It’s Now or Never

by Carole Matthews

  The steel band are in full swing and there’s a great party atmosphere in the air. Across the room I can see two bananas, a cherry and a lime. We’re clearly supposed to be the ingredients of the drink. I wonder if they feel as depressed as we do. But then perhaps they realised that they were coming here to be large fruit and not on an illicit date.

  The fit waiters and sexy ladies move round the room offering canapés. Oh, why couldn’t we have had skimpy costumes! Already the outfit is chafing at my neck and I’m bathed in sweat inside it. We don’t seem to have a particular role – other than to be jolly – so we move round, smiling at the guests through gritted teeth and trying to act like tropical fruit.

  ‘I’m sure they could have managed without the pineapples,’ Lauren complains.

  ‘Customer has ordered pineapples,’ I say tightly. ‘Customer gets pineapples.’ But I have to agree with her. We just seem to be getting in the way, barging and barrelling through the crowd of partygoers. I can only thank the Lord that the customer hadn’t ordered dancing pineapples.

  ‘I’m sure this must be against my human rights,’ Lauren whines, and she grabs a shot of Totally Tropical from a passing hunk in a Hawaiian shirt and downs it. ‘Pineapple or not,’ my sister growls, ‘I plan on getting slaughtered.’

  ‘Please don’t tell Greg about this,’ I plead. ‘I’d never live it down.’

  ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

  ‘I’ll never tell Chelsea either, if you won’t.’

  ‘Good plan,’ she agrees. ‘If we never speak about this again in our entire lifetime, then we can pretend that it never really happened.’

  ‘Can I gasp “pineapple” on my deathbed?’ I want to know.

  ‘Not funny,’ my sister says. ‘Do we have a deal?’

  ‘Deal,’ I agree.

  ‘At least I’m not likely to bump into anyone I know,’ Lauren says with a relieved puff. ‘That’s one saving grace. The only saving grace.’

  It’s then that I see my sister’s lover, Jude Taylor – complete with his wife, children and a Hawaiian shirt – heading directly for us.

  Chapter 70

  It is him. I’m sure it is. I’ve only met him fleetingly over the years at Lauren’s workplace, but I’m convinced I’m not mistaken.

  I steer my pineappled sister towards the beachside bar hut and grab three shots of Totally Tropical for her and line them up.

  ‘Drink that,’ I instruct.

  ‘Hmm. Lovely, lovely,’ she says, taking one in her little orange-gloved hand. ‘I need this.’

  ‘You will,’ I tell her.

  ‘What?’ Now my sister has picked up on the alarm in my voice.

  ‘Don’t hyperventilate,’ I say. ‘But Jude is over there.’

  My sister starts to hyperventilate.

  ‘With his wife and children.’

  Lauren gasps at the air for breath. ‘What? What? WHAT!’ She swallows the other couple of shots.

  I’d normally try to stop my sister from drinking so much, but this stuff is probably not much stronger than fruit juice. I knock another shot back myself – it certainly tastes harmless enough.

  Her eyes lock on to her lover. Jude currently has his arm round his wife and is holding his daughter’s hand. They’re all laughing. They look like a family off a cereal advert or something. All wholesome and scrubbed and perfect.

  ‘What the hell’s he doing here?’ Lauren wants to know. Her voice is laced with anguish. She would probably wave her arms about – if she could.

  And, in my defence, if I hadn’t been so distressed at being kitted out as a pineapple, I might have noticed her slurring earlier.

  ‘This can’t be happening to me,’ my sister continues, sounding crazed. ‘It’s a nightmare. Any minute now I’m going to wake up and be in my own bed. And oh, how I’ll laugh!’

  I pinch my sister.

  ‘Fuck,’ she says. ‘This is reality.’ She puts her green-leaved pineapple-top head in her hands. ‘And all I was thinking was that I should lay off the cheese before bedtime.’

  ‘We can avoid him,’ I assure her. ‘All we need do is to keep one step ahead of him.’

  ‘I might remind you that we’re dressed as pineapples,’ Lauren snaps. ‘We’re not exactly in-con-fucking-spicuous.’

  She has a point.

  ‘Why is he here?’ she wails miserably. ‘He told me he was working late. He couldn’t even tell me the truth.’

  I think that Jude probably has general issues with the truth, but realise that this isn’t the time to raise that.

  ‘Why would he bring his wife here?’

  That’s generally how it goes when you’re married, I think, but decide that it’s best not to remind Lauren of that either in her current state of mind. Instead, I say, ‘I’m sorry, Lauren. So sorry.’

  ‘He has his children here too.’ She looks at me, pained. ‘Oh, God. Why would he bring his children?’

  ‘There are a few kids here.’ Not that many of them, admittedly. Most adults, I’m sure, would rather have the opportunity to get blotto on free booze without the kids in tow. ‘I don’t think it’s restricted to adults.’ Perhaps the kids were actually invited too. Or perhaps their babysitter let them down at the last minute. Perhaps they just wanted to be here as a family. Plus there’s more than enough to keep children entertained. There are jugglers and fire-eaters and dancers. And where else can you go to see life-size fruit these days?

  ‘They do a non-alcoholic version of this stuff too,’ I tell Lauren as we down another pair of shots. ‘The kids can drink that. Perhaps we should move on to it too?’

  ‘What is the purpose of drink without alcohol?’ my sister snaps, and polishes off another glass as she eyeballs me. ‘Tell me that.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say again, because I don’t know what else I have to offer. Maybe Lauren is better off drunk. Maybe I am too.

  ‘He’ll have come here under protest,’ she says. ‘Because she made him.’

  At which point Jude, smiling broadly – as far away from the picture of a man who’s miserable in his marriage could be – pulls his wife to him and kisses her warmly. If he has been dragged here, it seems that he’s putting a brave face on it. Very brave.

  ‘That’s it,’ Lauren announces as she downs two more shots. Clearly, my sister has no intention of considering the no-alcohol idea. ‘I can’t stay here.’

  And with that, my big, orange, distraught twin sister waddles away as fast as she can.

  Chapter 71

  I catch up with Lauren in the ladies’ loo. I can’t actually see her, but I can hear her sobbing.

  ‘Lauren.’ I knock gently on the cubicle door. Renewed sobbing. ‘Lauren, open the door. Please.’

  A moment later the door opens. Lauren, with some difficulty, is sitting on the toilet seat.

  ‘Oh, love,’ I say and, also with some difficulty, wrap my arms round her. Sort of.

  The heartfelt crying is wracking her body, making her pineapple shake up and down. ‘Don’t. Don’t.’ I stroke her plastic leaves tenderly. ‘He’s not worth it.’

  ‘I have a pain in my heart.’

  ‘It could be the pineapple suit,’ I venture.

  ‘Annie!’ my sister snaps.

  ‘I’m trying to make you laugh.’

  ‘I want to die. I want to lie on this toilet floor and never get up again. I have given him five years of my life,’ she cries bleakly. ‘How can I walk away? How can I leave? If I do, it will all have been for nothing.’

  ‘Oh, Lauren,’ I say. ‘You always knew that this could end in pain.’

  ‘He doesn’t love her,’ she sobs, slurring her words. ‘He tells me all the time. He has to stop himself from calling out my name in his sleep. Did you know that?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know that.’ But how can I tell my sister that it sounds like a terrible, clichéd line to me?

  ‘He will leave her.’

  ‘When, though?’ Perhaps this is the time for tough talking. �
��He’s been stringing you along for years with empty promises.’

  ‘What’s a few months, a few years when we’re planning to be together for ever?’

  Then I hear the door open and my heart jumps to my mouth when I see who comes in.

  ‘Shut up,’ I say to Lauren and I try to get into the cubicle with her, but there’s no chance. This is a one-pineapple toilet.

  Instead, I make myself as big as I can and fill the door.

  Jude’s wife Georgia and her daughter come in. I remember Lauren telling me that the child’s name was Daisy and I think she’s eight. She’s certainly as cute as a button.

  ‘Oh,’ Daisy says when she sees me. ‘A pineapple.’

  I give them both a big, fake smile and a pineappley wave and pray that they can’t hear the desolate sobs coming from behind me.

  Georgia smiles sweetly at me. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

  I shake my head frantically.

  ‘You look exactly like someone who works with my husband. If you don’t mind me saying.’

  Damn being a twin! I try to shrug nonchalantly in my pineapple suit which may not translate that well. No matter how hard I try, I can’t find the words to explain our predicament to my sister’s lover’s wife.

  ‘Her hands are all sticky from the fruit juice,’ Georgia says, smiling at her daughter.

  I nod. My voice still stuck fast in my throat.

  Daisy puts her hands under the tap that her mother has turned on for her.

  ‘This is a lovely party,’ the little girl says.

  ‘It’s just like the Caribbean island where Daddy took us on holiday last Christmas, isn’t it, sweetheart?’

  That would be the fifth Christmas that my sister spent alone.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Daisy says with a happy sigh. ‘That was lovely.’

  Georgia hands her daughter a paper towel to dry her hands. I try to block Lauren’s view.

  ‘You must be very hot in that costume,’ Georgia says sympathetically.

  I nod again. If she wonders why I’m jamming myself in this cubicle door, unmoving, then she doesn’t reveal it.

  This woman has no idea who I am. She has no idea that my sister, right behind me, has been sleeping with her husband for five years. That I know intimate details of her life while she knows nothing of mine. We are, as far as she’s concerned, strangers passing pleasantries.

  Jude’s wife studies herself in the mirror. She’s a slender, stunningly attractive woman. Not the limp loser or the clingy control freak Lauren has described to me. Tonight she’s wearing a lemon strappy top and a colourful beaded sarong with delicate jewelled flip-flops on her pedicured toes. It is just the most perfect outfit. She runs a lipstick over her full, sensuous lips.

  ‘Do you need to use the bathroom while we’re here, darling?’

  Daisy shakes her head.

  ‘We’d better get back then or Daddy will be wondering where we’ve got to.’

  ‘I’m having such a lovely time at this party,’ Daisy declares.

  ‘Me too,’ Georgia says. ‘Daddy thought you would like it.’

  Daisy sighs contentedly and then announces, ‘I have the best daddy in the world.’

  Georgia chucks her daughter under the chin. ‘Yes, you do,’ she agrees.

  My sister’s lover’s wife smiles in my direction again. She looks like a happy woman, a woman in love, a woman who would never suspect that her husband was cheating on her. Looks, so they say, can be deceptive. But I’d bet a pound on that being wrong in this case.

  Georgia gives me a friendly wave. ‘See you later,’ she says.

  Another mute wave from me. Then, as the door closes, I sag against the doorpost with relief.

  ‘It was her, wasn’t it?’ Lauren asks as if she needs my confirmation. ‘They’re so happy together, aren’t they?’

  I can’t deny that’s how it seems.

  ‘She’s wonderful. Did you see her?’

  I did.

  ‘How can I compete with that?’ she says sadly. ‘How can I even want to?’

  ‘Oh, Lauren.’

  ‘He’s never going to leave her, is he?’

  Do I tell the truth here or do I encourage my sister in her misplaced fantasy of life with her married lover? I opt for the truth. ‘I don’t think so, honey.’

  Lauren lets out a keening wail. ‘Why did I have to be dressed as a pineapple?’

  Would any other fruit have been better?

  ‘A bad hair day I might have been able to cope with. But a pineapple? Why couldn’t I have been wearing some chi-chi designer outfit like she was?’

  ‘It’s no good thinking like that, Lauren.’ I need to try to cheer my sister up before she descends into the gloom of depression. ‘That way madness lies.’

  ‘This is making me crazy, isn’t it?’ My sister’s face is as white as the driven snow when she looks up at me. ‘I have completely lost my mind because of this man. I have to call an end to this, Annie, don’t I?’

  I take Lauren’s horrible orange-gloved hand in mine. ‘Yes, darling, you do.’

  My sister’s tears fall again. And I cry with her.

  Chapter 72

  Eventually, Lauren comes out of the toilet cubicle. ‘My bum was getting numb,’ she complains as she waddles forth.

  My sister takes off her gloves and splashes her face with water. ‘What are we going to do now? I can’t go back in there, Annie. It would kill me.’

  ‘Stay in here until I can find somewhere quiet for you to go. I’ll tell BC that you’re not feeling well.’

  ‘Seasick,’ Lauren says. ‘Tell him I’m seasick.’

  To be honest, my stomach is rolling too as if I have got some kind of sympathetic travel sickness.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I tell Lauren. ‘Don’t move.’

  ‘I can’t bloody move in this!’ she howls after me.

  I scuttle off down the corridor in search of Blake Chadwick, but I don’t have to go very far. As I turn the corner, or whatever the nautical term for it is on a boat, I find who I’m looking for.

  Stopping in my tracks, I’m transfixed.

  There, pressed up against each other in a little nook, are BC and Minny. His tongue is down her throat, one hand is on her breast, the other up her skirt. Now I do feel like I’m going to be sick. Nausea smashes into me, heaving up to my chest.

  I reel back against the wall and practise deep-breathing techniques.

  How can I have been so stupid? How can I have ever believed that this man was interested in me? To think that I had my hair done for him. And bought a new dress. To think that I could have – may well have – jeopardised my marriage for him?

  ‘Someone might see us,’ Minny murmurs.

  ‘Who cares?’ Blake says back, and continues his tender assault.

  Who cares, indeed?

  I do. I care. Fool that I am.

  ‘What if Annie sees us?’ Minny says, mouth still on his. ‘She’ll be upset. She’s got a crush on you.’

  Blake presses against her. ‘She’s old enough to be my mother.’

  I only just stop myself from gasping out loud or jumping out of my hiding-place to protest. For the record, I am so not. Though how could I, a plain, boring mother of two grown-up children, think that someone like Blake Chadwick could have looked at me with a twinkle in his eye? Of course he’s going to want a younger, slimmer, more available girl, rather than a middle-aged woman with a spare tyre and stars in her eyes.

  The taste of bile fills my mouth and there are tears in my eyes as, blindly, I stumble back to the room where the party is in full swing. I catch sight of Jude grinning like a loon and dancing to ‘Hot, Hot, Hot’with his arms round his babe of a wife. He glances up and, for a moment, I think he catches my eye as a stricken look flits across his face. Then it’s gone and I duck out of sight.

  When the Hawaiian-shirted barman moves out of the way, I slip behind the beach hut and swipe two unopened bottles of Totally Tropical out of a cardboard
box. I double-check that it’s the alcoholic version. There have been enough mistakes tonight and that’s one that I really don’t want to make. Back on my way to Lauren I pass the kitchen, so pop in to liberate a tray of canapés.

  I find her still in the loo, looking dazed and confused and not a little drunk.

  ‘Come on,’ I say, grabbing her by the arm. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘But you’re working,’ she says.

  ‘Not now.’ I stop and sigh. ‘I just saw Blake Chadwick snogging one of my younger, more beautiful colleagues. He can stuff his job up his bottom.’

  ‘All men are bastards,’ Lauren declares.

  ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘They are. So let’s go and get stupidly drunk on this rubbish.’

  Out on deck, and the cool breeze hits us like a slap in the face. We head towards the stern, where I see a ladder going up to another level. We’d be well out of anyone’s way if we can get up there. No one would ever find us. With much huffing, puffing, pulling and pushing, Lauren and I climb it.

  As I suspected, there’s no one else up here. No one else foolhardy enough.

  It’s some sort of flat roof with rails along the side, but other than that it’s blissfully empty. We can still hear the steel band playing its heart out on the deck below. The inky black waters of the Thames are far beneath us. I help Lauren to sit down, then she reciprocates. Our costumes are ridiculously uncomfortable but I quickly realise that if we were to take them off then we’d succumb to hypothermia within minutes. It may be summer, but out here on the river in the night air, it’s not overly warm.

  I undo Lauren’s pineapple leaf hat and she does mine. I feel like throwing them into the Thames, but sense prevails and I put them down next to us so that someone else in the future can be humiliated by dressing as a tropical fruit.

  ‘I’m never going to eat pineapple again,’ my sister says.

  ‘Me neither.’

  The sun is just setting, casting a pink glow over the magnificent London skyline. I crack open the bottles of Totally Tropical and hand one to my sister. We swig in unison.