by Matt Dunn
He glanced round the shop’s minimalist interior, and noticed he wasn’t alone – to his left, a man around his age wearing a watch encrusted with so much bling Patrick would be surprised if he could raise his arm was doing a bad job of stifling a yawn, while in the chair opposite him, a much older man was glued to his mobile phone as his . . . wife. . . daughter . . . mistress? – Patrick wasn’t sure – ran through various poses in front of the enormous mirror that covered one entire wall, snapping a series of selfies on hers.
Not knowing where to look, he glanced at his watch again, feeling a little self-conscious. He’d been too busy working to have a midlife crisis, too focused on work to pay attention to his marriage, apparently, which was probably the reason he was here with Izzy. Trying to convince himself he hadn’t ‘lost it’. Or perhaps, as he often feared, trying to convince everyone else.
‘What do you think?’
Izzy had materialised in front of him, and Patrick had to fight hard to stop his mouth from flapping open. ‘Wow. That’s . . . I mean, it’s very . . .’ He swallowed hard. ‘There’s not a lot to it.’ Especially when you consider how much it costs, he thought, catching sight of the price tag.
‘I know!’ said Izzy, as if that was a good thing.
He glanced around the shop. The man on the phone had suddenly perked up, and was doing a bad job of pretending not to look in their direction, whereas the other one was out-and-out staring. And it didn’t take Patrick long to realise why.
‘Shouldn’t you be wearing a bra?’
Izzy shook her head vigorously, causing her breasts to jiggle under the thin layer of material in a perfect demonstration of Newton’s third law of motion. ‘Then you’d see it, silly.’
‘As opposed to seeing your, you know . . .’ He knew better than to finish the sentence. ‘All I’d say is . . .’ He hesitated, given the beginnings of a frown on Izzy’s face. ‘You might just embarrass the bride.’
Izzy gave him a look. ‘She’s six months pregnant, and she still had to ask her boyfriend to marry her. Don’t you think she’ll be embarrassed enough already?’
‘Sorry. Perhaps “embarrass” was the wrong choice of word.’
‘What would the right choice be?’
Patrick pretended to think for a moment, though in truth, he’d known the answer the moment she’d emerged from the changing room. ‘Well, seeing as you look amazing, perhaps “upstage” would be more appropriate.’
Izzy leaned down and kissed him, slipping her tongue cheekily into his mouth for the briefest of moments, then, as she turned to the mirror and admired her reflection, Patrick folded his arms and regarded her. The thing was, she did look amazing. Wasn’t that the point? And so what if the – he decided to go with ‘dress’ – cost more than their flights had? After all, as Jed had reminded him a while back, if you drove a Porsche, you didn’t get it serviced at Kwik Fit. Like the car, Izzy had a maintenance cost too, and Patrick much preferred paying maintenance for something he could still enjoy rather than someone – given how much his ex-wife still got from him every month – he couldn’t.
As Izzy scampered back into the changing room, he caught the older man’s eye. ‘If you don’t buy it for her, I will,’ said the man, with a seedy smile, and while Patrick’s first instinct was to punch him in the face, he knew he ought to take it as a compliment.
With a sigh, he hauled himself up out of the chair, reached for his wallet and made his way towards the till.
‘Rach!’
At the sound of Livia calling her name, Rachel looked up from where she was hauling her overstuffed wheelie through the hotel’s lobby, then squealed in delight, so Livia hurried across and enveloped her friend in a huge hug. It may simply have been due to the early start, but Rachel was looking flustered, her normally impeccably made-up face bare, her hair scraped back into an untidy ponytail, as if she’d been through some sort of drama already this morning. Though as Livia knew all too well, that wouldn’t be anything unusual.
‘Hey, Liv!’
She let Rachel go, then laughed at the ‘oh my god!’ face she’d just made.
‘What?’
‘You’re getting married!’
‘I know!’
‘Where’s the groom?’
‘Gone for a run. Or so he said.’ She glanced at her watch, then towards the hotel’s front door. ‘I’m beginning to think it’s more a case of done a runner.’
‘Not Jed.’ Rachel smiled. ‘And especially given . . .’ She nodded at Livia’s stomach. ‘Not that I’m suggesting you . . . or he . . .’
‘I’m joking, Rach.’
‘I knew that!’ Rachel raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘He was happy about it, though?’
‘Happy?’ Livia thought for a moment. To tell the truth, ‘happy’ wouldn’t have been her first choice of adjective, though Jed had never been the most demonstrative of people. ‘I’m going to go with “still getting used to the idea”.’
‘He said yes, though?’
‘He did. In so many words.’
‘Well, that’s the important thing.’
‘It is.’ Livia nodded. ‘Assuming he says something similar this evening!’
Rachel let out a short laugh, then her smile suddenly faded. ‘You’re not worried about that, are you? Jed would never . . .’
‘No, but . . .’ Livia shrugged. ‘Many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.’
Rachel narrowed her eyes. ‘I heard you say something about a Twix but I didn’t really . . .’
‘You know – it’s not over till the fat lady sings.’ She grinned. ‘Not that I’m planning on singing this evening.’
‘Thank goodness!’ said Rachel, a little too quickly for Livia’s liking. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’ She shook her head, then mimed zipping her mouth shut. ‘I wouldn’t rely on me to make a speech this evening. Anyway, good on you for asking.’
‘Maybe it’ll give Rich some ideas, eh?’ Livia nudged her, then she peered over Rachel’s shoulder. ‘Where is Rich?’
‘Let’s just say he kind of responded to my surprise for this weekend with the opposite reaction to Jed.’
Livia clamped a hand over her open mouth. ‘He dumped you?’
‘Seems that way.’
‘Oh, Rach . . .’ Livia leant across awkwardly and gave her friend another hug. Rachel’s life seemed to be a succession of events like this, and what was worse was she could never see them coming. Which was ironic, because everyone else always could. ‘Is now an appropriate time for me to tell you we never liked him anyway, and that you’re better off without him?’
Rachel stared at her for a moment, then she forced a smile. ‘Perhaps not right now.’
‘You okay, hun?’
Rachel shrugged dismissively, though Livia feared she was on the verge of tears. ‘I’ve been better. But, then again, I’ve been worse. Besides, today is all about you!’ She repeated her earlier ‘oh my god!’ face, then forced a flat-lipped smile. ‘You’re getting married!’
‘Looks that way!’
‘So where’s the rest of the wedding party?’
‘Well, Liam arrived yesterday, though I haven’t seen him yet – he’s probably trying to sneak out of some poor girl’s bedroom without waking her.’
‘The rumours about him are true, then?’
‘They are. As I’m sure you’ll find out when you meet him. Especially when he finds out you’re here on your own.’ Livia raised both eyebrows like a ventriloquist’s dummy might, though Rachel’s reaction was hardly the most enthusiastic. ‘Patrick . . .’ She peered towards the hotel doors. ‘I thought he was on your flight?’
‘He was.’ Rachel shuddered. ‘With her.’
‘Izzy?’
‘Is that her name?’
‘The D at the front is silent, apparently,’ Livia said, wryly. ‘I thought you might have shared a taxi here?’
‘No, thank you!’ Rachel gave her a look. ‘In fact I, um, hid from them in the check-in queue. And pretende
d I hadn’t seen them when we got off.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘The less time I spend in the company of fit twenty-something girls, the better. Especially right now.’ She stuffed her hands dejectedly into her pockets. ‘I’d hoped this was going to be one of those weddings where children were banned.’
‘Rach!’ scolded Livia, though she laughed, despite herself.
‘In any case, the bus was cheaper. If slower.’
‘Which is why I’m surprised you’re here before them.’
‘Maybe they had something to do on the way?’
‘Shag, probably. If Patrick’s heart can take it.’
‘Which is another reason I’m glad we didn’t come in the same cab.’
Rachel laughed – genuinely, it seemed – and Livia smiled. She suspected it was the first time her friend had laughed in a few days. ‘You all checked in?’
‘I am.’ Rachel brandished her key card in the air, in the manner of a football referee sending someone off. ‘So, what’s the plan? For today, I mean.’
A waiter walked past carrying a plate of jamón, and Livia eyed it appreciatively. ‘Well, when Jed comes back, he and I have to go and pick up the rings, so you’ve got a few hours if you wanted to go and get in some sightseeing. Kick-off’s not until six, and I’m sure the boys will want to take Jed off somewhere for some pre-wedding drinks, so we’ve got plenty of time for a catch-up round the pool this afternoon . . .’
‘Sightseeing?’
‘Why not? You’re in Barcelona, baby!’
‘Maybe.’
‘No, it’s definitely Bar—’
‘I know!’
‘You’ve been here before?’
‘No, but . . .’ For the third – or was it the fourth time? Livia was losing count – Rachel made a face as if her world was coming to an end. ‘You know. Sightseeing. On my own.’
‘It’s what the selfie was invented for. Besides, you always complained Rich never wanted to do anything except sit at the bar or watch the football, which meant that was always what you ended up doing.’
‘I suppose I have always wanted to see more of the world.’
‘Rather than just the World Cup? You’re a free woman now, Rach. The world’s your oyster.’
‘Says the woman about to get married. I miss him, Liv.’
‘Even so. You just get on with your life, enjoy Barcelona, have a lovely weekend without Rich. Meanwhile, he’s going to be sitting at home, probably questioning whether he’s done the right thing, wondering what you’re up to, so he checks your Facebook, looks at your Instagram, and he sees you having a great time, going to all these amazing places, rubbing it in his face . . . If that doesn’t send him grovelling to meet you at the airport with a huge bunch of flowers when you get back home, I don’t know what will. And then . . .’
‘Then?’
‘You either have the satisfaction of telling him where to go, or taking him back on your terms. Either way, you’ve still had a fab weekend out and about in Barcelona, rather than simply moping around in your hotel room.’
Rachel stared miserably down at her feet, as if weighing up which suicide method to choose, then she took a deep breath. ‘Well, in the absence of anything better to do . . .’
‘That’s settled then. But first . . .’
‘First?’
‘I’m seriously considering a second go at the breakfast buffet. If you’d like to join me?’
Rachel glanced over towards the front desk. ‘I’ve just checked in, so I don’t think I’m allowed.’
Livia rolled her eyes. ‘Rich isn’t here. If anyone asks, we’ll just tell them you’re having his tomorrow’s breakfast today.’
Rachel hesitated as she tried to process Livia’s reasoning, then she shook her head. ‘No, that’s fine. I’m not all that hungry, actually.’ As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, so loudly a man reading a newspaper nearby looked up at them. ‘Then again, it seems that perhaps I am, so . . .’
‘Excellent!’
Livia hugged her friend a third time, then, before she could change her mind, she took Rachel’s wheelie in one hand, grabbed her arm with the other and steered her through to the courtyard.
Jed pounded along the pavement, enjoying the freedom he always felt when running, while appreciating how the amazing Barcelona weather made today’s run such a contrast from his usual, grey-skied, chilly-breezed pre-work session. He’d taken a wrong turn on his way back from the beach, and even though he’d lost his bearings more than once, was sweating like he’d just emerged from a sauna and was constantly having to dodge around shoppers and through tour groups on what he hoped was his way back to the hotel, he felt like he could just keep on going.
That had occurred to him too. It would be a way to avoid everything wedding-y that was no doubt going on back at the hotel. Right about now, Livia was probably holding court, drilling Rachel in her responsibilities, forbidding Liam to get too drunk (and good luck with that), while possibly instructing Patrick in the exact speed she wanted to be walked down the aisle later, and God only knew what she’d be asking him to do. But Jed knew he’d have to go back eventually. And he was already worried Livia would be wondering where he was.
As he ran along by the kerb – a tactic he’d worked out to avoid being knocked over by the surprising number of older-than-usual skateboarders treating the pavements as a skate park – a taxi slowed to match his pace, and he was just debating whether to give the driver the finger or to flag it down when a familiar voice boomed out of the window.
‘Fancy a lift?’
Jed turned to see Patrick waving at him. ‘Only if you’re heading to the airport!’
‘That can be arranged!’
The taxi had stopped, so Jed did the same, and slumped against the side of the car. ‘Bloody hot,’ he puffed, then he wiped his palms on his shorts and squinted up at the sky. ‘I’d shake your hand, but I’m sweating like the proverbial—’
‘From the run, I take it, and not your anxiety about what’s happening later?’
‘What’s happening later?’ deadpanned Jed, enjoying the momentary look of panic that had just appeared on Patrick’s face.
‘You bastard!’
‘Look who’s talking!’
‘Fair point.’ Patrick shook his head slowly. ‘I’m not sure whether “congratulations” is appropriate, rather than “sorry” . . .’
‘For not telling me, you mean, rather than the fact that I’m, you know . . .’ Jed stopped talking, not sure he could bring himself to say the words yet. ‘Yes, well, Liv can be . . .’
‘Persuasive?’
‘She can. And was.’
‘So it is congratulations?’
Jed made a face. ‘I’ll let you know.’ He mopped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, then peered into the back of the cab. The girl he’d just noticed, sitting there half-hidden behind a large Stella McCartney shopping bag, was stunning. And very young. ‘And you must be Izzy!’ he said. ‘Sorry – didn’t see you there.’
‘Hi.’ Izzy was looking him up and down, and Jed had to resist the temptation to suck his stomach in. ‘Well, I think it’s congratulations,’ she added, staring pointedly at Patrick, who just rolled his eyes.
Jed grinned again, then glanced at his watch. ‘Shouldn’t you be at the hotel by now?’
‘Shouldn’t you?’
‘No, I mean, I thought Livia was expecting everyone . . . earlier.’
‘Sorry.’ Patrick jabbed a thumb at Izzy’s shopping bag. Or it could have been at Izzy – Jed wasn’t sure. ‘We made a little detour.’
‘Hey, I’m just glad you’re here. I could do with a bit of moral support. Though the amount I’m planning to drink this evening, I might need a bit of actual support.’
‘No worries. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’ Patrick swung the taxi’s door open. ‘Hop in.’
‘Best not.’ Jed indicated his sweatiness. ‘Besides, it’s not far,’ he said, pleased he
finally recognised the street opposite as the one that led to his hotel. ‘I think.’
‘Suit yourself. How’s Livia?’
‘Feeling very pleased with herself, I think.’
‘She’s a woman who knows what she wants.’
‘Isn’t she?’ said Jed. It was one of the things he found so attractive about her. Though recently, Livia seemed to think she knew what he wanted too, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
‘And smart move on her part,’ continued Patrick, pulling the door shut again. ‘Doing this here.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Look above you.’ Patrick shielded his eyes with his hand as he peered up at the clear blue sky. ‘The sun is shining, and it’s twenty-five degrees.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
Patrick gave him a look, then indicated for the driver to head off. ‘Means you won’t get cold feet,’ he called, cheerfully waving a hand out of the window as the cab picked up speed.
Jed waved a less-friendly greeting back, then – despite the heat – set off quickly after them. Being here, where the sun always seemed to be shining, made him feel alive – though that wasn’t a view shared by his heavily pregnant girlfriend . . . sorry, fiancée. Livia had been struggling with the heat almost as soon as they’d stepped off the plane. She’d been struggling with a lot of things – despite the picturesque scenes round every corner, and the weather here in the city, his hopes for one final pre-baby romantic anniversary weekend hadn’t seemed to be doing him any favours: an offer to take her on a cycle rickshaw tour of the city had been scuppered less than five minutes into the trip, when heading down a particularly bumpy cobbled street had necessitated a swift U-turn followed by a breakneck pedal back to the hotel to find a toilet; a suggestion they spend yesterday afternoon relaxing on the beach was pooh-pooed by Livia’s comment that she didn’t want some small child to think she was one of the inflatable toys; his idea that they should just hang the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door, order room service, turn the air conditioning up and spend an intimate evening together in their hotel room had elicited the observation that she’d booked dinner ‘somewhere nice’, followed by a pointed glance at her belly and an amused ‘Besides, if you think I’m ever letting you near me again . . .’ Though it was only when she’d dropped the bombshell at the restaurant yesterday evening that Jed knew why she’d been so keen the weekend went according to her plans.