by Shaw, O. C
“Oh, we swapped numbers at the pub. We’ve spoken a couple of times,” she says offhandedly.
“Oh really – about what?” I ask, unable to keep the slightly hurt tone out of my voice.
“You,” she says brazenly, twisting in her seat to face me. “You’re lucky to have a friend like her.”
“I know.” I also know I sound like a sulky teenager.
“She wants you to be happy.”
“I am.”
“Are you? Really?”
Before I can answer, she speaks again. “Anyway, this weekend is all about getting you to relax and have a laugh.” She’s rummaging in her pack by her feet as she’s talking to me. “Voila!” she announces with a flourish, producing two cans of ready-mixed Pimms and lemonade. “They were in my freezer for a couple of hours, so they’re nice and cold,” she says as she hands me one. “I had to consider what was acceptable for your poor deadened palate given all the vodka, lime and sodas you have taken over the years. Still, it’ll do the job,” she says, swiftly opening the can and taking a long swig. “Ooh, the weekend starts here.”
I gingerly open my own can and take a swig. It’s nice. The kind of drink you could forget even had alcohol in it. Probably not good, I think.
“So I hear you have a magnifico new dress.”
“I do.” I can’t help the grin appearing on my face.
She smiles back. “You’re looking good, Lil – you’ve lost even more weight since I last saw you.”
“Oh my God! That is like the first time in my whole life that I’ve received three compliments in one day,” I marvel. “I might just start believing it if I’m not careful.”
“Well, you should. Anyway,” she says conspiratorially, leaning forward and lowering her voice. I naturally move towards her as she continues, “what are they like?” She nods her head towards the other people in the coach.
“I don’t really know. I only got here just before you. Stuart introduced me to a few people, but the only ones I recognised were Stuart and Pat so far. Pat’s nice, I’ve chatted to her a few times at the gym, but I really don’t know anyone else at all.”
“What about the handsome one who was staring at you?”
“Who?” I say with that kind of false high note which betrays the lie. Annie doesn’t even say anything, just looks at me and I crumble. “Look, I don’t really know him. I only heard his name a few minutes ago when Stuart just said it.”
“So?” she prompts.
“Well, it’s silly, really; I saw him the first day I joined the gym when I tripped over the mat and nearly took him out, and then he caught me staring at him just now.” Annie is looking at me with a bemused expression on her face, forcing me to continue trying to explain. “I couldn’t help myself.” I can see a smile forming on her face as I confess, “he looks like Rob Lowe, the object of all my teenage fantasies,” hoping to God she’s old enough to know and appreciate him.
“Oh yeah, he does a bit, doesn’t he!” she says in a tone that implies she had never thought about it before, but that now I said it she could see the resemblance, before adding, “never thought much of him – too thin. I like a bit more to a man, myself.”
“Like Stuart?” I tease.
“Sometimes, but that’s changing the subject. Let me summarise what I think you’re telling me. You were staring at him because he looks like your teen crush,” I nod mutely as she continues, “but why then was he staring at you?”
“Really, he wasn’t. Don’t be silly.” I feel obliged to add. Annie just raises one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows at me again. I seek desperately to think of something to change the subject before seizing on: “What are you wearing Sunday night?”
She clearly knows it’s a distraction, just looking at me for a moment longer before allowing it to work. Sure enough, Annie delights in describing the two dresses she has brought for the occasion. The conversation moves on to what other clothes she has brought with her, and I marvel she managed to pack it all in one comparatively small bag.
“So what do you do?” I ask her after we’ve exhausted our discussion of clothes.
“I run an art gallery. It’s in Trafalgar Street, the Lord Gallery.”
“That’s nice,” I say, but even to my ears it sounds insincere. It’s too close to home for comfort, a sudden reminder of Greg and disappointment. I know her gallery; it’s one Greg has spoken about before, moaning as ever about the unfairness that so many inferior artists were getting picked up and featured. I feel guilty for even speaking the thoughts in my head. Disloyal. Annie is looking at me strangely.
“I know your husband’s an artist,” she says, as if that were all the explanation that was required for my odd response, and in a way it was.
“Emma?” I ask.
“Emma,” she confirms. Well at least that saved some of the awkwardness which would have ensued when I finally dropped it into the conversation. “You should show me some of his stuff sometime.”
“Oh, you really don’t have to.” I feel incredibly embarrassed and literally cringe.
“I know, but I’m kind of intrigued to see it. Tell him to bring it in sometime.”
“I will, thanks.” I say it more to finish a conversation that couldn’t feel more awkward if we tried than because I have any intention of mentioning the offer to Greg.
After what seems like far too long a time following our awkward exchange, the coach eventually slows as it pulls off into the services, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have the chance to get off and interrupt the direction our conversation was taking. I stand up quickly when the bus stops and manage to move up the aisle before most people have gathered their wits, let alone their belongings. Stepping off the coach into the cooling evening air is a relief.
“Be back in the reception by seven, please, people,” I hear Stuart saying as I clutch my bag tighter and stride towards the services. I quickly make my way to the ladies, mostly because I need a reason to explain to Annie why I’ve just virtually run off the coach. Get a grip, Lily, I tell myself sternly, looking at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands in the small white ceramic basin. I plaster a false smile on my face and exit the washrooms in the direction of the restaurant.
Chapter 10
A few of the coach people are already sitting at a table. I can see James sitting with one of the few other girls on the trip – a closer look shows her to be a wiry blonde who couldn’t look less like me; as I get nearer I see she’s the bitch girl who nearly took me out with the door. It just had to be her, didn’t it? They’re sat slightly apart from some of the others. I look away as his gaze lifts from the girl (I don’t know her name yet) and swings to where I’m standing. I feel a surge shoot through my body from just his gaze, and it’s connected directly to my groin. Jesus, I think as I feel the ache building, I thought the books lied about that sort of thing. I need to get a grip; I’m too old to get this sort of reaction from a look. I join the food queue and see Annie and Stuart a couple of people ahead of me.
“Hi,” I call, feeling awkward as they both turn to look at me, especially given my undignified exit from the coach, but desperately needing someone to sit with in the canteen. Annie is my only friend to date, and I’m doing my best to ruin that already.
“You okay?” she asks, looking at me intently.
“Yeah, sorry. I just needed the loo. I was kind of desperate – you may have noticed.” I laugh at myself, but it’s awkward.
“No worries,” Stuart says, oblivious to any tension with Annie and me.
“Sure,” says Annie, and she looks at me sympathetically. Bloody Emma, I think. What the hell has she been telling her? When I see her on Monday I’m going to be giving her a piece of my mind. I had been looking forward to being anonymous and reinventing myself with a new group of friends. But, thanks to Emma, my miserable little life is right there with me in Annie’s eyes as she’s looking at me. I’ve seen it enough times. I really hate the pity, it’s always so judgemental. Resigned to my fate, I do what I
’m good at and distract attention away from me and onto the food. Annie seems to have piled huge amounts of everything on her plate. I look at the prices and choose a chicken stir fry with a small bowl of plain rice. It’s cheaper and I suppose isn’t too bad for my diet efforts.
We pay and sit down at a table beside the others. People are starting to get noisy, as clearly several other people had been tucking into cans of drink on the coach. The effects are beginning to be felt, and the tone of the conversation has turned. With six girls in the group and eleven men, there is likely to be some serious ribbing and male posturing in evidence over the weekend. While I guess most of the group are married, it doesn’t seem to stop the constant banter, which has the beginnings of a ‘Carry On’ tone to it. I feel out of my depth when a few cheeky comments are flung my way.
My anxiety must show on my face because Annie whispers to me: “Don’t worry, Lily, they’re only teasing.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just not used to it.”
“Well you will be by the end of the weekend,” Stuart chips in. “It’s not likely to improve much. I recommend you just roll with it – it’s all fairly harmless, but if anyone bothers you then you let me know and I’ll see them off for you.” It’s sweet, he sounds like a big brother.
“Me too, babe,” Annie adds. I give them both a big smile, noting the way Annie is looking at Stuart approvingly.
“Thanks, guys, really. But I think I need to stop being a baby and just enjoy the time I have.”
“Quite right,” says Annie approvingly, handing me another tin of Pimms from out of her bag to emphasise the point. I take it from her and crack it open, taking a long swig.
By the time we have finished eating, it’s nearly time to get back on the coach. We wander towards the meeting point where most of the others are already collecting. James and the blonde are standing next to each other, and I can’t help but notice how she keeps touching his arm while they talk to each other, or how she’s much younger than he is. He looks to be more around my own age, but still the touches she gives him send a message. Seemingly nothing to the average eye, I know she’s marking her territory.
“He’s not into her,” Annie whispers in my ear.
“How do you know?” I answer unguardedly. “I mean they look good together, she’s a good-looking girl, he looks like Rob Lowe...”
Annie laughs. “Sweetie, she is all over him like a rash, but watch his body language. He’s not interested, mark my words.”
I look closer. Sure enough, every time she moves closer, he moves marginally further away. I laugh, wondering why the thought makes me feel so happy. One of the guys, I think I remember his name is Pete, comes over at the sound.
“Hi,” he says, looking a bit awkward. “Some of us are thinking about heading down to the local when we get in if it’s not past closing time. There’s meant to be one about a mile from the house. Do you fancy joining us?”
For some reason he’s looking at me when he says it and not Annie, for once. I feel flustered and don’t know what to say.
“Sure,” is all I can think of in the end. He looks pleased. I smile at him, letting the unfamiliar expression linger on my face as Pete stands there wittering on about how much fun we’re going to have. I nod absently, lifting my eyes to lock straight into familiar piercing blue ones. My breath catches at the intensity of his gaze. He actually looks pissed off. What the fuck? I wonder as he scowls at me. The moment only breaks when John announces it’s time to get back on the coach and James quickly turns and slips an arm round the blonde’s waist as they saunter back.
I scowl and look round to see where Annie is, only to find her watching me with her arms folded across her chest. She laughs when she sees me blush; “curiouser and curiouser,” is all she says.
Chapter 11
The rest of the journey is relatively easy, filled with enjoyable banter with Annie, Pete (as I had since had confirmed) and another guy called Colin, who had moved places to sit across from us on the coach. Annie is such a natural flirt with men; she has them both eating out her hand immediately. It’s fun to listen to.
When John announces we are five minutes away, I peer out into the overwhelming darkness, trying to get a glimpse of the area. Barring the occasional house lights I can’t see much through the windows. When the coach eventually pulls up it’s on a long gravel driveway. I gather my stuff and follow everyone else off the bus to collect my pack from the hold. We then traipse the rest of the way up the gravel drive to the house. I say house... It’s huge. Like a proper mansion, built in the Georgian style. It is beautiful, even in the darkness. I can make out a vast red brick frontage and columns around the front door.
“Welcome, everyone,” James says as he fumbles with a key. “I hope you like it.”
“What’s not to like?” Annie mutters beside me.
“Oh my God, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” I breathe as I walk into the entrance hall and take in the expansive space and sweeping staircase. Portraits of stiffly formal ladies and gentlemen ascend the walls to the first floor.
“Do we have to do the walks?” Annie grumbles. “I want to stay here and play lady of the manor, please.”
“I couldn’t agree more – it couldn’t be less like home if it tried, well except perhaps for the artwork wherever you look,” I amend.
“Oh, does Greg do portraits?” she enquires.
“Not really, I mean, occasionally he’s done them of us, and we have some of those up. Mostly he likes more contemporary abstract art; that’s what he’s doing at the moment.”
“I mean it when I say I want to see it,” Annie says.
“Please, can we not talk about him?”
“Okay, sorry, subject closed for the rest of the weekend.” Annie grins at me, making a zipping motion across her mouth, before grabbing her bag and saying: “Come on, let’s nab a decent room before they’re all gone.” We run up the stairs giggling like girls.
The house is massive, and to be fair there isn’t a bad room in the place. Annie and I find a beautiful room, with a large open fireplace and a small en-suite, that we bag. It has one large double bed we’ll have to share, which is why some of the guys are a bit more squeamish about it, but we don’t care. We quickly unpack our clothes, Annie cooing over my new dress and shoes, before leaving the room to find our way back downstairs to the others. I only realise my handbag is still in the room, with all my money I would need if we were going to the pub, when I get back down to the bottom of the stairs.
We can hear the noise of excited chatter coming from one of the sitting rooms.
“I’ll join you in a sec, Annie,” I say, nodding in the direction of the parlour. “I’ve forgotten my bag,” I call over my shoulder, sprinting back up the stairs. I run into the room, retrieving the bag quickly and exiting without a look, smashing instantly into a solid object and bouncing off it onto the wall and then the floor in a little heap.
“Bloody hell!” a familiar arrogant and slightly exasperated voice intones. I look up, embarrassed as I inelegantly scramble back to my feet, ignoring the hand he held out to help me.
“Sorry,” I mutter, squirming with awkwardness, only enhanced by the physical reaction my body is having at his proximity.
“We seem to continually meet like this, Lily. Where’s the fire this time?” he enquires.
“We’re going to the pub, and I forgot my bag,” I say by way of explanation, feeling like I needed to offer an excuse for why I was running in the halls.
“Are ‘we’?” he questions pointedly.
“Well,” I stutter, “Pete asked Annie and me, and I think Colin is coming, probably a few of the others too. I’m sure you’d be welcome if you wanted to join us,” I add, feeling obliged to make the offer. I both want him to come and don’t at the same time.
“No, that’s quite alright, thank you,” he replies in clipped formal tones. “I was just retiring to my room.” To my horror he indicates the room next to ours. “There’s a spar
e front door key on the hook in the kitchen you can use to let yourselves in with when you get back. Just remember to put it back up there, won’t you?”
“Oh. Of course. Thank you, I mean, sorry.” Oh my God, what the hell am I saying? Why do I lose the power of rational speech when he looks at me? I am a 37-year-old woman, for God’s sake, not a teenager. He’s looking at me with that arrogant but curiously entertained expression on his face, and I feel a flush of embarrassment yet again. I back away down the hall for a few steps before turning and running the rest of the way. I could swear I hear laughter behind me as I flee – I really hope I’ve imagined it. This was becoming a humiliating recurring theme.
I detour until I find the kitchen and have collected the key, before making my way back to one of the parlour rooms, where Annie in true ‘Georgian lady of the house’ style is holding court. While everyone else looks dishevelled following the long drive with barely a moment to do more than run a brush through their hair, Annie still looks like she just stepped off a photo shoot, standing and laughing in the middle of Pete, Colin, Arthur and Stuart. The blonde, whose name I’ve learned is Sarah, is sitting in the corner with another girl, Rachel, whispering and casting looks like daggers in Annie’s direction.
“Lily, at last!” Annie exclaims when she sees me at the doorway. “What took you so long?”
“I had to get the key,” I say, dangling it in front of them from my finger. “I bumped into James,” I say, flushing at the mention of his name and the memory of the accuracy of that statement, “and he told me where to find it.”
“Oh, is he coming?” Sarah enquires from the corner, suddenly brightening visibly.
“Um, no – he said he was going to retire for the night.” The oddly antiquated phrase sounds funny coming from my mouth. Annie smirks. Sarah scowls.
“Come on then, troops,” Annie calls, collecting us all together, and we dutifully march the mile down the road to The Hope and Glory.
It’s small but cosy, and I drink more than my usual in a relatively short space of time, as do most people, so the walk home is all the more entertaining for the meandering route we take zigzagging across the quiet country road. Thank God there’s no traffic, I think as I stagger a little for the umpteenth time.