Love on the Rocks

by Henry, Veronica

  George touched her gently.

  ‘Lisa?’

  She shrugged him off. There was no point in having a tantrum about it. If she wailed and gnashed her teeth, that would prove she cared. The last thing she wanted to show was that she was vulnerable. She had to be strong, like before. She’d picked herself up that time, walked away and started again. Lisa set her shoulders square, determined to keep her dignity, and mentally ran through her options.

  This time around it was a little more complicated. She couldn’t just walk out without a backward glance, as her instinct told her. There was too much at stake. Ever practical, Lisa pinpointed the most important thing was to get the hotel up and running. They needed to start pulling in some revenue as quickly as possible. Otherwise they were all sunk. They had, after all, been spending money like water over the past couple of weeks. They could hardly call a halt to the refurbishment. They needed to start recouping their investment and quick. Once they were in profit, then she could decide what to do. She wasn’t going to bail out now.

  She looked at George. She had to be businesslike about this. There was no time for histrionics.

  ‘Of course they can stay. As long as they don’t mind helping out,’ she said briskly. ‘We could do with some extra pairs of hands. And we’ve got plenty of bedrooms. As long as they’re out by the opening.’ She stood up before she delivered the next blow. ‘I’ll go and move my things to another room.’

  He looked startled, jumping to his feet. He put a hand on her arm as she turned to make her way back up the beach.

  ‘You’re not going to let this come between us?’

  Lisa tossed back her hair impatiently.

  ‘For God’s sake, George. It’s a pretty big one, not telling someone you’re married. On a scale of one to ten for shit behaviour, it’s about an eleven. Probably worse than having an affair. It’s inexcusable.’

  She set her mouth in a hard line and stared at him. She had to remain strong, impassive, immoveable – just as she had with her father that afternoon. Otherwise she would go to pieces.

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘Lisa, I am deeply, deeply ashamed. And horribly wrong. But after Victoria… well, I didn’t think I’d want anything to do with another woman again. I didn’t see the point in laying myself open to get hurt. But then you came along. Suddenly, it was worth the risk. But instead of hurting myself, I’ve ended up hurting you. Of course, now I can see how selfish it was. But at the time, it was just a defence mechanism…’ He swallowed hard, passing a hand under his eyes and blinking. ‘I made a mistake. I didn’t set out to deceive you. It just… happened. Do you understand at all?’

  Lisa was silent for a moment. He was almost voicing her own philosophy, parroting her own mantra back at her. She hesitated. Maybe she was being unfair? She didn’t have the monopoly on betrayal, after all. Had the shock of George’s revelation robbed her of her humanity? Just as her father’s had? She had felt almost robotic at times, in her attempts to shut down her emotions and protect herself. Just for a moment, she allowed herself a second in George’s shoes, and it dawned on her that maybe he deserved a fair hearing.

  ‘I… suppose so.’ She was hesitant, reluctant to capitulate when she had felt so wronged.

  ‘I know I’m guilty. I know I was deluded, misguided, a total fucking ostrich. But that’s the only way I could keep her out of our lives. To me Victoria is like Pandora’s box. The minute I acknowledged her existence, I was afraid of what might be unleashed.’ He rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly. ‘I know that sounds melodramatic, but in my head she’s like some terrible Greek legend. The only way I could cope was by pretending to myself she’d never happened.’

  ‘And now she’s here… you want her to stay?’

  ‘Christ, no. I just want to see the back of her. But I know if I don’t help her…’ George was struggling to explain. ‘Now she’s resurrected herself, I’ve got to kill her off once and for all. So she no longer has any power over me. I’ve got to sort out the practicalities. And I’ve got to do it face to face. I don’t trust her. If I send her packing, she’s capable of all sorts of tricks. And, of course, there’s Mimi…’

  He looked anguished.

  ‘I do really care about Mimi. And I’m not sure Victoria does. I mean, I’m sure she loves her, but she’s more than capable of using her as a weapon. And that’s not fair. She’s only a kid, and she hasn’t had it easy. If I can sort this out… amicably…’ George grimaced, knowing that this was optimistic. ‘Well, maybe we can make the best of it. Otherwise, she’s won. She’s strolled back into my life and blown it apart. Again. Please don’t let her do that.’

  He went to put his arms around Lisa. She immediately went rigid, but he squeezed her to him.

  ‘I don’t want to carry on unless I’ve got you right beside me. There’s no point otherwise. That place is about us, Lisa. Look at it.’

  He pointed back up the cliff.

  ‘We’ve taken the risk. We’re going to make it a success. You and me. With a bit of help from Justin, of course, but we both know he’s just playing at it. But that place is our bloody dream. We’ve given up everything for it. And it’s nearly within reach. We’re so close. Don’t let Victoria take it away from us.’

  Despite herself, Lisa allowed herself to relax and put her head on his shoulder. George was right. They’d come so far. Was she really going to let her stubborn pride get in the way of their success? Because who’d be the winner then?

  ‘Are you with me?’ he whispered, ruffling his hand through her curls.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered back, not sure if the taste of salt on her lips was the sea air or their mingled tears.

  Mimi was a well-travelled child on paper. She had plenty of exotic stamps on her passport, for Victoria was keen on long-haul holiday destinations. But she had never realized that such a paradise existed on the shores of the very country she lived in. She’d always thought the English seaside was naff – cold and cloudy, with stony beaches and ugly, mottled people pouring tea out of thermos flasks. But no – here the sun was shining in an azure blue sky, the velvety green cliffs of the coastline were standing out in stark relief over a shining sea that would put the Med to shame. The sands were as golden as any she had seen on her travels. All her senses were assaulted. Shouts of delight and the screams of seagulls floated through the air from the beach, jumbled beats oozed from the shopfronts, the smell of ozone mingled with the mouth-watering scent of frying chips from a nearby van. Everyone was smiling in the sun, going about their business at their own pace. Children marched out of shops triumphantly with buckets and spades and fishing nets, awkward in their new flip-flops. Parents joined hands when they hadn’t done so in years, smiling indulgently. Babies licked their first ice creams from the confines of their chariots. Young lovers applied sun cream to each other, languorously exploring skin that had not been touched for weeks in the rat race of normal everyday life. Two boys shot out of a door in front of her, each clutching a surfboard, and raced down the street towards the sea. She watched after them, admiring the breadth of their shoulders, the slenderness of their waists, their skin the colour of runny honey.

  Mimi soon realized as she walked through the few little streets that made up the village that she was totally inappropriately dressed. It hadn’t been particularly warm when they left Bath that morning, and now she felt ridiculously trussed up in the heat of the early afternoon sun. People were looking at her askance as they walked past in next to nothing. She shrugged off her blazer but she still felt overdressed in a kilt and long boots.

  She wandered into a little boutique that was crammed with flowery print surfer-chick dresses and racks of beaded jewellery. Acid jazz trickled out of the speakers as she flipped through the racks, deciding on her costume. Clothes were very important to Mimi: how could they not be, with Victoria for a mum? But to Mimi it wasn’t about labels and how much you spent, it was about putting a look together for as little as possible, and not being the sam
e as everyone else. Yet strangely, now she was here, she wanted to look exactly like all the other teenagers who were wandering the streets – carefree, sun-kissed, casual.

  She chose a crocheted halter-neck top, a blue sarong and a pair of flip-flops embroidered with shells, then took them into the changing room. She ruffled her hair, trying to free it from the spray that had held it in shape earlier. She looked in the mirror and sighed. She looked like Malibu Barbie meets the Queen of the Dead. She had a long way to go before she looked like a beach babe. The black hair had to go. And she needed half a gallon of fake tan. But it was a start.

  She went over to the till, holding her old clothes.

  ‘You want to wear all that now?’

  She looked up into a pair of aquamarine eyes.

  ‘If that’s OK.’

  The assistant grinned at her.

  ‘You were kind of overdressed for the beach.’

  ‘Just a bit.’

  ‘I’ll cut the labels off for you.’ He held up a pair of scissors. ‘Come here.’

  Mimi stood still obediently as he snipped off the price tags, surreptitiously sneaking glances at him. He was wearing combat shorts and skater shoes with bright green laces. His hair was dirty blond, shoulder length, the ringlets slightly matted from the sea salt that had been allowed to dry on it. Mimi felt a sudden urge to run her fingers through it. At last he had finished and Mimi fished in her blazer for her purse.

  ‘Are you here on holiday?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ She pulled out a few crumpled notes. ‘I’ve come to visit my stepdad.’

  ‘Come down later. There’s a band on at the Old Boat House.’

  ‘Are they good?’

  ‘Not exactly the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but who gives? We have a laugh.’

  He smiled as he slid the clothes she’d been wearing into a carrier bag, shook it out and handed it to her. Mimi noticed that the badge on his shirt said he was called Matt. Her tummy gave a little flip as their fingers touched, hers so pale, his golden brown.

  ‘See you later, maybe.’

  ‘Maybe…’ Mimi managed a smile, and turned to walk out of the shop.

  That was amazing, she thought. He’d been so friendly. But at the same time she didn’t feel like she’d been hit on. The guys she knew in Bath were either only interested in one thing, or cut you dead. On the whole they were wankers: public school twerps who tried to prove they were richer and cooler than everyone else by driving fast in the hot hatches their parents had misguidedly bought them in order to relieve themselves of the endless fetching and carrying. They spoke in mockney accents and pretended to take lots of drugs. Mimi found them less than fascinating. In five minutes in Mariscombe, she had seen as many Adonis-like creatures whom she could barely tear her eyes away from – not plastic action men, but rippling, tawny-haired creatures with smiling eyes and faded shorts; living breathing sources of fascination she longed to befriend. If not more. Mimi had preserved her virginity long past her friends. There was no one in Bath she deemed worthy of the honour of taking it. No one made her pulse race or her breath short. Mariscombe was a different story. With a sigh, she turned to walk back up the hill, wondering what had happened between her mother and George.

  She’d been gutted when her mother had left George to go and live with Nick, although she hadn’t shown it. She’d learned long ago that it was always easier to go along with Victoria’s plans. But in retrospect, if she had realized how awful it was going to be, she would have put up a fight. She’d missed George dreadfully. He’d always been there – and not just as someone to drive her round or give her money. He’d genuinely taken an interest in her, and Mimi had quickly come to miss that attention, the camaraderie between them.

  Nick, by contrast, had been utterly hideous. He’d made it very obvious from the start that she was an interloper. That her very presence in the house inhibited him and made him feel old. She’d come to enjoy pointing up his age, turning up her music deliberately, even though she didn’t particularly want it on loud, because asking her to turn it down made him look like an old fart. Whereas George had made a point of including her in their daily life, Nick deliberately excluded her. He made her take the bus to school while George had been happy to drive her – in fact, he’d insisted on it. Her exclusion was disguised as freedom, of course, because Nick was cunning. He even put a fridge in her annexe so she could have her own food, on the pretext that he thought she would enjoy having her independence. But she didn’t want independence. The time she had used to love best was when she and George made spaghetti bolognese together, ready for Victoria when she came home from work. And for all her mother’s faults, those times had been really special. Mimi always made the garlic bread and the salad while George did the sauce, then they had thrown a piece of spaghetti at the fridge to see if it was cooked – a ridiculous ritual they always went through even though it was really easier just to bite it and see, but it never failed to amuse them.

  Nick was not the type to throw spaghetti at the fridge.

  Not that it mattered now. Nick was out of their lives for good. Mimi had made sure of that. There had been a few hairy moments afterwards, of course. Especially when she had realized it wasn’t going to be so easy to turn back up on George’s doorstep. Even more so when it became clear that they were in dire financial straits – Nick’s idea of revenge was to cut them off completely, and a very effective job he had done too. But anything was better than the pair of them being in his clutches, even if they were now penniless.

  It had taken Mimi several days to find out where George had gone, but eventually she had winkled it out of his secretary at work. Mimi had great guile when she wanted to use it. Her acting skills were second to none. It had then taken her several weeks to persuade Victoria that they should throw themselves on George’s mercy. She was actually surprised that her mother not only had pride but also seemed ashamed of how she had treated George. Only when the cashpoint had flashed at her ‘refer to bank’ had she finally capitulated.

  Mimi was utterly convinced George would come through for them. She knew he adored her mother. The look in his eyes when he gazed at her was unforgettable. The pain in his eyes when she’d told him she was leaving was horrific. Mimi hadn’t seen such depth of emotion in anyone before or since. Certainly not Nick. The only emotions she’d seen in him were lust and greed. Flesh and money did it for him. And now he’d taken Victoria for everything she’d got and proved that his brain was divided between his wallet and his trousers, he was history. Mimi was certain George would be their salvation.

  There was, of course, one small obstacle. The girl with the paintbrush. Even in her scruffy decorating clothes, Mimi could see that she was quite stunning. Whoever she was, she was the complete antithesis of Victoria – curvaceous, bubbly and down-to-earth, as opposed to slender, cool and detached. She’d seemed a bit common, too – Mimi wasn’t a snob, but she couldn’t help noticing the girl had a regional accent. But all these things were good, because it meant that George had gone for the complete opposite this time. Which meant he was avoiding anything that reminded him of Victoria. Which meant he was still in love with her.

  Mimi trudged up the hill and felt the sweat start to trickle down her back. George would have Victoria back in a flash, she was certain. And if he needed a little gentle manipulation, then she was the girl to do it. George had always been putty in her hands. Not that she’d ever, ever used him. She loved him too much for that. But for his own good, she was prepared to put the pressure on.

  When George and Lisa got back from the beach, he found Victoria sunning herself in the garden.

  ‘You can stay for two weeks,’ he told her. He and Lisa had decided it was best if there was a time limit. ‘But no funny business.’

  ‘Funny business?’ She looked rather put out.

  ‘You know exactly what I mean.’

  ‘I don’t. Not really. But I promise I’ll behave. And I’ll do everything I can to help. Who’ve you got doing your
PR?’

  ‘No one. We’re doing everything ourselves.’

  ‘Well, I’ll do it for you. I’ll get all the travel journalists down. And the magazine editors –’

  She was pacing up and down excitedly.

  ‘Stop.’ George put up his hand before she got carried away. ‘You know we’re on a tight budget.’

  ‘But you are having a launch party?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, you’ve got to. You’ve got to stake your claim. Make a splash. You can’t expect people to know about you if you don’t tell them.’

  As George opened his mouth to protest she put up her hand, mirroring his actions of a moment before.

  ‘Stop. I know exactly what you’re going to say. You can’t afford it. But you can’t afford not to. You only get one bite of the cherry. And it needn’t cost a fortune. I promise you, with this setting I don’t need a huge budget.’

  ‘Victoria, there isn’t a budget at all.’

  ‘Listen, for the sake of a couple of thousand pounds I’ll have them queuing round the block to get in. What else are you going to do? Send out a manky little press release that will go straight in the bin? For heaven’s sake, George. You’re spending a fortune on this place. It’s a false economy not to publicize it, and you know it.’