Romantic Comedy Box Set (Helen Grey Series Books 1 & 2)

by Hodge, Sibel

  ‘No.’ Ayshe studied her voucher and nodded her head in agreement.

  ‘Good, then I’ll escort you both downstairs.’ Eleanor flashed her pristine white enamels at us.

  As we swept out of the room, I leaned over towards the Beefies, who were hovering by the door, looking very ashamed of themselves.

  ‘Neanderthals!’ I hissed at them.

  ‘Boob-groper!’ Ayshe spat.

  When we’d finally left behind the nightmare shopping trip, we spilled out of the store into the early evening darkness, bumping into our old school friend, Felicity. She was a tiny, mousey little thing who was very into the Bible and worked as a librarian.

  ‘Hi, Felicity.’ I wondered what she was doing in the middle of shopping heaven. She never bought any new clothes and always wore stuff from Oxfam.

  ‘Hello, you two. I was just looking for something new to wear to your hen night.’ Whenever she spoke, a giant mole above her lip twitched. It looked similar to a toasted Rice Krispie and had several, coarse, black hairs poking out of it.

  ‘Oh, nice.’ Ayshe grinned. ‘Have you found anything yet?’

  ‘No. Mummy says I should wear something more fashionable for a change.’ She looked down at her shoes.

  I studied her outfit, which consisted of a brown knee-length A-line skirt, covered by a navy blue mac, and a pair of the frumpiest shoes ever invented. Her hair needed a jolly good makeover too. Stuck in the 70s with a big, flicky, curly thing perched on the front and the rest of it was limp, lifeless and mousey. She was wearing a pair of pink, NHS glasses with pointy bits on the sides.

  ‘I wouldn’t go in that shop if I were you.’ I jerked my head towards the shop from hell. ‘I thought today was supposed to be about retail therapy, but I’m scared to go clothes shopping ever again.’

  Chapter 11

  ‘Ah, it’s Ali Baba.’ Kalem grinned as I climbed into the Land Rover on our way to Clarissa’s.

  ‘Ha-bloody-ha. How could that shop have thought we were nicking something?’

  He glanced over and looked me up and down.

  ‘What?’ Had I spilled something down my top?

  ‘You scrub up quite well when you’re not covered in wine.’

  ‘Actually, you look pretty good for a change too. It’s amazing what a bit of effort makes, isn’t it?’ I took in his checked Ben Sherman shirt and black trousers. He even had a pair of shoes on, instead of the usual working boots. His thick hair had been clippered and his angular jaw was clean-shaven, especially for the occasion.

  ‘I am a bit worried about tonight. Clarissa used to be really nice at college, but she seemed a bit snobby the other night.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be a very memorable night.’

  ‘So what’s Emine doing tonight?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  We pulled up in a street with a row of identical prim and proper detached town houses. All boasted block-paved driveways, sculpted miniature topiary trees, and strangely, all had dark-coloured people carriers and BMWs sitting in the driveways.

  Clarissa had obviously been curtain-twitching, because as soon as we pulled up, she almost pole-vaulted out of the door.

  ‘Helen!’ She beamed at me then looked at Kalem: ‘I’m sorry. I forgot your name. It was something a bit strange. Golom, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Kalem, actually.’

  ‘Come in, come in. Charles is inside.’ She wrinkled her nose in abhorrence at the sight of the battered old heap now taking up space on her drive and practically dragged us into the house. Her eyes darted around to see if anyone else in the neighbourhood was curtain-twitching.

  ‘Hello.’ Charles formally shook first my hand and then Kalem’s.

  ‘Here you go.’ I handed Clarissa two bottles of red wine and a bottle of soda.

  She peered at the labels with distaste. ‘“Soft and Fruity”. Mmm, never had that one before.’ She placed the bottles on a sideboard. ‘Let me get you a nice drinky-poo. We’ve got a lovely bottle of expensive wine breathing in the drawing room that Clarissa has just opened,’ Charles piped up.

  Drawing room?

  ‘Can I have mine half-wine and half-soda, please?’ I asked.

  ‘But you will spoil the clarity of the wine completely.’ Charles looked appalled.

  ‘Mmm, but I like it.’ I gave a sugary-sweet smile, sitting down next to Kalem on a very soft brown leather sofa. It was so squashy, it pushed us together, and I could feel the warmth of his knee resting against mine. For some rather unexplainable reason, the hairs on the back of my neck rose.

  Charles and Clarissa bumbled into the kitchen, fetching the drinks.

  I whispered to Kalem, ‘Oh, my God!’

  He giggled at me, then pulled a straight face as soon as they returned.

  ‘Thanks.’ Kalem took the glass.

  ‘That’s quite alright, Golom.’ She nodded at Kalem.

  I took a sip of wine and nearly died. One, because it was foul and two because she had just called Kalem by the wrong name, again. Which I thought was quite hilarious.

  ‘It’s Kalem, actually,’ he offered, but she ignored him.

  ‘Let me give you a tour of the house.’ Clarissa darted out of the room before we could say no.

  We dutifully followed as she led us round the perfect conservatory, the immaculate lounge and dining room, and the equally flawless four bedrooms and two bathrooms. Everything was colour-coordinated in soft blues and greens, even down to the wonderfully plumped-up cushions and the fancy swags and tails on the Laura Ashley curtains.

  Clarissa pointed out of the conservatory windows. ‘Shame it’s too dark to see the garden properly. We had it landscaped a few weeks ago, it looks positively exquisite. OK, let’s sit at the table, starters are ready.’

  Once we were seated at the table, which was crammed to the edges with napkins, gleaming glasses, Sabatier cutlery, and even seating cards, Clarissa started to bring out the food. By mistake I’d sat in the seat marked for Kalem, although she had put a card with the name ‘Golom’ written on it. Clarissa picked up the card. Her jaw dropped when she realized we were in the wrong seats.

  ‘Problem?’ Kalem asked.

  ‘No.’ She swapped Kalem’s seating card with mine.

  ‘More wine?’ Charles jumped up and refilled our glasses.

  ‘This looks interesting.’ I examined what looked like paté spread onto the thinnest piece of toast I’d ever seen in my life.

  ‘It’s menai pride.’ Clarissa looked down her nose at us as she sat down.

  I raised my eyebrow. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Mussel paté, dear,’ she said.

  I picked it up and took a bite.

  Kalem picked up his knife and fork and attacked it with hunger but the toast was so crisp that it broke into tiny shards. He gave up and picked up the miniature pieces with his hand.

  ‘You do eat mussels, don’t you?’ Charles asked. ‘Some people find they’re an acquired taste.’

  ‘I’ve never had them before, but this is lovely,’ I said.

  ‘Charles was headhunted this week,’ Clarissa exclaimed as she crammed more paté into her mouth.

  I finished off my starter and licked my fingers. ‘Who by?’

  ‘Have you heard of the Al-Nasr Oil Conglomerate?’ Charles asked in a smug drawl.

  ‘No,’ Kalem replied.

  ‘It’s a multi-billion dollar oil company,’ Clarissa boasted.

  ‘That’s really good. When do you start?’ I sipped my wine while trying not to breathe in as it made it taste slightly more palatable.

  ‘Well…I’ve got an interview,’ Charles added.

  ‘Oh, so you haven’t actually got the job?’ Kalem licked his fingers.

  Clarissa flicked her hand, dismissing his comments. ‘It’s just a formality, of course he’ll get it.’ She leaned over to Charles, patting him on the head.

  ‘Well, that’ll be quite an achievement, although personally I think there’s more to life than working sixty-hour weeks
at the sacrifice of spending quality time with your family,’ Kalem said.

  ‘That’s an…interesting idea, but if Charles didn’t get his huge bonuses, we’d never be able to afford all this.’ Clarissa swept her hand round the room. ‘What do you do, Helen? I seem to recall you were doing something arty when we were at college.’ Clarissa poured me some more of the bloody awful wine, which could have actually doubled up as paint-stripper – maybe it was corked.

  ‘Photography.’

  ‘Do you work in one of those one-hour photo booth thingamajigs?’ Charles asked.

  ‘No, I work for myself.’ I fiddled with my hair. ‘How about you, are you working?’ I asked Clarissa.

  She shook her head. ‘Oh, no, I don’t need to work!’

  Charles turned to Kalem. ‘And what about you, Golom?’

  ‘I’m not working at the moment,’ Kalem said.

  Clarissa turned her nose up. ‘How absurd!’

  I was feeling quite tipsy by this point and put a protective hand on Kalem’s arm, winking at him.

  ‘What he means is that he’s on half-term. He’s a teacher,’ I cut in, giving her my best and most dazzling smile.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Charles, as he cleared the plates.

  Kalem glanced over at me and put his hand over mine on the table as they busied themselves in the kitchen.

  A warm tingling slithered up my legs, but I thought it was probably the wine affecting me.

  ‘This is sea bass in a cream sauce, with crushed new potatoes and petit pois.’ Clarissa dished out the main course as Charles kept the wine flowing.

  ‘Great.’ Kalem withdrew his hand from mine. ‘You can’t beat fish, spuds, and peas.’

  ‘Hardly, dear.’ Clarissa gave a supercilious snort.

  ‘What do you think of that painting?’ Charles jabbed a finger at the wall while shoving a whole spud into his gob.

  It was disgusting. ‘Lovely,’ I said, I didn’t want to be rude.

  ‘It cost a fortune.’ Charles said, mid-munch, pulling a ridiculous face which made him look like a camel chewing a scorpion.

  ‘But do you like it? I mean, it’s very nice having all this materialistic stuff, but at the end of the day, does it make you happy?’ Kalem considered it with thought and shot Charles a disgusted look at his jaw acrobatics but Charles was too engrossed in his munching to notice.

  Charles’s table manners were probably loud enough to be heard over a small earthquake.

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. It’s the prestige of owning the art that actually counts,’ Clarissa said.

  ‘Have you got any children?’ I said, downing some more of the dreadful plonk.

  Clarissa pointed to some photos adorning a mahogany sideboard in the corner of the room. ‘Yes, Casper and Charles junior,’ she said without feeling, cold almost.

  ‘Oh, so where are they tonight, at a friend’s house?’ I squashed a potato in the sauce and rubbed it around my plate.

  ‘No, boarding School in Scotland,’ Charles boomed.

  ‘How old are they?’ I asked as Clarissa shot me a disapproving look at my potato-rubbing antics.

  ‘Eight and ten, those photos were taken ages ago.’ Charles pointed over to the sideboard.

  ‘I wouldn’t be able to send my kids to boarding school. I’d miss them like crazy.’ Kalem shook his head. ‘In fact, I think when I have children I’d love to move to North Cyprus where my parents are from. There’s hardly any crime and kids can learn more about nature instead of spending too much time playing computer games and keeping up with the latest fashions. Turkish Cypriots are very family orientated, and there’s much more of a community spirit there, like the UK was fifty years ago.

  ‘Well I went to boarding school, and I turned out all right. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with good old Blighty,’ Charles whined.

  Kalem finished his dinner, leaned back in his chair and stretched his long, toned legs before him.

  ‘North Cyprus sounds lovely. All that sunshine, laid-back lifestyle, and beautiful scenery. The trouble in the UK is that people don’t have time for each other any more. They’re always too busy working and under too much pressure to perform. When I have kids, I’m going to look after them full-time,’ I said, looking at Kalem in agreement. He squeezed my knee, making me glow with an unexpected excitement. I was quite enjoying this business of pretending to be a couple, and I loved all the affection he was showing me.

  ‘More wine?’ Charles looked at my empty glass and poured some anyway.

  Halfway through the desert of chocolate and pecan tartlets, I felt a hot glow sweep over me. I fanned myself with my napkin, flushing profusely.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Kalem looked at me with concern as beads of sweat appeared on my forehead.

  ‘I’m fine.’ I stifled a nauseous feeling.

  ‘You do look a bit green. Have you had too much to drink?’ Clarissa asked.

  I stood up. ‘Actually, I feel a bit ill.’ I rushed off, making a bee-line for the loo through the kitchen. But halfway there, I just knew I wasn’t going to make it, so instead I veered over to the kitchen sink just in time to vomit into it.

  Kalem followed me in, closely pursued by Clarissa and Charles. ‘Are you OK?’ Concern clouded his eyes as I gripped the rim of the worktop, feeling disgustingly sick.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Clarissa’s voice jumped several octaves. Her hands flew to her face when she saw the state of what was her previously pristine sink. If looks could kill, I would have been boiled alive, disemboweled, and sliced up into little pieces. Simultaneously.

  ‘That’s outrageous!’ Charles muttered, then leaned over to Clarissa and whispered, ‘People who can’t handle their wine shouldn’t drink so much.’

  What a bloody cheek, I thought, when Charles had practically been pouring Cabernet Nitromors down my throat all night.

  Kalem filled a glass of water, handing it to me, gently rubbing my back. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Not very well.’ I leaned back against him, feeling his arms encircle me from behind, supporting me.

  ‘Have some water,’ Kalem said.

  I took a slow sip of cool liquid as he reached over for some kitchen roll which he dampened under the tap and then pressed to my forehead.

  ‘Oh no…I think I’m going to be sick again.’ I tumbled forwards over the sink. A tendril of hair fell over my forehead and Kalem swept it away from my face, stroking my head.

  ‘I can’t watch, I can’t watch. It’s disgusting!’ Clarissa shrieked, pulling Charles out of the kitchen, where they hovered in the doorway, whispering to each other.

  ‘Urrgh.’ I collapsed onto a nearby chair and shivered as a chill of fever shook me. I was cold to the core but inside my body was on fire.

  ‘Right, I’m taking you home. Stay there, I’ll just get your coat.’ Kalem strode into the drawing room, retrieved my jacket and wrapped it round my shoulders.

  ‘Are you going to clean this mess up, Golom?’ Clarissa shouted at Kalem.

  ‘No,’ he snapped. ‘Helen’s not very well. I have to take her home.’

  Clarissa huffed as loud as a steam engine. ‘Had too much to drink, more like.’

  Kalem gathered me up in his arms and carried me to the Land Rover. Carefully, manoeuvring the door open with one hand and resting me on the seat, he pulled the seatbelt over me and fastened it. Then, softly, he touched my face.

  I rested my head on the door and opened the window, desperate for some fresh air. Everything was spinning and I wasn’t sure that I was going to make it back home without depositing the contents of my stomach in the foot-well.

  Kalem drove as fast as the ancient lump of junk would allow, shooting concerned looks at me.

  ‘Stop!’ I put my hand up. ‘Going to be…’ I clutched my stomach and doubled over.

  Kalem pulled up at the kerb, just in time for me to fling the door open and throw up on the pavement. I sat there gulping for air, staring down at the bright red splatters.


  ‘Here.’ He handed me a tissue.

  ‘Oh, my God, I think I’m bleeding internally. It’s all red.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get you home. I’m going to call the doctor.’

  ****

  Four and a half stops later – one was a false alarm – I’d been sick on half the pavements in town. When we finally arrived at my flat, Kalem carried me into the bedroom and placed me on the bed.

  ‘Do you still use Doctor Lattimer?’ He grabbed my phone book from the dressing-table, flicking through the pages.

  I lay there trembling as he pulled the duvet up and around me, tucking me in fully clothed.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Can you get me a bowl? Think I might throw up again.’

  He returned carrying a plastic bowl, the phone pressed to his ear. Then he wandered into the kitchen, and I could hear his muffled voice. He came back a few minutes later with a glass of water.

  ‘Doctor’s on his way. He thinks you might have food poisoning.’ He sat down on the chair next to my bed, looking apprehensive.

  I must have fallen into an exhausted sleep because when I came round, the doctor was sitting on the edge of my bed talking to Kalem in a hushed voice.

  ‘How are you, my dear?’ the elderly GP asked me.

  I tried to lift myself up on to my elbows, but I couldn’t quite make it and collapsed back down. ‘Not too good.’

  ‘I think you’ve probably had a dodgy mussel. It’s amazing the amount of people who get food poisoning from seafood.’ Dr Lattimer opened his big black leather case.

  ‘But it was red. Do you think I’m bleeding inside?’

  ‘Have you been drinking tonight?’ Dr Lattimer asked.

  ‘Red wine,’ Kalem interjected, hovering by my side.

  ‘Ah.’ The doctor nodded his head. ‘That explains the redness, then.’ He pulled out a packet of tablets. ‘Take two of these now and two again every four hours. I think you’ll be OK in a few days.’ He got to his feet and picked up his case. ‘I think you should keep your eye on her,’ he said to Kalem, patting him on the shoulder.

  Kalem showed him out, then came back to sit on my bed as I leaned over to the bedside cabinet, picked up the glass of water and swallowed the tablets before flopping back onto the pillow.