by Lynda Renham
Christian
God, she even has a quaint way of snoring. I fight an overwhelming urge to slam my hand down hard on the steering wheel. Oh my God what the hell was I thinking of? I kissed her for pity’s sake. She must think I’m a right wanker. I just can’t take advantage like that. Of all people, I should have known better. She loves the arsehole. I heard her on the phone telling him so didn’t I? He is obviously more her type than I am. Thank goodness there is little chance of it happening again because we will be in Rome in a few hours. But, she did say it was lovely didn’t she? Lovely, is that all? Blimey, I ought to be insulted really. But she responded, I felt it and I am lucky it didn’t go any further. For pity’s sake, she is engaged and so am I. It’s no good, I must phone Claudine. What the hell am I playing at not contacting her and treating her like crap? God, I once loved that woman so much. Surely, I can give her the benefit of the doubt. Talk to her about her extravagances. People make mistakes. I only have to look at how close I almost came to making one. I could have let my emotions take over. She wasn’t fighting me, I noticed. I was so out of control. I really must not let it happen again. Her skin was so soft and her lips so yielding and her body so warm and inviting. Oh for God’s sake stop torturing yourself. Bels is a welcome breath of fresh air, so enjoy it. Just don’t go cocking it up. After all, you can be friends. The important thing is that I get her to this wedding. That’s what she wants. As for Claudine, what is she playing at? Villa La Cupola Suite, what on earth? I check Bels is still soundly sleeping and carefully scroll into my contacts on my phone. Luckily she continues to sleep and I click it onto hands-free. The time has certainly come to stop Claudine’s spending madness. I cancel the credit card I gave her and hang up feeling somewhat relieved. Villa La Cupola Suite, Jesus, sometimes I wonder if she actually loves me or just loves what I spend on her. Ah, come on man, give her a chance. Make something of an effort. What kind of response do you expect from her when you haven’t made any contact? Fancy showing Bels the house, what was that all about? Now, that really was you acting like a tosser. I glance over at her and smile at her sleeping sweet face which twitches every so often. God, I’d love to kiss her again. She smells so fabulous and kissing her was pure nectar. I shake my head to push the thoughts away. This is not going to come to anything. For a start, she is engaged and not only that, she is crazy about the guy. She is probably suffering from some kind of pre-wedding nerves. She is after all a bit neurotic. Sweetly neurotic, of course, but neurotic nevertheless, with all that herbal stuff she carries around. She stirs slightly and I feel a bit relieved because I know I am going to have to stop the car for there is a mild tingling in my tongue. This is just marvellous. Now, I really will look like an idiot. When did I eat nuts? Oh Lord, I’d better stop the car. I try not to moan but I do and she hears me.
Chapter Eleven
My headache makes me sleepy and for a short time I doze. I awake with a start to the soft sound of groaning and think there must be something wrong with the car. We are on a high mountain road. I look at Christian and gasp. He is as white as a ghost and groaning like one.
‘Christian, what’s wrong?’ I ask, using his name for the first time.
‘I’m not sure. Did that yogurt have nuts in it?’ His breath is rasping. Christ, this is the last thing we need. I scramble through the carrier bag and hold up his yogurt pot.
‘It was a hazelnut yogurt, how could you not have seen that?’
‘I thought it was vanilla,’ he moans.
‘Vanilla, why did you think it was vanilla? Hazelnut, vanilla, vanilla, hazelnut, how are they similar?’
He points to the tub.
‘The colour of the tub, it’s brown.’
I stare at him.
‘What! Vanilla isn’t brown,’ I say incredulously.
He grips the steering wheel.
‘Why are you shouting at me?’ he asks, clutching his stomach and pulling over.
I hand him a carrier bag.
‘What’s that for?’ He snatches it from me.
‘In case you want to throw up or maybe breathe into it,’ I say hesitantly. I don’t know do I? I have never been with anyone who had an allergy before.
‘I think, if I need to breathe into a bag, it is supposed to be a paper one,’ he scoffs.
‘How about if you drink water from the opposite side of the glass?’ I offer helpfully.
He shakes his head.
‘That is for hiccups, isn’t it? You would make a terrible nurse.’
Honestly, some people are never grateful. I feel mild panic as I watch him struggle to breathe. Oh God, he isn’t going to die, is he? I offer him water but he shakes his head. I climb from the car and gasp as a large gust of wind hits me. I walk round to the driver’s side and open the door.
‘There,’ I say helpfully.
He grimaces.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I thought some fresh air may help.’
‘I don’t need fresh air, and it’s cold out there,’ he retorts slamming the door.
Oh for Christ’s sake, it isn’t that cold. I get back in the car. His shuddering breathing is scaring the hell out of me. Oh God, what if he collapses while we are in the mountains? I hand him the bottle of water again but he ignores it and reaches into the back seat for his hand luggage. I watch with a sense of relief as he removes a foil of pills and pushes one out and quickly swallows it. Beads of perspiration sparkle on his forehead and I exhale deeply when he relaxes his head back against the seat.
‘Do you feel better?’ I ask hopefully.
He opens one eye, looks at me and then closes it again. I pour the remains of the lemonade into a glass and knock it back. His breathing is still raspy, and I realise I have my hand on his knee. I debate whether I should move it and then decide it feels quite comforting and so leave it there. After what feels like an eternity his breathing becomes quieter and he seems to be sleeping. His hand has dropped onto mine and any plans I had of removing it are dismissed. I look at his face and feel my heart beat a bit faster. This is just so not good. Christian is the kind of man I have been avoiding for the past three years in a bid to find good husband material. Simon is exactly that, I remind myself and I must not do anything to spoil things. Christian is just a good-looking bad boy. His eyes open and I find myself looking straight into their deep pools.
‘Do we have any water?’ he asks quietly.
I slide my hand from under his and feel his fingers stroke it. I suppress a gasp and hand him the water.
‘Do you want me to drive?’ I ask casually.
He shakes his head. I pull the Rescue Remedy from my handbag and he grunts.
‘I certainly don’t want that.’
I unscrew the top.
‘It’s for me,’ I state, throwing the drops into my mouth.
‘Perhaps you would like the paper bag too.’
He is obviously feeling better and back to his old scathing self I see. Within minutes he has the car back on the road. He does not mention my hand on his leg and neither do I. In just a few hours I will be in Rome with my fiancé. I will say goodbye to Christian and never see him again. The thought depresses me and I reach behind for the bag of petits fours. I think of the wedding dress and throw it back. I then think of the string quartet and grab it again. I then curse and throw it back. Oh what the hell, one opera square won’t do that much harm, and besides I need the sugar lift. I grab the bag again and take an opera square for myself and a cream puff for Christian. Satiated, I doze again. I awake to find we are in a car park. Christian is fumbling around in the back seat. I look at him sleepily.
‘Ah, you’re awake. There are toilets here and some shops. I thought we could get tidied up. We are a few hours away yet but we can’t be sure there will be another place to stop.’
I nod miserably. Oh God I don’t want to get there. This is terrible. I feel an overwhelming need to talk to someone. I follow him into the shopping mall and we head for the large supermarket but th
is time he does not joke about with the clothes but goes straight to the loo. I miserably head for the ladies and change out of my ripped jeans and don the white dress I had bought. I wrap a long cardigan around me and look in the mirror. My hair is still pulled up into the scrunch and I let it down, brushing it vigorously. My skin is glowing and I apply a small amount of blusher across my cheeks and am back in the store before Christian. I watch him come out of the loo. He is wearing jeans and a loose black sweater and I fight an impulse to pounce on him. My God, this is terrible. I am thinking about sex, and not sex with Simon. I am also thinking I really do not want to say goodbye to him. Oh God, if I could just get to know him a little better. Why now? I have been waiting to feel like this about someone for the past five years and he has to come along a few days before my wedding to someone else. He is walking towards me and smiling and visions of a quickie in the back seat enter my head and I can just tell he is thinking the same thing.
‘Good God no,’ I blurt out as he reaches me.
He stops in front of me, one hand loosely tucked in his jean pocket.
‘Do you always say no before you are asked?’ He grins at me.
I blush.
‘Yes, I mean no. I mean, is this particular case yes.’
He looks quizzically at me.
‘I was going to tell you about a wine-tasting event. It’s advertised over there. We are about five miles from it. It seems a shame to go past.’
He is looking into my eyes and I feel hypnotised. I guess it would not do any harm, I mean, we are late after all and it is better than having sex with him. I bite my lip and he looks hopefully at me.
‘I guess as we are already a bit late… and it’s better than…’ I stop quickly.
‘Better than what? Did you have something else in mind?’ he asks, smiling.
Oh good Lord, I swear he can read my mind.
‘No, no, I mean, it’s better than rushing,’ I reply, sounding like a stupid bloody fool. ‘And we are already late.’
‘Yes, we are,’ he agrees.
I nod my consent, and he smiles widely. I check my phone while he buys some poppy-seed crackers and cheese and shake my head when he holds up a hazelnut yogurt. My heart skips a beat when I see there is a message from Simon.
Text when you are near the hotel and I will meet you, we’re all going for dinner when you get here.
I notice he does not put a kiss and I feel a sinking in my stomach. Am I blowing my whole future by being stupid with Christian? I check the time and realise I may not make it for dinner and feel a surge of relief. I slip the phone back into my bag and look at my engagement ring. It does look very big and indeed very garish. I fight an urge to remove it. Christian is suddenly beside me.
‘I need to phone my fiancé,’ I say.
He nods and walks outside. Simon answers on the first ring.
‘Honey, where are you?’
God, why is that always his first question?
‘Getting close,’ I reply uncertainly and feel myself trembling. I am useless at lying. I either get all the words back to front or my voice shakes.
‘How close?’ he barks like the Gestapo and I feel my back go up.
‘I will be there tonight but I may not make dinner, can you take Mum and Dad?’
He grunts, and I think I hear him swear.
‘I was taking you for dinner after the rehearsal Annabel, are you now telling me, you won’t be here for that either? Do you think you will make it for our wedding? I wouldn’t want our marriage to put you out or anything.’ He is raising his voice and I move the phone from my ear. Oh for God’s sake, why do we need a rehearsal anyway?
‘I didn’t want a rehearsal Simon I was only doing that for you…’
‘Fine, we’ll have it without you.’
The phone goes dead and I find myself staring at my Blackberry. My God, the bastard hung up on me. Well, I suppose it serves me right. I really ought to go straight there. I decide to tell Christian that we need to drive straight to Rome when my phone bleeps with a text.
Sorry I was sharp Annabel, but you really try my patience at times. I expect you to be here for our rehearsal. After all, you are the only one who isn’t bloody here. Please get here as soon as possible. What has happened to your sense of responsibility? You have really let me down badly Annabel.
I stare and stare at the text and then finally in frustration delete it. I feel tears run down my cheeks. I cannot believe I am travelling all the way to Rome to marry a man who constantly tries to control me. Oh why did I listen to my mother? Of course she wants to see me married. I imagine she feels a little like Mrs Bennett. Along comes a nice rich suitor and Mum can’t resist. I suppose if I don’t marry Simon, then I most certainly will end up on the shelf as nearly all the eligible men of my age are now married. Christian is standing by the car waiting for me and I make my decision. I will marry Simon and settle down. I am thirty and the time has come to do things sensibly. Two days after my wedding I will attend the fashion show in Rome with my new husband and then we will fly to England and start married life in our new home in St John’s Wood. I look at Christian again and feel my heart leap. I have just a few more hours before we say goodbye and I decide to enjoy them. Simon had a stag do in Rome and I am going to have a wine tasting in Italy. A final fling and why the hell not? After all, wine tasting is innocent enough. God, what am I thinking? The whole sodding wedding party is waiting for me and I decide I’ve got time to go to a wine tasting. I am seriously losing my mind. I gesture to Christian that I am going to the ladies. I rush inside almost knocking over a woman at the sink. She turns and curses me in Italian, at least I think it is Italian, and at least I think it is a curse. I lock myself in the loo and frantically phone Kaz. Thank God, she answers.
‘I don’t think I can go through with it, he is such a shithead and I know Mum feels like Mrs Bennett but I really can’t help it,’ I ramble down the phone.
‘Bels, Christ, where are you? What do you mean? Oh fuck, let me go outside.’
Shit, she must be with Simon and his parents, and oh God, probably my parents too, oh bugger it. What was I thinking of?
‘Bels, what’s going on? Where are you? Everyone is waiting for you.’
I fall onto the loo and almost slide off as the seat breaks. Shit, for pity’s sake.
‘Oh God Kaz, I don’t know what to do, I’ve met this guy…’
‘What?’ she screams and I wince. ‘What the fuck, Bels. You are getting married tomorrow and you have all the bloody presents here. Simon is frantic, really frantic.’
I fall back onto the broken toilet seat and groan. I stare down at my cheap supermarket sandals and think how nice they look. Jesus, am I going mad? How can cheap supermarket sandals look nice? Get a grip Bels.
‘Oh God, I hope people haven’t spent too much money,’ I say stupidly.
‘Jesus Bels, of course they bloody have. Your wedding list was from John Lewis, remember? Bloody hell, I can’t believe I am hearing this. How can you meet a guy coming to your wedding? Anyway where the bloody hell, are you?’
‘I’m sitting in a supermarket loo,’ I sigh.
‘For fuck’s sake Bels, exactly where are you in Italy right now?’
Kaz, my best friend aged thirty-two, single and spends her life speed dating and doing yoga. Kaz has had a string of not very nice boyfriends behind her and is always thrilled when any of her friends find Mr Right and my mum wholeheartedly approves of her apart from her swearing, of course.
‘I’m not sure, does it matter? What matters is that I think I could seriously fall in love with someone else. How can I marry Simon if I can actually meet someone on my way to my wedding?’ I ask, suddenly feeling very stressed and fumbling for my Quiet Life.
I hear her exhale heavily and picture her running her assortment of bangles up and down her arm, as she tends to do.
‘Look, it is probably just wedding nerves and maybe Simon has handled it badly so far, to him, it just seems like you are
not making an effort to get here. You hardly know this guy, who is he anyway and where did you meet him and where does this couple you are travelling with come into all this?’ Her voice trembles and I feel my heart thud.
‘Ah…’ I mumble.
‘For fuck’s sake, don’t tell me there isn’t a couple?’
‘Oh Kaz, he is so like me and…’
‘Listen to me Bels, someone like you is the last thing you need right now.’
I slide on the toilet seat and look ahead to the broken tampon machine and wonder what the hell I am doing sitting in a filthy supermarket loo in Italy of all places.
‘But, I feel so comfortable with him and…’
‘Bels pull yourself together.’
‘But how can I be sure that I do love Simon? I mean, surely I wouldn’t be attracted to someone else if I was that much in love with him?’ I wail.
‘Well, the thing is…’
‘And sometimes I think about Simon and feel nothing and then other times I just know I do love him and oh, I don’t know.’
‘I’m sure…’
‘And when Christian kissed me...’
‘What?’ she squeals. ‘Oh shit, and fuck it Bels.’
The tears rush from my eyes and I sniff loudly.
‘God, I’m so confused.’
‘You sure fucking are,’ is her response.
I blow my nose loudly.
‘What is happening there anyway, what are Simon’s parents like?’ I ask miserably looking at my chipped fingernails.
‘Oh, his dad is lovely, his mum’s a bit claustrophobic but your mum is getting on with her like a house on fire.’
‘Oh Christ,’ I moan loudly, ‘what am I going to do?’
‘Honestly Bels, I can’t even let you travel alone to your wedding without you meeting a wide boy. That is exactly what he is right? A Jack-the-lad and men like that you just don’t marry Bels. Think of the essential credentials, rich, handsome, reliable, eligible and responsible. Now, tell me, how many?’
Oh dear.
‘Handsome, probably reliable, oh hell…’