“Clara, I think that as long as you don’t replace cocaine with drink you’ll be OK,” Ella said.
“It’s been awful, really awful. I’ve had withdrawal, which I don’t even want to tell you about, and counselling, and I seem to be really good at crying in front of strangers. And I’ve learnt all about my problems – which, of course, in true Freudian style all stem from my parents. I told my father he was responsible because he’s always made me feel inadequate and he said, “I didn’t send you to finishing-school so you’d end up in rehab, I sent you to finishing-school to learn to cook.” Which just about sums it up. Mummy’s terribly pleased I’m in here. Apparently it gives her more in common with all her friends whose daughters have already gone through rehab. I’m a late starter. But at least James is helping me to cope with everything. Speaking of which?” She smiled at Virginia, who blushed.
“He’s lovely,” she mumbled.
“Christ, I wouldn’t have chosen you for my sister-in-law, but, then, I wouldn’t have chosen you two as my friends.”
“Having me as your sister-in-law can’t be that bad,” Virginia said, and they all laughed.
“Please tell me you’re not marrying my brother.” Clara grinned.
“No, but, well, I really like him.”
“Then you have my blessing.”
“Ella’s going to college,” Virginia said, to change the subject.
“That’s fantastic. What about Liam?”
“We’re getting along. Shit, this sounds like The fucking Waltons. I like Liam and we have a dynamite sex life. I’d almost forgotten what sex could be like. And Sam and I are still talking every day. I’m going up there soon for his wedding, so everything’s great. For once. And I owe it all to you.” Ella’s eyes misted.
“That’s a bit over the top, Ella. You saved my life.”
“And you gave me one,” Virginia said.
“Bloody hell, now we really do sound like a soap opera,” Ella said, in mock-exasperation.
“A crap one at that. Who’d have thought we’d be friends? I couldn’t stand either of you.” Clara laughed.
“Believe me, the feeling was shared by all. You were such a bitch and Virginia was so prim, but I guess it was inevitable we’d become friends.”
“Why?” Virginia asked.
“Because we all hated ourselves,” Ella replied.
“By the way, Josh has been here,” Clara said.
“Really?” Ella asked.
“Yes, and he said he still fancied me even in this get up. I told him I needed time but when I get out maybe we could meet up. He told me he’d wait, and he even told me he loved me.”
“Thank God you’ve seen sense,” Virginia said.
“What do you mean?” Clara asked.
“He’s one of the sexiest guys in the world. And he’s lovely, kind, sweet and funny. In fact, he’s just about perfect,” Ella finished.
“I know. I’m such a stupid cow. It’s not him telling me he loves me that’s the problem, it’s me believing it. Until I can value myself no one else can be in my life. You see, I need to stop feeling so inferior and undeserving before I’m ready for him to love me. That’s a direct quote from therapy.”
“When will they let you out?” Virginia asked.
“Two weeks. I’m counting the hours.”
“No more cocaine?” Ella asked.
“Never. I nearly let it kill me and I won’t do that again.”
The walls of the room were bare, the friendship unlikely, the sight a strange one.
“What are you going to do?” Clara asked Virginia.
“I’m glad you asked. I’m going to start my own business. Well, with a partner. It’s an Internet company. While you’ve been in here I’ve been doing my homework. I did a course and James is going to help me find financing. I’ve almost got it all sorted.”
“What?” Clara asked.
“It’s a sort of information site. People subscribe for information. People pay to advertise. I’ll give you a business plan as soon as I’ve finished it. I’m really quite excited. James thinks we can make a lot of money although it’ll be hard work.”
“Who’s your partner?” Clara asked.
“You.”
“Me/ But I’m rubbish at stuff like that. I don’t even know how to use the Internet properly.”
“No, you’re not. At SFH your clients loved you. You’ll have your new ones, eating out of your hand, and with my business acumen, or organising skills, we’ll make a winning team.”
“I guess I can invest money in it,” Clara offered unsurely.
“It’s not your money I want. It’s your people skill and your PR skill. We’re going to do this on our own, and if we fail we fail, but if we succeed we’ll have done it ourselves.”
After a brief pause, Ella asked, “Are you sure you’re allowed to drink?”
“Bloody hell, yes. I told you, I might have drunk too much but I know I wasn’t an alcoholic.”
“But you drank a huge amount,” Virginia pointed out.
“Well maybe, but we did a lot of moping and a lot of celebrating.”
“Well, if we get caught, I’ll be shot, but look what I brought.” Ella pulled a flask out of her bag.
“Tea?” Clara asked.
“Champagne,” Ella announced triumphantly.
“Oh, Ella, imagine putting champagne in a flask!”
“It’s the only way I thought I’d be able to smuggle it in.”
“Ella! You can’t bring that in here!” Virginia reproved her.
“You’re still the same Miss Tight-knickers.” Clara said.
“Actually, my knickers are a bit looser, these days. If we get caught, we’ll all be shot. Fancy bringing alcohol into a rehab place.”
“Ella, I love you,” Clara said, as Ella opened the flask.
“It might be a bit flat,” she apologised.
“Who cares?”
Ella pulled out three paper cups and handed them to Virginia. When each of them had a cup of champagne in her hand, Ella raised hers. “I propose a toast. To us for getting the bad guys and living to tell the tale. To Clara for beating her addiction. To Virginia for losing her virginity, and to me for finally being able to put away the pinstripes.”
‘To the pinstripes,” they said, as they drank the champagne.
“No. To life after pinstripes,” Virginia said, and they all drank to that.
If you enjoyed reading Pinstripes you might be interested in Deranged Marriage by Faith Bleasdale.
Extract from Deranged Marriage by Faith Bleasdale
Prologue
At some stage in life, most people make a marriage pact. This arrangement is an undertaking to marry someone as long as you are both unattached by the time you reach a certain age.
There are certain guidelines to follow when you are entering such a pact:
You should be much younger than the deadline you set as the marriage-pact age. This gives both parties ample time to find their destined life partners before the agreement expiry date.
It has to be a verbal commitment. No lawyers need be involved in this type of contract.
Both parties should feel vulnerable and unloved before entering the agreement.
Both parties must be intoxicated.
If you adhere to these simple guidelines, then you have made a successful marriage pact. However, the rules do not end there. They carry on into the aftermath of the ‘deal’:
Once made, it must be forgotten. A distant memory, only recalled when you are both happily married to other people.
The main condition is that once made, you do not ever intend to carry out the pact. Because destiny will wash your true love up on to your shore. It’s a bit like panic-buying: when you hear there’s going to be a shortage of something, you buy because you have to, not because you want to.
Take a word from the wise, as my mother would say, because I am now wise. I was twenty when I made my marriage pact. Without
knowing the rules, I failed to adhere to some of them. Yes, I was drunk, as was he. I was vulnerable, as was he. I wasn’t in love with him; he wasn’t in love with me. We had set a ten-year deadline—adequate time to find the true loves of our lives. However, we failed, by ignoring the simplest of the rules: we didn’t make a verbal agreement, we produced a written one.
We didn’t stop there, we rolled drunkenly to the local off-licence with it and asked the man behind the counter to witness the ‘document’. Looking back, I think we took the intoxication rule a tad too far. Afterwards, we left our wayward path, returned to the rules, and forgot about it.
Then, one fateful day, it all came back to haunt me in the most unimaginable way.
Chapter One
Two Men
‘What do you wear to court?’ I screamed in frustration at my wardrobe. I was staring at rows and rows of clothes as if they would tell me. Of course they wouldn’t, clothes had a habit of refusing to answer important questions. I had been awake for hours, I felt sick and tired, and more than a tiny bit hysterical. Joe came up behind me.
‘Try to stay calm,’ he said. Like a red rag to a bull.
‘I’d like to see you try to stay calm, if you were me.’
‘Sorry.’ Joe looked suitably contrite, although none of this was his fault.
‘What do you think I should wear?’ I asked, nicely, throwing in a smile for good measure.
‘A suit,’ Joe replied.
My resolution dissolved immediately. ‘Yeah thanks, mastermind. What colour?’ I felt awful for the way I was treating him but I had no control over my bitchiness.
‘Well, I’m wearing a grey suit so wouldn’t it make sense for us to match?’
‘Yes, maybe, but I don’t own a grey suit. It’s a pity you didn’t think of that earlier.’
‘Holly Miller, I’m not your enemy. I’m on your side. Let me have a look.’ He proceeded to flick through my clothes. He was trying so hard and didn’t deserve my wrath.
I sat on the bed in a sulk while Joe worked his way through my wardrobe. I could tell by the way his back was hunched that he was worried about making the right choice. I couldn’t see his face but I could picture the look on it. His brows would be furrowed the way they did when he was concentrating, and his lips would be pursed together tightly. He was so beautiful when he was engrossed. Just as I was about to kiss him and apologise for my earlier outburst, the buzzer interrupted. I answered the intercom to my boss Francesca, and my friend and work colleague, Freddie. I waited at the door for them to climb the stairs. Within seconds and like a slightly out-of-breath fanfare, they arrived.
‘You poor lamb,’ Francesca cried, hugging me. I experienced another blast of nausea as I inhaled her generous perfume. She was such a maternal boss; it was all I could do to stop myself from crying. I chastised myself, I’m not a big cry-baby and I hate tears.
‘We’ve come to help with the outfit,’ Freddie said, giving me a kiss on the cheek and one of his famous ladykiller smiles. I stood, frozen in my dressing gown, as they pushed passed me and made their way to my bedroom.
I watched Francesca, Freddie and Joe discuss what I should wear. I stood back, nervously chewing my bottom lip. I felt invisible. Finally they decided on a navy-blue shift dress and jacket; the most conservative items in my wardrobe. For some irrational reason, the outfit made me feel even more sick. I went to the bathroom and threw up, praying no one would notice. That would have involved fuss I wasn’t equipped to deal with. Now all I had to do was dress, leave my flat, and go to court. Then it would be over. I tried to be confident, after all it wasn’t even a proper court, but I was still worried. I was in the right, I knew that, but it didn’t help that there could be another outcome, however unlikely, and that outcome could ruin my life.
It came down to two men. Joe, the man I loved, and George, my oldest friend. Not a love triangle; actually, it was anything but a love triangle. Two men and two things happened to kick off everything. I realised I was in love with Joe, then George, my oldest friend who had been out of touch and in New York for the last five years, returned home. How did those two events manage to get me in court? Well...it’s a bit of a long story.
At the time, I was twenty-nine and on the fast track to being thirty. I felt that my life was settled; not boring, but tranquil. Every morning I woke, despite the frequent hangovers or lack of sleep, I woke smiling. Always. I had a job I loved, great friends and a new man in my life. I was even looking forward to being thirty. What I discovered was that I had ‘sorted out the lumps in the cushions’, as my mother would say.
The lumps in question were my twenties. I had some bad relationships, a few drunken encounters with equally drunken and unsuitable men, I lost my best friend, George, to New York, and I had had some disastrous jobs. But that was behind me. I was a woman of the new millennium and I was enjoying what that meant. Obviously there were day-to-day problems in my existence, but that was par for the course. The fact remained that I was deliriously happy most of the time.
Perhaps that’s why it went wrong. I had enjoyed selfish happiness for long enough, and now someone wanted to take that away. If fate was always in control of people’s lives, then fate decided to slam on the brakes, and take my life in a more downhill direction.
I was no longer as happy as I was. Two men in my life, one good, one bad. That was how it all started and that is why I am about to go to court.
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Pinstripes Page 44