You Had Me at Merlot

by Lisa Dickenson

  What the hell happened here last night? How did I fall asleep right on him? Was he even still alive, or had I crushed him to death?

  I moved a hand as carefully as I could and held a finger under his nose. Yes, he was breathing. Now the real question … was I wearing underwear?

  Yes. Although my dress had ridden up to my stomach, my knickers were very much in place, even if they were rubbing up against the crotch of his jeans. Okay. So we can’t have done ‘it’. Probably. But we were very close together, so much so that, to be honest, I felt a bit clammy. I used my spare hand, i.e. the one not screaming with pins and needles as it was currently wedged under Jamie’s tricep, to rub my fuzzy teeth until they squeaked with a whimper of cleanness.

  I lifted my head again and – ooo – that was a hangover waiting to happen.

  Jamie opened his eyes and met mine. We stared at each other for a moment, my body tense, very aware of it pressing down on his, and suddenly very aware of my full bladder.

  ‘Hello.’ I tested the waters.

  ‘Ciao, Bella.’ He cracked a smile. He wasn’t revolted by me; this was a good start.

  ‘How are you?’ Formality is always a good start when lying atop someone, in their bed, with a big old mind-blank and a rucked-up dress.

  ‘Very well, and yourself?’

  ‘Not too bad. Thank you.’ I peered around his room, searching for conversation or at least a way to say Please could you tell me if your bits were introduced to mine last night. I saw the empty black bottle that had housed the chilli wine that was now thumping about inside my bladder like an angry inmate. ‘That chilli wine … that’s some good stuff you’ve got going on there. Strong.’

  Jamie nodded. ‘But without it, this magical night may never have happened.’

  Oh God.

  ‘Magical … did you have a, um, favourite part?’

  ‘Every inch of your body.’ Jamie inhaled, a lazy smile spreading across his face before he stroked my hair and I struggled not to pee myself in panic. ‘What about you? What was your favourite part?’

  ‘Hahaha, your body is pretty good too, mister!’ Shit, shit, shit, REMEMBER.

  ‘But as wonderful, as unforgettable as our lovemaking was, it was nothing compared to the honour you did for me afterwards.’

  I had no idea what I did. Did I give him a—

  ‘Thank you, mia Bella, you have made my heart sing.’

  ‘No problem …’ I sat up and he sat up too, wrapping his arms around me.

  ‘Oh Bella, when you said you’d be my wife you made me the happiest man in Italy.’

  Whoa. ‘Your wife?’

  ‘As soon as possible, just like you insisted last night.’ He leapt out of bed and stood in the middle of the room while I frantically adjusted my dress and my life flashed before my eyes. ‘Today I will take you to meet my grandmother!’

  ‘Brilliant.’

  ‘And she will love you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And we will be married!’

  He spread his arms wide, my headache kicked in, my bladder nearly gave up and bile rose in my throat, and all I could say was, ‘GETTING MARRIED IS JUST WHAT I WANTED.’

  Part Three

  ‘Marrying you is going to make me the happiest man in the world,’ declared Jamie, bouncing onto the bed next to me and making my stomach heave. How did this happen? How?

  ‘I’m sooooooo excited,’ I forced.

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Just so fall-on-my-face excited.’

  ‘You really are?’

  ‘I LOVE MARRIAGE.’

  ‘So do I!’

  ‘Well we are just meant to be together then.’

  ‘This is fantastic. It’s fantastic! You know, from the way you’ve spoken about love since you got here, I didn’t think you’d even be thinking about something like this, so when you asked me if I’d marry you I was—’

  ‘I asked you?’ I interrupted in disbelief.

  ‘You don’t remember? It was beautiful.’

  ‘I mean, obviously I asked you, I remember it like it was yesterday. I just think, really, you were asking me first, with your … eyes.’ I am never drinking chilli wine again. I am never drinking anything again. Damn you, alcohol, for this treachery.

  ‘I would have if you hadn’t – I wouldn’t have let you slip away. Happy days!’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,’ I said miserably, weighing up whether it would be better to break his heart now, grab a Vespa and make a dash for the airport, or just go through with it and save an awkward conversation.

  ‘Neither have I. How many babies do you want?’

  I shrugged. ‘One?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Two?’

  ‘No, let’s have a whole brood of them.’

  ‘Three? Four? Five?’

  ‘Let’s say no more than half a dozen.’

  My poor vagina.

  ‘Bella Ella, my blushing bride.’ He gazed out of the window, a far-off happy look on his face. In my blurry, hungover state I didn’t have the strength to be the cause of someone else’s heartbreak. I’m sure I could get out of this later, when I could think of a way we could laugh about it. Knock-knock. Who’s there? Not your wife. HAHAHA, now can I get you a cappuccino?

  ‘When shall we do this?’ he asked, his eyes positively glistening.

  I pasted on a manic grin. ‘As soon as possible, please!’

  ‘Are you serious?’ he asked, his smile dropping a millimetre.

  ‘Mmm-hmm,’ I said, amping the brightness up another notch.

  ‘You really do want to get married?’

  ‘Of course. I’m planning it in my head already.’

  ‘You are? Already? That’s some forward planning.’

  ‘I think there should be … swans.’

  ‘Perfect …’

  ‘Um, what time are we going to meet your grandmother?’ How long did I have to formulate a plan?

  Jamie sat down next to me, all trace of humour gone. ‘Elle?’

  ‘Just call me Mrs—’ Jesus Christ, what the hell was his last name?

  ‘Oh Elle, I have something to tell you.’

  ‘Yes, hubby?’

  He gulped. ‘I don’t want you to hate me, and I really didn’t mean to play about with your heart.’

  ‘Quit Playing Games (With My Heart)’ started up in my head. Focus, Elle. ‘What?’

  ‘I feel awful …’ Jamie faced me, then looked away, then turned back to me again. ‘Don’t hit me, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Oh, you’re going to hit me so hard.’

  ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘You didn’t … exactly … ask me to marry you.’

  ‘I didn’t?’

  ‘In actual fact, we didn’t get engaged last night at all.’

  ‘We didn’t?’

  ‘And while we’re being open with each other, we didn’t even … do it.’

  I instinctively lifted the duvet and peeked at my knickers. Yes, they were definitely still there. ‘Not even a little bit?’

  ‘Not even a fondle. Elle, I’m so sorry. It was a joke; I had no idea this would actually be something you wanted, and now you’re heartbroken and … You know what, would you like to kick me in the balls? It might make you feel better. Go on, I deserve it.’

  In fact, far from gathering up its pieces, my heart was heaving a bloody great sigh of relief. I fell back onto the bed. ‘Oh, thank God.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Are you sad? Are you passing out with anger?’

  ‘No, Jamie, I’m relieved.’

  ‘Relieved that you can kick me in the balls?’

  ‘Relieved that we’re not engaged.’

  ‘You didn’t want to get married?’

  ‘No way! No offence.’

  ‘Offence taken: “no way” is a little harsh.’ He answered my cheerful grin with a confused smile. ‘Why did you say how happy you were about it all then? I expected you to freak out immedia
tely.’

  ‘It’s just that you looked over the moon. I didn’t want to make you sad, or make it awkward between us.’

  ‘That is the most British thing I’ve ever heard – agreeing to marry someone just to avoid being rude. So you aren’t angry? Even though we’re not getting married?’

  ‘No, definitely not.’

  ‘How about because I’m an asshole for telling you we were – are you angry with me about that?’

  ‘Still no. Lucky for you, I have a fabulous sense of humour. Perhaps you could take me to breakfast though; I’m in need of a big scoop of Nutella on lashings of toast, stat.’

  He helped me up and I straightened myself out in his mirror, licking my thumb to wipe away the smudges of mascara that had pooled under my eyes. ‘You’re saying we absolutely didn’t, you know, actually do it?’

  ‘Nope, all clothes remained on all bodies.’

  ‘Did I do anything else embarrassing?’ Why do we all feel the need to ask that question after a boozy night?

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, coming over and wrapping his arms around me. ‘We kissed a little, which was lovely – you tasted like some delizioso wine and chocolate – and then you fell asleep on my chest. You dribble a lot in the night, you know.’

  ‘Good, you deserved it. The kissing was nice?’

  ‘I can show you again if you like.’

  ‘If you think it might jog my memory …’

  Jamie bent his head, and the last thing I saw before our lips touched was a lazy smile cross his face, a row of neat teeth and his eyes fluttering closed.

  It was over within a few seconds; no one needs to use tongues when hungover and with a mouth drier than a tumble dryer. But it was delicious.

  And with that he took my hand and we stepped out into the bright morning sunshine, straight into the vineyard. And it felt so easy. There was no awkwardness, no ‘where do we go from here’, just two happy little lovebirds with a blossoming romance.

  Who was I?

  I stuffed my face with all the things we’re trained not to desire for breakfast in England, as we chew our soggy Special K: cookies, sweet buns, doughnuts, pastries and cream-filled cornettos – Italian croissants rather than the ice creams, though I would have happily scoffed one of them too. With a handful of extra cookies, I went to my room for a much-needed wash and change of clothes.

  I lay back in the bath and thought about the night before, and about me (before the snogging began and it all got a bit hazy). I smiled to myself. That wine … that wine made me carefree for a while there. Fun, silly and open. I’d been happy to live, happy to laugh and happy to love with wide-open arms. I’d been begging for a kiss, but I wasn’t embarrassed. It made me be who I wanted to be in real life.

  I’d been engaged this morning, for a short while. Ha! Me, engaged!

  Me, engaged …

  These were very silly thoughts so I dunked under the water, shaking my head to fan out my hair, and let them float off into the bubbles.

  Clean and shiny, I went to Laurie’s room so we could debrief one another on the past twenty-four hours. I tapped on her door and waited. Nothing. I knocked a little harder, though I knew she probably wouldn’t appreciate if she was trying to sleep off another hangover on the windowsill. But still nothing. Perhaps she was already up and at breakfast, or had taken herself off for a walk. Or perhaps she had someone in there … I squashed my ear against the door, held my breath and listened for sounds of movement, talking or – what I was really hoping for– the sounds of a little morning delight.

  I heard nothing, which was disappointing. She must have been up, or selfishly in someone else’s room.

  With Jamie back to work, Laurie MIA and me with no idea if there were any activities planned for the day thanks to spending all evening and night on the other side of the vineyard, I was on my own.

  I grabbed my book, then put it back again – sometimes it’s better not to have other means of entertaining your mind and just to let it think on its own – and with a large, floppy sunhat on my head I went to the kitchen to make myself another cappuccino, extra foam.

  Downstairs was deserted; either everyone was sleeping in or they were all off doing some flirt-tastic activity with Sofia, who’d be clapping her hands with glee every time two people made physical contact. I took my time crushing a portion of smoky-smelling coffee beans and fiddling about with the milk frother, and eventually stepped outside clutching an oversized mug.

  It was very peaceful, and I looked across the vineyard to Jamie’s tiny house in the distance. I strolled so slowly that my feet barely made a crunch in the dust as I rounded the building to the terrace, where I stopped short.

  There was Donna at one of the far tables, gazing out at a view, her arms folded and large sunglasses on her face. Well it was no surprise she wasn’t out enjoying the activities, but more than ever I didn’t want to ruin my good mood with talk of work, or having to think about the consequences of everything I said.

  I was about to back away, ninja-style, and find somewhere else to sit with my coffee when I saw her wrench off the sunglasses and drag a hand across her eyes. Her shoulders sank further. Oh, Donna. My heart panged. There’s nothing that grabs hold of my empathy more than when I see a person cry; it has the potential to set me off in mere seconds (seriously, even if it happens to a character in Hollyoaks). It’s just horrible for someone to feel that sad and helpless.

  I wouldn’t leave her like this, not without making sure there was nothing I could do, but I did manage to resist running over and throwing my arms around her, pulling her head to my bosom and stroking her hair.

  Sitting down next to her, I looked out at the view. Her head tilted in my direction, briefly, and she let out a big sigh.

  ‘It is a bit of a rubbish view, isn’t it?’ I quipped gently.

  She nodded. ‘It’s crap.’

  ‘Is there somewhere you’d rather be?’

  ‘Anywhere … nowhere … I don’t know.’

  ‘Would you like to go home?’

  ‘No.’

  We sat for a while, staring out. I waited for her to tell me what was wrong, but I wasn’t really sure if that was ever going to happen. The little I knew of Donna, she didn’t seem much of a sharer.

  Eventually I said, ‘It’s a bit quiet around here today. Do you know where the rest of the singletons are?’

  ‘They’re all in one of the cellars. Something about spin-the-bottle wine-decanting. Not my cup of tea.’

  ‘No … How have you found the holiday so far?’ As if I didn’t know she’d hated every moment.

  ‘It’s a beautiful place. It’s just best when there’s no one else around. Present company excepted.’ She gave me a small smile.

  ‘You haven’t found anyone you … you know … like?’

  ‘I really don’t want a boyfriend,’ she spat, resentment firing out, but I sensed it wasn’t directed at me. She was shaking slightly, her jaw hardened.

  ‘Would you like a coffee? I just worked out how to make the best cappuccinos and now I can’t stop drinking them.’

  She nodded, like a child who needs a bit of looking after but doesn’t know what would make her feel better. I returned to the kitchen to make two fresh foamy coffees, giving her time to calm down. Armed with the drinks and a little plate of biscotti I went back outside, where Donna had placed the sunglasses on the table and twisted her hair back into a messy bun. It suited her, the off-duty look.

  ‘Thank you, Elle,’ she said, reaching for the cappuccino and bringing it to her lips with a satisfying slurp.

  ‘No problem. If you’re not going to take a boyfriend away from all this, you might as well make your money back in coffee and biscotti, right?’

  I hoped I hadn’t crossed a line, but Donna chuckled. ‘That’s the type of problem-solving brain I like. So, have you found anyone you like?’

  ‘Er … No, I’m here for the wine and biscotti, not for the silly boys. I’m being moral support for Laurie – the goo
seberry friend, if you will.’

  ‘That’s nice of you.’

  I munched my eighty-fifth piece of biscotti. ‘It’s not the worst deal in the world, and I’m making the most of it so far. Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Donna, a little guarded.

  ‘If you’re not here to meet someone, and you’re not playing gooseberry, can I ask why you chose this holiday? You don’t have to tell me – I don’t mean to pry, it’s just, if you want to talk about it …’ I stuck my face so far into my mug my nose got covered in foam.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, but I don’t think I should burden you.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a burden. I have literally nothing else to do.’

  Donna lapsed into silence for a time; the only noise between us was the crunching of biscotti. Finally, she spoke.

  ‘I don’t want a boyfriend because I was genuinely happy with my life. I divorced years ago, and I don’t want a new husband or someone to move into my house with me. I’ve been there and done all that. I have just the best, most patient and selfless daughter in the world, and I really don’t think having a partner is the only way to make me happy – because I already was happy. Not just happy for now, but for life. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Perfect sense.’

  ‘I don’t believe for a second that you can only be validated as a woman if you have someone sleeping on the other side of your bed.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-marriage: like I said, I was married. It didn’t work out, but that hasn’t made me hate love or anything. If people are dating, or married, or having families and they’re happy then brilliant, I’m happy for them. And I think they should be happy for me if I’m single and independent and perfectly content.’

  ‘Is someone not happy for you?’

  ‘It’s actually a slightly bigger picture than that.’

  I waited for her to continue.

  ‘To be honest, I’m a little embarrassed to tell you.’

  ‘Well I’m a little embarrassed that you saw me having a wet T-shirt contest in a pool of grape juice the other day, so perhaps we could be even. What happens in Tuscany stays in Tuscany?’