by Lucy Dawson
‘Thank you.’
‘Did you like the bracelet?’
‘I loved it.’
‘Well, you’re very welcome,’ she twinkles.
‘You helped Marc choose it?’ I can’t help my surprise.
‘Help him? Love, I went down there and viewed the whole collection, the works! It’s very you, isn’t it? You have no idea how hard it’s been not to say anything – I’ve had to tell random strangers about the wedding instead, to try and work it out of my system! Everyone has just been blown away that romance is still alive and well after all. It’s made for some pretty pissed off blokes though.’ She laughs. ‘Marc has raised the bar very high for the rest of them. There’ve been plenty “You’d never do something like that for me” accusations flying around.’
‘Did you choose the dress, too?’
‘I may have pointed him in the direction of a few select places,’ she murmurs. ‘Do you want to see some of the pictures I took?’ She sets her glass down, gets up and sits down right next to me instead. I can’t help flinching at her proximity, but she doesn’t notice. ‘This is you arriving. You look so stunning! Although I almost shouted, “Shoulders, Soph!”’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your posture! You know it drives me nuts. When you get back from honeymoon, we’ll have to start Pilates or something, sort you out. Here, these are some of the bits you missed. This is all of us dancing – very badly. God, Rich’s got his tie around his head. Idiot. Which of your friends who were there do you think will be the ones you’re not talking to in five years’ time?’
‘What?’ I stammer.
‘It happens to everyone,’ she says, not looking at me but peering at the screen more closely. ‘I think Rich is starting to go bald. Lord, that’s all I need. Something else for him to start ranting about. Mine was a good friend from school. She got pregnant just before me and she wanted a girl, only she had a boy. When Sadie was born, she stopped speaking to me, because she’d wanted the name Sadie.’
‘I didn’t know that. Which one?’
‘Caroline, her name was.’
‘I remember. Bossy. A bit shouty.’
‘Yup,’ Lou says. ‘That’s the one. I mean, I had a tiny baby to concentrate on, I hadn’t got the energy to make it OK for her, you know? I was her bridesmaid when she got married, funnily enough, and I’m in loads of her photos. Which is quite satisfying.’ She grins. ‘That’s one of the things you realize as you get older, though, isn’t it? Some friendships just aren’t meant to last the distance. You think they will, you can’t imagine not having them in your life, but then they just walk out of it. Weird.’ She shakes her head.
I can’t do this. I can’t sit here talking to her about friendship. It’s too much.
‘But you’re a much nicer person than me, Soph. I’m sure you won’t lose anyone! Forget I said anything.’ She puts the phone down. ‘So are you completely packed for Dubai?’
‘Um, yes, I think so,’ I say. My head is starting to pound again.
‘I bet the kids are beside themselves. I noticed at the wedding how they seem to be very pro their new maman. Good work, babe. You’ve done so well. I’m so proud of you.’
I clear my throat. ‘Thank you. I’m determined to do everything I can to make it work for them. I’ve been really lucky with my step-parents, and I’d like to try and give Isabelle and Olivier that same stability. After all,’ I take a deep breath, thinking about what Mum said earlier, ‘I’m going to be around in their lives for a long time – I’ve made a commitment to them too.’
‘Well, they’re very lucky to have you,’ says Lou sincerely. ‘Madame Nut-job didn’t manage to kick up a stink at the last moment, then? I had visions of Marc going to Paris to collect the children and her flinging herself under their departing taxi, or something wacky like that.’
‘She’s getting married, actually.’
‘No!’ says Lou incredulously. ‘Well, there you go then. All’s well that ends well. Next thing you’ll be telling me you’re all going on holiday together, en famille – isn’t that how the French do it? They’re so much better at that sort of thing than us. And on the subject of family,’ she says innocently, ‘are you sure what your sister said at the restaurant wasn’t her hitting the nail on the head by accident?’
‘I’m absolutely not pregnant.’
‘Oh, well, never mind, hon.’ She gives me a sympathetic look. ‘Plenty of time yet. I know a woman who fell pregnant at the drop of a hat aged forty-three.’
‘Well, I quite literally need to get my head sorted out first.’
She shrugs. ‘No time like the present. A honeymoon baby might be nice, don’t you think?’
Before I can say anything to that, Marc reappears, looking shattered, and then rather taken aback to find Lou sitting on the sofa.
‘I’m just going!’ Lou laughs again. ‘Blimey, you two are as bad as each other!’
‘Sorry,’ I say for the third time, embarrassed. ‘We’ve just been—’
‘You don’t have to say anything!’ Lou gets up. ‘You didn’t know I was coming, it’s fine. I just wanted to satisfy myself that you really were OK, that’s all, and to say have an unforgettable honeymoon. You deserve it.’ She pulls me into a tight hug. She releases me just as quickly and turns to Marc. ‘Bye, Mr Turner!’
‘Bye, Lou, and thank you so much for all your help with everything,’ Marc says sincerely.
‘It was a pleasure. No, don’t worry, I’ll see myself out. Call me when you’re back.’ She blows me a kiss and disappears off.
I exhale as we hear the front door close.
‘I didn’t know she was popping over.’ Marc sits down heavily.
‘Neither did I. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’ He yawns. ‘We ought to have her and Rich round properly soon. She really was a huge help to me with everything.’
‘So I hear,’ I say as lightly as I can. We are absolutely not having them here. There is no way I could cope with that. No way on earth. It would be dreadful.
‘I forgot to show you this earlier. Ta da!’ He reaches behind him into his back pocket and pulls out a passport.
I take it and flip to the back page. There I am – Sophie Turner. ‘Wow. Thank you.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ he says. ‘Now, can I have it back, please, so I can put it with the others in my special clear plastic “holiday documents” wallet?’
I roll my eyes. ‘I swear, you couldn’t be anything but a lawyer. Except maybe an accountant.’
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ he says over his shoulder, making his way over to the sideboard and slotting it away. He comes back and sits down again, reaching for the TV remote and flicking it on. But after a moment, I realize he’s just staring into space.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Just tired. That’s all.’ He mutes the sound on the TV.
We sit there for a minute and I wait.
‘I fucking hate him, Soph,’ he says after a moment more. ‘I can’t help it. I know I ought to be OK with it by now – and it’s nothing to do with feeling anything for Claudine, I promise you. I just hate him being around the children. She didn’t tell me he was going to be there today and when I see him with them like that, it makes it impossible to pretend it isn’t happening most of the time.’ He puts his head in his hands. ‘I know him, you see, I know what it’s like to work for him – what an out-and-out shit he is. That tortured intellectual vibe is just crap.’ He clenches his fists. ‘Underneath all that is a completely ruthless, very sharp thug. And, even at best, he’s just so old. I don’t want my kids being told “Don’t touch this” and “Don’t say that”, living in some kind of museum of beautiful objects. He collects things but he doesn’t value them. I wish, I wish she’d chosen just about anyone else but him.’
I don’t know what to say. I just reach out and squeeze his hand.
He sits there for a moment, then shakes his head slightly. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m really sor
ry. I shouldn’t let it get on top of me. We’re going to have a brilliant week, all of us, let’s just focus on that.’ He stands up. ‘I might just go to bed, if you don’t mind. We’ve got a long day tomorrow and the kids are going to be up at the crack of dawn, just so you know.’
‘I think I’ll come up now too,’ I say, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed.
‘Can I talk to you about something else quickly?’ Marc says, as I finally climb into bed beside him. ‘It’s nothing bad,’ he laughs – I must have visibly sagged. ‘I just wanted to say, I know we’ve never been hugely specific about it, but I meant what I’ve said all along about children, and I’ve no objections to having more. I’m not one of those, “Been there, done that” blokes. Just so you know, now we’re married, if you do want a baby, I’d be cool with it. That’s all.’ He turns back to his book.
I stare at him for a moment, and think about the bracelet and my dress. ‘Have you been talking to Lou?’
‘Er, about us having a baby?’ he says, puzzled. ‘No. Because that would be weird.’
‘Earlier, she pretty much asked me outright if we’re going to start trying for children.’
He puts his book down and turns onto one elbow to face me. ‘What did you say?’
‘Um, what I wanted to say is I honestly don’t understand how people think it’s acceptable to ask that question.’
‘She’s your best friend!’
‘Even then. There ought to be a law against it. I might not be able to have them.’
‘I’m sure you can, and that’s the good thing about kids. They make you feel younger, trust me. Well, except in the middle of the night.’ He frowns. ‘Then you feel about double whatever age you actually are. Look, don’t worry about Lou, or anyone else. I know you’ve always said you’re happy as you are, and that’s fine, but if you want to change your mind, as far as I’m concerned, it’s really no big deal – I’m OK either way. You want them, we’ll have them. I love you, Soph. You know that, don’t you?’
He pauses suddenly, giving me one of his full-on stares. I have never met a man so unafraid of direct eye contact. Having become more used to it, I secretly like how it makes me feel – like he literally can’t take his eyes from me. Except tonight, something about him holding my gaze as if he can see into my soul makes me very uncomfortable. ‘I love you, too.’
He leans across and starts to kiss me. I pull away from him before I even realise I’ve done it.
‘Head still hurting?’ he says, concerned. I nod, mutely, feeling like a complete bitch. He pulls a sympathetic face. ‘No problem, I understand.’ He turns off the light instead. ‘Wake me if you need me.’
‘Marc?’ I suddenly whisper in the dark, moments later.
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you for our wedding – for doing all of that for me.’
‘It was a pleasure. Goodnight, my sweetheart. Sweet dreams.’
But I am still awake, long after his breathing gently slows, dreams of any kind eluding me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The children appear by the bed at 6.30 a.m., announcing proudly that they’re ready to go to the water park now. By the time we’ve wrestled them through breakfast and into the cab, double-checked the house is locked (me), got to the airport, gone through Customs, messed around in duty free, texted Mum, Alice and Imogen to say we’re about to board and that we’ll let them know when we land safely, bought a load of magazines and books, sweets, bottles of water and a toothbrush (me), and a new phone charger (also me), I’m ready to drop.
The children settle down quite happily once we’re on the plane, however, selecting a movie pretty much as soon as we take off. In fact, they are as good as gold the whole way. I find myself watching them at one point, Olivier frowning at the screen while Isabelle colours in a picture and absently eats a packet of Mini Cheddars.
‘They’re a credit to you,’ I say to Marc, who takes his earphones off and says, ‘What, sorry?’
‘Isabelle and Olivier,’ I say, nodding over at them. ‘They’re such good little kids.’
He smiles proudly and watches them. ‘I’m a very lucky dad.’ He gives me a kiss and puts his headphones back on.
I look back at them. If we were to have a baby, would Isabelle and Olivier be OK with it? That’s one thing Imogen, Alice and I were always very glad of: no half-brothers or sisters to come to terms with. Marc and I would have to make sure they were really involved, so they didn’t feel shut out. I’d actively want them to be the baby’s big brother and sister. Especially as it would, in all likelihood, be our only child.
I flush slightly. The baby… not even a baby. Do I even have a right to be thinking like this? It’s incredible how fast my life is changing – a married woman on my way to Dubai on holiday with my stepchildren. Whirlwind doesn’t come close. I’m feeling pretty lucky too.
By the time we land nearly six hours later, I am mostly feeling pretty headachy, but the warmth as we step off the plane – just getting off full stop and being able to stretch out – lifts us all, and the children begin to chatter again. Isabelle wants to know how long it’s going to take until we get to the hotel, and I’m relieved to hear it will only be about an hour. What with the time difference, it’s now half past nine at night, and I really want to go to bed. Thankfully Marc has arranged a private transfer, which means we don’t have to mess around with finding coaches or anything, and once we’re through passport control, which is very quick – Marc happily remarks how efficient it is as he zips all of our passports back into his clear folder – and we’ve got all our suitcases, it’s barely any time before we’re walking through into Arrivals.
I look around for a placard that says ‘Turner’, but nothing leaps out at me. I can see Marc scanning everyone too.
‘Hmmm,’ he says, when it becomes apparent that there is no one there to meet us. ‘That’s not a great start. I’d better give them a call.’
The kids have stopped being excited and are becoming increasingly whiney and tired. Isabelle leans against Marc, scuffing her shoe on the ground, and Olivier starts climbing on the back of the trolley.
‘Don’t do that, Ol,’ says Marc absently, phone to his ear. ‘Oh, hi. Is that the Atlantis? I’m a guest and I’ve just arrived at the airport with my family and there’s no one here to meet us. Could you – Yes, I will… They’re transferring me,’ he says to me. ‘Yes, I’m still holding… Hi there. Oh, OK. We will, thank you.’ He hangs up. ‘Great. They’re…’ He frowns suddenly at his phone.
‘They’re what?’ I say, when he doesn’t finish his sentence.
‘Hang on, please.’ He is focusing intently on the screen and, just as I’m about to ask again, he looks up suddenly and stares unblinkingly at me for a moment before saying, ‘You’ve got a smudge on your face, did you know? Just there.’
‘Oh, really?’ I reach up self-consciously. ‘Here?’
He shakes his head. ‘You need a mirror.’
I wipe my face again. ‘I might just pop to the loo then. I’ve got time before they arrive, haven’t I? It sounded like you’ve sorted it.’
‘Yes. It’s done. And yes, you’ve got plenty of time.’
‘Isabelle, do you need to go? Want to come with me?’ I ask, but she shakes her head and shrinks back.
‘I want to stay with Papa.’
‘OK,’ I say equably, turning and walking off in search of the ladies. Once there, I grimace as I look in the mirror. I must have got the bit he was talking about, but I’m still horribly shiny and faintly appalled to see how flat and lank my hair appears. How do A-list stars do it, jumping on and off planes, looking fresh as daisies. Maybe I’m just a bad traveller. I’ll feel better after a shower once we get to the hotel. I grab a tissue and blot my face, before trying – and failing – to shake some life into my hair.
Yawning as I wander back out and over to where I left Marc and the children, I discover they’re not there. I’ve probably started a chain reaction of loo-needing and they�
�ve all had to go.
I’m so tired, I really hope the transfer car doesn’t take long to arrive. I turn to my right to make my way over to the nearest seats to wait for them, which is when I notice a lone suitcase propped up at the end of the row – my suitcase. I frown and walk over to it. It’s definitely mine – I can see the luggage label written out in my own handwriting. Marc! Everyone knows you don’t leave suitcases unattended in airports! I hurry over and drag it close to me before sitting down to wait for them, but I’m now on alert and looking around anxiously.
Marc knows not to leave a case by itself. Of course he does. He’s Mr Detail. Did it maybe fall off the trolley and he didn’t notice? Surely not – and why would he have been rushing anyway?
I wait for them to come back from the loo for a five further minutes.
They don’t reappear.
I reach into my handbag and pull out my mobile. My call goes straight to his voicemail. He must be actually talking on the phone, because he definitely has it on – he just called the hotel.
I get up and, starting to wheel my case behind me, try him again. Still nothing. I make my way over to the nearest gents and hover outside, but although a couple of men go in, Marc doesn’t come out before they do. One of them stares at me as he re-emerges and I think he was on our plane, so I ask him if he wouldn’t mind just seeing if Marc and the children are in there?
He looks. They aren’t.
Feeling now far too concerned to even be embarrassed that I appear to have lost my own family, I thank him, turn and hurry away. One of the children must have been taken ill or something. But how can that have happened so fast? They’ve been fine all day.
I hurry over to the airport information desk and explain the situation to the two male staff on the desk. They are very nice, but tell me they are not aware of there having been any medical emergency. Would I perhaps like them to make a customer announcement for Marc and the children? I say gratefully that yes, I would, please – and listen as the tannoy request resounds through the airport.
But still they don’t come.