I hadn’t known I felt so strongly about Gabriel. I hadn’t seen this coming at all. Perhaps we might have concluded our six-day fling with no hard feelings and I would have got over it.
He would have gone back to his life and I to mine. I would sit at my desk opposite Tim, eating Polos, answering the phone, selling houses and working out floor plans. Gabriel would sit in a house overlooking the ocean. I would go to the bakery up the road for a sandwich. He would go to Ken’s Hut for fresh lobster. I would be at the end of my parents’ garden watching the trees lose their leaves. He would wake to see the waves crashing over the rocky coastline.
It wasn’t as though I was going to bump into him in the high street going into Boots. I didn’t even really know what he was actually doing on the ship. He’d said he had intended to leave when we got to Halifax but he hadn’t. He’d stayed on board. Because of me. That’s what he had said. I’d been so thrilled too, so incredibly flattered. But was that really the truth?
Now everything was different. I was being made to look and feel an idiot. I was being tricked and used. Buggeration.
‘Yes,’ I said at last and stood up. ‘Let’s go for it. Let’s get our posh frocks on and go for it. There are only three days left until we get to Southampton. It’s still your hen celebration. I’m not going to let this spoil things.’
India’s eyes were still filled with concern, but her face brightened. ‘Atta girl! Come on, trowel on that slap, do some smoky eyes and get your frock on. The Fisher girls are going out!’
*
We got to the Champs-Elysées dining room without stopping for a cocktail for a change. If we were indeed drinking eight times our normal daily alcohol intake, perhaps it was time to calm down a bit before our livers detonated. India was elegant and floaty in a black chiffon maxi and I think I resembled an oven-ready chicken in a sequinned cocktail dress that was a bit tighter over the arse than I remembered.
Our table companions were already seated, the men in their DJs, Caron in black velvet and Marion in a sequinned top and long skirt. She tugged unhappily at her sleeves.
‘This seems to have shrunk. Does anyone else notice their clothes have shrunk? This skirt is digging in too.’
Marty exchanged a look with Ike.
‘It’s the sea air, honey. It always does that. Something to do with the salt. That’s what I read; it was in the Sunday supplement about six months ago. It causes the cloth fibres to shrink and tighten up. It said when you get back home things will return to normal.’
‘Is that so? Well, good heavens! They should warn people,’ she said as she trowelled butter on to a warm bread roll.
‘Good evening, girls.’ Ike looked up at us as we arranged ourselves in our chairs. He really was such a nice man and I realised how lucky we’d been with our seating. The four of them would help keep my mind off things, I was sure of it. ‘Where have you been?’ he continued heartily.
‘Oh, here and there,’ I said vaguely, sitting down and grabbing for my napkin before the waiter could come along and start flourishing it over my lap like a conjurer. Things that had seemed so special when we first got on the ship were now becoming tedious.
Caron leaned towards us across the table, her up-do sparkling with a diamante pin and a feather. ‘Did you go to the talk on the Titanic? Wasn’t that just amazing? I said to Marty, I wonder if we would have survived if we had been on board? If we’d been in steerage I bet we wouldn’t. Although there wasn’t that business of locking the poor people downstairs while the rich people got off like they did in the film. But then there was that little girl in first class who drowned. Now how on earth did that happen? I wanted to ask the speaker but we were late for something – lunch I expect – and Ike wouldn’t wait.’
She’d barely taken a breath and I found myself smiling. This really was perfect. What with the way Ike ordered wine and Caron talked, I wouldn’t need to think at all. I looked across at India to make sure she was okay. She was chattering away nineteen to the dozen with Marion and examining another of Marion’s dinky little evening bags with what looked like genuine pleasure. In the soft light from the dimmed chandeliers and candles in the middle of the table my sister looked very pretty. I felt a sudden surge of affection for her and something new: admiration for her courage.
‘Well, that speaker must still be on board somewhere,’ Ike said, cheerfully winking at us. ‘I bet you could track him down.’
‘I will! I’ll find him,’ Caron said, a determined glint in her eye.
I couldn’t hold back a little smile. I almost pitied the poor chap and imagined him scurrying away from Caron, darting anxious looks over his shoulder before finding himself cornered behind a lifeboat, stuck explaining himself.
The wine waiter came over with our half-finished bottles of wine – all five of them – and fussed about, filling up our glasses and bringing carafes of iced water. The menu looked even more extravagant than usual with seven courses plus palate-cleansing sorbets and the ever-present threat of spume, jus and edible flowers over everything.
‘Just two more days,’ Marty said, looking wistful, ‘and then we get to Southampton. It’s been such a great voyage.’
‘I can’t wait to see Southampton,’ Marion added between sips of red wine. ‘We’ve been to London, of course, and we liked that, but this is the first time we’ve been to England.’ I nearly laughed but then realised she wasn’t joking. ‘We’ve seen the film about it on the ship’s TV. It looks a quaint little town, a real English sort of place. We have the Hamptons in America where all the wealthy people have summer homes. Is Southampton like that?’ she asked, turning around to India and myself.
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Well, it’s –’
‘Absolutely,’ India cut in, nodding her head. ‘It’s full of history and buildings and stuff. And it’s near the New Forest where Henry the Eighth used to meet up with Anne Boleyn and a couple of his other wives, I expect. There’s a motor museum near there too. It’s probably really interesting.’
I looked at India in shock. I mean I don’t really know much about history, but I’d thought India definitely didn’t know much about anything. Then I remembered her arguing about American politics the other day. What else had she been suddenly coming up with? Never mind; either way, this India was definitely different from the India I remember.
‘Well, is that so? How marvellous!’ said Marion, looking thrilled. ‘We love that sort of thing, don’t we, Marty?’
Marty nodded back at her, his eyes full of excitement. ‘And we thought of a day trip to Scotland while we’re there. I mean it’s not far, is it? I’d like to see Edinburgh.’ He said it to rhyme with iceberg.
‘Scotland?’ I spluttered. ‘How long are you in England?’
‘Two days,’ he said happily. ‘We have a transfer to London, a tour bus around Hampton Palace and somewhere else – Windsor Palace I think. And then we fly home the following night. And it’s not as though we have to get over the jet lag, do we? That’s another good thing about cruises.’ The other three nodded at this and raised their glasses. India and I shared a glance.
‘Plenty of time then,’ India said. I could tell she was trying hard to hide her laughter, but I knew her too well. I pretended I suddenly needed to take a sip of water and nearly choked while trying to keep a straight face.
‘Have you been?’ Caron asked, forking into her seared scallop starter, which had just arrived on the table. As always the food looked incredible and I was surprised to find I was actually hungry, so I started to tuck straight in too.
‘I went to Edinburgh once,’ I said between mouthfuls. ‘I’ve never been so cold. But then it was November.’
‘I wonder why all the men wear skirts then,’ Ike mused, scraping the last of the jus off his plate and casting an enquiring eye towards Caron’s plate.
I spluttered into my wineglass and caught India’s eye. This was going to be fun! And shockingly I hadn’t thought about Gabriel
once … Oh, now I’d spoiled it.
Chapter Eighteen
Penicillin Cocktail
Honey Water, 16-year-old Malt Whisky, Ginger Liqueur, Lemon Juice
The theatre was quite crowded when we got there the following morning; obviously a lot of people were keen to take advantage of the opportunity to share in Marnie’s fantasy. We found seats at one of the less popular tables to one side of the stage. I had an obstructed view but I didn’t actually mind. It was almost a comfort to have a pillar I could hide behind if the need arose. After our chat yesterday I wouldn’t have minded no eye contact at all. But India had pointed out that there was no use hiding in the cabin and I needed to get out there sometime. Even so I could see her waiting in the wings with her perpetually dejected assistant standing holding the bags and clipboards.
Bang on the dot of eleven o’clock Marnie tossed her hair back, put on what I realised now was her professional smile and came out from the wings to a thunderous round of applause. She looked marvellous in a chic sea-green dress that subtly accentuated her curves and contrasted with her shining red hair. Her glorious legs were on display in sheer tights and spiky nude stilettos.
‘Oh my, isn’t she just adorable?’ someone said nearby as the applause died down. ‘I’d give ten years of my life to look like that. She’s got everything, hasn’t she?’
‘Brains, beauty, talent,’ an elderly woman agreed with a sigh, ‘and a gorgeous husband. How is one woman so lucky?’
‘I was talking to someone who says she gets you to throw out all your old clothes and then arrange what’s left alphabetically or something,’ said another.
‘I bet she works like a dog,’ someone chipped in.
I was getting a bit weary of all this Marnie Miller adulation if I was honest. After all she was only a phenomenally successful and beautiful woman with a considerable personal fortune and probably better contacts than I could even imagine.
Okay, she had a glorious Cotswold manor house and a penthouse flat overlooking the Thames. So what?
Her husband, Leo, was a man blessed with good looks and a successful career and a substantial bank account of his own. What was all the fuss about? She’d seemed so different the few times we’d been alone together, but then again she had given India those bracelet things and that had been kind. And warning me off Gabriel … well, I didn’t really appreciate it at all. It was only supposed to be a fling on my side too. But I suppose that might also have been a generous gesture on her part …
God, was I just a horribly jealous and unattractively mean-spirited person? Perhaps I should rethink things as part of my personal spring-cleaning? I’d read somewhere once that you should try not to say anything unkind, untrue or unpleasant. Perhaps I should think about that a bit more?
Marnie held her hands up to encourage us all to silence and things gradually settled down.
‘Spring-Clean Your Life,’ she said. ‘Now how do we do that? Why do we need to do that?’
Next to me India was already scribbling in her notebook. Right, so this was the time when I would concentrate on gleaning pearls of wisdom from Marnie, not just sit with my mouth open wondering how much her shoes cost. Although they did look suspiciously like Jimmy Choos. I’d have to google them when I got the chance. And that dress was absolutely gorgeous. I bet she didn’t go to high street stores and riffle through the sale rails like I did. I thought I looked okay, in new jeans and a T-shirt (two for twenty quid, which for me is pushing the boat out a bit), although the jeans seemed to have shrunk since I bought them, which was very annoying. Maybe it was that sea air Marty had mentioned … or the seven courses from last night?
I shook my head and wrote the date at the top of a fresh page and looked up at her, switching into student mode.
‘We need to engage in our own lives, don’t we?’ Marnie continued, striding across the stage. ‘Too often we are preoccupied with other people. Our children perhaps or our spouse. Or our grandchildren. Our bosses if we have them. Their needs come before ours. We want to please them, don’t we? But what about you?’
She pointed out into the audience and you could have heard a pin drop.
‘What about you? Your dreams, your strength? Isn’t that important too? More important perhaps than the best way to handle a difficult aunt or the man at work who never makes coffee.’
I glanced over at India as I finished writing down ‘What about your dreams?’ Hadn’t that been something Gabriel had asked me? Did I have any? India was writing so fast that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke coming off the paper. So I turned back to the stage and waited for Marnie to continue, trying to empty my mind of Gabriel. I needed to think of my dreams …
‘Everyone has dead weight in their lives,’ Marnie was saying, looking intently out at the audience and fixing some of them in the front row with a stare. ‘Things that drag them down. Think about how you feel on a Monday morning when you’re battling on to the bus to go to work. I know how that feels, because that was me once. Are you positive and upbeat, ready to give one hundred per cent to the day? Or are you still going over an argument you had on Saturday with the woman who stole your parking space?’
I stopped writing and looked up sharply. God, I did that: every snippy comment from India, every time she didn’t finish up her work and I had to finish it for her. I carried that resentment around for days. Why did I do that?
‘You must learn to use your energy positively for your own good. Be optimistic, think about the way you can make every day the best it can be. Rethink your career goals.’
Career goals. Did I have those? I’d told Gabriel I wanted to expand the business but I hadn’t given it any thought in months. I certainly hadn’t done anything about it. The only things I’d concentrated on were getting to the end of each month ahead of my targets and being annoyed with India when she didn’t. Now I knew where her mind had been focused I felt terrible. I had always just assumed, after all of my hard work over the years, that I’d take over the family estate agency, but did I really want that? And could I spend the rest of my life just trying to beat my own targets? Would I turn into a boss who was crabby and frustrated with what I’d failed to achieve?
I wrote down smallholdings, and then added a very curly question mark.
‘Eliminate toxic friends. Don’t waste time with people who bring you down. Who pretend to be on your side when, deep down, you know they’re not. Surround yourself with positive influences. Be a positive influence on others. And ladies, that includes men!’
There was a general chuckle from the audience at this point. I looked around sharply, trying hard not to think about Gabriel.
You know I want you. Don’t you?
His deep voice flooded my mind and I cringed. I’d put up no more resistance to him than a kitten to a tidal wave. Other girls and women didn’t seem to get into these situations. Why was it always me? I looked over at India. She’d always had men chasing after her, never giving them the time of day until Jerry. In her teens she had played one boyfriend off against another. And now look at her. Engaged, about to marry someone she was obviously head over heels for. Someone who loved her back in the same way. Who was the fool here?
And what had I done? I’d been attracted to a man, had sex, which was supposed to be no-strings-attached, and then fallen for him, when I absolutely shouldn’t have. And now, here I was remembering how it had felt to be undressed by him, how he had touched me.
Alexa. My God, Alexa.
He must be a bloody great actor to fake all that stuff. And it really hadn’t felt like he was pretending. He’d seemed genuinely keen. He’d seemed to need me. Or I thought he had. Could a man kiss me like that and do those things and not actually mean them?
He made you think you were different, didn’t he? Didn’t he?
Marnie’s voice echoed in my mind and I felt sick. She was right … he had made me feel different, but so had Ryan and Tom and, oh, that ghastly boy whose parents owned the petrol station who had
kissed me behind the youth club, promised me he wouldn’t tell anyone, and then by lunchtime the following day everyone in school knew.
I told myself to snap out of it. I was giving up the chance to learn how to change. I needed to listen. I scrubbed my eyes as subtly as possible, so India wouldn’t notice. Marnie was still talking, so I clicked my pen again and prepared to write.
‘There is nothing wrong with investing time and money in yourself; it’s worth your while. There is nothing more important in your life than your wellbeing. Your health, your peace of mind.’
I liked that idea. I could do more of that, definitely. Keep up the two separate eyebrows thing for starters. And get my nails done occasionally.
Marnie took a sip of her water, allowing her point to sink in before fixing the audience once more in her stare. ‘Now let’s use an example here, for any of you struggling to relate to what I’m talking about. For example, let’s think about someone who doesn’t look after themselves, who doesn’t listen to advice, someone who doesn’t Spring-Clean Her Life. She never learns, this girl! Perhaps her new boss is a racist or a man she fancies is commitment phobic. She does nothing, just allows herself to be pulled down by their negativity. Everyone knows the man is bad news – perhaps a friend tells her – but this girl refuses to listen to advice.’
Hang on a minute.
I looked over at India who was still scribbling.
Could she be talking about me? Using me as an example in her lecture? Surely not!
Marnie continued, ‘We all know someone like her. We might be her ourselves, even if we don’t want to admit it. I want to tell you, her, anyone who is feeling like this might apply to them, you are only steps away from finding the way forward. All you need to do is Spring-Clean Your Life.’ She paused before smiling broadly at the audience, her arms wide. ‘You need to believe that you are better, greater, stronger and amazing. You are worth someone’s time and you shouldn’t accept anything less than commitment. I’ll repeat that because I think it bears repeating. You are all amazing. I’m not just talking about romantic relationships here, but honestly, if a man doesn’t go out of his way to make room in his life for you, if he’s reticent and wants to keep the relationship a secret, what are you doing? Would you let another friend say yes to being treated this way?’ She glared at us and I could feel my heart pounding. ‘No!’ she shouted out and I gasped.
Come Away With Me Page 19