He’d worked as a graphic designer and ran his own small company (only him), but I don’t think things had been going very well for him for some time. Maybe that’s why we started to get ratty with each other. There was an underlying stress that we were too young or too dim to understand or appreciate.
But at least the Simon thing was all in the ‘now’. With Clive, it’s all in the future and sometimes it feels like I’m on an express train. I don’t know where it’s heading and it’s going too fast for me to get off!
***
After two hours of Tai Chi, I walk down the corridor and it feels like I’m walking on cotton wool, which is really weird. It was very relaxing, but not relaxing like yoga classes where you feel like you’re going to fall asleep at any moment! I felt really alert and wide awake the whole time.
I asked the lady who took the session about using it as a proper martial art. Self-defence and all of that. She said it was really effective, but it takes about twelve years before you can use it in that way. Oh well. Maybe I should have started it when I was nine or something!
I realised about half way through the Tai Chi session that I was starting to get hungry. In fact, I was a bit worried that the instructor could hear my tummy rumbling!
So I go back to my room and get changed for dinner. It seems a bit silly to have a dress code for dinner in a place like this where you’re meant to be chilling out, but I suppose their dining room has to be treated as a restaurant like any other, so I’m not too put out. I check my mobile for texts, but there’s nothing.
I put on my favourite dress, a lovely wrap-over number with the belt tied at the side of the hip and huge pink and black camellia patterns all over it. After sticking on enough makeup to show that I don’t care about makeup, I take a look at myself in the mirror. It all looks fine. I’ve only been here a day and I look better already! Or is it my imagination?
As I approach the dining room, I think for a moment that someone’s died of too much lettuce and exercise and there’s a big crowd having a look at the corpse, but it’s just people queuing outside the dining room, obviously as hungry as I am!
I’m not usually antisocial, but I’m hoping that I’ll be able to get a table to myself. Those hopes are, though, immediately dashed as I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see Rebecca.
‘Do you mind if I join you? I want to hear all about your bamboo massage with James!’
I don’t like to say it, but she looks amazing. She’s dressed in the sort of clothes you might see in some fashion magazine and the jewellery she’s wearing looks very expensive (of course it may be fake, but I wouldn’t know).
We find a table by the window and she takes a quick look at the menu and then puts it down on the table. I don’t understand how she can choose something so quickly. Then I remember that she practically lives here, so undoubtedly knows the whole thing off by heart. She’s probably on first name terms with all of the kitchen staff by now and gives them tips on ingredients and menu composition!
It takes me a little bit longer to choose as all the dishes are new to me and have lots of unusual things in them so it’s hard to keep one thing in your head when you’re looking at the next thing!
Eventually, I decide to have lightly grilled trout with a loganberry coulis accompanied by three different types of bean sprout, exotic lettuce and organic radish. The waitress brings some bowls to the table, which contain more down-to-earth salad ingredients. I think you could probably eat like this all of the time if you had a gourmet health chef living in your flat and a waitress to serve it to you. Easy-peasy!
I sip my mineral water and look out of the window, hoping Rebecca’s had a stroke and can’t speak. That’s cruel, but I always blame thoughts like that on the person who inspired them in the first place, as if they’ve infected you with an evil thought virus. As a nurse, I know this is possible, take it from me.
‘So how was James’s big bamboo?’ she smirks, raising a knowing and freshly plucked eyebrow. I smile at her unamusing half-joke and wonder if her tan is real and whether she spends the rest of her time on exotic holidays in warm climes. Could be either, I decide. I have to try and lead this conversation so it doesn’t become too tedious.
‘The massage was great. I’ve got some knotting in a few of my shoulder muscles and it certainly did the trick with them. Hurt a bit at first, though.’
‘I wish James would ‘do the trick’ with me! I tried to get him for a bamboo special, but they said all his sessions were fully booked, which is a shame. I had a lovely Indian Head Massage this afternoon, though.’ She points at her face. ‘Can you see the difference?’
I’m not sure what I’m meant to be looking for. ‘Are we still talking about the Indian Head Massage?’
‘No, silly! The Non-Surgical Face Firming! Do you think it’s made a difference? I think it has.’
I truly have no idea how to respond to this. Do I say something like ‘Yes! As soon as I saw you I thought your face was looking much firmer than it did earlier on today! You certainly didn’t waste your money (or hubby’s money) on that particular treatment, no sirree!’
Instead, all I can come up with is ‘I think it’s made a huge difference.’ Actually, her face just looks a little bit red, like someone has held it against an oven door for a few minutes or she fell asleep with her head immersed in beetroot juice.
‘Good!’ I may book another one in that case. No one seems to be booking them – unlike your sexy massage sessions with the big bamboos!’
It goes on like this for ten tedious, cringeworthy minutes before the main course is served. Rebecca spends a few minutes moving the food around her plate with a fork, then gets bored with it. She’s more interested in me, or so it seems for a moment.
‘So tell me how you met your fiancé! Was it romantic?’
‘Well, I…’
‘I met my hubby at a party in Saudi. I was working out there as a PA to this marvellous plastics firm. Great job, great salary. His bank was financing some scheme to do with our pipes contract. Mucho money. I could hear him talking from a few yards away. Very loud voice. I don’t know about you but a man with a loud voice is something of a turn-on for me. Not braying, exactly. A bit, a bit quieter than that. He was recently divorced. A divorced man knows how to look after a woman.’
‘So does he still work out there now?’
‘Of course! It’s where the money is. When you told me about your fiancé and HK, you reminded me of me a few years back. The world’s a smaller place now. Years ago, well, if you were married to someone who lived in a different country – a different continent, even – it would have seemed a little unusual. Now it’s completely normal.’
‘So how often do you see him?’
She looks upwards and her eyes roll around, as if she’s trying to work out a difficult maths problem. She looks a bit mad.
‘Well, it’s December now and I was here last in late August or early September, so it must have been before that, so it must have been around June. Yes. June. Early June. Or was it May? We went to Italy for ten days. Tuscany. Have you been?’
‘No. I’ve never been to Italy.’
‘You must. It’s marvellous. We rented a villa. Went to Florence for the day once, but it was just full of museums. Anyway, the time simply flies by when he’s not here. You’ll find that out when you’re married. I’ve got so much to do. Where is it you said? HK? And the marvellous thing is, you’re never really far away from them when they work abroad. Texting, email, webcam – it’s like they’re in the next room – not that you’d want them in the next room! Webcam is a godsend. You wouldn’t believe the things we get up to!’ She reaches across the table and rests one of her hands on mine. ‘You’ll have a great time when you’re married. You’re very beautiful and you’ve got a great figure. Fantastic cleavage. I wish I had one. They’ll be crawling over broken glass to get to you!’
WTF?! I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. She’s talking about all of this like it’
s common sense. You get married to some rich bloke who lives in another country and spend all your spare time in health farms, having affairs, webcam sex and sly massage orgasms, with the odd luxury holiday with your husband thrown in when he’s got the time or inclination. Or when he’s not shagging his secretary. Is Clive shagging his secretary?
What’s worse is that Rebecca has mistaken me for a younger version of herself! Is that how I come across? The waitress comes and clears our plates and we both order a desert. Normally I wouldn’t, but I still feel hungry and want something sweet, even if it means listening to Rebecca for another ten or fifteen minutes. I can’t imagine what’s coming next. Maybe she’ll want to teach me some of the tricks of her trade! Advanced webcam technique!
‘Of course, I’m sure hubby has fun over there when I’m not around, but as long as I don’t know about it I don’t really care. As long as he plays safe and I don’t catch anything nasty!’
She laughs and almost chokes, gulping down some fizzy spring water to get her voice back. ‘He always tells me if he’s been a naughty boy, though. You have to have honesty in a marriage. It’s just so, so important. So many couples we know have fallen by the wayside.’
The dessert arrives. It looks like a chocolate mousse, decorated with whitecurrants, a leaf of some sort (not mint) and a little smear of purple liquid, but when you dig your spoon in it, it’s unbelievably light, as if it’s made from a cloud. It tastes fantastic. Zero calories, I would imagine. Why don’t they sell things like this in the supermarket? Too expensive or difficult to mass produce, probably.
She wants to go into the Velcro Room (I’m sure that’s not what she said, but it sounded like that!) and have an after dinner coffee and a chat, but I tell her I’m too tired and it’s the truth. I’ve been doing a lot on not very much food and feel tired and a little faint now, rather than vibrant and healthy. It’s been a tough day – swimming, steam baths, massages, Tai Chi and all the rest – and I just want to flop down in my room, read for a while and then go to sleep. I was going to go to the gym, hit the treadmill and lift some weights, but in the end I couldn’t be bothered!
Rebecca doesn’t mind and gives me a little wave as we leave the dining room. She’s exhausting; I feel like I’ve been talking to her (or listening to her talk to me) all day! Perhaps all that talking is why her husband works in another country in the first place.
When I get to my room, I undress and get into my fluffy Willows robe, check my mobile for texts (still nothing) and lie on the bed, thinking about all the things Rebecca had said. Amazing. It was like meeting someone from another world and I’m not sure that it was a very nice one!
I get into bed and read for a while, but my eyes soon get tired and I put the book down and turn the light off. Just before I fall asleep, I think about James. He must be about the same age as Clive, but seems so much younger. Or is it that Clive seems so much older? I allow myself a brief smile. I could have sworn that I experienced a little heart palpitation when I first saw him. Same thing that happened with Simon, all those years ago. And James is funny, just like Simon was.
Three
I’m still dreaming when the noise happens. It isn’t my alarm, which has a very annoying, but loud and regular bleep. In my dream, my mind races across an unreal gallery of all the electrical things I’ve got. Have I left the fridge door open? Is someone, by some miracle, using the landline? Is it the fire alarm? No. batteries ran out months ago. I start to wake up properly, remember where I am and finally identify the sound, which has now stopped. It’s my mobile. It’s making the noise it makes when someone’s sent a text.
I turn the light on and look at my watch. It says it’s 4.37 a.m.
That can’t be right, can it?
I pick up my mobile and look at the message that it’s just received. It’s from Clive. Does he have no idea that I’m in a different time zone? What time must it be in Hong Kong? Must be about mid-day, I guess.
Outblaze new acq. I’m handling! Xxx
I have no idea what that means, so turn the mobile off and drop it onto the floor. Sounds more like an inter-office memo than something you’d send to a girlfriend or fiancée. Oh well. Just before I drop off I think about Rebecca. What was it she said that was weird? As long as he plays safe and I don’t catch anything nasty! God almighty. I hope he gets himself tested regularly!
I wake up properly just after seven-thirty and lie in bed staring at the ceiling. What have I got today? Breakfast first (I’m starving already), followed by a swim, a steam bath and then onto my sample yoga class. I just hope the yoga doesn’t hurt too much and I don’t dislocate anything. In my mind, yoga has always been a healthy thing to do, but I wonder if that’s because it sounds a bit like yogurt? Yoga. Yogurt. Are they connected? In some new-agey universe? Where does Yoda come into it?
I then plan to sit in the spa reading for a while and after that I’ve got my second bamboo massage with James. I think about the meal times and how I can avoid sitting next to Rebecca again. It’s like Russian roulette. Should I go later or earlier to breakfast? Maybe she goes later, too! What about lunch? Should I go earlier or later to dinner? Maybe by an hour? Oh well, sod it. She’s fascinating, but there’s something about her conversation I don’t like. Difficult to put my finger on what it is, though.
I remember Clive’s text from the middle of the night (or so it seemed to me!) and look at it again. It’s not something you can really reply to, as far as I can see, so I don’t. I get up, have a shower, get casually dressed (you’re allowed that for breakfast!) and head to the dining room, where the usual starving crowds are hanging around outside, waiting for the doors to open.
As I sit there, munching away at some concoction with goat’s milk yogurt, strawberries and roasted almonds (very nice – just like having pudding for breakfast!), I start thinking about Clive’s middle of the night text and start to get rather annoyed. I didn’t tell him I was coming here, so as far as he knew, I had work this morning! I mean – who does that? He’s got an expensive watch that tells him what time it is in every country in the world and on the moon, so I know he’s fully aware of what time it is here. Maybe he did it on purpose! Maybe it amused him! Maybe he’s just spiteful!
I put all those nasty thoughts and assorted maybes out of my head and am just deciding whether to have some wholemeal toast when Rebecca comes and sits next to me. Damn! Even though it’s breakfast time, she’s still dressed to the nines and I notice that she’s got different jewellery on from last night. Perhaps it’s a none-too-subtle signal to everyone else which says ‘I’ve got more money that you’ or ‘look what hubby’s bought me!’ Maybe she buys it for herself from the housekeeping!
I look around the dining room and count four men and about fifteen women. All the men are pretty boring looking and some are pretty seriously overweight, so Rebecca’s wasting her time if she’s trying to look attractive for them. I could be being unfair, of course. She might just like looking smart. She doesn’t eat anything and simply sips at a cup of mud coffee.
‘Silky Locks in ten minutes! Have you tried it?’
I’m not sure what Silky Locks is. ‘No.’ I reply.
‘It’s like a facial, but for the hair. You know the sort of thing – head massage, repair treatment. They give you a hand and arm massage at the same time! You should try it. You’ve got lovely hair, but there’s always something they can do to make it better. You take your hair for granted, I find. It’s pretty expensive, but hubby thinks all these things are worth the money. He likes to see me looking glam.’
On those few occasions that he sees you at all.
She flicks her hair back and looks around the room, like a teenager checking out the talent at a village hall disco. ‘He says that me coming here is rather like sending one of his cars in for a service. A de-coke.’
If someone described me as being like a car that needed a service, I’d punch them in the mouth. I notice for the first time that Rebecca is terribly thin. I’m looking at h
er with my nurse’s hat on and she looks like a skeleton. She looks ill and stressed. Lots of face makeup. Maybe that’s what hours on the treadmill can do to you. Maybe something’s eating her up from the inside. A tapeworm? Probably not! I think about Clive and realise with dismay that I could easily imagine him making the de-coke comment about me to one of his friends.
She gets up. ‘Listen.’ she says. ‘What have you got on this morning? Shall we meet for lunch?’
I’m thinking ‘Not if I can help it’, but I can’t say that to her. That would be rude, wouldn’t it? I decide to be polite instead. I look at her mouth to see if a tapeworm pops its head out. It doesn’t.
‘Well, I’m not sure. I’m going to have a swim, and then I’ve got yoga, then a break, then another bamboo massage. I haven’t really thought about what time I’ll be having lunch, to be honest.’
‘What time are you having the big bamboo?’
‘Ten forty-five.’
‘So that’s an hour, so you’ll be finished at a quarter to twelve or so. That’s good. I’ll meet you in the reception area at twelve and you can tell me all about it.’ She smiles knowingly at me, which I find I don’t like. I also don’t like my meal times being organised for me. I’m meant to be relaxing, for god’s sake! Can’t they chuck her out? Isn’t this some sort of harassment? Forced friendship harassment? If she was a man, I’d make a formal complaint.
‘We can have lunch at twelve-fifteen. Must dash. See you later.’
She wipes her mouth and sashays out, leaving me feeling stupid for not being more firm. ‘No!’ I should have said. ‘I’m having lunch when I want lunch and I don’t want to talk to you about my massage with James because it’s obvious that that sort of thing doesn’t go on here and even if it did, you’d be the last person I’d talk to about it!’
The Spa Day Page 3