Clara Meets The Parents (Clara Andrews #2)

by Lacey London

  Hours later, I am collapsed in a heap on the floor surrounded by more shoes than I knew I had. Hearing the alarm blaring out from my phone, I search around for it frantically. Not wanting to leave the tan on for a moment longer than advised, I dart to the bathroom and throw myself under the shower. As I watch the water turn a violent shade of black, I grab my exfoliating sponge and give my elbows, knees and ankles a good scrub.

  It takes a worrying amount of time before the water starts to run clear. Satisfied that I have suitably washed off the grubby top layer and followed the guidelines exactly, I step out of the misty cubicle and feel around for a towel. Drying my eyes, I twist my wet hair into a tight bun and turn to face the mirror, totally not prepared for what I am about to see.

  The label said natural, healthy glow! It certainly did not say patchy, rusty, orange mess! Oh, God! Feeling a little queasy, I shakily snatch the offending bottle of tan. How do I get it off? I need to get it off! My eyes land on the text I was looking for and I feel my heart sink to my feet.

  Ultra long lasting results! Up to 3 weeks of guaranteed colour!

  This cannot be happening.

  Chapter 4

  When I finally stop scrubbing and exfoliating, my skin is very raw, very sore but unfortunately, still very orange. I have tried every product in my bathroom twice over and nothing has worked. Frustrated, I furiously launch the fake tan into the bin and wrap myself up in a bath robe. Marching into the bedroom, I notice the clock flashing 6.00pm, meaning that Oliver will soon be home. What am I going to do? This is not how today was meant to go.

  I flop onto the bed and look down at my lucid green toenails and streaky bacon legs. Instead of unleashing my inner J.Lo as planned, I have been left looking like Kermit the frog with a severe peanut allergy. Feeling completely deflated, I toss the remaining essentials into my suitcase and fiddle with the lock. At least I have packed. That is one thing I can check off the list.

  I decide to pour myself a very large glass of wine and look on the bright side. OK, so the beautifying didn’t go exactly to plan, but let’s look at the positives here. This time tomorrow, I will be in Mexico and green toes or not, I am most certainly going to enjoy it. It will take a bit more than a bad spray tan to ruin this one.

  Two glasses of Rioja and an hour of online shopping later, I am starting to feel a little better about the whole ordeal. Clicking purchase for the tenth time, I am entering my card details when I see Oliver’s car pull up outside. Draining my glass in one swift gulp I jump up to grab another, momentarily forgetting about my shocking skin tone.

  ‘Hey you.’

  I spin around to see Oliver dropping his messenger bag on the stairs.

  ‘Whoa. What the hell happened here?’ He laughs for a second before attempting to disguise it with a cough when he realises that I am not impressed.

  ‘It’s not funny! I followed all the instructions! I don’t know what went wrong.’ My voice starts to break and I cross my arms in a strop.

  ‘It’s not really that bad. Come here, let me see properly.’ Oliver holds out his arms and flicks on the bright landing lights.

  Begrudgingly, I put down my wine glass and walk towards him. He studies my face and arms for a second before pulling me into a bear hug.

  ‘OK, here’s what we are gonna do. First, I am getting you an antihistamine. I’m no doctor, but it looks like you’ve had a reaction. Then I will run you a bath and we will have a nice glass of wine. How does that sound?’

  He looks so concerned about me. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’ve already had three baths and sunk a bottle of red. Following him up the stairs, I watch as he sets the bath running before rummaging around in my bedside cabinet for the Benadryl.

  ‘Have you packed?’ I ask, hoping that the answer is yes.

  ‘All done. In fact, everything is done.’ He smiles happily and pours a ridiculous amount of my very expensive bubble bath into the tub. ‘Work is wrapped up for the week so all there’s left to do, is enjoy ourselves.’

  I lean against the door frame and smile back at him. Oliver’s right. We have been looking forward to this for weeks. I would be a total fool to ruin it over a bit of orange skin. In fact, I am pretty sure that this is the look some women aim for. Yes, I have definitely seen people this colour before, I just can’t put my finger on where. Hoping that it isn’t the Umpa Lumpas that I am thinking of, I push the thought to the back of my mind.

  ‘I’ll go get the wine. You get your ass in there.’ He kisses my head and runs down to the kitchen.

  Sinking into the bubbles, I dunk my shoulders under the hot water and allow myself to finally relax. I am looking around for my phone when I spot Oliver in the doorway, holding out two glasses and a new bottle of wine. I knew I loved him for a reason.

  ‘Room for a little one?’

  ‘Only if you take the tap end.’ I tease, holding my arms out for the wine.

  Maybe today won’t turn out too bad after all.

  By midnight, I have to admit that I am rather drunk and feeling quite giddy. It’s surprising how much a glass of wine - or three, can help you to put things into perspective. Once we had finished with the vino, Oliver thought that it would be a good idea to have some tequila shots. It seemed quite fitting with us being Mexico bound in the morning and I don’t know whether it is the lighting or the gallons of alcohol that I have swishing around inside me, but the nails don’t look that bad after all. The tan, however, is another story.

  Even under the influence we have managed to get the majority of things sorted. My plane bag is packed and we have stuck the ‘in case of emergency’ numbers on the fridge for Helen next door. If I knew tequila could make me this productive, I would be pouring it on my cornflakes. Adrenaline plus tequila makes for one very happy Clara.

  Loading up the dishwasher, I watch Oliver carry our luggage to the front door and lock up the house. It’s times like this when I am really glad to have a man around the place. How did I ever cope without him?

  Ten minutes later, we collapse into bed in a ball of laughter and excitement. At first, I don’t think I will ever get to sleep. Images of turquoise waters and golden sands whirl around my mind, making me squirm with anticipation. Nevertheless, it doesn’t take us long to slip into a deep, alcohol induced sleep. The worries of fake tan and green toes are drifting further and further away.

  Mexico, I hope you’re ready. We’re coming for you!

  4.24pm

  To: complaints@goldenbronzetanning.com

  From: claraandrews001@firemail.co.uk

  Subject: False advertising!

  To whom it may concern,

  I purchased this product on the promise of a natural, healthy glow.

  Could you kindly explain why I look like a grubby baked bean?

  Yours,

  Miss Andrews

  Chapter 5

  ‘Oliver, get up! Get up! Get up! Get up!’ I shake him hard and jump out of bed, stubbing my little toe on the bed frame.

  ‘Ow!’ Crashing to the floor, I squeeze my foot hard and breathe through the pain.

  ‘What’s going on?’ He opens one eye slowly and leans over the bed. ‘What are you doing down there?’

  ‘We have overslept! We have to be at the airport in fifteen minutes! Get up!’ Scrambling to my feet, I dash to the bathroom and roughly drag my dress over my head. I shove a toothbrush into my mouth, almost losing some teeth in the process and pop my head back into the bedroom.

  ‘Oliver! Come on! We will miss the flight! Call a taxi!’ I shriek with a mouthful of toothpaste.

  Teeth brushed, I hastily shove some wedges onto my feet and heave my plane bag over my shoulder. Tapping my feet impatiently, I watch as Oliver drags on some jeans and scurries around looking for his wallet. Deciding to make use of the spare few minutes, I quickly check that we have all the essentials.

  Satisfied that we haven’t forgotten anything, I turn my attention to the mirror and let out an annoyed whimper. I seriously can’t believe that
I am flying first class like this. I tip my hair upside down and give it a quick scrunch with some mousse. It may not be a face of MAC and a blow dry, but it’s all I’ve got time for. Swiftly gathering up my curls, I pin them back off my face and pull down a few loose tendrils.

  ‘Clara, the cabs out front.’ Oliver shouts up the stairs.

  ‘Can you take the cases to the car? I’ll only be a minute.’

  Anxiously running around the house checking all windows and doors twice over, I strategically flick on a couple of lights and run down the garden path to the waiting car. Flustered, I slide onto the back seat and try not to be annoyed at a nonplussed Oliver, who looks irritatingly good considering that he was fast asleep and drooling only twenty minutes ago. Apparently, fifteen minutes is more than enough time for men to get dressed and ready.

  Whilst Oliver and the driver talk animatedly about the golf, I dig a compact mirror out of my handbag and attempt to cover my dark circles. Using more highlighter than I knew possible, I just about bring my face back to life as the taxi pulls onto the motorway.

  ‘Mexico, eh?’ The gaunt driver looks in his rear view mirror and winks.

  I smile back and feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach. It’s really happening! Reaching over the front seat, I give Oliver’s shoulder a little squeeze. Checking my watch, I realise that we will just about make it. There won’t be any time for shopping like I had hoped, but at least we will make the plane.

  I am checking the tickets for the millionth time when the cab comes to a halt. Looking up, I am surprised by the crowds of people milling around outside the terminal. Judging by the matching fluorescent pink t-shirts they are all wearing, they can only be Benidorm bound.

  Feeling rather smug at having first class seats, I step out of the taxi and watch Oliver exchange a couple of notes for our cases. Popping my new Biba sunnies onto my head, I stride confidently into the building. Now the holiday can really start.

  ‘I don’t understand. We paid for these seats weeks ago! I have the tickets right here!’ I thrust the papers under the check in assistant’s nose angrily. ‘Look!’

  My cheeks are flushing a deep shade of red, making my nuclear tan look even darker. Looking up at Oliver for help, he takes the tickets from me and steps up to the counter.

  ‘Look, ma’am. I understand that you’re just doing your job, but we’re gonna need to speak to a manager here.’ Flashing his mega watt smile, he runs a hand through his hair.

  I watch the snotty woman’s frown melt as she looks into Oliver’s big, blue eyes.

  ‘Just give me a minute.’ She picks up a handset and scurries off quickly, scowling at me in the process.

  ‘How can they have double booked? It doesn’t make sense!’ Kicking my case in annoyance, I glare at the pink t-shirt brigade sniggering behind us.

  ‘Let me speak to the manager before we blow this all out of proportion.’ Oliver rubs his temples and taps his foot impatiently. ‘That must be him. You just wait here.’

  I watch him make his way over to a rather short, tanned man in an ill fitting suit and try desperately to catch what is being said. They seem to be deep in conversation, Oliver showing him the plane tickets as if to demonstrate his point.

  After a few minutes, they shake hands and Oliver accepts a shiny envelope before beckoning me over. Dragging my case behind me, I search his face for a clue as to the outcome.

  ‘Everything sorted?’ I ask, praying to every God known to man that it is.

  ‘Not exactly.’ He drops his holdall at his feet and sighs.

  ‘What do you mean?’ My heart sinks as I perch on the edge of my case.

  ‘Well, it turns out that the online booking system got hacked and a handful of bookings didn’t come through.’

  ‘And I’m guessing that ours was one of that handful?’ I look down at my feet and frown.

  ‘They did send us an email about it, but it went straight into my junk folder.’ He nods his head and hands me the envelope. ‘All is not lost though. They have refunded us in full and managed to get us complimentary seats in coach for the same flight.’ Oliver slips his arm around my waist and ruffles my hair. ‘That OK?’

  I nod, just relieved to be still going.

  ‘All that matters is that we are together, right?’ He smiles down at me and kisses my head softly

  ‘You’re right. I guess these things can’t be helped.’ I squeeze his hand and take hold of my case as we start walking hand in hand back to the check in queue.

  ‘We’re still flying first class home though, right?’

  Chapter 6

  Three hours into our journey and I am ready for throwing myself out of the emergency exit. After a nightmare delay due to a highly intoxicated couple rowing over the window seat, we finally took off. Squashed between a vastly overweight woman and a screaming child, I pick up the grubby, plastic drinks menu with caution. So much for champagne and canapés, it’s looking like my best bet is warm cava and a packet of dry roasted. I slip the card back into the pocket in front of me, narrowly avoiding a lump of used chewing gum.

  To my revulsion, they have put us at the very front of the plane, right next to the toilets and even worse, right next to first class. Every time a stewardess slips through the dividing curtain, I get a glimpse of what should have been ours. I eye up the row after row of crisp suits, champagne glasses and proper cutlery. The balling baby to my left tips a bag of Quavers upside down, making a complete mess of the floor. Seeing cheesy crumbs fall over my handbag, it is all I can do not to cry.

  ‘Are you alright?’ I squirm around in my seat and look over my shoulder at Oliver, who offers a thin smile in response.

  Trying not to laugh, I turn back around. Stuck in the middle of a cackling, mid forties hen party, Oliver definitely pulled the short straw. Jabbing at the tiny TV screen, I flick through the pitiful options for a moment, before giving up and turning it off.

  Brushing some crumbs off the armrest, I dig around in my handbag for my earphones. Clicking on my iPod, I hit play and turn the volume up high. Drowning out all noise around me, I let John Legend sing me to sleep and retreat to my very own first class cabin. After a few minutes, I am totally lost in a dream world. I can almost taste the champagne...

  ‘Can you put your seatbelt on please? We are starting our descent into Cancun.’ The lean, mega tanned air steward shakes my shoulder gently and flashes me an ice white smile.

  I open one eye slowly and try to regain some feeling in my legs. My neck is sore and for some inexplicable reason, I have peanuts in my hair. Shooting my neighbouring baby an accusing look, I straighten myself out and turn my attention to the visa forms that have landed in my lap. I am searching my handbag for a pen when I get a tap on my shoulder.

  Oliver pops his head over my seat and smiles excitedly. ‘Hey you.’

  ‘Did you manage to get some sleep?’ I ask, knowing by his messy bed head that he has.

  ‘I did. I also managed to fill these in.’ He hands me two completed visa forms and kisses my head, before disappearing back into his chair.

  Feeling the plane start to rumble beneath my feet, my heart begins to pound as I get a glimpse of teal waters and white sand. As the wheels touch down on Mexican soil, the entire plane jumps to its feet and immediately starts fighting to get off first. Sinking down into my chair, I wait until the herds of sticky fingered children and irate parents bustle down the aisle before attempting to get up. I really don’t fancy my chances against this unruly lot.

  Once we are safely through the hectic immigration, we scan the arrivals lounge for our driver. It doesn’t take us long to notice the huge sign bearing Oliver’s name. Scurrying over to the tiny Mexican man holding the board, we hand over our cases and follow him outside into the glorious sunshine.

  Wow! The sun is blaring down on my shoulders and there is not a cloud in the sky. Slipping on my sunglasses, I squeeze Oliver’s hand and pass our booking notice to the driver.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Morgan, welcome t
o Mexico. My name is Cornelio and I will be your driver today.’ He smiles enthusiastically and holds open the door to a sleek, black Mercedes.

  ‘Oh, we’re not, I mean, he’s not my...’ I trail off flustered as Oliver laughs and ushers me into the back of the car.

  Sliding onto the plush, leather seats, I eye up the frosty champagne bottle with glee. As if reading my mind, Oliver immediately pours out two glasses of icy bubbles and I accept one gladly.

  ‘Sir, transfer to playa de mariposa will be around thirty minutes.’ Cornelio shouts over the radio.

  ‘No hay problema. Gracias amigo.’ Oliver fires back without missing a beat.

  ‘You speak Spanish?’ I ask, rather impressed.

  ‘A little.’ He smiles and throws his arm over my shoulders.

  We sit in silence for a while, both watching the millions of palm trees whizzing past. It’s not long before the trees turn to miles and miles of crystal clear waters.

  ‘Wow!’ I whisper again, taking in the beautiful, blue ocean.

  To call it blue isn’t really fair, it’s a colour only Haribo could concoct with the help of a tonne of fairy dust. I watch the teeny people running in and out of the sea and feel an overwhelming urge to dive straight in. Oliver takes my glass and refills it without asking. I clutch the champagne flute tightly and press my nose up against the glass. Any annoyance from the flight fiasco has been blown away and all I am left with is sheer anticipation.