Croissants and Jam

by Lynda Renham

  ‘You peeped,’ he says, taking me by surprise. I feel my face flush. He leans across me for the whisky bottle and his arm brushes my breast and I gasp.

  ‘Blimey, steady on Bels, you’ve had almost half a bottle.’

  I shrug innocently.

  ‘Is he older than you or younger?’ he asks, offering me a paprika-flavoured crisp.

  ‘Will you stop offering me bloody food, I never normally eat this much and, yes, he is older than me,’ I reply pushing his hand away.

  ‘You’re not fat, you worry too much. Does he tell you you’re fat then? I bet he wouldn’t play twister like we did last night.’

  I jump up. This is too much. I really cannot take much more. I have that horrid anxious feeling that you get when you to go to the dentist, that feeling when you are sitting in the waiting room and you hear the sound of the drill. Christ, this is terrible. I am dreading my wedding just like I dread a visit to the dentist. This is awful.

  ‘God, I can’t stand this, I am so nervous.’ I take a deep breath.

  ‘Here,’ he pours more whisky into my cup. ‘Why don’t you take those Silent Life things?’

  ‘Quiet Life,’ I correct, taking the drink.

  ‘Yes, those and that rescue stuff.’

  I stare at him.

  ‘What are you trying to do to me?’

  He laughs.

  ‘Nothing, just trying to calm you down. You seem to be getting a bit tense. You usually love taking those tranquilliser things,’ he says calmly.

  I exhale loudly.

  ‘They are not a tranquilliser, they are just herbal.’

  He nods.

  ‘Oh, I see. That makes them safe does it?’

  ‘They calm me down,’ I snap angrily.

  ‘So they are a tranquilliser?’ he insists.

  ‘Oh shut up will you.’

  He shrugs as I grab the whisky bottle.

  ‘Okay, just thinking of you. I suppose he approves of you taking drugs does he?’

  I sigh heavily and knock back a gulp of the whisky.

  ‘So, what kind of builder are you?’ I ask, falling back onto the blanket, feeling a bit heady and grabbing a handful of crisps.

  ‘You don’t want to discuss your drug habit I see.’ He is wagging a finger at me.

  ‘Anyway, for your information I am not a builder. I design houses and have them built. I designed Robin’s house for example. I designed the set for Olivia’s big photo shoot for Vogue last year. Would you like a list of my clients so you can be absolutely certain that I really could afford that wine we just bought?’

  I stare wide-eyed at him. He pulls the folder from his bag.

  ‘This is the house I have designed for the footballer Bryan Marshall.’

  I stare at the plans. Bryan Marshall? Oh holy fuck. He’s only a bloody upper-class architect. He’s only sodding rich. He’s only successful and I’m only sodding speechless and staring at him with my mouth open.

  ‘I am going to check on his house while I am in Rome. You could come and see it but I expect you will be busy honeymooning. Where has he decided to have the honeymoon by the way?’

  I force myself to ignore his sarcasm and glance at the plans. Even if I don’t know much about houses it is not hard to see that this will be a beautiful one. Oh my God, how could I have been so stupid? I pull a face.

  ‘I thought you were…’ I begin.

  He nods knowingly and sucks in his breath.

  ‘Can’t do that for less than five hundred mate, and to be honest you might need a new guttering, but I will keep the price as low as I can. I should be able to do it for you next week providing I’ve got the materials. You really thought I was one of them. What a cheek.’

  I nod shamefaced.

  ‘Literally, with your bum cheeks on show,’ I laugh.

  He pushes me playfully onto my back and forces a crisp into my mouth.

  ‘Ve vill make you fat for your vedding.’

  The word wedding reminds me again of why I am going to Rome and I jump up and pour more whisky.

  ‘You need more food,’ he offers, getting up.

  I glance at my phone and, to my relief see that I have no signal still. I seriously wonder if I can call the wedding off. Visions of Alex going into premature labour from the shock make me cringe, and then of course, my mother would have a fit and mourn my spinsterhood. Dad would probably take it with a pinch of salt and Kaz would just swallow more Valium than usual. Then, there is Simon and his parents. I imagine the three of them already want to kill me anyway, so I couldn’t make things much worse could I? But there is the new flat and my things and oh, it is all so complicated. And of course by the time I get home I will be one half of a joint bank account and a joint mortgage and oh God, nightmare of nightmares, I now have a Tesco Clubcard as part of our joint grocery shopping plan. Then to make things worse there is Christian, and I have no idea how he feels about me. One minute I feel convinced he is not in the least bit interested in me and the next he is deliberately brushing my breast with his hand. Buggety bugger what am I to do? I take the hand he offers and allow him to pull me up. He has produced apples, olives a slab of cheese and some salami from his secret stash.

  He pours more whisky into our cups and smiles. I take a sip and feel the warmth of the liquid run down my throat and hit my stomach.

  ‘So, what actually is the situation with you and Claudine then?’ I ask boldly, thinking I might as well find out just how available he is just in case. In case of what, I am not too sure.

  ‘Whoa, Claudine, what can I tell you?’

  He breaks off a piece of cheese and looks thoughtful. I bite into an apple and wait.

  ‘It was our anniversary a week ago and I didn’t completely forget. I had arranged dinner, but I got waylaid by a client and it didn’t happen. So she went and bought herself a very expensive bracelet, and I mean expensive, with my credit card. It’s my fault for giving her a credit card in the first place. It’s the second time she has done something like that when she has not got what she wanted…’ He shrugs and gives a weak smile.

  I attempt not to look shocked but fail miserably. His smile widens.

  ‘She will probably have bought up half of Rome by the time I arrive.’

  I exhale loudly.

  ‘Can’t you do something?’ I say stupidly.

  He holds out a piece of cheese and I take it as if in a dream. Jesus Christ, is there anything else I can eat while I am at it? He throws an olive in the air and leans forward to catch it in his open mouth. I pull a face in disgust.

  ‘I have, and she is probably ready to kill me. I cancelled the credit card the day after she checked into an expensive hotel in Rome. I imagine they have thrown her out by now, and my name is most likely mud. So I think the wedding will be off, mine that is, not yours, unless you are calling yours off too?’

  I choke on a piece of apple and splutter. Why did he say that? Does he want me to? He hands me the whisky and I take a large gulp which only makes me choke more and break into a sneezing fit. I struggle to focus through my watery eyes and blow my nose frantically, only to sneeze again.

  ‘Would you like a carrier bag?’ he offers, grinning.

  What a bastard. I wipe my face with a wet wipe and fall onto the blanket and realise I am feeling quite drunk, and it dawns on me that he is deliberately plying me with whisky. Oh my God, I must hold onto my wits and not let anything happen.

  ‘I think you should hire a karaoke machine for your wedding and do a turn yourself. You’re brilliant at karaoke,’ he says flopping beside me.

  I squint at him. Oh this is terrible. I should not be enjoying my time with him. I take another sip of my drink.

  ‘You said I was terrible,’ I remind him.

  ‘Did I? Oh, maybe you were then.’

  I giggle, although I am not sure what is funny. We finish the cheese and olives and share the last of his chocolate.

  ‘So we won’t see each other again will we. The taxi will take us to R
ome and then we will say goodbye, forever,’ he says looking straight at me. Of course, he is right. This is the last time I will see the Lemon, the last time I will rummage through the back seat for a bag of crisps, the very last time I will see his smiling handsome face. The last time I will hear his mocking voice. This is terrible. Now, he fits Kaz’s essential credential check list, responsible, reliable, and obviously rich and now it seems, probably eligible and he is indeed handsome. Oh sod a dog, why now? Oh God, am I leaning towards him? Pull back Bels, you are drunk. His face is suddenly very close and his eyes are closed. Oh God, pull back Bels. But I don’t and his lips lightly touch mine before he pushes me back.

  ‘Your phone is ringing, again,’ he says quietly. ‘It’s good at that.’

  I turn too quickly and my head spins. He hands me the phone and walks away. Shit and double shit, it is Simon. With trembling hands I answer it.

  ‘Hi baby, are you all right? ‘

  Oh God, he sounds so loving. I do love him, I do love him, I repeat in my head. I have known him for seven months, God, it seems such a long time now. I have known Christian for two days. I cannot possibly really know Christian at all. Guilt consumes me.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I reply stupidly.

  Obviously he is used to me sounding stupid for he makes no comment on my silly reply.

  ‘Good, I just wanted to say that I hope you get here for dinner and that I didn’t hire that quartet. I know you wanted a jazz band and I have found a good one and provisionally booked it. You can see what you think of them when you get here. I just miss you and so much want to see you.’

  Buggety bugger, talk about great timing. I avoid looking at Christian.

  ‘That is great and I really will try and make it for dinner.’

  ‘Text when you are near and I will be waiting in the lounge.’

  I smooth down my dress and pull my cardigan around me. I barely hear what Simon is saying as I am watching Christian fold away the blanket. At one point he waves to me and I wonder what he is thinking. I assure Simon that I will be with him very soon and hang up. I sway unsteadily towards the lake and when I am out of sight quickly change into the skirt and top. Please, please Christian, I find myself praying. If you really feel anything for me, say so. Just give me a sign that you would like to see me again, that you really wished I wouldn’t go ahead with my wedding. I am so confused. Help me make some kind of sensible decision. I slowly walk towards the Lemon where he is still packing things away. The sun is in my eyes and I cannot see his face clearly but I see he is pointing down the road.

  ‘They are here.’

  I nod silently and wait for him to say more, to perhaps comment on what happened between us but he is silent. I fight to control my tears when I realise I was probably just a distraction for him. Just because he is posh and successful doesn’t mean he still can’t be a wide boy. He is a typical man, just having a bit of fun. Oh surely not. Surely that kiss wasn’t just fun. How can I possibly marry Simon now? But how can I not? He would be devastated. I can’t possibly do that to him. Finally, I meet a man who could be my Mr Right and it is all so terribly wrong. I take my last look at the Lemon. In silence we remove everything we need from the car and wait. In just over half an hour I will finally be in Rome and, for the first time since I set out on my journey I realise it really is the last place I want to be. I have never felt so sad.

  Christian

  I shouldn’t have encouraged her to drink the whisky. The woman brings out the devil in me. The truth is I do know why I did it and it really isn’t fair on her. Why couldn’t she have loosened up and said that the marriage was a mistake? Damn her. She is so vulnerable and I can’t even comfort her. I dare not. Of course, I could have misunderstood and maybe the scene I am visualising isn’t going to materialise but I think I can pretty much stake my life on the fact it will. If only she had said something. Just given a hint of how she feels. Would it have made any difference? I suppose not, at least not if I’m right. Damn you Bels. How much booze did you need to say what I wanted to hear? And what the hell are you doing with him?

  Chapter Fourteen

  I sit listening to Pavarotti, who is blaring from the speakers in the back of the taxi, half expecting the driver to pop his head around the seat at any moment and hand us a couple of Cornettos. My hand luggage pushes uncomfortably against my foot. Christian and I sit squashed in the back with his laptop and my handbag being the only things that separate us. He has been texting ever since we got into the taxi and has not spoken to me at all. In fact, now I come to think of it, the last words he spoke to me were ‘They are here.’ I feel totally miserable and wish so much he would say something. I shift in my seat and cough but still he does not look up. I pull a mirror from the handbag and tidy my hair. I debate whether to apply some make-up but decide against it. I am very tipsy from the whisky and don’t trust myself to apply it properly. I look across to Christian who seems intent on what he is doing. I cannot remember him ever being so serious. I keep looking at him until finally he lifts his eyes to me.

  ‘I’m so nervous,’ I whisper.

  ‘Why don’t we finish the whisky, there’s not much left?’ he offers.

  I simply nod, grateful that he is still speaking to me and even more grateful that he kept the plastic cups. So it is thirty minutes or so later that we arrive in Rome, decidedly pissed but at least my heart has stopped racing. I text Simon to say I am near. The driver asks which hotel we need and we both say in unison.

  ‘The Napoléon please.’

  I stare at Christian who starts to laugh.

  ‘Classic,’ he grins. ‘I don’t believe this.’

  A feeling of panic punches me in the stomach and I feel sick.

  ‘You can’t possibly come in with me,’ I say quickly, sounding very unreasonable.

  We have hit Rome and the traffic is dense. The driver starts honking his horn and I sigh. Oh to go back to the peace and quiet of Provence. I strain to see the sights but I really do not have much interest. I manage a glimpse of the Colosseum in the distance and some impressive columns by the side of the road but most of what I see is no different from any other city, except the crazy Italian traffic of course.

  ‘Of course I can,’ he responds matter-of-factly.

  ‘But you are drunk,’ I say accusingly, overlooking the fact that I must be too.

  He laughs, throwing his head back.

  ‘Not as drunk as you. I think you will be glad of my help when we arrive, unless you want to fall flat on your face at his feet. Although come to think of it, from what I have heard of him, I imagine he would probably like that.’

  Oh this man. Whenever I start liking him, he always shows me what a bastard he is.

  ‘Simon is not at all like that,’ I snap.

  His face clouds over and he looks thoughtful.

  ‘Uh oh, is that his name? Simon? What a surprise. I should have known it was Simon. What an idiot.’ His face turns thunderous. Oh God, something doesn’t seem right.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I say stupidly. ‘Do you know him? No, of course you don’t, it’s not like he’s famous or anything.’

  He doesn’t reply. The car comes to a halt and I stare at the hotel entrance. Oh shit, we are here. Christian yanks open my door and I almost fall out of the bloody taxi.

  ‘Are you coming?’ he snaps.

  He grabs my bags and storms ahead of me. I pull a face at the driver and, grateful for the flat sandals, follow unsteadily behind Christian. From the outside the hotel looks very plush and I glance down at my skirt, which I actually rather like now and can’t help wondering what Simon will think of it. My mother will die if she sees it. Oh what the hell, they won’t all be waiting in the lounge will they? My God, how wrong can a girl be? Christian waltzes through the revolving door. I follow but the door seems to spin faster than I anticipate. I manage to go through, but sod it, I find myself back outside, don’t you just hate it when that happens? Determined to get it right, I wait for the doors
to stop spinning so fast and make a second attempt. Finally, success and I find myself in the cool and dark inertia of the hotel. Pushing my sunglasses back onto my head I stop abruptly. Simon, with my parents, two other people and Alex are standing in the foyer looking at me. Simon is wearing his Marc Jacob jumper and I burst out laughing at the sight of it, as you do when you have had a little too much to drink. Christian stops walking and I bump into him. I feel my head thump and my face flush. Christian pushes me back and I steady myself just in time. I go to brush my hair back and realise I am holding the, now empty, bottle of whisky. Oh shit, and bollocks it. I then realise that Simon is looking at Christian and not at me. His lips are tight and he seems about to explode. I think about making a run for it but my head is spinning so much I really don’t think I would get very far. I fix my sight on to the desk at reception and head slowly toward it. If I can just hold onto something this spinning may stop.