Champagne Secrets

by Amanda Brunker

  Quietly acknowledging the men as I waved goodbye, I got an evil feeling about them as they looked me up and down with obvious disapproval, so I picked up my speed, hoping to get away as quickly as possible, and stupidly went smashing straight into someone as I turned my head.

  But it wasn’t just any someone. It was Rory. My Rory. He caught me in his two strong hands. The impact knocked him back a couple of steps, making him cry out, ‘There she is!’

  Not sure if I was hallucinating, I took a couple of moments to stare at his face before I knew for sure that it was him. He somehow looked a bit different to how I remembered him. Taller, maybe, and also friendlier, or sweeter … I wasn’t sure yet. With my heart still racing from the stress of listening to a woman’s disfigurement being plotted, I was having trouble finding the words to speak to Rory. ‘What? Eh, how? Eh …’

  ‘Slow down.’ Rory smiled calmly. ‘It’s OK. I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  Not knowing my own mind, I mumbled, ‘I can’t … stay here … I need to go …’ while struggling to get out of his grasp. Clearly disappointed by the lack of a welcome, Rory’s face dropped as he tried to get my attention.

  ‘I’m not here by accident,’ he explained, trying to make my eyes look into his. ‘I came here for you. I thought I had missed you – they told me you had finished over an hour ago.’

  ‘I did. I just got delayed.’ As I spoke I kept looking over my shoulder to see if the bouncers were looking at me. They weren’t, but it didn’t stop me from checking. Trying to regain my composure, I shook myself and coaxed Rory to walk away from Sir Charlie’s by linking arms with him and walking towards the Tube station.

  ‘OK, this is better,’ teased Rory as he gently poked me in the ribs. ‘We’re walking – together – that’s something, I suppose. But are you not pleased to see me? I thought you’d be happy.’

  Once we got walking down a different road, my pulse rate started to slow down and the reality of seeing him again made my heart skip to a different beat.

  ‘My apologies.’ I smiled, pushing him up against the hoarding of a rundown building. ‘For being so scatty. You just got me at a bad moment.’

  Smiling down at me with his piercing green eyes, his hands slipped to my waist, and he asked, ‘Is there any way I could make this moment better? A kiss, maybe?’

  ‘Gosh, you leave me hanging for a week, and now we’re straight back to kissing. Some guys just can’t make up their minds.’

  ‘Hold on a minute, you’re the one playing hard to get. I was just giving you some space to miss me. So – did it work?’ As if we were magnetically charged, the two of us were now rubbing noses and giggling like we hadn’t a care in the world.

  Not willing to risk playing any more games, I threw caution to the wind and whispered, ‘Yes, it did. Very much so.’

  Taking that as his green light, Rory leaned down to kiss me. The first was a gentle one on the lips, but he followed it up with something much more passionate. He pulled back from me, and my eyes were still closed as he whispered, ‘I missed you, too. Actually, I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week.’

  Stretching up to rub off his nose again, I cooed back at him, ‘You’re such a tease. You’re a very naughty boy for leaving me hanging.’

  ‘And what happens to naughty boys?’ asked Rory with a hopeful chuckle.

  ‘They get to walk me to the Tube, that’s what.’

  Confused, Rory tilted his head to one side and asked, ‘Where are you going?’

  Not knowing a funny way to play it, I just answered, ‘Home.’

  Thinking I was joking, Rory began tickling me again, ‘Ha ha! Very funny. You’re not getting away from me that easily. I won’t let you go. I’ve reservations at The Wolseley, and I’ve a wallet full of money that I only want to spend on buying you champagne. And that’s just for starters. It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, don’t you want to be romanced?’

  ‘No, I’m serious, Rory, I’m not playing. I genuinely have to go home. I’m sorry. Of course I’d love to be wined and dined, but I can’t go for dinner now.’ No sooner had the words popped out of my mouth than I made the decision to text Maura and see if I could pull a late one again.

  Although I could imagine the questions on the tip of his tongue, I begged for silence as I pressed send on a text to Maura. I didn’t have to wait long for a reply. The answer was a definite, ‘No chance.’

  Trying not to show my disappointment, I just smiled at Rory and made my voice sound upbeat. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve things to do. A girl needs advance warning. I just can’t be expected to drop everything on the promise of champagne, you know.’

  ‘But what about last week?’ asked Rory with a serious face. ‘Didn’t you tell me your friends surprised you then?’

  Starting to feel backed into a corner, I could only mumble, ‘Yes, but that was a special exception. I’m sorry, I really am.’ Not waiting for a reply, I shook his arm and asked, ‘Please walk me to the Tube. I’m sorry, it’s just I’m really late as it is.’

  Doing as I asked, we walked on soberly for several minutes before he asked, ‘Do you have another date?’

  ‘I wish. I mean, chance would be a fine thing. I mean, definitely not. I just have to go home. It’s a family commitment, that’s all. I’m just expected home.’

  That was the last of his questions, other than what my mobile number was, and we walked arm in arm the rest of the way to Knightsbridge station, making plans to try again the following week, when, as he put it, ‘You’ll have plenty of notice to beautify yourself.’

  As we said goodbye, we kissed again, but just on the lips, and I was sure the disappointment I could see in his eyes was reflected in mine. We were just about to separate when Rory asked, ‘Can I come back with you? I’d love to meet your family.’ Gobsmacked, I let out a tiny squeal, stuck for a way to get out of the bind I’d created for myself with my string of lies. Like a dog with a bone, he continued, ‘Why not? Unless you’d be embarrassed to be seen with me – would you?’

  I barely managed the words, ‘Of course not, don’t be silly—’

  Rory interrupted, ‘That’s agreed, then.’

  The frustration made me snap. ‘You’re not coming home with me. I mean, how the hell would I explain you? Oh, hey, everyone, this is the guy I pulled and almost shagged last Friday night. Is it OK if he stays for dinner?’

  Unlike most men, Rory didn’t argue back. Instead he just said, ‘You’re right. It’s too soon. As much as it would be lovely to have our first milestone argument out of the way, I agree that tonight is not the night. I’m sorry for pushing you. Forgive me?’

  Relieved not to have to tell him the truth – just yet – I kissed him again, only this time like a lover, and each time his tongue touched off mine it sent teasing shocks of pleasure shooting across my body, which made me extremely horny and lustful for more. Bubbling with excitement as I walked away down towards the escalators, I found it hard to process the level of emotions I had felt, all within the last hour. I hadn’t even boarded the train when I received my first text from him. ‘Sorry for being cheesy,’ it read, ‘but I miss U already xx.’

  My thirty-minute train journey was one of fun and relief. In between Rory’s frequent texts telling me everything from how sweet I smelled to how he could still taste me, I listened to snippets from my camera, and was able to make out the men’s chat perfectly. Things were finally on the up and up for my career, and in the love stakes. All I needed to do to take things a step forward was call Bradley with my latest news, but the idea of telling Rory that I had a daughter was a lot harder to come to terms with.

  The thought of confessing this scared me. What if it frightened him away? The concept of spending time with another man’s child was off-putting enough for most men. Add in the fact that Daisy was special needs, and I’d probably never hear from Rory again. Then again, why would I want to be with a man who wouldn’t accept my daughter just the way she was? My brain was running too fast for
me to concentrate and I missed my stop, so it took me another twenty minutes to get back. It was beginning to feel like the never-ending journey.

  As soon as I had escaped the crush of the underground I called Bradley, who enthusiastically congratulated me for being so brave, and then asked if I wanted to go out for a celebratory drink. My reply was interrupted by his speeding brain as he then quickly decided he needed someone to stake out Sir Charlie’s immediately and hung up the phone to make arrangements.

  Back home at last, I walked into the living room only to find Daisy already asleep and tucked up in a ball on the couch. Maura’s daughter Kelly had her arm protectively around her and a worried look on her young face. ‘She was crying for ages, so I sang her “The Climb” over and over to calm her down.’ So much for my situation improving. While I had been off playing Miss Marple and flirting with a man I really hardly knew, my daughter had been crying herself to sleep. That night I was a little clumsy with Daisy as I carried her to bed, in the hope that she just might wake up and I could make amends. Despite doing her best Sleeping Beauty act all the way up the stairs, just as I lowered her under the duvet on my bed she finally opened her beautiful big eyes, softly said, ‘Mam-may’, and smiled, before closing them again and drifting off back to sleep.

  With both of us at peace with the world and each other, I didn’t feel guilty about spending the rest of the evening text-flirting with Rory. Of course I would have to come clean with him about everything eventually, but not yet. After all, he, too, deserved a little fun after all the stress he’d been through with work, and, well, I was a single woman and at heart a little bit of a diva. And there was no better stress-reliever, to my mind, than some sexy bloke to obsess over.

  The next morning, I woke to the sound of a text beeping through on my phone. It wasn’t Rory this time, though, but my boss. Bradley’s text read, ‘The stakes have just gotten higher. Turn on Sky News.’ Disturbing all the early-morning risers from their daily dose of Spongebob Squarepants, I flicked the channel only to read the tickertape racing across the bottom of the screen: MAN SHOT IN LONDON NIGHTCLUB … POLICE CALLING FOR WITNESSES …’ Unable to hear myself think, I changed the TV back to the cartoons and ran back upstairs in a panic to text Bradley, ‘What the hell should I do?’

  His reply said, ‘Nothing for now. I’ll speak with our lawyers and get back to U … Send your address again so I can send a bike to collect your camera. We need that asap.’

  Chomping my nails to the stubs I sat at the top of the stairs and texted Bradley again. ‘I’m scared. Should I be scared?’

  Within seconds his reply beeped back. ‘I don’t know. But don’t breathe a word to anyone.’

  7

  ‘Can you believe that Jeff has taken up knitting?’

  ‘Translate that?’

  ‘You heard me – KNITTING,’ screeched Parker down the phone line. ‘Yes, that’s right, my butch husband has chosen to spend his evenings playing with balls of yarn, instead of my big juicy—’

  ‘THANK YOU, thank you,’ I interrupted, not wanting to be left with a graphic visual.

  ‘And what’s worse is he’s become obsessed with it. When he’s not knitting he’s online chatting about yarn with other knitters, and he literally lobs it out wherever it takes his fancy.’

  Chuckling to myself at the ridiculousness of the idea, I joked, ‘But I thought that was part of the reason you loved him: his ability just to flop it out any time, any place, anywhere, like a Martini barmaid.’

  ‘Mmmm, indeed. The problem is I’m the only one turning floppy with this old lady business. This is getting serious, Eva. First he started off small, but now he’s getting all sorts of shit delivered to the house. There are bags of it arriving.’

  ‘Have you thought about combining the online orders with some hardcore porn? Then at least you’d have some chance of saving your sex life, and the postman won’t think you’re freaks.’

  ‘Too late for that, methinks. So, any news with you?’

  I was juggling Daisy on one knee and keeping a wary eye on the TV for any news on the Sir Charlie’s murder. No doubt sounding absurdly defensive, I snapped, ‘NO. No. Everything fine, dull, quiet, uneventful. Have you been speaking to Lisa at all? She texted me Wednesday, but I never got a chance to reply to her.’

  Knowing something was up, Parker started his loud fake-coughing routine before asking, ‘You’ve a salacious tale to tell me. What is it? You can’t hide from me, my pretty, so just spit it out.’

  It was now the Sunday morning, a full twenty-four hours since I had heard about a man being shot dead in Sir Charlie’s, and I was like a cat on a hot tin roof, waiting for instructions from Bradley. As yet, I was unsure if the man killed was one of the gangsters I had overheard in the staff toilet, or if it was even Craig, for that matter. So it was taking all my powers of self-restraint to keep sane – and most of all to keep quiet. Back in my twenties I had been a massive fan of thrillers and horror movies, and those scary stories had taught me, above all, never to put anyone else’s life in danger. Right now it was bad enough that I had overheard threats being made, but somehow telling Parker – or anyone else other than Bradley – felt like I would be burdening them with a death sentence. I knew I would have to lie to protect my secret, but it was near impossible to lie to Parker, since he knew me inside out – on occasions even better than I knew myself. Thinking quickly, I joked that the connection on the phone was really bad, so I could buy myself some time to think of a make-believe story.

  Now more curious than ever, Parker demanded answers. ‘Ms Valentine, start talking. What have you done? Or better still, what has been done to you?’

  Good ol’ Parker, always bringing the conversation back to sex. I straightaway thought of Rory. Thank Christ. ‘OK, OK!’ I pretended I was backed into a corner. ‘If you must know … My cameraman Rory has been in touch. And we’ve kissed again.’

  ‘Woohoo! Happy belated Valentine’s Day to you. Any other bodily fluids?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Liar liar, uncomfortable diamanté thong on fire.’

  ‘Parker, that’s the truth.’ My throat constricted as I spoke. Although it was the truth, it was only one truth in a now growing list of secrets. ‘He’s even more lovely than I remembered him,’ I gushed, while doing my best to sidetrack myself as well as him. ‘And he’s got really cute freckles across his nose, too.’

  Instantly distracted, Parker teased, ‘Keep me updated as to where else those cute freckles of his are hiding. I need naughty thoughts to entertain me while Bridie here sings out her knit-one, purl-one hymns. It’s like I’m living with a ninety-year-old woman. All we’re missing is the stinky old smell of mothballs – throw that into the mix and I might just have to die of a broken heart. Listen, speaking of a broken heart, when do you plan on coming back for a weekend? I miss you.’

  ‘Ah, that’s sweet. I miss you, too – some of the time. But I can’t really come back.’

  ‘Why not? Gotta keep your weekends open for the freckled boy?’

  ‘No, don’t be stupid, though I’m hoping things might develop that way. But no, I’ve managed to sublet my Dublin flat, so I’d have nowhere to stay if I came home. Anyway, I only saw you last weekend. If I was in Dublin, I might not see you from one end of the month to the next. Just goes to show that despite yourself, you really are just a typical man at heart really, eh? You just don’t know what you got till it’s gone.’

  ‘God, I’m such a bitch for missing my friend. My deepest apologies for lumbering you with my inner thoughts.’

  Parker was coming out with all the huffing and puffing sounds that would usually make me feel guilty, or at the very least a tad remorseful for neglecting him, but he was outgunned by the TV screen in front of me. ‘TWO MEN SHOT DEAD IN CENTRAL LONDON: SUSPECTED GANGLAND REPRISAL’ was running below the Sky News reporter’s mike. The sight of it jolted me back to reality. Thank God Parker only followed Xposé. Speaking in the coldest voice, I said, ‘Parker, I love
you, but I really have to go. Talk soon, yeah?’ I hung up the phone before he got a fighting chance to answer. I was desperate to speak to Bradley, but after fielding question after worried question from me he’d put a moratorium on calls. I texted him instead with the news that there had been two more men shot dead in the city, and asked, ‘Would they be connected?’

  Despite willing the phone to beep back a reassuring answer, nothing came. Over lunch with the Maguire clan I must have texted six more messages, ranging from, ‘I’m worried for my safety,’ to, ‘If you don’t settle my nerves quick, I might just have to quit!’ But there was still no reply. I was halfway through an aggravated text blasting his silent treatment as unacceptable when I realized he hadn’t replied to any texts I had sent him on a Sunday that I could remember. What was it that he did today that kept him from answering urgent messages? I continued writing my text to vent the frustration I was feeling but, by the time I’d finished, I thought it best just to delete it. If he hadn’t replied to any of my earlier ones, I couldn’t imagine he’d be interested in answering one of the none-too-seductive, ‘You can go fuck yourself, and your documentary’ variety.

  After a tense day of snapping at everyone, and being no more the wiser as to where or by whom the latest men had been shot, a message from Bradley beeped through that made my heart sink further. ‘Sorry, pls don’t quit. My girlfriend sick. Been in hospital all day. No news on shooting. Talk tomorrow. Won’t put U back in if 2 dangerous.’ Although I tried to word a sympathetic text, I kept deleting it back to a simple, ‘Sorry xx.’ I then went around the house and apologized to everyone I had barked at that day before climbing into bed for an early night with Daisy.

  I just wanted the weekend over. Tomorrow would be a new day, and I was doing my best to stay positive. I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling and listening to the random traffic outside the house when a text beeped through on my phone. Jumping up to catch it early so it wouldn’t wake Daisy, I knocked it open to read the name MICHAEL CAFÉ. It was my ex-husband. For some reason the name I’d designated for him in my phone hadn’t changed in the short time that we had gone from dating, to getting married, to complete disaster zone. Asking myself if this weekend had been cursed, I closed my eyes as I opened the text, only opening them when the suspense became too much. Adjusting my eyes to the screen, I had to squint for a couple of seconds before I could read the words, ‘Hi. We need to talk. I’m sick.’