ he protested.

  ‘Oh, come on, you do.’ Her gaze slid back to me. ‘Since he’s only got three friends, and Rory’s free, he’s said he’s up for going too. Isn’t that nice?’

  ‘Um, yep, if you’re sure?’ I said, looking sideways at Rory, trying to gauge how keen he actually was.

  ‘Course,’ he said. ‘I love Prague. Terrific city. Did you know there’s more beer drunk there per head than any other country in the world?’

  ‘Great,’ I said, before taking a big mouthful of wine and counting to six before swallowing because I felt very out of control at the speed with which everything was moving around me. I don’t believe Gwendolyn’s sage had done anything to lower my stress levels.

  I brooded silently about all this while the others chatted. Dad had presumably been very busy, I told myself. Important meetings all week with beef farmers and Malbec producers. I was thirty-two, not twelve; I needed to stop being so sensitive. I’d see him tomorrow. It would all be fine.

  Beside me, Mia was telling Rory about their honeymoon to Sicily. ‘I wanted to go to Zanzibar but Hugo was worried about the mosquitos.’

  ‘Mia, they’ve had very bad dengue fever there.’

  ‘So we’re staying in a hotel with not one but two golf courses instead. But it’s got an infinity pool and a spa so I’ll be fine.’

  ‘His and hers activities. How romantic,’ drawled Ruby, rolling her eyes at me.

  ‘You’ll have to keep an eye out for the Mafia in Sicily, of course,’ Rory added.

  ‘Really?’ Hugo said quickly. ‘I thought that sort of thing was all over?’

  Rory shook his head and looked solemn. ‘No, no. It’s still very much alive. Just don’t carve anyone up on the golf course.’

  ‘Or he’ll find a horse’s head on his pillow?’ suggested Ruby.

  ‘Exactly,’ Rory replied, and they both laughed.

  ‘They’re joking, sweetheart, relax,’ said Mia, as Hugo’s brows knitted in panic.

  The wine was finished so everyone started murmuring about bed. I stood to clear the glasses from the table but Mia told me off.

  ‘Leave it, Flo, we can do it in the morning. You guys go to bed.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  I counted the stairs in my head as we went upstairs. Bed, delicious bed. I felt strangely woozy. The sage? The wine? My jumbled emotions on hearing that Dad was back? Hard to pinpoint but I wanted to go straight to sleep and be fresh for a day manning my trestle table.

  Rory had other ideas. Once he’d closed my bedroom door, he pulled the lilac blindfold from his pocket and dangled it from his fingers.

  ‘You thief!’ I said, trying to snatch it. But he was too quick and sidestepped so I fell forwards on to my duvet.

  ‘Put it on,’ he instructed, tossing the blindfold at me.

  ‘What, now? Like this?’ I gestured at my clothes and stifled a yawn. Not sexy to yawn in your boyfriend’s face when he wants to play a sex game, Florence. It might not be that long, I told myself. If you go to sleep in half an hour, you’ll still get six hours at least.

  Rory nodded so I tugged it over my head. And when my eyes were covered, he pushed me back on my bed, unbuttoned my shirt and pulled off my trousers. Then he unhooked my bra, peeled down my knickers and started kissing my body, but as his stubble grazed my skin, I kept sniggering.

  ‘Shhhhhhh,’ he instructed, as his mouth moved down the hollow of my chest.

  ‘Sorry,’ I snorted. ‘I’m trying to be serious, it’s just…’ I cracked up again and lost it, ‘funny. And it tickles.’

  Rory stopped and I heard him stand up. Then came a noise that sounded like him rummaging through my make-up bag. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing. Lie down. No looking.’

  He came back to the bed and I felt the mattress dip as he knelt on it and kissed me.

  ‘Put your hands above your head.’

  I did as instructed and felt him tie them together.

  ‘What is tha—’

  ‘Shhhhh,’ he ordered.

  Something feathery and light ran up my inner thigh. ‘What is THAT?’

  ‘Ssssshhhhhhh,’ he said, as the mysterious downy instrument trailed up my stomach, over my nipple, across my neck and down my body. He was kissing me at the same time, brushing my cheeks, my ears, my neck and the top of my chest with his mouth. As the kisses became harder, my laughter subsided and I started writhing at the sensation of being under Rory’s mouth – and whatever he was running over me.

  ‘I want to see you,’ I said.

  ‘Uh-uh,’ he replied, and continued for a few minutes until I was arching my back against the mattress.

  It stopped very suddenly and I listened to him stand up and unzip his trousers, leaving me tied and blindfolded on the bed.

  ‘Hang on,’ he told me, and I groaned in frustration before I felt the feathery sensation start running down the side of my body again, flicking along the soles of my feet. As the heat increased between my legs, I pressed my chest into the air. ‘Seriously, that’s too much, PLEASE can we have sex?’

  He laughed from behind my head.

  Huh? What was he doing there? Something was still tickling my feet and his arms couldn’t reach that far. Could they? I twisted my wrists together to see if I could release them but the strap was too tight.

  ‘Rory? Rory? What’s going on? Rory?’ The dark was now freaking me out.

  He knelt on the bed and untied my wrists; I instantly pulled the blindfold off.

  Oh no.

  Really, really no.

  No, no, no.

  No.

  It was Marmalade lying at my feet, flexing his tail back and forth against them. I felt sick. I felt like one of those perverts you read about in weird magazines who marry their pets. I felt like Catherine the Great who died shagging her horse. I felt furious.

  ‘RORY? Are you kidding me?’

  He realized what I meant and shook his head quickly. ‘Oh no! It was your make-up brush, I promise, I wasn’t using him. It was your make-up brush, and then I got up to strip, and by the time I’d done that he was rubbing himself against your feet. Look.’ He reached to the carpet and picked up my bronzer brush, then leant forward and ran it up my chest.
I was suddenly a lot less into it.

  ‘Stop, no more,’ I said grumpily, pushing him off. I was done with today. I wanted to go to sleep.

  Rory dropped the brush on the floor and scooped up Marmalade. ‘Come on, boy,’ he said, taking him to my bedroom door and shutting him out.

  He came back to bed and although I still felt silly, it took him all of three minutes before he’d seduced me all over again. He was insatiable. But also extremely inventive. I didn’t recall James Bond ever using a bronzer brush as a sex toy.

  What time was it? What year was it? What was my name? I woke the next morning with a start, confused by the bright light running around the edges of my window blind. I rolled on to my side and looked at my clock. Shit. It was nearly nine. I’d overslept, and I needed to be in the shop in less than half an hour to put up my trestle table.

  I stepped out of bed, saw the blindfold on the carpet and winced. Poor Marmalade. As the needles of hot water hit my neck, I stood with my head hanging, wishing it could purify my soul. I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

  I got out of the shower and dressed while Rory lay flat on his stomach, still asleep. Lucky, I thought, because I didn’t have the strength for a morning session. Back in the bathroom, I rubbed my face with moisturizer and slicked on a coat of mascara. I needed a coffee but I’d have to get one on the way. I didn’t have time to dally in the kitchen.

  I arrived at the shop fifteen minutes before opening.

  ‘MORNING, I’M HERE,’ I said, bursting in.

  Jaz was sitting on the counter in a huge leopard print coat, her purple ankle boots dangling beneath her. ‘Hi, how did you get in?’ I asked, panting.

  She frowned. ‘Did you get the Tube like that?’

  ‘Why?’

  She reached into her bag and handed me a compact mirror. Ah. Beneath my eyebrows were thick black smudges of mascara. ‘Shit,’ I said, licking my index finger and rubbing at them. ‘Jaz, they won’t come off. Help! Why won’t they come off?’

  She reached into her bag again and brought out a packet of wipes. ‘Stand still,’ she said, dabbing at my face with one. ‘Why so late? It’s unlike you.’